And so was she. The end of that relationship had hurt, more than anything else. More than the possibility of going to jail. More than the possibility of being a freak forever. Love—here one minute and gone the next, with no trace but a broken heart to prove it ever existed.
Maybe that was one of the attractive attributes Lucky presented. He might want her, but he would never love her.
It was a pretty, cloudless night, with a bite of fall in the air. He stood in the shadow of the wood far from the road and lifted his binoculars, holding his breath until he caught sight of the couple he sought. They were so beautiful, so much in love. A smile spread across his face as he watched. The window, which overlooked the mountain, was uncovered. There was no reason to cover a window that looked out over wilderness. Who would imagine that someone would stand here in the night and watch?
Night was best for watching. Bright lights inside the house illuminated the couple in the window as if they were on display just for him. It was like watching TV, but this show was for him alone.
Beneath his feet, fallen leaves cushioned the hard ground. He might be more comfortable if he sat, but not only were the leaves still slightly damp from recent rain, if he sat he wouldn’t be able to see, and he needed to see. So he continued to stand, his view unobstructed.
Behind him, something small scurried. He paid it no mind. The animal that made the noise was too small to be of concern to him, and if something else came along, well, he was armed.
But no larger critters came along, and eventually even the smaller ones grew still and quiet. That was good. He didn’t want to be distracted.
His smile faded when the happy couple stepped away from the window, even though he was almost certain they would be back. The wide, tall window that afforded him such a great view was on the back side of the one-story house, and that was one of their favorite rooms. It was a sitting room, or a private study, and that was where they retired in the evening when all their work was done. Last night they had been in that room for two hours, before turning out the lights. They’d been together all night, of course. They were very much in love, so they enjoyed being together.
After puttering about the room, straightening a few things and writing something at her desk, the woman he watched settled into her favorite chair with a book. He liked the way she tucked her feet beneath her, the way her hair swayed to one side. She only read for a few minutes before her husband joined her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and in the woods the man with binoculars could almost feel that touch. It made him shudder, but in a good way, as if he’d been touched, too. The woman in the comfortable chair looked over her shoulder and smiled, and slowly closed her book. The man said something, something that made her laugh and then reach for the light to turn it off.
Again, the man in the woods held his breath, but the light didn’t come back on. His grip on the binoculars grew tighter. They were making love in their bedroom, he knew it. Their bedroom had a small, unacceptable window, which was always covered and faced another house. Even if he could see through that window, there was no way he could watch unobserved.
He could not watch what was happening, so he allowed his imagination to run wild. In his mind he saw them undress one another, fall into a large, soft bed and make love. Easy at first, and then not so easy. Perhaps she would scream. If he strained, would he be able to hear? No, he was too far away. His imagination would have to suffice, for now.
When they were finished they would lie together and whisper in the dark. They would declare their love and laugh, and they would share secrets they wanted no one else to hear. Maybe they would make love again.
He wanted to see; he wanted to hear those whispers.
He had to get closer.
Lucky should’ve been asleep hours ago, but his mind was spinning and every muscle in his body was tense. Maybe he should just get in his car and drive home tonight. Surely he’d be able to sleep in his own bed, even if only for a couple of hours. There really wasn’t any reason to wait around here until morning, especially if he couldn’t sleep.
It was that damned woman, preying on his mind. Cal had called her a kook from day one, and that wasn’t far from wrong. It wasn’t just the psychic thing that made Annie different. Everything about her was odd. She apparently disliked shoes, her clothes were anything but conventional and her hair always seemed just enough mussed that he assumed it was a style and not a severe case of bed-head. She wore toe rings, and while he had not yet found a tattoo, he would still bet money she had one. Probably on her ass. Chicks went for that sort of thing. She looked like a twenty-first-century blond gypsy.
Annie was pretty, and appealing in an unexpected sort of way, and she definitely knew how to kiss. She just wasn’t his type. Dante would probably appreciate her avant-garde style, and they could compare tattoos all night long. Murphy would enjoy her laugh—and it was really a pretty good laugh, even if he hadn’t heard much of it. Sadie would like her. At first glance they didn’t have anything in common, but beneath the skin where it really counted…they were just enough alike to become friends.
He’d never before dated a woman that Sadie liked, much less one that might turn into a friend. Not that he was going to date Annie, or take her to Sadie’s for Thanksgiving, or kiss her again. Ever. He’d finish up the investigation and call her with a report—if he had anything to report. Maybe once he got away from here he’d see the case in a different light. Maybe the murder/suicide was exactly what it seemed, inconsistencies and all.
He knew what really drew him to Annie Lockhart, and it had nothing to do with the Huffs and their tragic deaths. Annie spoke to his weakness. His damned Achilles’ heel. She needed him. She was scared and she’d turned to him for help. No one else. Just him. One of these days he was going to have to get rid of his damsel-in-distress fixation. He was never going to get married again, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some sort of normal relationship with a person of the opposite sex, preferably someone who didn’t need a knight in shining armor.
If only he had a clue what normal was….
