The Soul Collector

Chapter TWO

�Whatever was lost, placed by the wayside of our youth, shall be found

Remember, this guy doesn’t like to be touched.

Eva Keyes muttered the reminder under her breath. Realizing what she was doing, she paused, striving to smooth her disgruntled expression. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she continued to contemplate the memos scribbled in the slim border of her notes.

She huffed, frowned again, and then tried to clear her scowl. After all, she couldn't allow any sort of hearsay to begin about her lack of professionalism, all due to one simple facial expression.

As everyone in the television profession knew, she couldn't have the slightest wrinkle evident for the public's critical perusal. It was frustrating enough the ruthless television cameras added an additional ten pounds to her already curvaceous figure. If the camera lens detected an imperfection on her otherwise flawless features, the critics would rip her apart.

She could see the headlines now, splashed across the front of tabloid covers…

Was Eva Keyes suffering the effects of a face-lift gone awry? Was her true age beginning to show? Were late nights and wild parties ruining the Queen of Investigative Television?

God, the list was endless! Eva knew Hollywood would maliciously invent stories if it meant revenue for flagging tabloid sales. As the vapid thoughts flashed through her head, she pressed a finger to the betraying frown line, hoping the blasted thing vanished before the cameras zoomed in!

Fame was a fickle mistress and years of working on TV taught her the importance of self-preservation. As it were, she suffered from everything deterring a more influential station from seeking her as a reporter. She was overweight, over-endowed, and over-brained.

She knew her faults, and understood being in the right place at the right time had landed her this job. She wasn’t blinded by her good fortune, and competition was a dime a dozen. Besides, there was always the threat of replacement by one reed thin aspiring starlet.

Granted, she smirked, there would be enough peroxide to fry the replacement's brain cells, and she’d juggle her fake assets….

She eased her palms over her teal colored sweater. She didn't have to juggle any assets, since she came well equipped. She wondered if she were just a bit too full bosomed, as she’d been informed in her youth. She heaved another sigh, imagining there were still people in this so-called enlightened world, who found her overabundance intimidating.

She wasn't about to complain about her curves. Instead of being a hindrance, the curse of her sizable breasts kept her focused on what she didn't want in life---a boss constantly staring down her blouse. Neither did she want to work for a man who preferred to hold imaginary after-hour office meetings, where he couldn't keep his disgusting hands off her. She suffered her fair share of such indignations, and she’d never endure another pawing hand, or lecherous stare, again.

It had been an uphill battle to obtain her much-coveted spot with Station 12, WKIB, New York. Her boss, Geoffrey Noah, hired her six years ago, without references and fresh out of journalism school. He had been a godsend when Eva felt she’d never make it through an added week in the broadcasting profession. Taking the broad leap in hiring her, he angered seasoned reporters, and suffered the ridicule.

He never regretted his decision, risking all for the brains evident behind her bright eyes. She remembered how Geoffrey laughed at the nightly numbers that sent his formerly flagging television station to the top of the ratings charts, all after her first interview.

Above all, her figure didn't entice her current employer, nor did her sultry good looks.

Often surrounded by men and women with IQ levels far beyond the norm, and capable of providing her with engaging conversation, Noah knew Eva boasted an intellect rivaling many top scholars. Brainiacs respected her intelligence, not her chest size, and she was swiftly becoming the so-called television goddess to the learned world.

She wasn’t tooting her own horn, but her vanity obtained a massive boon when she received the title during WKIB's recent tabloid expose. She supposed the comment was simple sensationalist lavishness, but she wasn't one to complain. Goddess was a label pride told her to accept, though her five foot four and one hundred fifty-five pound frame wouldn't score high on the level of today's beauties.

Despite the praise, her true pleasure settled around her weekly interviews of the learned and the eccentric on Keyes to New York. It was her duty to reveal a persona far from what the public expected. Her professionalism and intelligence were a necessity, since too many of her interviewees were wary of the spotlight.

Eva knew the primary reason she’d gotten as far as she had been the respect she displayed to those she interviewed.

