Night Vision

by Maggie Shayne

  “I thought you lived alone.”

  Was that a hint of disappointment he heard in her voice? He searched her eyes to see for sure, but there was too much going on in them for him to pick out or identify any one emotion.

  “I try to live alone,” he said, offering a smile to lighten things up. “With my family, it’s not always easy. At least they left me a parking spot this time.” He pulled into the driveway, which was only big enough for one car, and shut off the engine. Before they even got to the front door, it was opening and people were spilling out. Sam waved to them and tried to look happy to see them.

  “Megan Rose, let me introduce my family. This is my mother, Evelyn, and these are my sisters, Sabrina and Shelby.”

  Evelyn smiled and nodded hello to Megan. “I’m sorry if we’ve interrupted a date, dear.”

  “Please, Mom,” Sabrina said. “It would have been over in a couple of hours anyway. They don’t call him One-Night Sam for nothing, you know.”

  He felt Megan flinch, realized he still had a hand on her arm, and promptly released her.

  “It’s not a date,” Megan said quickly. “It’s business.”

  “Megan’s a witness to a crime. Now do you mind parting the waters and letting us in?”

  The women exchanged curious glances, but moved aside. Sam and Megan went in, and he saw that his grandmother was there as well, sitting in his favorite chair, watching a football game on his big-screen TV.

  “Told you he was all right,” she said, barely looking up. “Hello, grandson.”

  “Hello, Lily.”

  “These hens heard over the scanner that you were chasing after a murder suspect and got worried. I told them tonight wasn’t the night.”

  “I’m fine, as you can all see.” He frowned, sniffing the air, turning toward his mother again. “You cooked, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, just a little,” his mother said. “As long as we were here, you know, we thought it wouldn’t hurt to toss a few potatoes into the oven.”

  “Smells like chicken,” he said.

  “Well, the oven was already hot. No sense wasting gas, you know.”

  “And cake?”

  “I hate to leave an oven rack empty.”

  “Mm-hm. Nothing like a full-blown meal at eleven p.m.”

  She smiled. “I'll just go set an extra place for your guest.”

  He closed his eyes slowly, then turned to Megan. “They’re staying for a post-dinner dinner.”

  “I got that.”

  “You, girl!” his grandmother called. Megan turned her head sharply, and the old woman waggled a finger at her. “Come on over here and sit with me. It’s halftime anyway. You may as well be polite.”

  Megan blinked in shock, sending a look at Sam. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She smiled, an amused, indulgent smile, and went to obey his grandmother’s summons.

  Chapter 8

  Megan sat alone with Sam’s grandmother, while his mother and sisters coerced him into the kitchen, obviously wanting to talk to him in private. The old woman had a face like aged leather and twinkling blue eyes. She had short curly permed hair, and wore a pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt that was two sizes too big. It had a fat cartoon cat on the front, with the caption Cats Rule. Dogs Drool.

  “I’m Lily,” she said. “You’re my grandson’s flavor of the week?”

  “I’m Megan.” She offered her hand and the old woman took it, then paused, frowning, squeezing tight, and looking more closely at Megan’s face.

  “Megan,” she repeated and released her hand. “They come and go so fast, I don’t bother learning their names. Yours though, maybe I will. You have any pull with Sam, girl?”

  "Pull?"

  “Influence. Does he listen to you?”

  “I really haven’t known him that long, Mrs.–”

  “Lily. Just Lily.”

  “Lily.” Megan wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but the woman had her curious. “Why? What is it you would want me to...influence him to do?”

  “Quit his job.”

  Megan blinked. “Quit the police department?”

  “That’s what I just said. And soon, girl. His birthday’s next week, you know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t under–”

  “His thirty-fifth birthday,” she said, as if that was significant somehow.

  “I didn’t know. But I still don’t see why–”

  Lily leaned forward in her chair and gripped Megan’s forearm, her clasp powerful. “His father–my own son–was a policeman, you know.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry for the way you lost him.”

  She shook her head. “We all lost him. That wife of his keeps his den like a shrine. Won’t even let anyone in there. Hasn’t changed a thing since he died.” She sighed deeply. “Shot down in his prime, he was. The week of his thirty-fifth birthday. Just like my husband.”

  And suddenly the light dawned. Megan met the old woman’s piercing blue eyes. “And you believe Sam will be killed as well?”

  She nodded slowly. “I know he will. It’s...it’s some kind of curse,” she said.

  The word “curse” seemed to echo endlessly in Megan’s mind. It made her knees go weak, and she sank into a chair near the older woman.

  “If he doesn’t quit that damnable job in time, I’m afraid we’ll lose him, too.” Her lips thinned. “I’m a tough old bird, but I think it would kill his poor mother. And those sisters of his. It’s not right they should suffer like that just because he’s too stubborn to listen.”

  So that’s why Sam’s family tended to panic every time they heard what seemed like a dangerous situation on the scanner. “Have you talked to Sam about this? Maybe if you told him–”

  “Talked myself blue, girl. He says he doesn’t believe in curses, doesn’t believe in any of that sort of hoo-ha. Much less my intuitions.”

