Light Me Up

“Enjoy it.” Bonnie rang up the purchase, adding one of her cards to the bouquet. Only eighteen dollars and change. Gretchen could have herself a very talented florist here.

“Thank you.” Melissa buried her face in the delicately scented blooms as she walked out, glancing farther down the hall then at her watch. She had about fifteen minutes before she’d need to get her car, drive to work, shower quickly in the company exercise room and deal with a rather fishy sexual harassment complaint. It was the third one from Bob Whatsisname in three years, as if he was really desperate to be sexually harassed and hadn’t been able to get anyone to cooperate yet. But having finally stepped into Come to Your Senses after passing it so many times, she was curious to check out the building’s other occupants.

Past the flower shop she came to a photography studio: Jack Shea. In his front window hung wedding pictures, anniversaries, graduation shots—the usual, but with a creativity that set them apart. A bride caught in profile descending a medieval-looking curving stone staircase, a graduate in mid–celebratory leap. Melissa lingered at the window, drawn to the images. Gretchen should definitely check him out, too, though he’d likely be too expensive.

She moved to the other side of the entrance and encountered a picture in a completely different style. Horrifying, disturbing, but also incredibly powerful, with a poignancy that kept her riveted for far longer than she could usually stand still. The photo was a close-up of a naked back on which a network of cracks had been superimposed, like those on asphalt or an eggshell, so that the skin looked as if it was scarred or about to disintegrate. Melissa stood for a long time absorbing the extraordinary concept and the strong emotions the image evoked.

It seemed hardly possible this work of art was by the same person who’d done the sweet celebration pictures opposite. Melissa peered curiously into the studio, unwilling to venture inside since she had to get to work. But she should at least pick up Jack Shea’s card, even if he was out of their pathetic price range. Gretchen had been fine with the idea of passing out disposable cameras to the guests to take photos of the ceremony and reception. Melissa wanted her sister to have something better to frame.

She took a step inside, feeling as if she were trespassing, though a sign hung on the door said Open. Another step, her soft-soled sneakers making no noise. On one back wall hung more wedding, baby and family portraits. On the other, more of the artsy style, including the distant rear view of a lone figure on a pier staring out at the ocean beyond him, nothing but gray-blue sky, gray-blue water and his questioning solitude. Again, she was mesmerized, taking in the image for an endless moment, feeling called to something she couldn’t name.

A noise from the back made her jump. Through the open doorway she saw a line of hanging prints, which seemed to be of—

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor distracted her. Was that Jack Shea? She felt unaccountably nervous, almost guilty, as if she’d been caught prying into his private life.

Footsteps approached. Melissa tried to picture him. The wedding images were so fresh and vibrant, full of hope—Jack would be a younger man. Except the depth and pain in the torso images pointed to more life experience than a young man would generally—

He appeared in the doorway.

Oh.

For a good five seconds they stared at each other.

Jack Shea, if this was Jack Shea, was not the weird, skinny young man she’d pictured, nor was he the bearded Bohemian child-of-the-sixties. This guy was …

Well, she’d just say her yoga-calm was in serious trouble.

Brown eyes, brown hair, nothing particularly thrilling to describe. But what he did for those brown eyes, which jumped straight into hers, and the brown hair, tousled sexily like a rock star’s, set off all kinds of electrical reactions. Add to that broad shoulders straining the seams of a maroon T-shirt that showed off the solid planes of his chest and highlighted firm biceps and trim jeans-covered hips.

Yum. And wow. Melissa did not generally respond to men with quite this much … response.

As she stood there, her brain managed to resume the tiniest bit of functioning, enough to realize he was staring at her the way Bonnie and Angela had been staring—because Melissa looked like a college friend, or whatever the party line was. Not because he was overcome by her, too.

Darn it.

“Are you Jack Shea?”

“I am, yes.” He laughed nervously, ran his hand over his head, which would explain the sexy tousle. “And you are—I mean, I think I’ve seen—”

“I know.” She held up her hand. “I look like your college friend.”

His eyes shot wider. “My what?”

Hmm. He obviously had no idea what she was talking about. “Bonnie and Angela told me about her?”

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” He continued staring, clearly more rattled by whatever the hell she represented than Bonnie and Angela had been.

