Beautiful Storm (Lightning Strikes Book 1) (6 page)

"What else?" he pressed. "I know there's more."

She didn't know how he knew, but of course he was right. She sipped her coffee, then set the cup down. "My father was born in southern Mexico, in the Yucatan. He grew up in a small village near the remains of ancient Mayan sites. His mother and grandmother raised him in the traditions of their ancestors. To my father's family, lightning ties the earth to the heavens, the living to the dead, the past to the present. My great-grandmother used to say that the lightning comes down from the sky to show you what you need to see."

Michael leaned forward in his seat, his expression a mix of skepticism and interest. It was actually a more positive response than she usually received. "I thought your father was a pilot. Surely, he had to understand weather in order to fly planes. That didn't change some of his mystical beliefs?"

She nodded. "He was always torn, not just about lightning, but about everything. He used to tell me that he'd lived his life in two parts. He was born in Mexico, but while his mom and her family were Mayan, his dad and his dad's family were American. My grandfather was an engineer. He was working in the Yucatan when he met my grandmother, so he was a man of science."

"Your grandmother's beliefs must have been a challenge for your grandfather."

"I'm sure they were, and it's possible that their marriage wouldn't have lasted, but my grandmother died very young. My dad was only ten when she passed. After that, my grandfather moved my dad back to the States. So my father had this early upbringing that was rather magical and then the rest of his childhood and life was about science. He joined the Navy, became a pilot, and had a very good career before he retired and flew charter jets. But even with all his knowledge of weather, the one thing that still amazed him was lightning. He would tell me stories about things he'd seen in the sky; blue dancing sprites, orange balls of fire. He got as close as anyone could get to a power unmatched in nature. His stories made me want to see what he saw."

"Why didn't you become a pilot?"

"Fair question. It never interested me. My brother Jake is a pilot. He, however, does not believe there's anything mystical about lightning."

"Interesting." Michael stared back at her in a thoughtful, speculative way.

"What are you really thinking?" she asked as the silence went on.

"Really?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes, I can see something going on in your eyes."

"To be honest, I was thinking that your father's story reminded me a little of myself. I think of my life in three parts: one with my mom, one without her, and then the life I lived after I left Miami. I'm also a mix of cultures—half-Cuban, half-Caucasian. My fair-haired, blue-eyed mother died when I was eight."

"I'm sorry," she said, understanding now where he got his striking blue eyes.

"I've always felt like I had one foot in each world, but I never fit perfectly well into either one."

"My dad used to say that, too." It was odd that her father's background ran parallel to Michael's. Besides the clash of cultures, they'd also both lost their mothers at an early age.

"You know what else struck me about your story?" he asked.

"The Navy connection?" she returned.

He nodded. "Your dad was in the Navy and so was Liliana."

"When I first saw her ID in the dirt, I was taken right back to my father. It's the one thing I still have of his."

Michael sat back in his seat. "I'm surprised that you're not afraid of lightning, considering what happened to your father."

"I know. But don't you feel something powerful and inexplicable when you look at these photographs?" She tapped her fingers on the picture in front of him. "I actually felt the heat of this strike. And it was shocking in its intensity. The lightning calls to me. I don't know if it will always be that way, but right now I can't resist the call."

He stared down at the picture, then looked back at her. "I don't know if you're crazy, but I can say that I've never met anyone like you, Alicia."

She smiled. "Good. I like being one of a kind. And you can call me crazy. My father was nicknamed
Lightning Man.
It made him laugh, but my mother hated to hear the locals call him that. He was a decorated fighter pilot before he retired. But hardly anyone remembered that when he started talking about dancing blue sprites in the sky. He became a joke, but he wasn't a joke, and I don't believe he made anything up."

"It sounds like he wasn't just a Navy hero; he was
your
hero."

"That's true. We were very close. I was the youngest of three kids, and my dad and I probably spent the most time together. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday."

"Are you still close to your mother—your siblings?"

"No. They're all in Texas. I came to Miami four years ago because I needed to build a life somewhere new, and Florida has the highest number of lightning strikes. I figured I could do photojournalism anywhere, so why not here?"

"Texas?" he queried, his brows drawing together.

"Corpus Christi." As she said the words, shock flashed through his eyes. "I know. Liliana lives in Corpus Christi, Texas. It's another weird link between us. Sometimes I wonder if anything really happens by chance."

Michael frowned at her words, then lowered his gaze and flipped through the rest of her photographs without saying another word. She didn't know what he was thinking, but she was grateful to have a minute to gather her own thoughts.

"Where are the others?" Michael asked, slipping the photos back into the envelope.

"What are you talking about? There are no others. This is the roll I took in the park."

"You didn't shoot anything when you first got to the island, drove into the parking lot, got out of the car…"

She suddenly remembered the digital camera she'd used when she first arrived. "Oh my God."

"There is another roll, isn't there?"

"Not film, but I took a few shots on my digital camera when I got to the parking lot. I don't know why I didn't remember that before."

"Where's your camera?"

"At my apartment."

"Let's take a look," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Hold on," she said, rising more slowly. "Maybe I should just bring the camera here."

Disappointment tightened his lips. "You still think I'm going to hurt you?"

"I'm trying to be smart and cautious."

"You? The woman who runs toward lightning? I thought you were fearless. I also thought you wanted to help Liliana."

He had a point. She'd already gone this far with him, why was she holding back now? "Fine. I'll show you the pictures. I live just around the corner."

"Okay, good. You can trust me, Alicia."

"I'm counting on that."

Five

As they walked out of the café, Alicia was surprised by the blustery wind. The clouds had passed and the rain was gone, but the breeze was surprisingly strong and shockingly cool for late September. Miami was usually warm well into October and sometimes throughout the entire winter season.