  “You have intuitions?” Megan asked, lifting her brows.

  Lily nodded slowly. “I knew something bad was coming before my husband went to work that day. I had that same bad feeling the day Sam Jr. died, and I think he did, too, the odd way he’d been acting all week.” She tipped her head to one side. “You get feelings, too, don’t you?”

  It wasn’t a question. “Sometimes. I... see things.”

  “You have the sight,” Lily whispered. “I knew it. Felt it when I took your hand.” She bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “You’re not just another one-date-woman. You’re with my grandson for a reason. God didn’t send you to this family by coincidence, and I think you know it.”

  Megan drew a breath. Her gift had changed since she’d met Sam. The visions had grown stronger, more important, more frequent. And never before had they hit her with such crippling impact.

  “You’re the one who can break this curse and end this family’s grieving once and for all. You can do it. You can save Sam.”

  Break the curse. Save his life.

  Megan took Lily’s papery-soft hand. “I’ll try my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  “What’s all you can ask, Lily?” Sam said, coming in from the kitchen.

  “I’ve just promised her my favorite recipe,” Megan said, seeing the note of panic in the older woman’s eyes and knowing, as Lily apparently did, that Sam would be furious if he knew what they’d really been discussing.

  “You cook, too?” he asked with a smile. “You’re just full of hidden talents, aren’t you, Meg?”

  “She’s a keeper, this one,” Lily said. “And if this wasn’t a date, then you’re a damn fool. Now, are you people gonna put some food on the table before I starve to death or what?”

  Sam shook his head slowly. “Dinner–or rather, an all-out Sheridan-family midnight snack–is served,” he said.

  Megan only ate enough to be polite, since she and Sam had already enjoyed one luscious meal that night. Sam’s mother, Evelyn, seemed naturally friendly, and the sisters dropped their attitude at a single, swift, mean
ing-laden glance from Lily. The old woman had apparently decided to view Megan as her ally.

  When the meal was over and the dishes were done, they didn’t linger. Just said their good nights and left.

  Sam stood in the doorway, waving and smiling until they were all out of sight, then he closed the door, turned, leaned back against it, and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  “Oh, come on,” Megan said. “They’re not so bad.”

  “They’re not bad at all. Just a little exhausting.” He straightened from the door, looked at her, then beyond her, to where her overnight bag sat beside his sofa. “Hell, you didn’t even get to settle in.”

  “From the sounds of things, none of your dates ever do.”

  He scowled at her. “I meant for the night.”

  “So they usually spend the night, then?”

  “Megan.”

  “The way your sisters talked, I got the idea you hustled them out of here before the sweat began to dry.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely imagery.”

  She shrugged. “You’re the one they call One-Night Sam.”

  “This is pretty irrelevant.”

  “I don’t think so. After all, I’m not just a witness to a crime you’re trying to solve. You did kiss me in the park tonight. Or was that just a part of whatever game it is you’ve been playing with me?”

  He narrowed his eyes on her. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. That wasn’t part of anything, not the case, not your abilities. Nothing. I’m sorry if things my well-intentioned sisters said are making you have doubts about that, because I’d really like to kiss you again.”

  “Oh, I’d like that, too,” she said. “But I’d kind of like to know what to expect afterward.”

  He came to her, slid his arms around her waist, and tugged her close. “Haven’t you ever heard of living in the moment?”

  “Heard of it. Never practiced it much.”

  “No time like the present.” He leaned closer, and she tipped her head up. He kissed her, slowly and softly. It was wonderful. It was also revealing. And this time the knowledge didn’t come to her as a vision, and it didn’t knock her off her feet or snap her head back. It just slipped gently from his mind to hers.

  When he lifted his head away, she blinked up at him. “You don’t get involved because you don’t want to leave someone behind, the way your mother was left behind. And your grandmother.”

  He frowned down at her.

  “The way you were left behind.”

  He shook his head. “Grams has been talking again.”

  “She believes there’s a curse on the Sheridan men.”

  “It’s silly superstition.”

  “But, Sam, what if it’s not? Don’t you think you should...take some precautions, just in case?”

  He released her, turned, and paced across the room. “She convinced you to try to get me to quit the force, didn’t she?”

  “Before your birthday, if possible.” She smiled. “It’s only because she loves you.”

  “Hell, I know that.” He turned and sank onto the sofa. “Look, I don’t even believe in curses. I’m certainly not going to start letting one dictate the way I live my life.”

  She nodded and crossed the room to sit on the sofa beside him. “You don’t believe in psychism or precognition either, do you?” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s tough to believe in one without believing in the other, and if you let yourself believe in the curse, you’re faced with a terrible choice. Your life or your life’s work. So you refuse to believe in any of it.”

  “Megan, it’s not that I don’t believe you.”

  “No, I know it’s not. Because you do. Deep down, you do. And you believe in the curse, too.”

  He looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. “And how did you make that leap of logic?”

  “Because you already are letting it dictate your life. One-Night Sam.” She got to her feet, picked up her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “So where’s my room?”