Unless … maybe that college friend did exist and had meant something to him?

Melissa’s imagination went straight to a picture of Jack Shea passionately entwined with this woman who was apparently her twin. Which meant she was, in essence, picturing herself sleeping with him.

Good lord.

She made her body relax and smiled beatifically. “I was just passing by. Wondered if you had a card and a price list. My sister’s getting married and hasn’t settled on a photographer yet.”

“Sure. When’s her big day?” He reached under the counter and came up with a sheet, which she took, smiling her thanks. A smile that went on life support when she saw how high his prices were. As expected, but still disappointing.

“End of the month.” Melissa nodded at his surprised expression. “I know, practically tomorrow in bride time. She and her fiancé wanted to do it simply and soon. They settled on the twenty-ninth.”

He was already checking his BlackBerry. “Morning, afternoon or evening?”

“Oh, I’m not sure we can—” She waved the sheet Jack had given her, not wanting to admit he was out of her league.

“Just checking the date for you.”

“You don’t—” Melissa sighed. Easier to play along. “Late afternoon.”

“I had a cancellation last week, so I could do that.” He grinned at her, charming as hell, and quirked an eyebrow meaningfully. “In fact, I’d love to do that.”

Ah. She’d just bet he would. It wouldn’t surprise her if a majority of his clients were females who’d fallen for how much Jack would love to work with them, too.

“Okay. Good to know.” She stepped back to leave, more disappointed than she cared to admit that a guy of his talent was free on Gretchen’s wedding day and they couldn’t use him. “We’ll give you a call if—”

“What’s your name?”

She stopped in surprise. Why did he want to know? Had Angela sent her to cult headquarters after all? “Sorry, but I really need to get—”

“You live around here?” He leaned against the counter, consummately casual.

She was immediately suspicious. Something wasn’t right. “Not far. Listen, thanks for the—”

“I was wondering why I haven’t seen you around more.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Because I haven’t been around more?”

He chuckled, watching her, the intensity of those brown eyes making it hard to maintain her calm—as if it wasn’t hard enough anyway. “That would explain it.”

Melissa looked pointedly at her watch. Whatever was going on in this building, she really didn’t like being the only one who didn’t know what it was. “I need to get to work. Thanks for the price sheet.”

“Let me get you a brochure with more information.” He looked under the counter and frowned. “Hang on, I’ll get one from—”

“No, it’s not necessary.” She waved the sheet. “I’ve got this, it’s all I need.”

“I have more in back.” He was already turning away.

“Seriously, don’t bother.”

He dismissed her with a wave. “It’s no prob—”

“We can’t afford you, Mr. Shea.”

There. Embarrassing, but that would put an end to it and she could make her escape.

He turned back with a half smile, eyes warm. Very warm. “Call me Jack. And you are …?”

She sighed impatiently. “Melissa.”

“Melissa.” By now the eye-warmth was positively inappropriate. “I’m sure we can work something out….”

What the—Melissa drew in a sharp breath. Was her insta-crush messing with her brain, or was this guy about to teach Bob Whatsisname what real sexual harassment sounded like?

She drew herself up into her best attitude of icy disapproval. “What kind of ‘something’?”

“Let me get the brochure. We can discuss it. Maybe over coffee.”

Coffee! Melissa was flabbergasted. Never had her icy disapproval so totally failed her. Jack hadn’t even noticed. In fact, he’d acted as if she was dying to take him up on whatever offer he flung at her. Good God, the arrogance. “You’re asking me out?”

“Just to talk.” He winked and disappeared into the back, leaving Melissa halfway to exploding her arteries with outrage. If he thought she was going to sleep with him so her sister could have him photograph her wedding at a discount, he had another think coming.

She was about to whirl around and stomp her way out when the door he’d pulled shut behind him swung slowly open. Behind it, the line of prints again caught her attention. Melissa stepped closer, frowning. Why did they seem—

She gasped. The bakery bag dropped from her hand.

Hanging from a wire were print after print after print of a woman dressed in different outfits, which meant they’d been taken on different days. A lot of different days. The woman was doing yoga. In Cal Anderson Park.

They were all pictures of Melissa.