Her attention to detail blasted from the screen, as well. She possessed an unspoken drive to delve into the darkest part of a story and gain the absolute truth. She’d seen far too many professionals lose face for one ill-written interview, a word out of line, or a single blank look. Eva had to know what she spoke about, and ask the questions the public longed to have answered.

Tonight, she had scored a vital coup for WKIB and the Keyes to New York program. She’d succeeded in gaining an audience with Luke Angeles, a man renowned for scorning all other interviews, and her boss was ecstatic. Eva Keyes, renowned investigative reporter to the celebrities of the “geek world”, was at the pinnacle of her form.

Nevertheless, she felt the entire weight of the world would come crashing down. Far too many uncertainties gnawed at her, preventing her from focusing. Her ears buzzed and an uncomfortable hot flush covered her skin. She was having trouble concentrating, and she had an interview scheduled in less than a half hour.

Get a grip on it, girl! It is not as if you haven't done this a hundred times before, or that tonight is different from any other night! It’s time to use your brains!

Eva moved across the crowded set on her trademark designer heels, methodically avoiding tangled electrical cables and cameras. Despite the high level of chatter from soundmen, make-up people and camera operators, the echo of her stilettos tapped loudly on the tiled floor. Her smooth brow returned to the usual furrow, and she remained deep in thought, the notes she gathered for the evening remaining clutched in one hand.

Mentally, she attempted to count to one hundred as she methodically did before every interview. The action, intended to have a calming effect, failed. She grew more frustrated and wanted to growl.

Calm nerves, calm nerve, calm nerves.

She repeated the soothing litany, as she often did before meeting the evening's guest. The normalcy of the familiar chant didn't have the desired effect and her frown deepened. She was at a loss about what would have her tense about the ambiguous Luke Angeles.

After spending weeks studying the popular syndicated television show, Those Among Us, Eva understood how the program succeeded in attracting millions of viewers. Intent on her research, she remained religiously tuned into the Saturday show and couldn't find fault with the reality series. Addicted to the nail-biting and spine-tingling revelations of supposedly haunted residences, she waited anxiously for each unveiling of whispered voices the human ear hadn’t detected.

Forever the investigative reporter, she prepared her questions for the upcoming interview. She studied the diverse regional reports from the far-flung areas the North American Department of Ghostly Experience League, a.k.a NADGEL, had traveled. There had been grandiose estates in the English and American countryside, a crumbling castle in fog-shrouded Romania, Gothic churches, and a few homes. The various sites were multi-regional and lacking in any significant similarities that bound them…all except for one small item.

Each location contained abnormally high paranormal activity.

Those Among Us had a crew of the most dedicated individuals. The eldest of the investigating squad, Brice Linten, left his teaching profession at Yale to become one of Luke's elite members. Ethan Benecorte and Gilbert Copeland, young men from upstate New York, were experienced in the technical matters involving EMF and digital photography. Nikolai, the Russian with the nearly indecipherable accent, was a veritable encyclopedia of spiritual lore. Lastly, there was the mystical Deborah, an elderly woman who imagined she read the auras surrounding the living. The staff and crew were easy to research, each having their own popular websites and an enthusiastic fan base. The television program’s popularity added to their celebrity image tenfold, and Eva assumed they reveled in their fame.

That is, all except for Luke Angeles.

There wasn’t a social networking site, nor did he interject commentary into his team’s popular website. As the leader of the celebrated paranormal program, she’d been unable to find any information beyond the basics. Angeles avoided the trappings of popularity with an all out dedication bordering on the maniacal.

Except for the television show, he didn’t appear to exist.

Even his publisher was mute about his actual identity. Angeles had written two popular books that Eva had read, cover to cover. Those Among Us and To Remain Behind had been stellar bestsellers, sweeping the bestseller charts within weeks of publication. Despite the distinction, he chose not to appear at book signings or interviews.

“He doesn't like to be touched, or have his fame broadcasted to the public. What is he, a damn prima donna?” She scoffed sarcastically, more to herself than to the hovering set crew.