  “Top of the stairs, second door on the left.”

  “Night, Sam.”

  “You’re wrong, you know.”

  She walked up the stairs, shaking her head. “No, I’m not. And you know it. And just for the record, that dream I’ve been having since I was twelve? It was about you.”

  She was wrong. Dammit, she was dead wrong. He didn’t believe in the curse. He lived his life exactly the way he wanted to. Did exactly what he wanted to do, every single day. Lived every day as if it was....

  “My last,” he whispered, finishing the thought aloud.

  Hell, what was it with Megan Rose, anyway? One date, and she’d turned him inside out, read his mind, met his family, and was spending the night. One date. Two kisses. Most women barely remembered his last name, after considerably more than a couple of kisses. Most didn’t know or care what made him tick.

  Most didn’t touch him the way she did, either. He was so wrapped up in her he barely knew which end was up. Thinking about her every waking moment. Dreaming about her at night ever since the speed trap.

  She claimed she had been dreaming about him for years. And hell, he was inclined to believe her. God knew there was something powerful between them.

  She seemed able to look right inside his head. Not only that, but she managed to see what was going on inside him, maybe even more clearly than he did himself.

  He closed his eyes slowly. Okay, so maybe she was right. Maybe he did believe in the curse on some level. That didn’t mean he was going to surrender to it. It didn’t change a damn thing.

  So why was he having so much trouble sleeping?

  He’d done some paperwork, checked his e-mail, taken a shower. It was 2 a.m. and he still couldn’t shut off his mind. He rolled over, punched the pillow, lay on it a moment longer, and then finally gave up. He might as well get up. He wasn’t going to sleep. He sat up in the bed, swung his legs around to the floor. Some of that leftover chicken might take his mind off things.

  He’d been perfectly content to keep his looming death sentence buried in his subconscious mind. Now it was right there on the surface. Three days. Three days left until he turned thirty-five.

  A soft tap on his bedroom door made him turn his head sharply.

  “Sam?”

  Frowning, he said, “Come on in, Meg.”

  She opened the door, stepped into his darkened bedroom, and then stopped. She was silhouetted by the light from the hall, which she must have turned on to find her way to him. Backlit that way, her white nightgown was virtually transparent, though he didn’t suppose she would have any way of knowing that.

  “I can’t sleep in there.”

  He lifted his brows, saw her peering at him through the darkness. He sat there with nothing over him but a sheet, and he could tell her eyes were adjusting by the way she stared.

  “I keep drifting off, but as soon as I do, I hear that glass breaking, the door opening, that man coming after me, and I wake up with my heart racing.”

  “Stay in here with me. Maybe we’ll both feel better, huh?”

  She swallowed hard. “Maybe.” She came in the rest of the way and closed the door behind her. He lost the luscious view, but could still see her form as she padded across the room toward the bed. She didn’t go to the opposite side, though. She came to his side, instead. “How long until your birthday?” she asked softly.

  “Three days. Why?”

  She shrugged. He saw her shoulders move with it. “Because I don’t do one-night stands,” she said softly. And then she peeled the nightgown over her head and stood there, in the dark, waiting.

  Sam stood up, took a single step closer, and put his hands on her shoulders. They were small and soft, her skin warm to the touch. She pressed closer, breasts to his chest, belly to his belly, hips to his hips. Her arms twisted around his neck, and she tipped her face up. Sam kissed her, letting his hands slide lower, tracing the gentle slope of her spine,
the curve at the small of her back, and then lower over her rounded buttocks until he could cup them and hold her against him. He wanted her in a way that was new to him. Unfamiliar. Usually, at this point, the thing he felt himself wanting, yearning for, was sex. Release. Pleasure.

  This time was different. This time the thing he craved was her. Megan.

  Chapter 9

  Megan woke in Sam’s arms, rolled over, and found him staring at her. His eyes, roaming her face as if seeing it for the first time and trying to memorize every feature. When he realized her eyes were open, he smiled, and the solemn expression faded.

  “Sweat’s dry,” he said, stroking a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t throw you out.”

  “Good thing. I’d have been really pissed.”

  “Hungry this morning?”

  “Starved.”

  “Take the first shower then,” he said. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Shower with me. And we’ll go out for breakfast.”

  “I like the way you think.” He sprang from the bed without warning, came around to her side, and scooped her up in his arms to carry her to the bathroom. As he held her, he asked softly, “Will you tell me, Meg? About your recurring dream?”

  “There’s really not much to tell. It’s short, simple. I see your face.” She lifted a hand, palm to his cheek. “Your wonderful face. I hear a woman's voice. It says, ‘Break the curse. Save his life.’ That’s all.”

  “That’s all?”

  She shrugged. “Except that seeing that face of yours always does something to my insides. It’s like every cell in my body recognized you as someone important to me.”

  He lowered his eyes.

  “You are, Sam. You are important to me. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but–”

  He stopped her speech by kissing her deeply. She was utterly engulfed by him, held in his arms, her head supported only by his strong, large shoulder. It was intoxicating. When he broke the kiss, she was breathless.