His motion had her tensing, but that couldn’t be helped. The way things were going, he’d be around her a lot. She better start getting used to him now.
She sighed heavily. “It goes back to the accident I had when I was fifteen. My aunt Maggie died and, for a moment, I did, too. One minute I was in the car, the next I was surrounded by a darkness far deeper and denser than my shadows. I knew I was dying. I glimpsed this man”—Talia tapped the screen—“trapped by a dark wind. I can’t describe the sensation. All I can say is that I knew instinctively he was…” She took a deep breath. “…my father. As you know, meeting family upon crossing is common in near-death experiences. I knew his name, Shadowman. He tried to speak, but I was already being pulled back to life. The EMTs had zapped me back.”
Adam kept his composure. “Your father is Shadowman.”
Talia’s face whitened. He felt her searching him for a reaction.
“You are the source referenced in your dissertation,” he concluded.
She nodded stiffly—attempting to cover some strong emotion—and went on. “Then my first year in college I was struck dumb when I happened into the student gallery. And there he was—Shadowman—in a sketch. The artist had no idea where he got the inspiration. Ditto for the other artists I’ve spoken to. The image just ‘came to them.’ So apparently, I’m not the only one who has seen him. Others have, too. And some have attempted to make a visual representation of him.” Talia clicked through a couple of screens to demonstrate.
The similarities could not be denied. A bound male identified with shadow.
“So what are you thinking? Mass hysteria?”
“Hysteria, no.” She winced. “Have you seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind?”
“You think Shadowman is an alien?” That was just too much.
She laughed in surprise, her expression clearing again. “No. Not that part. In the beginning of the movie, all these people with different kinds of lives envision the location where the spaceships eventually land. The mountain. Richard Dreyfuss makes a giant mud mountain in his kitchen…”
“I get it. You think Shadowman is trying to tell us something.”
“Yes.” She sat back in her own seat. “Maybe he’s calling for help.”
“Talia, if Shadowman is trying to contact someone, why not me? I’ve dedicated myself, my life, to discovering…What? Why are you making that face?”
She relaxed her look of skepticism. “I doubt you’d readily welcome or respond to subliminal messages. You’re just not the type.”
“You know my type?” This ought to be interesting.
She stuck a strand of white gold behind her ear. The lock slipped out and curled again at her temple.
“Most of the images I’ve been able to find are by artists. You know, people particularly attuned to inspiration. You’re more of a manager. A leader. You’re not”—she waved her hand in the air as if looking for just the right word—“open enough.”
“Not open,” he repeated, processing this. Right now he was open to a lot of interesting ideas.
“Not impulsive,” she corrected, peering at her screen.
“I can be impulsive,” he said. He glanced at her mouth. He’d been pushed just about as far as any reasonable man could.
Ah, shit. Here he was going to warn Spencer off pursuing her, and he was ready—to what? Drive her away completely?
“What else have you got?” he asked to distract himself. He had to do something with his hands or he was going to touch her. He reached out, grabbed the laptop, and flicked to another image.
“No!”
But Talia was too late. A vibrant illustration filled the screen.
The graphic artist depicted a nude bombshell beauty reclining on a sumptuous divan, white-blonde curls cascading, mingling with a dark, multilayered cloak that spilled from her shoulders to the floor. Her heavy-lidded, tilted eyes regarded the viewer. She was somnambulant, sexual, and powerful. The woman’s facial features were unmistakably Talia’s. The provocative slope of her bare hips, the dip of her waist, the sudden swell of her breasts, branded his mind and scalded his blood.
The title was painted on the lower left in script, Sleeping Beauty.
Talia slammed the lid of the laptop closed.
“Umm.” Her voice sounded thicker, clogged. “There…uh…may be some imagery of me out there as well. Of course, grossly exaggerating certain aspects, but still…”
Adam took a steadying breath to redirect the flow of his blood. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You’re a beautiful woman. But you are also part of this riddle of Shadowman, so I’m going to need to see everything you’ve found.” He kept his gaze direct, his voice professional. It was hard, what with the fantasy woman standing right in front of him and his blood roaring south. Patty’s frumpy clothes on that body were a crime.