Touch of Regret: The Collectors, #1

Prologue

Snowflakes landed on my cheeks, but I didn’t care about the cold. I didn’t deserve to be warm. Not when he was dead, and I was responsible.

Though my arms were mostly covered in black satin gloves, my shoulders were bare, daring someone, anyone, to brush my skin with theirs. Please give me a memory of him.

I will feed off it.

I will savor it.

I will punish myself.

I felt the stares of accusation, of pity, as I reached the graveside, but I didn’t lift my gaze. It stayed rooted on the casket. The smell of churned dirt assailed me, and I inhaled deeply, stamping this moment in my memory. It would provide the fuel for what I had to do next.

For today marked the end of two lives. I wasn’t only saying goodbye to him; I was saying goodbye to the old me. The me who allowed others to suffer for nothing more than being close to me.

I was finally ready to accept what I’d been denying for weeks—my life had been irrevocably changed. I couldn’t sit back and let things happen anymore. It was time to take control.

Chapter One

One month earlier

If it got any deader in here, we'd have to call a mortician. And that was saying something—it was an antique shop, after all. Most everything in the room had been around for at least a half-century, including my business partner.

I pushed up my sleeves and glanced around, determined to find something to do to pass the time. Whitehurst Antiques might be like a second home to me, but that didn’t mean I wanted to spend the day asleep on my feet. Unfortunately, everywhere I looked, I found gleaming silver and dust-free shelves. Even the clearance section was in perfect order.

George chuckled from his seat behind the counter. Might as well give up, Adele. There’s nothing left to do.

I walked over to him and rested my arms on the glass displaying a collection of Civil War artifacts. There has to be something. The same thing happened every year at this time. School was back in session, which meant tourism was down, and shoppers weren’t looking for Christmas gifts yet. Maybe I should update the website again.

He tilted his head to peer at me over his reading glasses. You remind me so much of your mother when you’re like this. She couldn’t stand to be idle, either.

George patted my arm, his fingers grazing the exposed skin between my glove and pushed-up sleeve. I immediately realized my mistake, but it was too late. The vision pulled me under, and before I could take another breath, I was seeing the past through George’s eyes.

You really should be more careful, George says to a woman with long, red hair as she stands on the top rung of a ladder, stretching far above her head to reach the crystal chandelier with her feather duster.

While George wrings his hands, his anxiety washes over me like a lukewarm shower.

Don’t be silly, George, she responds with her signature tinkling laugh. I know my way around a rickety ladder. And you know my philosophy—if there’s nothing else to do, dust!

And you know mine—no one can see the dust on crystal way up there, so why bother?

She laughs again, but it’s cut short when the ladder sways and she begins to lose her balance.

Laura! George calls out, and my pulse races. Faster than a man of his age should be able to, he runs forward and steadies her moments before she would have tumbled to the ground.

George’s relief seems to be my own when he swears then lectures her about taking unnecessary risks.

Just as soon as it came, the vision was gone, and I was left disoriented. An incongruous mixture of joy and melancholy washed over me. Memories of my mother always did that. There was nothing quite like seeing her again, if only for a moment. The visions were vivid, as though she was standing right in front of me. It felt like having her back.

But as soon as the memory faded, I lost her all over again.

I was usually more careful, rarely allowing anyone to touch my bare skin. Between the empty shop and my cleaning spree, I’d become complacent. I knew better.

Adele? You okay?

George’s question snapped me back to the present, and I straightened and shook out my sleeves so they fell back down to my wrists. Catching sight of the glass jar full of keys on the counter, I said, Yes, I just realized that now is the perfect time to find the key to the secret drawer in my mother’s desk.

Ever since I’d discovered the locked compartment a few months ago, it had become a kind of joke between us. Though I had no proof, I felt certain the missing key had ended up in the stray key jar. There were hundreds in there by now, and it would take hours to go through them. Luckily, I happened to have hours to spare.

He shook his head, smiling fondly at me. Are you ever going to let me call a locksmith?

Now, what would be the fun in that? I hefted the heavy jar and headed toward the office in the back. Besides, there’s nothing I enjoy more than proving you wrong.

Good luck.

