The Soul Summoner (The Soul Summoner Saga Book 1) (19 page)

I wished I had prepared more for this conversation. "It's kind of hard to explain, but his name is Warren and we just met recently. Because of some really big similarities, I'm just curious to see if he and I might be related to each other."

"Biologically?" he asked surprised.

My mother's mouth fell open. "You want to do a DNA test?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Is that possible? I'll pay whatever it costs."

Dad's brow furrowed. "Why do you think you might be related?"

I shrugged. "We just have a lot in common. We both have dark hair and similar skin tone. And, he was abandoned when he was a baby just a couple of years before I was."

They exchanged awkward looks. 

I grabbed my dad's arm. "I know this seems really crazy, but it's really important to me. I need to know, and we've got to do it today because he's only in town for the weekend."

Dad patted my hand. "The results aren't immediate. They will take a few days, but I'll order the test." 

I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

He nodded toward Warren. "Well, introduce me at least."

I tugged on his sleeve and Warren met us halfway across the office. My dad extended his hand and Warren shook it. "Warren, is it?" he asked.

Warren nodded. "Yes, you must be Dr. Jordan. Sloan's father."

My dad shook his head. "Call me Robert."

Warren smiled.

Dad looked at the clock. "If you want to make it to the lab, you had better hurry. Your mom will call them on your way."

Mom smiled in agreement. 

I kissed his cheek again. 

Warren nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Dad looked at me. "Well, my daughter doesn't ask for much, and this must be pretty important to her, so no thanks needed. The lab is on the second floor, on your left when you get off the elevator. Warren, perhaps we will see you again soon."

Warren smiled down at me. "I certainly hope so," he said.

I hooked my arm through Warren's. "Thanks," I said to my parents. "I'll call you later!"

They both nodded and stared curiously as we left the office. 

When we were in the hallway, Warren looked down at me. "Well, that was easy." 

I smiled up at him. "I'm a bit of a daddy's girl." 

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. "He seems like a really good man," he said.

I nodded and punched the button for floor two. "He's the best."

We walked into the lab and a nurse was waiting for us. She was a heavyset black woman who reminded me a bit of Ms. Claybrooks at the jail. "Sloan?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. 

She held the door open for us. "Come on back. My name is Joyce. Your mother just called to let me know you were on your way up here." 

We followed her down the hallway to a sterile white room with a padded blue chair and a large collection of syringes and specimen bottles. Joyce rubbed her hands together. "Who am I sticking first?" she asked.

I looked at Warren. "I'll go first," he said with a touch of reluctance. He unbuttoned his black shirt revealing a white ribbed tank top underneath.  

He handed me the shirt and sat down in the chair. She sat down on the office chair in front of him and pulled on some purple rubber gloves. He extended his toned arm out on the armrest and she grabbed it with both hands.

She pulled his arm forwards and gasped with glee. "Look at those beautiful veins!" 

He cut his eyes up at her. "So, it will be easy?"

She smiled and shook her head in amazement. "Honey, this is like nurse porn right here." 

I laughed. "Nurse porn?" 

"Heck yeah, girl. I could do this with my eyes closed." She prepared the needle and rubbed alcohol across the bend in his arm.

"Please keep your eyes open," he begged, his voice cracking just a little bit.

I stuck out my lower lip. "Oh, are you scared of needles?" 

"Shut up," he said, not looking up at me.

The nurse slid the needle into his vein. He cringed and she shook her head. "It's always the big tough ones who freak out on me the most." As the vial was filling, she tapped her finger on the black tribal tattoo that was wound around his bicep and shoulder before it disappeared under his tank top. "Men, all day long, sit through huge tattoos like this but one tiny little stick for blood and they become the biggest babies."

"I'm not a baby," he protested.

I laughed. 

She removed the needle and capped the lid on the vial. "All done," she said. "Was that so terrible?" She covered the spot with a cotton ball and a Band-Aid.

"No," he said, but didn't mean it.

Warren got up and I handed him his shirt. He shrugged into it and started securing the buttons as I pushed up the sleeve of my sweater and sat down. 

"You're Dr. Jordan's daughter?" Joyce asked.

I nodded. "Yes. My name is Sloan. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, honey," she said as she tied a tourniquet above my elbow.

"How accurate is DNA testing?" I asked.

"Depends on what kind. Paternity?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Sibling."

She shrugged. "Pretty accurate. Science is so advanced these days, they can even tell if you're half-siblings or full ones," she said. "Why? Are you two related?"

"We don't know," I answered.

She stuck the needle in my arm and then looked from Warren's face to mine while my blood drained out into her vial. "Nah," she said. "I'd place money on it."

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed one black boot over the other. "You don't think so?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I mean, I don't know for sure, but everything's different. Bone structure, eyes, nose, mouth. Nah. I don't think so."

He stuffed his hands into the pockets on his blue jeans and smiled over at me. "I'm really hoping not."

She smiled. "Oh, I see. Y'all have some Days of our Lives stuff going on."

He laughed. "More like Stephen King stuff."

She removed the needle from my arm and patched me up. "All done. I'll send it over before I leave for the day. I got your information from your mother. I just need his. What's your name, sir?"

"Warren Parish," he said. 

"Date of birth?" she asked.

"August 27
^th
, 1984," he answered.

She nodded. "I'm just gonna put the same address and phone number." She filled in the blanks on the paperwork in front of her. "I think that's all I need."

I tugged my sleeve down and stood up. "Thank you so much." 

She smiled. "Y'all have a good weekend." 

We walked out of the office. Warren glanced down at this watch. "Well, I've been here for an hour, and I've met your parents and had my blood taken. This is shaping up to be a very interesting weekend."

I laughed as we got on the elevator. "You hungry?" I asked.

"Starving actually," he answered. 

