Fatal Dreams (COBRA Securities Book 17)

by Velvet Vaughn

  “That won’t be necessary,” Esme assured him. “But can you come to my shop and pick me up? Lumi’s not here right now. I’ll leave everything to run away with you.”

  “Hell…I mean, heck yes! I’m on my way.” All the talk of the devil had him using bad language. Esme was about to become Mrs. McDougal. Those words should never be spoken in her presence.

  “Park in the visitor lot. I’ll leave the back door open but try to be stealthy. I don’t want my aunt’s neighbors to see you and tell her who I’m with. I’ll need you to come inside and carry my suitcase. It’s heavy.”

  Merle fumbled his phone as he scrambled for his keys. “Got it. I’ll see you soon, my love!”

  He could hardly contain his excitement. Esme had chosen him. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met and now she wanted to be his wife. God must really love him.

  Merle experienced a pang of unease. He’d spouted several lies to her when they first met, a big one being that he’d quit drinking. He hadn’t. He did give up heroin, cocaine and anything else he could snort, and he did think the Lord spoke to him and told him to open a church. But after he’d quit the drugs, he realized the voice might not have been God speaking, but his equally-doped-up friend Mickey. And instead of saying he should open a church, he might’ve said something about a cavity search or a high perch or leaving him in the lurch. The words weren’t exactly clear in his head, plus, Mickey mumbled a lot. Still, he took the message to heart and decided to become a pastor.

  He never realized how much work went into leading a congregation, especially with no training whatsoever. He rarely went to church growing up. His parents never forced him to attend, so he didn’t. Merle wasn’t sure he’d have stuck with it until some poor lost souls staggered in and emptied their pockets. If he’d known how lucrative it could be, he’d have founded the Church of the Chosen Disciples a hell of a lot sooner. He’d repeated the story about God calling him so many times, he believed it himself now.

  He did try his best to preach what he thought God would want him to say each week. And he did pray for a woman to stand by his side. Maybe his thoughts had been more along the crude side, wishing for a hot piece of tail with a world-class rack to warm his bed. It didn’t matter because God had answered with Esme. She might not be the most endowed woman he’d met, but he’d fallen instantly in love with her the first time he laid eyes on her. He’d been crushed, then humiliated when she turned him down flat. He’d lashed out at her when he discovered what she did for a living. It wasn’t so much that he believed she was a witch, but she’d thrown his love in his face and stomped on his heart. He wanted to hurt her, too.

  He organized protests at her place of business, but the only people he could convince to join him in his crusade had been bedraggled vagrants from the homeless shelter who were more than happy to follow his lead for a six-pack. Then she’d gone and slapped him with a restraining order! He sure as hell didn’t want to spend time in prison again. He’d gotten caught in a drug bust once and he’d been scared straight. Hulking, tattooed cellmates named Bubba were not fun.

  He’d finally decided that Esme was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she wasn’t meant for him. Maybe God had been testing him with an unsuitable woman to see how he would react. All those thoughts were forgotten like water down a drain when she called. He’d forgiven her, just as God would’ve done. He’d shot out of his house so fast he hadn’t even combed his hair. Lifting his arm, he gave a quick sniff. Not horrible. He’d have preferred to shower first, but he didn’t want to give her time to change her mind. Hell, he hadn’t even turned off his television from the hardcore porn he’d been enjoying. He’d make sure to steer Esme clear of the living room so he could flick it off.

  Excitement sizzled in his veins. He couldn’t wait to present her as his betrothed to his flock. All the women would be jealous. The men would be envious. More importantly, he couldn’t wait to get her to bed, which he planned on tonight. The scenes he’d been watching on television had him primed and more than ready to go. She’d already been the fantasy woman he’d worked with since he met her. Now he’d get a taste of the real thing.

  Flipping off the headlights, he eased down the alley that led to the parking area behind her aunt’s house. He’d been here several times, but never inside. Esme told him to go in the back door and then to take a right. He tip-toed up the steps and twisted the knob. It opened, just like she said.