Walking into the office always brought a smile to my face. Little had changed since my mother ran the shop with George—the same artwork lined the walls, and her favorite secretary desk sat in the corner. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the first piece of antique furniture she purchased, and it had held a special place in her heart. Now that she was gone, it held a special place in mine.

I flipped through a crate of records, wanting to set the mood with something upbeat. Settling on Michael Jackson, I placed the vinyl record on the 1960s turntable and lowered the stylus. The initial scratching gave way to smooth vocals and the warm sound only a vinyl could achieve.

Knowing my mission would go much quicker with a plan in place, I draped a sheet over George’s large desk and started removing the keys from the jar. I organized them into groups based on their type and relative age. There was a little bit of everything—regular house keys, the tiny ones that are typically used for luggage, and tubular keys for things like bike locks.

However, my focus was solely on the skeleton keys. Even if I didn’t find the exact match, it was possible I’d find one close enough to open the old lock. And some of them were worth as much as twenty dollars, so if nothing else, I could display them out front and make my hours of work worthwhile.

Once I’d sorted all of the keys, I dragged a chair in front of the secretary and pulled down the top. I resisted the urge to peek in the drawers, like I’d done as a child every time I visited my mother at work. Instead, I carefully removed the drawer that concealed the hidden compartment and set it aside.

One by one, I fit the keys of the approximate size in the lock. Attempt after attempt failed, and I started to lose hope of finding a match. Disappointment seized me, and I didn’t even know why. I had no evidence my mother had used, or even known about, the tiny drawer. But if she had known, I felt certain she would have hidden something in it. It was exactly the sort of secret she would have relished.

I slid the second to last skeleton key in the lock and held my breath as I turned it. I was met with slight resistance at first, so I adjusted the angle. My breath whooshed out of me as I heard a click and felt the lock yield.

Hands shaking in anticipation, I tugged on the slim handle and carefully removed the drawer. It was only about three inches wide and two inches deep. And, to my utter delight, it held a small velvet pouch.

I cradled the bag in my gloved hands for a few moments, smiling to myself as I tested its weight. Though I clearly hadn’t discovered a treasure to rival the Heart of the Ocean diamond from Titanic, the pouch held something.

Torn between wanting to keep the mystery alive for a while longer and needing to see what I’d found, I walked back to the record player. Maybe it was a fanciful notion, but I had a feeling I would want to remember this. I needed the music to match the moment.

I selected one of my mother’s favorite records and skipped to the second track. As the first notes of Dreams by Fleetwood Mac washed over me, I closed my eyes and soaked it in. The song was familiar in a way that all I could think of was happier, simpler times. Perfect.

Returning to my seat at the desk, I opened the pouch and let the contents fall into my hand. A silver locket with a broken chain lay there, and I stared at it in confusion. The locket was in the shape of a heart, and two angel wings came together to meet in the middle. Though it was lovely, it probably wasn’t worth any more than a typical sterling silver pendant.

Why was it hidden away in the secret compartment? If it wasn’t valuable on its own, did it have sentimental value?

I carefully opened one wing and then the other to reveal a small photograph of two children. Based on their matching brown hair and brown eyes, I guessed they were brother and sister. And as far as I knew, I’d never met them. Who are you?

I would have assumed the locket was hidden in the desk before my mother purchased it, but the timing didn’t work out. The quality of the photograph suggested it wasn’t more than ten or fifteen years old, and my mother had purchased the desk over thirty years ago.

Though I usually wished I’d never developed any freakish talents, right then, I regretted that I hadn’t inherited my mother’s abilities. Mom used to say that antiques could talk, that they all had a story—you just had to listen for it. My childhood was filled with tales of battles and mysteries and love, lost and found. To the outside observer, she’d appeared a fantastic storyteller.

It wasn't until I was older that I comprehended she didn’t need to use her imagination. The tales were real. She merely had to hold an object in her hand to see its history, understand its importance.

Unfortunately, that realization had come on the tail of my discovery that I had a similar but much less desirable ability—the ability to see a person’s memories through touch.

Now, all these years later, an overwhelming yearning to walk in my mother’s shoes hit me, and without overthinking it, I removed my gloves. Hands now bare, I held the necklace once again, the metal cool against my warm skin.