2

Blood Pressure: High

WHAT THE—

Melissa put a hand to her chest to calm her breathing, not sure whether to be outraged or terrified, so she settled on both, heart pounding, ears buzzing.

With one glance, all that good yoga relaxation this morning was shot to hell. This was exactly the type of upset Dr. Glazer had cautioned her to avoid. But she didn’t see any other way to react. Jack had been taking pictures of her—without her knowledge. And now he was being flirty with her and wanted her to have coffee with him. And he really seemed to want to photograph her sister’s wedding. Was that what he did? Skulk around spying on women? Was he a sexual predator? Was Melissa in some kind of danger? Did he know where she lived? Should she run right now and call the police?

Shhh, breathe, Melissa. She picked up the bakery bag she’d dropped, and put it on the counter next to Gretchen’s flowers. Then she set her gym bag down, stood in Mountain Pose and closed her eyes, forced her rigid shoulders to relax and took in a long, slow breath, letting it out the same way. She did it again and again—thank goodness he was taking a long time to find his stupid brochures—until she felt centered and stronger, and calm. Well … calmer.

Too soon to panic. Angela and Bonnie, both seemingly nice people, had obviously recognized Melissa from the pictures, and they hadn’t looked anything more than surprised and intrigued by her presence. Neither of them had warned her away. In fact Angela must have been trying to send her down the hall to Jack. Maybe he just wanted pictures of someone doing yoga and figured out that Melissa practiced alone after class. She could have been a tree or a rock or a building that caught his artistic eye. The easiest explanation was often the right one. She’d confront him. Any creepy vibes and she’d go straight to the police.

“Sorry, had to open a new box. First I had to find a new box. Here’s the brochure.” Jack stepped into the room, did a double take behind him and shut the door firmly.

Yeah, too late, buddy.

“You know, I just remembered what I came in for.” In spite of her struggle to sustain peaceful breathing, Melissa’s voice came out high and harsh. “I’m looking for pictures of a woman.”

His expression became wary. “Okay.”

“More specifically, I’m interested in pictures of a woman doing yoga.”

“Uh …” Jack began to look hunted.

“In fact, I’m looking for pictures of a woman doing yoga in Cal Anderson Park.” Melissa pointed to the door he’d just closed. “About my height. And weight. With my coloring. And clothes.”

“Uhhh …” He put his hands over his face, dragged them down and peeked at her over the tips of his fingers, his expression one of contrition. “I guess you saw them.”

“I guess I did.”

He swore under his breath.

“Busted?”

“I was going to explain over coffee.” He sent her an I’ve-been-a-bad-boy look that he must know was adorable. She would remain unmoved until he proved himself innocent. And maybe even after that. “This must be a shock, Melissa.”

“A shock?” She faked surprise. “No, no, not at all. Happens all the time. People spy on me and take pictures, oh, twice a week at least.”

“No, it’s not …” He shook his head, the hint of an embarrassed smile curving his masculine lips. “See, you were there and then I was, and then I, uh …”

Melissa scowled. Why did jerks always come in such fabulous packages? Her boss, Barbara, called them baby pools. Warm, inviting and totally shallow. Dive in and you’d get brain damage. Even her mother had warned her, one of the precious rounds of maternal advice she’d given Melissa before she died: really good-looking men—actually, Mom had said people—came first on their own priority lists, and thought they should come first on everyone else’s, too. “And then you what?”

“See, I was thinking you’d be …” He scratched his head. “That is, I was hoping you’d be …”

“I’d be what?” If he didn’t explain soon she was going to hurl her gym bag at his head.

“Oh, man.” He held up both hands. “Can we start over?”

“Why did you take photos of me? Are you stalking me? Did someone hire you?” Melissa’s voice cracked. The possibilities were awful.

“No. No.” His look of genuine concern caused a small bit of her anger to slip away, which made it easier to appear in control. “My interest was purely artistic. I swear.”

Hmm. The simplest explanation … “Why didn’t you ask my permission?”

“Honestly, I was going to.”

“When were you going to?”

“Today, over coffee. Before that …” He wrinkled his nose apologetically. Another adorable-yet-masculine expression. He must practice in front of a mirror. “Thing is, the day I decided to approach you was the day you disappeared.”