When his cell phone rang, he glanced at the bedside clock. When the phone rang at three in the morning, there had to be an emergency. With any luck it would be an emergency that necessitated a quick drive away from Mercerville, Tennessee.
But he recognized the number on the caller ID. Annie Lockhart. This couldn’t be good.
“What?” he answered brusquely, expecting a vivid account of yet another dream.
For a moment all he heard was frantic, heavy breathing.
“Talk to me, Annie.” Must’ve been one helluva dream. “Come on. Calm down and tell me what happened.”
From the other end of the line there was a gasp, a sob, and then—finally—a very softly spoken and frightened “Help me, Lucky. He’s…he’s here.”
Chapter 5
Annie’s entire body shook. Some of the shaking was caused by the cool night air, since she sat on the front porch with her eyes on the drive and she wore nothing more than her summery pajamas. Most of the shaking was caused by the remnants of the dream that had awakened her to the sound of a scream. Her own scream.
One thought kept her from screaming again. Lucky was coming. Everything would be all right when he got here. She clasped the portable phone in her hand, even though Lucky was no longer on the other end of the line. Somewhere along the way the signal had died. Damn cell phones. There were too many pockets up here where the reception was lousy.
Annie dropped the phone to the porch, buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath of the night air. It was just cold enough to bite at her lungs, and she liked the feeling. That cold bite reminded her that she was alive, that this was real life, not a dream.
She heard Lucky’s car before she saw it. The engine was working at full power. He was racing up the hill to get to her; he was coming as fast as he could. That was what he was, who he thought himself to be, anyway. A rescuer. A defender. A man who carried the weight of
the world on his shoulders. The weight of her world, at least for tonight.
At the moment, he was the only person in the world she could trust with her secret. He might not believe her, at least not entirely, but he hadn’t pulled away from her in fear, either. He hadn’t accused her of having something to do with the murders she knew too much about, or of making it all up in order to garner some sick sort of attention. If only she had known him, or someone like him, five years ago…
When would he get here? The seconds went by too slowly. She had to tell him everything about the latest nightmare before she forgot the details—as if she could ever forget.
Lucky’s car screeched to a stop, and he threw open the door. He didn’t even take the time to close it as he ran toward her, gun in hand. Where had he gotten a gun? And what on earth was that going to do against a dream?
No, not a dream. A nightmare. A vision.
He ran onto the porch, feet bare, no shirt, wrinkled trousers clearly scooped from the floor as he ran from the bed-and-breakfast. She liked that—that in spite of his usually pristine appearance, he was human enough to throw his clothes onto the floor at the end of the day. She concentrated on the wrinkles for a moment, losing herself in the concrete reality of the details.
There was just enough light from the moon and the cabin behind her to allow her to see the small scar on his shoulder. It was just as she’d seen in her vision; small and thin and oddly crooked, and so old he rarely thought about it anymore.
After glancing around the porch and the front yard, Lucky dropped down to his haunches and in a lowered voice asked, “Where is he?”
“He’s here,” Annie said, as she had when she’d heard Lucky’s voice over the telephone. She didn’t mean for her voice to shake, but it did.
Lucky rose slowly. “In the house?”
Annie shook her head. “No, not here here. He’s in Mercerville, and he’s already chosen another couple to watch and to…to kill.”
Lucky stood very still for a long, silent moment. “You said he was here.”
“He is. He’s…”
“No, you said here!”
It was a good thing she didn’t have any close neighbors. That incensed shout echoed through the night.
“I tried to explain, but you hung up on me,” she said, fighting her way to her feet—shaking knees be damned.
“I didn’t hang up on you,” Lucky said tersely. “I lost the signal running down the stairs, and I didn’t want to take the time to dial your number, since I thought the bad guy was here.”
Annie turned and opened her front door. “There’s no reason to be testy.”
Lucky followed her inside. “There’s every reason in the world to be testy, dammit.”
“I panicked,” she explained.
“No kidding.”
“I’m sorry I called you,” she said. Disappointment welled up inside her. So much for her personal champion. So much for finally having someone she could trust and confide in and lean on. “You can leave now.”
“I don’t think so.” Lucky caught her arm, spun her around and kissed her. Unlike the last kiss, he was prepared. Heavens, was he prepared. He kissed her very, very thoroughly, and she allowed herself to enjoy for a moment, and then to kiss him back. The dream faded away; it was pushed to the back of her mind while he kissed her.
It was such a wonderful kiss, it didn’t take her long to become very aware of the fact that she was in lightweight pajamas and he was wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled khakis. A word from her, a single word, and they could—and would—end up in her bed. No nightmares would dare to come while Lucky was in the bed with her. And if they did, she’d have someone to hold on to to make the fear go away. This was reality. Wonderful, concrete, stunningly beautiful reality.
He caught her lower lip between his teeth, and she teased him with the tip of her tongue. It was…nice. One of his very large hands settled at her back, possessive and warm and comforting. That hand fell to her hip, where it rested as if it belonged there. And all the while, he kissed her. The horror of the dream faded.