What is so important about this locket? I asked aloud, as if my mother was there to answer me. Not knowing why I bothered, I concentrated on the locket, willing it to show me something, anything.

A surge of energy suddenly pulsed through me, and I gasped as a vision hit me like a ton of bricks. Unlike the crystal-clear memories I usually saw, this vision was murky and unsettling.

As indistinguishable shadows obscure my sight, my body tenses, and a sweet perfume permeates the air.

Her voice shaking, a woman says, We can’t keep it to ourselves this time. We have to tell the others.

We’ll bring Collectors down on all of us, if we do, a man responds gruffly.

I know, but he’s just a child. Imagine if they were after one of ours. Even in the darkness, a wave of dizziness hits me.

There’s a long pause before the man says sharply, Fine. Call a meeting for tonight.

My tension wanes as the woman says, Thank you.

My own senses returned to me slowly. It took minutes before I heard Stevie Nicks’s distinctive vocals once again. Then, the perfume was replaced by the musty smell of the antique secretary. Instead of worry and anger, I began to feel a little bit of amazement and a whole lot of confusion.

I blinked down at the locket in my hands. What the hell just happened?

I’d never received any kind of vision from touching an object. Why now?

Convinced it was merely a fluke, I set the necklace on the velvet pouch and walked over to the antique turntable. I gripped the side of the record player and, feeling ridiculous, closed my eyes and said, Show me what you’ve got.

A rush of happy adrenaline flows through me. Sounds of frivolity ring out while a song I don’t recognize plays in the background. A male voice breaks through the buzz of conversation. Excuse me, everyone. I’d like to make a toast to my beautiful bride.

The room quiets, and the man says, Darling, I’ll never understand why you chose me, but I could not be happier you did. Here’s to you and a lifetime of you putting up with me!

Laughter rolls through the crowd.

Quicker than last time, I returned to the present and shook my head in wonder. How was this happening, now? I’d been seeing people’s memories since I was eight years old. Could I randomly develop a new ability at the advanced age of twenty-four?

I desperately wanted to ask someone, but I was alone in this. Just like always. No one knew about my abilities, not even the person closest to me in the world—my dad.

Resigned to accepting something inexplicable had changed, I took my seat at the desk once again and pulled my gloves on. Even though they were plain black work gloves, nowhere near my favorites, they made me feel better. They provided the perception of protection, something I desperately needed.

Picking up the locket, I studied it, now more determined than ever to uncover the mystery behind it. My mother had clearly placed it in the compartment for safekeeping, but why? Had she seen the same vision I did? A different one?

Next, I inspected the velvet pouch, and finding no clues, I moved on to the tiny compartment. When I spotted a folded piece of paper in the bottom, I almost shrieked. In all my excitement over the locket, I’d failed to check the drawer.

I opened the piece of paper and sighed in frustration when it only revealed a name and address, scrawled in my mother’s handwriting.

Patricia Drake

1220 Lakefront Drive

Virginia Beach

It wasn’t much to go on, especially since the note was at least twelve years and nine months old. Sometimes it was hard to believe my mother had been gone that long. But on days like today, it seemed longer. There was so much I wanted to ask her. Tell her.

Adele? You still back here? George’s head poked around the doorway, and his bushy, silver eyebrows rose when he caught sight of the mess I’d made on his desk. I thought you might have escaped through the back door.

I’m still here. Despite my uncertainty over whatever was going on with my abilities, I couldn’t resist grinning in triumph. Are you ready to hear ‘I told you so’?

He stepped all the way into the room. You found the key?

I found it.

I can’t believe it. Was there anything in there?

I held the locket up for his inspection. Have you ever seen this before?

George removed his reading glasses from his front pocket and slipped them on before taking a closer look at the necklace. Not that I can recall.

Opening the wings, I asked, What about these children? Do you recognize them?

Looking baffled, he shook his head. They don’t look familiar.

How about Patricia Drake? Does that name ring a bell?

I’m sorry, no.

I returned the necklace to the desk and tried to hide my disappointment. If George didn’t know anything about the secret my mother had hidden away, no one would. I was on my own to solve the mystery.