“Well.” Melissa smacked her hand on the counter, uncomfortably aware he could be telling the truth. She’d stopped going to yoga for a few months because of her injury. But she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. “How’s that for timing?”

“This isn’t as bad as it seems.”

Melissa arched an eyebrow. “How would you know how bad it seems?”

“I’m guessing you feel violated, vulnerable and afraid.” He leaned both palms on the counter, which emphasized the broad sweep of his shoulders and back. His eyes were sincere, gaze unwavering.

Damn, he was good. Yes, she felt violated, vulnerable and afraid, and with her guard down on all three counts, he was creating an atmosphere of concerned intimacy.

Good thing she was on to him.

“Someone could have noticed you every day the way I did, watched you the same way I did.” His voice was low, earnest. “But photography is a deliberate and permanent act, which is much more threatening.”

Melissa had nothing to say. He’d nailed exactly how bad it was. “Why were you photographing me?”

Jack pushed back from the counter. “The camera loves you. You were irresistible to me.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, photographer discussing his subject, whereas Melissa had to hold herself statue-still and beg her circulatory system not to turn her face scarlet. “You could have asked.”

“You might have told me to get lost.”

“Yes.” She folded her arms over her chest, wanting to appear tougher than she was feeling now that the worst of her outrage had abated. The way he looked at her, as if he could read her mind and see her naked at the same time, was making it very hard to feel she had the upper hand, which she damn well deserved in this situation. “But I would have liked the chance to choose. And to know what you wanted the pictures for.”

“I show at the Unko Gallery.” He reached for the pile of brochures he’d brought out and handed her one. “I was experimenting, working on a new idea, a way of photographing women. You had the look I wanted.”

Melissa opened the brochure, wishing she could ask what look that was, but not willing to betray her interest. Was she the embodiment of every female fantasy he’d ever had? Or was she yet another trend-following Western capitalist pretending to understand yoga? Or was it something else entirely that only he could envision, and which she might not want to hear? Given some of the more disturbing shots in the shop, his ideas might not be that flattering.

Jack was indeed listed in the brochure, alongside a few prominently placed photographs, more of those odd, powerful images. Impressive. Melissa wasn’t exactly an art maven, but even she’d heard of the Unko Gallery. Gretchen had taken her there once for a friend’s opening party.

“Come have coffee with me, Melissa. Angela makes a really good cup.”

“I just had one.” She offered him back the brochure.

“Have one more?” He waved at her to keep the pamphlet. “Angela will chaperone.”

“So I don’t look like anyone you went to college with.”

“Nope.” He came out from behind the counter, broader, taller and closer without the protective barrier, leaving Melissa no idea what to do with her hands. “She and Bonnie must have recognized you from your pictures.”

Melissa picked up her flowers and bakery bag. So far, she hadn’t detected any creepy vibes, and she might have to entertain the fact that Jack was telling the truth. “You showed the photos around.”

“I was excited about you.” He still spoke offhandedly, but the eyes watching her were alert and focused.

Melissa glared at him suspiciously, again pleading with her blush mechanism for mercy. “Excited how?”

“Artistically. Of course.” He grinned in a way that made it extremely difficult not to grin back. “Have coffee with me? A quick cup. I’d like to talk over what I hope to do with the pictures.”

“Blackmail me?”

He laughed. “Not blackmail you. I promise.”

“I need to get to work.” Even she could hear her lack of conviction. Work would still be there half an hour from now. Melissa was always early, always thoroughly prepared to tackle her day. She was admittedly intrigued by this man and his work, and she wanted to see if he’d be open to negotiating a legitimate deal so she could afford him for Gretchen’s wedding.

She and her sister hadn’t grown up poor, but they hadn’t been well off, either. Her father had imploded after their mom died; any ambition he might have had to get his PhD or pursue a principal’s or administrative position had died with her. All he’d done since then was teach high school and watch TV. Melissa really wanted Gretchen to have a dream wedding, but without money growing on the family tree, it fell to her to make things happen, as it had so many times since her mom’s death.

“One quick cup.” She hoisted her gym bag briskly. “In the bakery. With a table between us. And Mace if you have any.”

“Won’t need it.” His smile reached his eyes instantly. “Angela’s better than Mace, she’s stronger and faster. But really, I’m harmless.”

