You can do this, he told himself. The pep talk didn’t help much.
Given enough time, Carrie would learn to keep her distance from him like everyone else at the office now did. Their first assignment together would take them to the Bahamas for a couple of days. It was to be a routine assessment and recovery of an allegedly magical object.
Business only.
This was how it had to be. There was no other choice.
He’d touched the beautiful Carrie Stanfield for the last time.
4
A SUB-ZERO, FROZEN landscape one day, palm trees and blue skies the next.
Carrie thought she might be able to get used to a job like this. She’d had no idea her first official assignment as a PARA agent would be a trip to the Bahamas, but she wasn’t going to complain. She just hoped and prayed that nothing would go wrong. Patrick seemed to have a lot more confidence in her ability to keep her telekinesis under control than she did.
A warm tropical breeze that held the barely-there scent of coconut suntan lotion wafted gently past her as she stepped from the taxi onto the pavement. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her pale skin absorb the sunshine she’d been craving since winter hit New York State full-force in late November. The Vitamin D would do wonders for her.
She’d been concerned about the flight to the Bahamas—wouldn’t want to accidentally break a window at thirty thousand feet altitude the way she had with her father’s windshield—so she’d gotten a prescription for Xanax that pretty much knocked her out for the entire trip. She’d also stopped drinking coffee three days ago. Caffeine made her jittery.
She missed coffee.
She had packed a bathing suit for any off-time she’d get while down here. As they said, when in Rome… Or the Bahamas.
“You ready?”
The words jolted her out of the pleasurable moment and she opened her eyes. Patrick stood in front of her. He’d finished paying the taxi driver.
Her gaze swept the length of him, over the dark jeans and black button-down shirt that clung to his arms and chest. Her appreciation for what she saw stayed hidden behind her sunglasses. “Of course.”
This had been the way conversation had gone between them since landing at the Nassau International Airport an hour ago—short and to the point. She was almost used to it by now. Just as Amanda said, Patrick was not the same as he’d been the first time Carrie met him. He was more serious now, and kept to himself unless contact with other employees was unavoidable.
He’d spent a little time with her in the office the previous week, outlining her job responsibilities. Showing her files on past assignments. She’d studied them and learned. It amazed her to think it wasn’t so long ago that she hadn’t believed in the supernatural world at all. Now she was a part of it.
Patrick also gave her a stack of paperwork to read about telekinesis—he called it TK. She spoke to another telekinetic agent—one who worked at a branch of PARA in Texas. He’d given Carrie a half-hour talk that made her hope for the best.
Since she was a realist, however, she didn’t set her hopes too high.
Being close to Patrick made it difficult to concentrate. She hadn’t had enough time to figure out what he was hiding yet. They were rarely alone, and every time they were, he usually found a reason to leave after a few minutes.
She had to admit that she’d enjoyed reading all about the history of the agency and liked meeting everyone in the office. She hadn’t expected to feel so welcome—especially with her extremely conflicted feelings about her own psychic predicament. But everyone had been amazing and the job seemed both interesting and challenging.
Each case was like figuring out a mystery. That appealed to her. When she was a kid, she told everyone she was going to be a detective like the ones she watched on television. She devoured Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys novels. Something about solving a puzzle challenged her. She hadn’t become a detective, but some of her articles had required extra digging. Those were the ones she loved writing the most.
Patrick McKay was a puzzle for her to solve, no doubt about it. And it only made him more intriguing.
Occasionally, she’d look over at him and find that he was staring at her. Their eyes would meet and hold. And she felt it—there was heat between them. Moments like that didn’t last long. Patrick would turn away, leaving her hot and bothered and determined to get to the bottom of the enigma that he was.
Come what may, Carrie had one hell of an inconvenient crush on her handsome new partner and spent too much time fantasizing about tearing his clothes off and shamelessly having her way with him.
But that would require him to touch her. And for some reason he had issues with that. Since their strange handshake on her first day, they hadn’t had any physical contact. Nor had she seen him touch anyone else. She’d been watching.
He definitely had a secret, no doubt about it. The only question was—what was Patrick McKay hiding from everyone?
“This place is gorgeous,” she said, taking in the green grass, the red, orange and bright pink hibiscus flowers twice the size of her hand, and the Royal palms that lined the cobblestone driveway leading to the front doors of the Violet Shores Resort.
Patrick glanced down at his BlackBerry. That thing always seemed to be in his right hand, as if it were surgically attached to him. “The owner and his wife ran this place together, but she died a year ago and he’s stayed on by himself. It’s a couples resort—mostly honeymooners. Smaller than a lot of the other resorts in the area, but this is a nice piece of beachfront property that includes a small private island.”
Across the street was the Loa Loa, a five-star resort Carrie had read about in the in-flight magazine before she dozed off. It dwarfed this place, but didn’t hold a candle to the unobstructed ocean view that Violet Shores had.
“Welcome,” a voice said. Carrie turned to see a man approach. He was around thirty, attractive, with short light brown hair with sun-kissed highlights. He was dressed in a casual green golf shirt and tan pants that hung a bit loosely on his thin but athletic frame. “Thank you for coming. Patrick McKay, right?”
“That’s right. You’re William Crane?” Patrick glanced at the man’s outstretched hand, but didn’t make a move to shake it.
He smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
“Good to meet you.” Patrick nodded at her. “This is Carrie Stanfield, my partner.”
“Please call me Will.” He reached his hand out to take Carrie’s and she didn’t hesitate to shake it. Firmly.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that Patrick had blatantly refused to shake William’s hand. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to. Patrick glanced at her and their eyes met. She looked down at his hands, which he quickly slid into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Something wrong?” Patrick asked pointedly.
“No, of course not,” Carrie said. “You have a beautiful resort, Will.”
“Thank you.”
“Where did the name Violet Shores come from?”
“My wife’s name was Violet. I officially changed the name six months ago because when I’m here…she’s still with me.” Will’s smile faded at the edges. “Since she’s been…gone…times have been tough. Bookings are down. Way down. I’m desperate for a solution or I’m going to lose the place.”
Carrie couldn’t help but feel his grief, and her heart ached for this man she’d just met. She glanced around. Now that Will mentioned it, it was