Eventually Lucky pulled away. His movements were slow and reluctant, but he did end the kiss and take a single step back. “You scared the crap out of me,” he said, his voice gruffly accusing.
“Sorry,” she whispered. A part of her wanted to take his hand and lead him down the hallway to her bed, where they would chase away the bad memories with good ones. She was tempted, but scared as she was she knew that fear and loneliness were poor reasons for taking such a momentous step.
Some people could have sex just for companionship, physical pleasure and fun. She couldn’t. Sex was as much of the heart and soul as the body, at least for her. Why did she have to be old-fashioned in this one way? Why couldn’t she take Lucky’s hand and smile widely and promise him everything he’d ever wanted from a woman? He’d never cared about capturing any woman’s heart, after all. His conquests were all about the body, nothing more.
He placed one of his hands on her cheek. It was warm and strong, and it made her wish she could be casual, that she could have a physical relationship without thinking about what tomorrow might bring.
“You’re still scared.” Lucky’s thumb rocked across her jaw as he made this observation.
“Yeah.”
“You had another dream that’s more than a dream.”
She nodded.
Lucky sighed and dropped his hand. “Tell me all about it.”
Lucky wouldn’t admit to Annie, or anyone else, how scared he’d been when he’d thought the man who’d murdered the Huffs was in her house. He hadn’t seen the crime-scene photos or read the autopsy reports, but the newspapers had been graphic enough for him to construct a mental picture. If her dreams were so real, no wonder they terrified her.
Annie’s dream, the one that had scared her into calling him in the middle of the night, had convinced her that the man who’d murdered the Huffs and made it look like a murder/suicide was still in Mercerville, and he planned to kill again. Apparently he had already chosen his next targets, and had begun to watch.
The very idea gave him the creeps. As Lucky sat in the living room in the near dark and watched Annie sleep on a short sofa, he had to at least ponder the possibility that there was some truth to Annie’s suppositions. The Huff case definitely stank, and the scenario Annie had presented to him was at the very least plausible. He still didn’t believe in psychic ability, not entirely, but how could he dismiss Annie’s dreams if there was even the smallest possibility she was right?
Even after she’d calmed down and he’d promised that he’d stay for the night, Annie had refused to return to her bed, opting for the couch instead. He didn’t mind. Here he could watch her, make sure she remained safe. At this point sleep was impossible for him, and it wouldn’t be the first night he’d passed without sleep. For now he would watch her and keep her safe. He could return to his rented room in the morning and fetch decent clothing. And shoes.
As the sun was rising, he dozed in the chair. The cabin was quiet, Annie slept deeply and he was exhausted. Now and then he woke and glanced around the room, and after convincing himself that all was well he quickly returned to dreamland.
Fortunately for him, his dreamland was much nicer than Annie’s. It was disjointed, in that way dreams can be, and Annie was there. In his dreams she was naked, more often than not.
It was midmorning before he woke completely, and the waking came to the tune of a resounding knock on Annie’s front door. He came out of the chair slowly, muscles that were not accustomed to sleeping in chairs creaking slightly. There had been a time when he could sleep anywhere and not suffer adverse effects, but at thirty-six his body had become more demanding. He liked sleeping in a bed.
Annie was headed for the door, still wearing her pajamas, her short blond hair going this way and that. She ran a distracted hand through the spiky strands before opening the door, for all the good it did.
She opened the door to rev
eal the sheriff who, judging by the expression on his face, was none too happy.
Sheriff Buhl was pushing fifty. He was thin and ropey, and on the few occasions Lucky had seen him, he’d always looked royally pissed. He was pissed now. The annoyed sheriff stepped into the cabin, looking right past Annie to a sleep-rumpled and half-dressed Lucky. He took in Annie’s pajamas and disheveled state, and Lucky’s state of dress, and made his own conclusions.
“I got a phone call this morning,” the man snapped, “from a sheriff in Alabama. He asked me if I’d do him the personal favor of sharing my files on the Huff case.”
It was then that Lucky noticed the pitifully thin file the sheriff held in one hand. The edge of that file tapped nervously against one khaki-clad leg.
“I was reluctant to share,” Sheriff Buhl said. “But Sheriff McCain tells me you were once a damn fine cop, and he pointed out more than once that I don’t have anything to lose by letting you look over the file.” With a flick of the sheriff’s bony wrist, the file in question took a short sail onto the couch where Annie had slept for the past few hours.
Lucky had a few questions—like what else Truman had said to make Sheriff Buhl share, and how the sheriff had found him here at Annie’s cabin. Perky Kristie was likely guilty where that second question was concerned. She knew if he wasn’t in his room, he was probably here. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Damn straight you will,” the sheriff grumbled. “Trey Huff was a good fella, and I would love any excuse to believe that he didn’t do this terrible thing.”
Lucky nodded.
“I don’t think you’re gonna find anything, though,” the aggravated man continued. His eyes flitted, again, from Annie to Lucky. “I don’t think a man who works for an outfit like the Benning Agency investigates cases like this on a whim. Who hired you? Her?” He sounded confused, and why not? Annie hadn’t even known the Huffs.
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