Melissa had definite doubts about that.

They walked down the hall together and, in a moment worthy of farce, Melissa caught Bonnie doing a frantic double take at the sight of them, and then Angela doing the same when she and Jack came into the bakery.

“Oh. Hi.” Angela glanced rapidly between them. “You two—Well. What can I get you?”

“Just coffee.” Jack’s voice came over Melissa’s right shoulder; she was ridiculously conscious of his body close to hers. “This is Melissa.”

“Yes.” Angela nodded uncomfortably. “We met.”

Melissa beamed at her, unable to resist a little torture. “I’m the college-friend look-alike.”

“Oh … yes.” She gestured desperately toward the other side of the shop. “Coffee’s over there, help yourself, on the house, let me know if you want anything else.”

Jack was laughing, a deep chuckle that was frankly delicious. “Angela, it’s okay, she—”

“Hey, Angela.” Bonnie sailed into the bakery and pretended to have just caught sight of them. “Oh! Hi, Jack. Hi, Melissa. Do you two know each other?”

“Melissa has seen the pictures. We’re here to talk it out. Bonnie, go pot ferns. Angela, go bake a cake.”

“Are you kidding me? Miss this conversation?” Bonnie sent Melissa a sly wink behind Jack’s back. “Dish up the muffins, Angela. Front-row seats for the showdown are available.”

“No.” Jack took a threatening step toward Bonnie. “You are not staying—”

“Ooh, good idea, Bonnie.” Angela threw Melissa a grin while Jack growled at Bonnie. “Chocolate chip, oatmeal cranberry, lemon blueberry …”

“Over my dead body.”

“If that’s necessary, sure, Jack.” Angela bent down and started picking out muffins. “You don’t mind if we’re here, do you, Melissa?”

“Of course not.” Melissa suppressed a giggle. Nice to see Jack wasn’t always in control. It actually made him more appealing. “I’m happier in a crowd when I chat with my stalkers.”

“Oh, me, too.” Bonnie plunked herself into a chair and patted the one beside her for Melissa, then pointed to the chair opposite and looked expectantly at Jack. “Sit.”

Jack sat, glowering at all three of them. “Apparently I am outnumbered.”

“Outnumbered, outclassed, outwitted and outmaneuvered.” Bonnie rested her elbows on the table and her head on laced fingers. “Now, Melissa. First of all, let us reassure you about Jack.”

“Yes. We must.” Angela put a paper plate of divine-looking muffins on the table. “He might look and act like a complete creep—”

“Hey.”

“—but he’s a total sweetheart.”

“And a very talented photographer,” Bonnie added.

“I promise you are completely safe with him.” Angela sat down and beamed at Jack.

“Absolutely.” Bonnie nodded vigorously. She and Angela exchanged glances. Their confidence slipped. “Well … pretty safe.”

“Yeah …” Angela bit her lip. “I’d say more or less safe.”

“If you have people around.”

“Hired to protect you.”

“Who are armed.”

Jack brought his hand down on the table, enough to make the muffins jump. His lips twitched. “Stop. Now. You are not helping.”

“Of course we’re helping.” Angela turned to Bonnie in concern. “Aren’t we?”

“Well …” Bonnie looked troubled. “Now that I think about it, we might not be. Melissa?”

“You are both helping. A lot.” Melissa nodded her most gracious thanks. “It was pretty frightening seeing those pictures, but now, hearing from both of you that Jack is probably a sociopath … well, I feel a lot better.”

Angela and Bonnie burst out laughing. Jack put his head in his hands and groaned. Melissa gave in and cracked up with the women, and for a few seconds, felt a sweet glow of belonging. Which was silly, since she didn’t.

“All righty, then.” Angela got up and pushed in her chair, smiling fondly at Jack. “Our work is done.”

“We’re outta here.” Bonnie grabbed a blueberry muffin and kissed the top of Jack’s head. “You’ll do fine, Jack. Just be yourself. Or maybe … hmm. No, actually, if I were you I’d be someone else. Anyone, really.”

“Yeah, thanks a hell of a lot. Both of you.”

The women walked off giggling, Bonnie to her shop, Angela into the bakery kitchen, leaving silence and intimacy behind them.