  The interior was dark, and it was hard to see where he was going. He bumped into a wall and cursed before he found an opening. “Esme?” he whispered.

  “Over here.”

  Merle straightened. That didn’t sound like Esme. “Who are—” Something sharp poked into his neck and the world went black.

  #

  Oracle applauded the voice changing device that sounded close to Esme’s tone. It wasn’t exact, but Merle wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box. He’d never know the difference.

  It was astounding how gullible Merle McDougal truly was. He believed every lie “Esme” spouted to him, including how she couldn’t wait to be the perfect pastor’s wife. Oracle gagged on that one and had a hard time getting that whopper out. Merle was a disgusting piece of excrement.

  Merle sounded so hopeful, as if Esme would truly choose him over her aunt and career. He’d even been willing to commit murder. Oracle hadn’t seen that one coming. No matter what, the dipshit got what he deserved. Luring him had been easier than Oracle predicted. Expect the unexpected was a useful mantra, but Merle had walked right into the trap like a clueless fly heading into the center of an intricate spider’s web. He was well and truly caught.

  It was a workout dragging Merle’s dead weight through the house. The pastor needed to lay off the beer and donuts. Oracle chuckled. No need to worry about that now. Once Merle was positioned in the spot behind the counter, Oracle withdrew a knife. Behind the strength of both hands, the blade buried inside Merle’s heart. It’d already quit pumping since he was already dead, but there was still a fair amount of blood, enough to give the scene a chilling macabre look. The blade made a sucking sound as Oracle removed it and stuffed it into a plastic bag. Using a gloved hand, Oracle picked up the ornate silver necklace. Though the cross was a good six inches, it wouldn’t have done the same damage as the knife, but it did look effective protruding from the gaping wound.

  Oracle stood and admired the picture of a very dead Merle McDougal. The followers of the Church of the Chosen Disciples would need to hire a new pastor very soon.

  #

  Esme awoke from a disturbing dream where Merle McDougal died. She didn’t remember much except that she’d been looking down at his lifeless body. He must’ve been in a casket or something. Of all people to dream about, she wondered why it had to be Merle. Then she rationalized it was because she’d bumped into him recently.

  She shot straight up in bed. Was it one of the prophetic dreams that would come true? If so, she needed to warn Merle that he might be in danger. He probably wouldn’t listen to her, but she couldn’t ignore the threat.

  She didn’t know his number, so she searched the internet and found an ad for his church listing his cell. She snorted a laugh at the headshot of Merle taken at least ten years ago, maybe closer to fifteen. It was early and she’d probably wake him up. Her finger poised over the first buttons. What would she say to him? She couldn’t tell him that she’d dreamed of him. He’d think that meant she wanted him. She shuddered at the thought. She sure as heck couldn’t say she’d foreseen his death. He already accused her of being a witch. That’d pretty much seal the deal for him. What should she do?

  Knowing she couldn’t ignore the threat, she dialed his number, saying a prayer of thanks when it kicked over to voice mail. “Merle, this is Esme Jovanovich. I’m sure it was because we ran into each other at the store and had words, but I had a dream where you were…injured. I’m just calling to tell you to be careful. No ulterior motives.” She started to hang up but quickly added, “And no need
to call me back.”

  She disconnected, satisfied she’d done what she could to warn him of possible danger. If he tripped over a curb and broke his ankle, it’d be his fault. She’d warned him, so her conscience was clear.

  It was impossible to go back to sleep now. After a trip to the bathroom, she headed to the workshop in her second bedroom and mixed a new batch of soaps and candles. Hours later, Esme wrapped the last candle, excited to debut the line she’d named Desire. She’d toyed with the recipe until the scent was perfect. It was an intoxicating mix of jasmine, vanilla, ylang-ylang and sandalwood, all essential oils that served as aphrodisiacs. Hers was a seductive blend she hoped would entice buyers. Maybe she’d been thinking of Ethan when she’d created the formula…oh, who was she kidding? She was totally thinking of him. Merle, however, had been completely forgotten.

