A. Arthur - Temptation Rising

It was years ago; she should be over it by now. She’d tried to convince herself and everyone else around her that she was. But the dream just kept coming. The man who saved her life always appeared in the shadow of the night. And so did the beast. She could differentiate between the two, but didn’t know for sure if she was supposed to. All she knew was that it was crazy to still have such a vivid memory of that night. She barely remembered the name of the jerk who had attacked her and later died for his efforts, yet she remembered the eyes of the beast.

The dream was always the same, the one she’d had countless times before with the huge black cat that scared the crap out of her.

Okay, to be fair, all cats, even the pudgy calico belonging to her next-door neighbor Mrs. Gilbert, made her nervous. She’d never liked cats, ever. As a little girl she’d crossed the street whenever one was in her direct path. The exact reason why, she’d never been able to pinpoint, just that she didn’t like to look at them or hear them.

But in this dream she did both.

She heard its menacing growl as if they were in a cavern, its echo causing her body to tremble. She’d seen it, looked into the yellow-green eyes, felt as if it were speaking to her, and was always left with the same feeling—need. Aside from her terror of the deadly animal, the draw to it was undeniable. Its roar was like a broken cry, a ravaged request for something she didn’t know she could give. That was silly, of course, and she usually brushed it off in favor of the scared-as-hell aspect of the dream. Or nightmare, she corrected. Still, there was something that kept the memory of that beast killing the asshole lower-level drug carrier—who’d gotten it into his mind that their deal should be sealed with sex instead of good clean American dollars—alive in her mind.

Six weeks of therapy during her medical leave from the Metropolitan Police Department, and what seemed like endless sessions at which she kept her real feelings inside, revealed she’d despised the drug dealer too much to really harbor any deep emotion about the attack. The fact that she’d managed to somehow break his neck and get away looked good on her employment record. So good that, two years later, she’d received this sweet undercover assignment that could expose an up-and-coming cartel in South America. She supposed she should thank the spineless drug-dealing bastard for something.

Then again, maybe she should have been thanking the beast she was positive had really been the killer. The one she purposely didn’t mention to anyone after the attack, or ever. Nobody would believe her. Worse, she would have been demoted to a desk job for sure. Or even dismissed from duty for insanity. And everything she’d worked for, the life and the safety net she’d built for herself, would be destroyed. That wasn’t an option for Kalina. So the big black cat with eerie eyes was her secret, one she would never reveal.

The warm water sluicing over her body as she stretched languorously in the shower almost seduced her to stay. The knowledge that she had an important job to do cut the shower short.

She’d just belted her robe and opened the bathroom door when she heard the doorbell. It was way too early for visitors so as she padded through the living room to answer it, she assumed it was Mrs. Gilbert coming to borrow something. The minute her hand touched the knob Kalina felt something. A trickling down her spine, like a warning, had her pausing. Turning the knob, she opened the door and was startled to see a man standing there instead of Mrs. Gilbert.

“Good morning, I have a delivery for a Kalina Harper. Is that you?”

His lips were moving and she heard him speaking but Kalina was more concerned with the growing heat of her body. The robe suddenly felt itchy against her skin; her nipples puckered and she shivered. It was the strangest thing, like a rush of arousal or sudden awareness that she was all female.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, pulled the lapels of her robe closer together. “Yes. I am. Thank you.”

His extended arm held an envelope. Kalina reached for it. Their fingers touched and his gaze captured hers. He was tall and lean, his skin an olive tone, his eyes dark. Darker than any she’d ever seen.

“You’re welcome,” he said, a slow smile beginning to form.

Kalina pulled her hand away, took a step back, and closed the door. His eyes were different, and his smile was … she didn’t quite know. The whole exchange had been strange.

“No, you’re the strange one,” she berated herself.

All this reminiscing about beasts in the night and cats across the hall had her jumping at shadows. She didn’t have time for this; she was already running late. And that wasn’t going to look good to her superiors.

Dressing quickly, Kalina was out of her apartment and on her way into the office half an hour later. This was her world, the one where she was an important officer of the law making a contribution to lives of others. It was her purpose, one she’d never felt she had before. She was no longer the orphan with no one to love and accept her, bouncing from one foster home to the next. No, this time she was exactly where she wanted to be. If lately there’d been a burning need for something more, that didn’t matter. There was nothing more, at least not for her. Reaching for the impossible was a waste of time, a distraction she couldn’t afford. Nothing besides her commitment to her job was important.

The envelope she’d received this morning, however, might be. So she pulled into the parking garage, parked her car, and opened it.

Something fell out into her lap. It was a photo. Flipping it over, Kalina felt her heart skip a beat then rapidly thump in her chest. It was a picture of her, the night she was attacked. Actually, she remembered as she continued to stare at the picture, it was just before the attack occurred.

Five minutes, that was all she was giving herself. Five minutes to feel concerned, even a little bit afraid. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she breathed in and out deeply. She wasn’t doing this, fear was not going to dictate her actions. Not again.

Another fifteen minutes passed before Kalina walked through the double glass doors of Reynolds & Delgado, its name written in block letters just above the receptionist’s desk. The decor was classy, rich but not overstated, professional but not stuffy. She walked across the glossed wood floor of the empty reception area through an archway; it gave way to a deep blue carpet that muffled the sound of her heels.

Accounting was down the hall and to the right on the fifth floor of the Reynolds Building in downtown DC. The sixth and seventh floors also housed members of the firm, while the first four floors were reserved for parking, and the remaining upper seven floors were occupied by tenants. Her desk was directly across from the office of the chief financial officer, as her position was accounts payable technician. This meant she processed all the outgoing moneys for the firm. It was exactly where she needed to be to trace the money going to South America. All those night courses she’d taken in economics, finance, and accounting had finally paid off.

Settling at her desk, she’d already started convincing herself that the photo was some kind of joke. Maybe from her co-workers at the precinct—they all had sick senses of humor in the narcotics division. Satisfied with that impromptu explanation, she put her purse in the drawer and booted up her computer.

As she waited for the computer to come to life, her throat felt dry. Actually it was more like her tongue felt too thick for her mouth, her back teeth aching a bit. This was something else that had been going on for a couple of weeks, another weird issue she refused to accept as important. Standing, she decided a cup of coffee would be good to get her started. Dan Mathison, the CFO and her immediate supervisor, wouldn’t be in for another hour and the two remaining members of the department weren’t in yet, so she still had time.