If only the locket was the day’s most puzzling conundrum. Now, I had not one but two freakish abilities to manage, and I had no idea how I felt about it.

Chapter Two

By the way, your beau is here, George said as he exited the office.

After glancing at the clock, I muttered, oh, shit. Trevor was supposed to pick me up twenty minutes ago, and he was usually right on time. George must have kept him out front, chatting about something that had likely made Trevor’s eyes glaze over.

I secured the note and velvet pouch holding the locket in my bag and slipped into the bathroom. With hurried movements, I touched up my foundation and applied soft pink lipstick to add a little color to my otherwise pale face. My hair needed help, but there was little I could do about it. Since it existed in that awkward plane between straight and curly, my hair tended to do whatever it wanted. Every day was a mystery—sometimes it looked intentionally messy and even a little sexy. The rest of the time, I looked like I’d rolled out of bed and left the house without even checking a mirror.

After exchanging my work gloves for ones appropriate for going out, I re-entered the shop. Trevor was leaning against the wall as George entertained him with a story about his ancestor’s role in the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. It was a fascinating tale, one I knew for certain he’d already shared with Trevor on at least two separate occasions.

When Trevor’s gaze strayed to me, George winked at me, and I shot him an amused glare. He might be getting old enough to appear senile to others, but I knew better. He had a wicked sense of humor, and he was obviously messing with Trevor. Not that my boyfriend had a clue.

Hi. So sorry I’m running late. I got caught up in a project and lost track of time.

Trevor’s shoulders slumped in apparent relief, but then he shrugged, like it wasn’t a problem. George said you were in the middle of something important, so I didn’t want to interrupt.

I had to stifle a laugh at that. George was perfectly aware the only reason I’d taken on the key search was because there was nothing else to do. Little did he know my afternoon in the back office had been more significant than even I could have ever predicted.

Ready for dinner? Trevor asked when he reached my side.

He kissed my cheek, and as always, I thanked the universe for finally sending me someone who was easy to be with. Trevor’s touch rarely resulted in a vision. I chalked it up to the fact that he was a simple man. He was happy with his job, friends, and life. He didn’t spend much time dwelling on the past. And if he wasn’t dwelling on memories, he wasn’t unwittingly passing them on to me.

Yep, I’m starving.

George followed us to the door to lock up. You kids have a nice evening. And, Adele, why don’t you take the afternoon shift tomorrow? There’s no reason for both of us to sit here twiddling our thumbs all day.

You sure?

Positive. See you tomorrow.

Okay, good night.

Once we were out on the sidewalk, Trevor said, I’ve been craving Italian. You okay with Napoli’s?

Of course.

He took my gloved hand without hesitation, and I smiled to myself. If Trevor was ever embarrassed by me, he didn’t let it show. It probably helped that we’d known each other for over a year before we started dating. He worked at the same fire station as my dad and was already aware of my oddities—well, the public ones—before asking me out three months ago.

Honestly, I’d been rather shocked when he invited me to dinner the first time. He wasn’t the type of guy I’d ever pictured myself with. I was usually attracted to the nerdy or artsy types. Guys who had their own brand of charm but weren’t necessarily considered a catch by most women. And I’d always assumed those were the only ones who would be interested in me.

Trevor was the opposite of those guys. He was traditionally handsome, with blue eyes and blond hair he kept cropped close to his head. As a firefighter, he took physical fitness seriously, and it showed. His body, tanned from days off spent at the beach, was muscular enough to be featured in a calendar.

And he was probably the most genuinely nice guy I’d ever met. He became a firefighter because he wanted to help people, and everyone he worked with loved him. Unlike me, he had a huge group of friends and was always up for social events.

Trevor stopped at the crosswalk and pushed the button. I very obviously looked both ways. Pretty sure we’re good.

He gave me a stern look. No jaywalking, Adele. We’ve been over this. You never know when a car will come speeding around a corner.

Grinning up at him, I said, It’s a good thing you became a firefighter instead of a cop. I’d have racked up a shoe box full of jaywalking tickets from you by now.

His gaze softened, and a shiver went through me. I loved when he looked at me like that. Like he thought I