  It was Saturday and she wanted to get the new line placed in the shop before they reopened on Monday. Lumi and Ethel had left for the casino in St. Louis yesterday afternoon, so the house was empty.

  Lyra called as Esme was packing the products up, asking if she could add some pieces to her displays, too. Since Esme was headed in anyway, she told her she’d swing by her condo and pick her up. Before she left home, she called Joelle, who was running errands but promised to meet up with them later in the morning.

  Esme drove the short distance to Lyra’s condo. She was waiting on her patio, and as soon as she saw Esme turn into the parking lot, she picked up a heavy tote bag and met her at the curb.

  “Thanks for picking me up.” She opened the back door and placed her bag on the seat before climbing into the passenger side and buckling her belt.

  “No problem. I’m glad to have the company.”

  Esme noted that Lyra was positively glowing. “How was your evening?”

  Lyra smiled. “Good. Tyler is amazing. How was yours? Did you and Sophie and Joelle have a good time?”

  Esme filled her in on all the details, from the three men who approached them to Sophie getting called away to thinking she spotted Ethan with another woman.

  “Oh my gosh, Fake Ethan,” Lyra hooted. “I love it. And what a way to meet Ethan’s family.”

  “I know, right?” Esme shook her head. “I’m sure they think I’m a total bitch or something. I’m just glad I refrained from slapping Noah across the face when I thought he was Ethan.”

  Lyra held her stomach as she laughed, tears pouring from her eyes. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

  “I wish you were there, too, but I’m glad you didn’t witness my humiliation first-hand.” It was easier to look back on the evening after a night’s sleep. Still, when she met Noah and Peyton again, she was sure the mortification would return with a vengeance.

  Esme parked behind her aunt’s house. It had once been an overgrown, weed-infested lot but Lumi purchased it and then had it paved for parking spaces when she opened her business.

  After shutting off the engine, she turned to Lyra. “I had another strange dream last night.”

  All humor faded from Lyra’s face and she focused intently on Esme. “What happened?”

  “You remember the pastor I told you about? Merle McDougal.”

  “Sure. He runs the Church of the Chosen Disciples.”

  “I dreamed he died. I think I was looking at his dead body.”

  Lyra’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh gosh, Esme. What a horrible thing to see in your sleep.”

  “It was, but I remembered what you said about maybe saving someone’s life if I warned them, so I did.”

  “You called him? That couldn’t have been fun.”

  “No kidding, but thankfully, voice mail picked up and I left a message.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I couldn’t say that I saw him dead, so I just told him that I had a dream that he was injured and to be careful.”

  Lyra sat back. “That was a good way to play it off. How do you think he’ll take it, coming from you?”

  Esme’s lips twisted. “He’ll probably think I’m hot for him and I’m using it as an excuse to get together or something. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in the shop today.”

  She got out and opened the back to unload the portable dolly she used to move heavy boxes of her products. After she loaded them on, she wheeled the cart to the short flight of steps to the back door. “I really need to come up with a better way to do this,” she remarked as she unloaded the boxes, placed them on the stone porch and then reloaded them on the cart once she navigated the steps. She parked it next to the door and fished in her purse for her keys. Before she could insert it in the lock, her hand stilled. The door creaked open. What the heck? Lumi always locked up, especially if she was going to be gone. She checked the alarm panel. Turned off. Lumi always set the alarm, too. Religiously.

  “What is that smell?” Lyra made a face and waved a hand in front of her nose.

  Esme had no idea, but it was nauseating. “Maybe a raccoon got inside and died or something.”

  She parked the dolly in the hall and together, they went in search of the sickening stench. She flipped on the lights in her shop. The smell was stronger in here. A wave of dread washed over her. Something was very wrong. Her dream came rushing back to her. Afraid of what she would see, she carefully made her way around the counter and screamed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Esme stared in horror at the body lying on the hand scraped bamboo floor of her shop. It was as if she was back in her bed, experiencing the horrible dream again, only this time, she was wide awake.