"I say we grab some food to go and find a spot by the river somewhere that we can talk in private," I suggested.

He nodded. "That's a perfect idea."

We picked up fast food sandwiches and drinks and drove out to a picnic area by the French Broad River. There was a father and son fishing from the bank, but other than that we were alone. I sat down on the picnic table and he straddled the bench. 

He looked out over the wide river. "This looks like something off of a postcard."

I laughed. "I'm sure this very scene is on many postcards, actually."

Towering red oaks and orange and yellow maple trees dotted the mountains that confined the rushing waters of the river. The water was deep, but just up ahead, huge rocks formed a series of churning rapids. The sun was setting over the jagged Carolina horizon, casting pink and purple streaks across the blue sky.

"What river is this?" he asked.

"The French Broad," I answered. "They say it's the third oldest river in the world."

He looked up at me and cocked an eyebrow. "How do they know that?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not a clue."

He laughed and looked out over the water. "Well, it's really pretty."

I nodded and sucked on my straw. "It looks pretty, but don't get in it." I pointed just offshore. "Adrianne and I once saw a cow's head floating right by here."

"Nice." He laughed and took a bite of his sandwich. "Who's Adrianne?" 

"She's been my best friend for forever. I'm sure you'll meet her soon." My phone began to ring in my pocket. "Wanna take bets?" I asked with a smile.

"No," he said. 

I pulled out the phone and showed him Adrianne's face that was lit up on the screen.

He shook his head and picked up his drink. "That's crazy."

I ignored her call and tucked my phone back into my pocket. "I know."

"How does it work?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I figured out a few years ago that it happens more often when I mention someone while picturing them in my mind. It doesn't always happen, but it's becoming more and more frequent that they show up in some way."

"So it's not always in person?" he asked.

"No. Sometimes it's just a phone call or email or on Facebook. And sometimes I don't get anything," I said. "I'm not sure why it seems that sometimes I make it happen and other times I can't do it at all."

He thought for a second. "I think whatever we can do is like working out. The more we use our muscles, the stronger they get."

I nodded. "That makes sense. It began getting a whole lot stronger after I finally opened up about it."

He pointed the straw from his drink at me. "You accepted it."

"Yeah."

"Do your parents know?" he asked.

I leaned forward against my knees and told him about what had happened when I was eight. "It was pretty traumatic," I explained. "I learned not to bring it up after all that happened."

He reached up and lightly ran his thumb over the scar on my eyebrow. "I don't blame you." He shifted on the bench. "So, just your friend and the detective know?"

"And now you," I added.

He nodded. "I have to ask. What's going on with you and the detective?"

I laughed. "I really don't want to talk about him. We don't need him showing up here right now."

He didn't laugh. "You know we have to talk about him. The two of you seem to have a lot of history."

"Oh no." I feverishly shook my head. "We don't have any history at all. I just met him like a month ago."

His head snapped back with surprise. "Really?"

"Really," I said. "He just sort of walked into my life and turned it all upside down."

"He's into you," he said.

"I know. Well, he's been interested in me since you showed up anyway. I think it's a territorial thing," I said. "He has a girlfriend."

"Do you like him?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie to you about it. I've liked him since I met him, but then you showed up."

He nodded. "And complicated things."

I squeezed my eyes closed and smiled. "Definitely complicated things."

He looked up at me and shrugged. "But it might turn out that I'm your brother and that would make things easier for you."

I laughed and threw a pickle at him. "You're not my brother."

He smiled and put his straw to his lips. "I know I'm not."

I finished off the last of my sandwich just as he did, and I got up and carried our trash to the garbage can. He turned around backward on the seat as I came back to the table and reached his arms out toward me. I took his hands, and he pulled me close and rested his head against my stomach. I couldn't help but run my fingers through his silky smooth hair as I stood in front of him. His touch was absolutely intoxicating.

"What do you think this is?" He looked up at me, resting his chin on my belly button. "It's like I can't get close enough to you."

I pushed his hair behind his ears. "It's like we're magnets," I said. "I'm the positive; you're the negative. We're drawn together."

He nodded. "That makes a lot of sense actually. We're the same, but we have different purposes."

"And, it's really hard to separate us," I added.

He pulled back and looked at me. "Isn't it? What was up with the headaches?"

I sat down next to him. "I have no idea, but I thought I was dying. My dad said it's called a hemiplegic migraine. The most severe kind there is. I couldn't move or talk for hours."

He shook his head. "Me either, and I was on the interstate. I ended up sleeping in my car for a while."

I shuddered. "I can't even imagine. Nathan called an ambulance to come and get me."

"I hope it's not like that every time I leave," he said. "That will be very problematic till my contract with Claymore ends."

"What do you do exactly?" I asked.

"I'm transitioning out of being a High Threat Personal Security Contractor for Claymore Worldwide Security," he said. 

My eyes glazed over. "A what?"

He smiled. "It's a private military company. We're contracted by the US Government and other governments for doing things the regular military can't do," he explained.

"Mercenaries?"

He cringed. "That makes us sound like traitors."

"And you do what exactly?" I asked.

He took a deep breath. "Well, I was just a hired gun when I was recruited in 2010, but two years ago I became a team leader. I just got back from Afghanistan, and I'm filling in as an instructor until my contract ends." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm done with being deployed."

"What did you do in the Marines?" I asked.

"I was a sniper," he answered.

I raised an eyebrow. "Seems a little ironic being what you are, doesn't it?" 

He laughed. "I guess it does."

"I want to hear about
that,
too," I said.

"You will. That's just more of a 'behind closed doors' conversation, you know?" he said.

I nodded. "Oh, I know."

He looked at me sideways. "That doesn't scare you?"

"It did at first," I admitted. "But people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

He pointed at me. "You save people. That's quite a bit different."