No Ordinary Man. Suzanne Brockmann

to keep the sound from hurting his ears. He put his sunglasses on to protect his eyes from the brightness of the blue sky.

      When the car stopped at a red light, he tried to identify the taste in his mouth. Then, as the light turned green, he smiled and surged forward.

      Of course.

      The taste in his mouth was blood.

      Chapter Three

      The Pelican Club’s outside bar was already crowded, and Jess quickly set up the house sound system. She was still fifteen minutes early, but this job paid particularly well. If she left a good impression, it could become a weekly gig. She tried not to think of all the things in her life that needed to be repaired or replaced. Instead she concentrated on adjusting the small mixing board and hooking up the microphone and the cord from her guitar.

      She tuned up quickly, put her gleaming guitar into a stand, and crossed to the bar.

      The bartender was a man she’d never seen at the Pelican Club before. He was different from the usual beefcake-types she’d met there in the past. He was older, shorter, slighter. He was average height and build, with short dark hair that curled slightly in the humidity and looked as if it hadn’t been combed after he’d taken a shower. He wore the tight red T-shirt with khaki shorts that were the standard uniform for all of the staff at the Pelican Club. He had a typical beach bum’s two-day growth of beard, but something about him seemed oddly out of place, as if he didn’t belong here.

      “Hi, I’m singing here tonight,” she said, when he looked up from replacing glasses in the overhead rack. “Lenny said someone named Pete would be on duty…?”

      “I’m Pete.” He had silver-gray eyes and a smile that came and went far too quickly, leaving his rather angular face looking almost stern. “You’re Jess Baxter. You look just like your picture.”

      “My picture…?”

      “The manager pinned it to an easel in the lobby,” Pete explained. “Where it says, ‘Tonight’s Entertainment.’”

      He leaned his elbows against the bar, his body relaxed and loose. But his eyes were watchful and sharp, and he seemed to study her face, her dress and her body beneath it.

      “I’m going to start in a few minutes,” Jess said, backing away from him. Glancing around, she spotted Rob and Kelsey sitting at a table at the side of the crowded deck. Rob had his back to the railing that looked out over the water. As their eyes met, she felt a familiar surge of energy and excitement. She had to force herself to look back at Pete. “I’ll need you to turn off the tape that’s playing.”

      Pete nodded. He gestured with his head toward Rob and Kelsey. “Is that your family?”

      “My daughter,” Jess said. “And…a friend.”

      The bartender nodded, glancing again at Rob. It was a seemingly casual move, but Jess couldn’t shake the feeling that those odd, silvery eyes missed nothing. “Just let me know when you want the music turned off,” Pete said, moving away to serve a customer.

      Jess crossed the room, toward Rob and Kelsey. What was it about the bartender that seemed so odd? Sure, his eyes were an unusual color, and he didn’t smile very much, but that wasn’t it. There was something else that seemed wrong.

      “Problem?” Rob asked, rising to his feet as she approached their table.

      Jess shook her head. “No, just stage fright, I guess.” She took a deep breath in and let it out in a rush, forcing herself to smile. “Believe it or not, after all these years of performing, I still sometimes get it.”

      “You know, I read a book once,” Rob told her, “that said what you call something, what you label it, helps determine whether or not you feel positively or negatively about it. Like, some people get what they call ‘stage fright’ and become terrified or sick from it, but other people call that same feeling ‘excitement’ and they get pumped up and really jazzed about a performance. It’s the same feeling of anticipation—that kind of butterflies in the stomach feeling—but what these different people label it determines how they’re going to react to it.”

      Jess was looking at him peculiarly, her eyebrows slightly raised. “You’re not following me, are you?” he added.

      But she shook her head. “Yeah, actually I am,” she said. “And I agree with everything you just said. You’re right. Usually I don’t call this feeling stage fright.” She looked out over the rail at the calm water of the harbor. “But tonight, for some reason, I’m particularly nervous.” She turned to look at him again. “I think I’m more nervous about being here with you than I am about singing,” she admitted frankly.

      But before he could respond, she changed the subject. “You do read a lot, don’t you,” she said.

      Rob nodded, relieved to be on safer ground. “Yeah,” he replied. “That’s usually what I do when I’m not working.” But not by choice. He didn’t say those words aloud, but as he met Jess’s eyes, he knew that she could read his face as clearly as one of his books.

      “I like books,” he said almost defensively. He just wouldn’t spend all of his time reading—living a fantasy life—if he had any kind of choice.

      But he hadn’t had a choice in so long…

      Jess was watching him. Her dark eyes were so perceptive. They were bottomless and warm and incredibly gentle.

      “Why do you hide?” she asked quietly.

      His first thought was, God, she knew. But how could she possibly know? She was speaking figuratively, not literally. “I think of it more as trying not to make waves,” he said. “Or trying to be invisible.”

      “Why?” she asked.

      Why? What could he say to her? He’d already told her too much. Again. What was it about this woman that made him break his self-imposed rules over and over again?

      Jess searched Rob’s face. For a few moments, he’d let his guard down, and she’d been able to see an array of emotions cross his face. But now again, his eyes were guarded, his expression closed.

      Invisible. That was a good word for the way he held himself, for the way he made himself blend in. Except right from the start, Jess had been able to see past that. But, clearly, she was the exception. Not everyone would take the time to search for the real man.

      “What if,” she said softly, “you’re busy being invisible, and your perfect match—your soul mate, so to speak—can’t see you? What if she walks right past?”

      This conversation had long since gotten out of hand. Rob forced himself to smile. “I’m not too worried about that,” he said, trying to make his voice sound light. “Look, I’m going to the bar. Can I get you something to drink?”

      Jess shook her head, no, and Rob just barely made it over to the bar. What if he was invisible and his soul mate could see him? He glanced back at Jess as she sat next to Kelsey and she gave the little girl a hug. She looked across the room at him and smiled, and he could barely breathe. How could he have a soul mate? At times he felt he didn’t even have a soul.

      By the time the bartender served him a glass of soda, and he walked back to Jess and Kelsey, he was able to smile again.

      “I’m going to start singing. Give me a kiss,” Jess said to Kelsey, leaning over to smooch her daughter’s smooth cheek.

      “Break a leg.” Kelsey didn’t even look up from her coloring book.

      “Don’t drink more than one glass of root beer for each set.”

      Kelsey carefully selected a turquoise-colored crayon from her box. “What if I’m thirsty?”

      “Water has been known to quench thirst.”

      Jess stood up, tilting her head to look up at Rob. Their gazes locked, and she felt a dizzying warmth that started