After hours of sitting slack-jawed before her big screen, a pillow clutched to her chest, Eva realized people avoided Luke Angeles. During his hour-long television show, she noticed his colleagues skirted around him. His associates appeared on familiar terms with their mentor, but there seemed to be an unspoken and well-respected distance maintained. After careful consideration, it appeared people preferred not to invade his personal space.

He doesn’t like to be touched.

It had to be him, unable to deny the uneasy feeling ruthlessly tormenting her for the past few hours. The thought put her at her worst, but Eva couldn’t understand why. It seemed the discomfort was more deeply rooted than previously imagined and she paused in her mental meanderings to give him a long moment's consideration.

Angeles wasn't a simple man, for there were too many questions about his past that remained unanswered. If it were any other person, she would've assumed he was anally retentive, too self-absorbed with fame and fortune.

Instead, there appeared more to him than met the eye, and she wasn’t certain what. It may have been because he exuded the oddest sense of underlying unease, a feeling shared by many.

Eva maneuvered to her seat on the brightly lit set. Issuing a heartfelt groan of relief, she sank into the familiar chair, and tossed her notes to the side table. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to the delicate bit of flesh at the bridge of her nose, and wearily closed her eyes.

Something told her tonight’s interview would prove difficult, and her scowl deepened, forming a deep v of aggravation. The elusive host was strangely appealing, filled with a secretive and unidentifiable dimension she couldn't fathom. In addition, she was wont to admit she suffered from a sudden and unexplainable chill every time Luke Angeles' face appeared on the small screen.

Maybe it was the strange sexuality. He was stunning, but not by today’s standards. He was so deathly pale that the almost ethereal glow of his skin was nearly blinding. There was intensity to the grayness of his eyes that reached beyond the cameras and individually touched each person in the viewing audience. He had an old world quality to him, appealing in an eerie sense, and oddly enticing.

Eva re-examined the situation logically and calmed her racing heart. She had to stop being fanciful, knowing he was only a man. Granted, he was involved in one of the oddest and most absorbing occupations existed in the modern world…Ghost Hunting.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Luke Angeles entered the set. He was tall and graceful, and moved with languid ease. Her eyes roamed over his lean body, unable to restrain her slow and admiring whistle. High-tech digital television cameras didn't do this man proper justice, she thought. Stifling the urge to gape outright, she watched him approach under the fringe of her thick lashes, taking her time to slide an appreciative gaze over his tall form.

He was definitely stunning. She couldn't fail to note his towering height when he walked toward her, his stride as purposeful and direct as his stare. Instead of appearing overly tall and thin, his body was toned and muscular. Not too much, Eva mused. Her eyes drifted over the finely honed muscles of his chest and arms, and lingered on the taut stomach evident beneath the snug turtleneck.

An unfamiliar sensation trembled deep within her, coupled with lingering heat. She licked her dry lips as the blood began to course in her ears, and she lowered her fingers from her throbbing forehead. Her sensitive nose detected the most delicious scent rising from his flesh, a mixture of cold and crisp fall air, mingled with a decisive muskiness that was entirely male.

If she wasn't supposed to touch him, then why did she suddenly feel she wanted to do more?

It was a colossal effort to regain what little breath existed in her lungs. In a desperate attempt to still the maddening thud of her excited heart, she focused on his dark attire, noticing he was clad in his customary black trousers and corded turtleneck. The choice of clothing was a familiar ensemble, one he wore on every show, and she hadn’t expected any less. She assumed the fabric was used to offset the stark whiteness of his closely cropped hair and his remarkable skin.

She nearly laughed aloud and threw the assumption to the wayside. Luke Angeles didn't need an excuse to draw attention!

He came to a sudden halt. Eva eyes roamed up over his body before his pale features captured her dazed attention. She gazed into the cold slate of his stunning eyes and audibly gulped.

He returned her stare. The coldness of his gaze warmed, causing the heat of an unfamiliar flush to rise in her cheeks. He appeared lost for words, and uncertain. She noticed his gloved hands remained at his sides moments before he afforded her the most civil of olde world nods.

“Miss Eva Keyes.” Luke Angeles' voice was mysteriously deep and raspy. Meticulously pronounced, each syllable sent a scintillating chill down her spine. “It’s a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance.”