Despite the weather, Bryant Street was packed with tourists enjoying the mix of cafés, art galleries, antiques shops and sidewalk stands of artists selling everything from jewelry to wood carvings and abstract metal sculptures. She loved the vibe of Bryant Street, and she was getting to know some of the local vendors, many of whom gave her a wave and a smile as she passed by.

"You're popular," Michael commented.

"Everyone is very friendly around here. And I love artists. It's inspiring to see people's dreams come to life, whether it's in a painting or a sculpture or a knitted sweater."

"You find knitted sweaters inspiring?" he asked doubtfully.

"They can be," she said with a smile. "Anyway, I like it here."

"It's charming. I didn't realize so many of the warehouses had been converted into design space and lofts."

"My landlord says the area has really changed in the last year. All I know is that it feels a lot different than downtown with all those trying-too-hard skyscrapers." She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd said. "Sorry. I forgot that you're a builder."

"The new city center is going to be amazing," he said, pride in his voice. "It's not trying too hard to be great; it just is. Have you seen the drawings online or downtown?"

"No. I've heard that it’s a really interesting development, but I don't spend a lot of time in that area. I guess I haven't paid attention."

"You should come down there sometime. I'll give you a tour. Have you ever stood on the top of a skyscraper before the walls are in?"

"I can't say that I have."

"It's an incredible feeling, like you're on top of the world. Someone who chases lightning would like the perspective."

"I'd like it even more if an electrical storm was moving through the city."

He tipped his head. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it?"

She shrugged and opened the gate in front of her building. Three steps led to another door, which she unlocked, and then she led him up a narrow stairway to the second floor.

As she ushered Michael inside her small one-bedroom apartment, she said, "It's not much. My furniture was either left behind by the previous tenant or picked up at the consignment store." She dropped her keys on the side table as Michael wandered around the room, pausing to look at her framed lightning shots. Then he moved on to the bookshelves, running his finger along her books. He glanced back at her. "You have a lot of books on weather."

"I told you that I understand weather."

He moved across the room to a map she'd hung on the wall earlier that week. "What's this?"

"It shows all the lightning strikes in the U.S. over the past eighteen months. You can see that Florida gets quite a few."

"I can definitely see that," he said with amusement. He picked up an antique camera that she'd bought at an estate sale a few years back. "How old is this?"

"About fifty years. It's cool, isn't it?"

"Do you ever shoot anything besides lightning?"

"Of course I do. In my job with the
Chronicle
, I shoot many different things. I've also picked up side jobs: weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversary parties."

He looked through the lens of the camera. "When did you fall in love with photography?"

"When I was a very small child. I've always liked being able to capture moments in time. You never know if you'll ever see that exact moment again."

He set down the camera and gave her a thoughtful look. "You're an observer of life."

"Some of the time. But as you know, I also like to put myself in the picture."

His smile lit up his amazing blue eyes, and she found herself unable to look away from him. She would love to capture him on film. He had the kind of face that a camera would like: strong features, mesmerizing eyes, an expression that showed confidence, maybe a bit of arrogance and definitely pride. But behind all of that strength, she saw a hint of vulnerability, an uncertainty that came from the situation he found himself in, a situation he was determined to fix.

He took up a lot of space in her apartment, she thought, but she didn't feel afraid.

No, it definitely wasn't danger that was putting her nerves on edge; it was attraction—unexpected, wrong place, wrong time, wrong man attraction. Her pulse leapt at the realization.

"Where's your camera?" he asked. "Your digital camera."

"What? Oh. In my backpack." It took her a moment to remember why they'd come to her apartment. She walked over to the backpack she'd hung by the door and pulled out her camera. She then sat down at the kitchen table and connected the camera to her computer, importing the new photos.

Michael stood behind her, looking over her shoulder as she clicked through the first few photos.

"Those are downtown," he commented.

"I stopped a few times on the way to the park." She moved quickly through the next few city shots, finally getting to the parking lot. "I shot these out the window of the car." She paused, looking for some clue she'd forgotten, but there was nothing but a dark cloudy sky, tall trees, dozens of shadows and an empty parking lot.

"Nothing," she said, feeling disappointed. "Ever since you asked me about what other photos I'd taken, I had the feeling that I'd seen a car coming out of the lot when I was going in, but I was so focused on getting into the park before they closed it that I wasn't paying that much attention. But there's no car in the lot."

Michael sat down across from her and for a moment there was nothing but silence. "I guess that's that," he said heavily.

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I feel like there's something in my mind, but I can't get to it." She put a hand to her temple, running her fingers gently over the bump. "Did I see something that I can't remember?"

"I don't know. How does your head feel?" he asked.

"It aches, but it's not as bad as it was."

"Did you see a doctor? You might have a concussion."

"I'll be fine," she replied. "I just want to remember the details of what I saw last night. I want to be able to offer more help. I feel like every minute counts."

His expression turned grim. "I know what you mean."

Now she felt like apologizing for another reason. Michael obviously cared about Liliana. He was torn up inside, and while she was discouraged because she wanted to help, he was devastated because there was a good chance his friend had been hurt or was still in danger.

"What was Liliana like?" Alicia asked curiously.

"She was serious, intelligent, outspoken, a little bit self-righteous at times. She always wanted things to be fair. If there was a fight in the neighborhood, Liliana would jump in and try to mediate. Usually, her help was not well received, especially by her brothers, but she'd try anyway." He paused, his expression much softer now. "She read a lot. She loved books. I'd be playing baseball in the street with her brothers, and Liliana would be on her porch reading. Sometimes she'd join us; she was a good athlete, but she loved a story more than anything else. I thought she might grow up to be a writer, but instead she went into law."