The Scent of Shadows

He paused, brows raised, and I motioned for him to continue. In a quieter voice he added, “You think too much, and you’re haunted by things you can’t change. You have a strong sense of right and wrong, with little tolerance for the in-between, and zero patience for deception.”

“Anything else?” I said, a bit tightly.

“Just one. You’re a photographer, but not as a means of commerce or even as a form of communicating with the world. The lens is actually a barrier shielding you from the rest of us. It’s a way of distancing yourself from your subjects so you can study them. Or hunt them.”

“That’s a bunch of crap!”

Ben grinned. “You’re also quick-tempered.”

Hunt them, I thought, shaking my head, annoyed. It was the same wording I’d heard earlier that evening. We’ve been hunting you for a long time, Ajax had said. He’d been trying to scare me, of course, but now Ben was saying it as if I were the predator, like some sort of skulking vampire, on the lookout for O-positive. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“You’ve been out every night this week.”

“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand, but otherwise going very still. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You’re using yourself as bait, aren’t you?” he persisted, ignoring the question. “That’s why you go out alone, at night, in the most dangerous parts of town.”

I clenched my teeth together, hard. “I go out at night because it’s quiet, and because light and shadow are a photographer’s main tools.”

“You seem to be more in the shadows than the light.”

“So what?” I tried not to sound defensive, but it was hard.

“So, why?” he said. “Why spend your days training like you’re going into battle, and your nights on the streets seeking it?”

I know that’s what it looked like from afar, from the outside looking in, which was the only way Ben could possibly see it, but it was more than that. Not that I was going to explain it now. “Maybe I’m just dedicated to my craft,” I said, lifting my chin.

“You haven’t been taking your camera.”

I whirled away from him, turning as much from the understanding his face held as from the shame that my secret—what I thought was a secret—had been so easily found out. I rubbed my arms, trying to erase the chills that had shot along them. A part of me was thrilled; he’d kept up on me, hadn’t forgotten me, still cared. Another part was furious. How could I have not seen him? Part of the point of these nocturnal excursions was to look for men—a man—who were looking for me.

“Joanna?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been following me.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, but it felt scratchy and dry, like all my words would stick to its walls.

At least he had the grace to sound apologetic. “It was an accident the first time. I was on a stakeout and I just saw you. I trailed you to make sure you’d be safe, but it didn’t take long to realize you weren’t trying to be safe.” His voice loomed closer, just behind me. “Why, Jo-Jo?”

“I’ve just been feeling…restless lately,” I finally said, which was the truth, if only half of it. Most of the time I felt like I was being bitten by a thousand fire ants buried deep beneath my skin. Or like someone was stoking a fire in my soul. “I feel like something’s going to happen, but I won’t know what it is until it’s too late.”

Ben put his hands on my shoulders, which I wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else, and turned me so I was facing him. “You’re looking for him, aren’t you? Tempting him. Testing him.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. It had been such a good cover too. Confirmed slacker. Lazy little rich girl. Token black sheep of the Archer dynasty, the one others could point to and say, “See? All the money in the world can’t buy you happiness.”

The writer of the Fortunes and Fates article hadn’t caught on. Neither had Ajax or any man I’d dated before him. Not even my family, or Asaf—who knew only that I slept badly—were aware of what I did, or why. Nobody had seen that it was all just a cover. Until now.

I shook my head. “I’m just taking pictures.”

“And if you happen to find him locked between the crosshairs of your lens?” Ben asked, watching me again with his cop eyes.

I didn’t have to ask whom he meant. I met his gaze as I’d met Ajax’s, unblinking. And just to see who this new Ben Traina was, I said, “I kill him.”

His answer was immediate. “Good. Any other long-term goals?”

That jerked a laugh from me. I was surprised my throat had even let it escape. More surprised at Ben for laughing with me. Where was the lecture? Where was the warning that should’ve followed? The PSA about the long arm of the law? Then again, I didn’t really need it. Despite my words, my actions were all defensive. But I think the real reason we both let it slide was because the “him” we were referring to was the one who’d ultimately driven us apart.

“Long-term goals?” I repeated, before shaking my head. “Just survival, Traina. I’m just trying to survive.”

Which wasn’t entirely true. I already had the survival thing down pat.

Ben turned back to the glass wall and looked out with a sigh over the city we both patrolled. I joined him, pressing my forehead against the cool glass, and let the lights below blur into a blinding stream of nothingness. We call it camera shake in photography; when the camera moves and the shutter is open long enough to cause an overall blur. The effect was mostly undesirable, except for times like this.

Together we looked out at this strange city where the play of shadow and light was more pronounced than in any other until finally he said, “There has to be more to life than survival.”

There hadn’t been for me, I conceded, not for a long while. But with Ben standing close, knowing about my past and not flinching, I began to think there might be. I raised my eyes to find him gazing at me. Not just gazing, but seeing.

How long had it been since I’d been truly seen?

And the look on his face was so soft and clear it was practically translucent. Probably, I thought, a good reflection of my own. Just then, I would have loved to frame that face with my camera lens. Capture that moment, and him, forever. God, what a beautiful man.

I froze suddenly. “Please don’t tell me I said that aloud.”

Ben straightened, grinning wickedly. “You did. You said I was beautiful.”

Embarrassed, I turned away, but his hand, wide and firm and warm, grasped my shoulder. He turned me toward him again and held all of me there; body, eyes, and mind.

“If I’m beautiful,” he said, thumbs tickling against the inside of my elbows, “then you’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.”

I ducked my head automatically, though my pulse points hummed. “My sister’s stunning,” I said, “I’m strong.”

“You’re stunning and strong,” he murmured, and moved in closer.

I lifted my head and leaned into him. It felt natural, and my pulse throbbed. “Go on.”

His lips quirked up at one side as he drew me against him. “You’re stunning and strong, Joanna Archer, and you’re about to be kissed.”

And I knew exactly what he would taste like. Ambrosia. The breaking of a fast. Water, pure, clean, and spring-clear after a ten-year drought. All the relevant clichés applied.

How masochistic, I thought, sighing as his mouth molded to mine. Instantly back in love with a man I’d spent a decade trying to get over. Anyone have a dull razor blade? Cat-o’-nine-tails? Old, rusty nails?

Yet this was also a first. The first taste of a man whose lips and arms and body touched the expected places in unexpected ways. The first hint of underlying passion, like touching a battery to the tip of my tongue, that metallic zap of pure power just aching to course over into me. The glory of a man whose flesh and cellular structure spoke to my own but, biology and chemistry and pheromones aside, one who just felt fucking great wrapped around me.

“Jo-Jo?” Ben finally said, breaking away.

“Hmm?” I still hadn’t opened my eyes. It’d been so long. Why hadn’t I known I needed this, wanted it—had