  “Oh my God,” Lyra cried. “Someone used my necklace to kill him!”

  The dead man was Merle McDougal, the pastor of the Church of the Chosen Disciples. There wasn’t an excessive amount of blood, but Merle was most definitely deceased. Esme covered her mouth to stifle a sob. He’d been killed, and she was standing over his body, just like her dream. This couldn’t be happening.

  With a trembling hand, she rummaged in her purse for her phone and punched number one on her speed dial. Absently she noticed that Lyra was on her phone, too. Hopefully she was calling the police because Esme had another call to make first. She needed Ethan.

  “Hey, Esme, what’s—”

  “Merle’s dead!” she blurted, cutting him off.

  “Who is Merle—wait, you mean the pastor?”

  “Yes. Merle McDougal. Someone killed him in my shop, Ethan. There’s a cross buried in his chest.”

  “Wait, Esme, slow down. You’re telling me Merle’s lying dead in your store right now?”

  “Yes. Please come.”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll call the police. Esme,” he called out before she disconnected.

  “Yes?”

  “Listen to me. This is important. The killer could still be there. Go now and get inside your car. Lock the doors. If you see anyone suspicious, get the hell out of there as fast as you can.”

  Oh God, the person who killed Merle could still be inside. She hadn’t even thought about that possibility. She grabbed a startled Lyra’s hand. “Lyra is with me. We’re going now.”

  “Good. I’ll pick up Tyler and we’ll be right there.”

  “Where are we going,” Lyra asked, having ended her call, too.

  “Ethan said the killer could still be here. He said to lock ourselves in the car and leave if we see anything suspicious.”

  Lyra hurried to catch up with her. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “Me, either.” They scrambled inside her vehicle and locked the doors, both breathing heavily from the dash to the car and the horrific scene they’d just witnessed.

  “Lyra, it came true, just like I dreamed.”

  Lyra leaned over and hugged her. “I know.” She pulled back. “But Esme, you tried to warn him. You did everything you could, so don’t you dare feel guilty.”

  It was easy for her to say, but Esme did feel remorse. Maybe she should’ve tried more than once to reach Merle to warn him. If she could’v
e explained her dream to him and not his machine, maybe he’d have been more careful. He could’ve called her a witch until he turned blue in the face, but at least he’d be alive to taunt her.

  A siren sounded and a police car squealed to a stop, blocking the alley. Another arrived from the opposite direction. “I need to tell them where to find the body.”

  “Not without me.”

  They both got out and headed for the nearest officer. He turned at their approach.

  “Are you Ms. Jovanovich?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll go in and clear the house.” He opened the back door of his cruiser. “You two wait in here where it’s safe.”

  Lyra crawled in first and she followed, settling in the seat as he closed the door and shut them inside. He motioned to another cop, who nodded and walked over to stand beside the car while the other three crept up the steps, weapons drawn. Lyra clutched her arm as they watched the cops disappear. The radio on the dash crackled and hissed with chatter that she tuned out. She’d never been inside a police car and she really didn’t want to be in one now.

  “Do you realize my accessory is an accessory to a crime?” Lyra’s voice sounded slightly maniacal. “Does that make me an accessory, too? I mean, I made the necklace.”

  “No, of course not. You had nothing to do with this. I had nothing to do with this.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Lyra or herself.

  Another vehicle made a tire-screeching turn into the alley. She cried out in relief when she recognized Ethan’s SUV. It slammed to a stop and two men who looked identical jumped out, one from the driver’s side and the other the passenger side. They both wore dark colored short-sleeved polo shirts and tan tactical pants with work boots.

  “It’s Ethan,” she cried. She reached for the handle, only to realize there wasn’t one. Panic threatened. They were locked inside the police car. She pounded on the window and frantically motioned to the officer. He looked puzzled but opened the door and leaned down.