What Dreams May Come (Berkley Sensation)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

The guy waved the gun. Put the barrel of the weapon near the boy’s head—a head that flailed along with small arms and legs. “Holster your gun and get away from my truck!”

  “Sure, man.” Jake moved one step at a time, trying to keep the guy’s focus on him. Fred had ducked down the alley and would be running around the half-block to come up behind the man.

  Jake wanted the guy concentrating on him. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, with a slow, broad gesture, Jake snicked the gun’s safety on. One step back. He lowered his gun to his side. Step.

  The child’s screams seemed distant. Step.

  Jake held his gun near his holster. Step. The man’s bloodshot blue gaze followed Jake. The guy inched forward. Slow. One step.

  Sweat pooled on Jake’s body. Hell, it was hot. Step. The little boy sobbed and held out his arms to Jake. Hell.

  Jake smiled and the kid started struggling and screaming again. Jake’s gut tensed. He moved slow.

  Fred moved fast. His weapon came up to the back of the guy’s head. “Police. Drop your gun!”

  The man jerked, dropped the kid, jerked again, and fired at Jake. The blow of the bullet to his chest knocked him down, head hitting concrete. Pain exploded in his chest and head, then blackness swallowed him.

  The phone rang, snapping Shauna from her doze over a new landscaping plan. She blinked. The phone trilled again.

  She knew who was phoning and had to pick up before voice mail did. She’d made her decision. Now she needed to confirm it. Where was the cordless? It rang downstairs. Hopping to her feet, she ran to the stairs and down, missed a step, and saw the banister knob coming straight at her head. At the last instant she grabbed the rail and ducked, taking a hard blow to her shoulder.

  There was no time to stop and shake as she sped to the phone in the kitchen.

  “It’s Shauna. Sorry for the delay. I was upstairs working.” She tried to steady her breathing, but there was no way she could hide that she’d run to the phone.

  “Oh,” her friend Phil Hassuk, a bank officer, said. “I hoped you’d thought better of this notion and were going to let us both off the hook.”

  “Put the loan papers through.” The words coming from her lips shook her to the core.

  “This isn’t like you, Shauna; are you really sure? You could fail and lose your house. Starting up a little landscaping company in this economy is cra—imprudent, especially in mid-August instead of May or June. As your friend and financial adviser, I’m against it.”

  Shauna shut her eyes and fiddled with the phone’s antenna. Her thoughts ping-ponged back and forth over the pros and cons of her action—her future. “I just won that city award for Best Landscaping.” Her voice was high. If she hadn’t been so terrified, she’d be filled with pride.

  “For a cat sanctuary!” Phil sounded as incredulous as everyone else.

  Steadying her breathing, Shauna said as firmly as she could, “It brought me several inquiries, potential customers. If I’m going to start my own business, now’s the right time.”

  “Shauna—”

  “Why shouldn’t I step out on my own? Why shouldn’t I have faith in my own talent and creativity and pure green thumb? So I’m petrified, but being a coward won’t bring me what I want. Taking a risk might.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk like this,” Phil said, disapproval lacing his voice. “You’ve always been cautious, wisely considered your future.”

  Despite the huge risk, she felt time slipping away from her, as if this was the last chance, perhaps the only chance for her to grab the dream she’d wanted for years.

  “I have to do this. Now. Put the loan papers through. Or don’t you think I’m good enough to succeed?” Why did she ask? She trembled awaiting her friend’s answer.

  The pause lasted an eternity.

  Phil said, “The chances of failure—”

  “I can do it. Will you support me or not?”

  “You sound odd. Have you been drinking?”

  Shauna laughed. “Not yet.” She rubbed her temple; hazy dream images appeared and voices whispered, trying to make themselves heard, but she didn’t have time to focus on them. “Do I have to go to someone else, Phil?”

  “You could lose your house. If you fail, I won’t be able to bail you out.”

  “I’ve never asked you to help me and I won’t.” Shauna set her jaw. “Do I have to go somewhere else?”

  “I’ll put the papers through. At least you still have that lousy florist job with George.”

  She wouldn’t tell Phil she was quitting. “Thanks, Phil.”

  “Do you want some company for that drink?”

  “Not this evening. I want to contact my new clients.” Mrs. Mally would be first. Shauna could be at the lovely home near Skyline Park with preliminary plans as soon as tomorrow evening. She did a little dance step; giddiness fizzed through her.

  “Fine,” Phil said. “As I explained earlier, the money from your mortgage should come through in about a week.”

  “Great.” Shauna would not let fear close her throat. “I will have everything ready to ramp up by then.”

  “I’ve got to go. I have your business to transact.”

  Laughing, Shauna said, “I’m on the Road of Great Adventure.” She blinked, wondering where the words came from.

  “What? Never mind,” Phil said, and rang off.

  Shauna hung up. The room whirled around her. The air thickened until she had trouble breathing. Gasping, she let herself slide down the wall to the floor, not able to make it to a chair. Dizziness rushed through her. Jimbo, her fat gray cat, trotted through the cat door with a twig of yellow aspen leaves, out-of-season color. Something very, very strange was going on.

  “Hello.”

  Jake jolted as the greeting echoed through his brain. Looking around, he saw an ugly black-and-white tomcat atop one of the stools in his curtained hospital space. A prickle slithered up his spine. The cat looked familiar.

  He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. For a minute he’d thought the cat had actually spoken. Geeze! Banging his head on concrete had made more of an impact than he’d thought.

  “You’re not dead,” the cat said. “You were, but aren’t now.”

  Jake ignored the whispery words. He finished tucking his shirt into his jeans, slipped his keys into his pocket, and strode to the tom. “Damn. What’s a cat doing here?”

  He’d liked the doc, wouldn’t want her to get in trouble. He grabbed, but the cat leaped away and up to the hospital bed. Images of the cat and a pillar and temple flowed into Jake’s brain, and he shook them impatiently away—fuzzy images of weird dreams when he’d been out. There’d been a woman—

  “Sorry, Jake, I didn’t hear you.” Fred walked in.

  Eyeing the cat, Jake saw bloody hands in his future, but guessed he was too macho a guy to ask for help in getting the animal out of the place. “Fred, hand me the towel, will you? I want to take care of the cat.”

  Fred picked up a damp towel the doc had used on Jake and tossed it to him. He grimaced, sure that trying to wrap a sodden towel around a cat would lead to injury. Huh. He’d faced down a gun and a bullet this morning, but hesitated at taking on a cat. Some hero he was.

  “A cat? Since when did you get a cat? I thought you didn’t like pets.”

  “That one there.” Jake gestured to the tom.

  Fred frowned. “What cat?”

  Jake opened his mouth to say “Boris,” and froze. Why would he call the cat Boris?

  Fred looked at Jake strangely. The cat smirked.

  “Your head hurting?” Fred asked.

  Jake rubbed the bump on the back of his skull. “Yep.”

  “Seeing things?” asked Fred.

  “Like cats?” Jake laughed. It came out strained. He pretended to scan the area. “You don’t see any cats, do you?”

  Eyebrows bobbing, Fred shook his head. “Nope. No cats. No dogs. No pink elephants in tutus.”

  Fred looked a little worse for wear,
too. “What went down? You in any trouble?” Jake asked.

  Hunching a shoulder, Fred said, “I didn’t kill the guy, and Betty Pazinski from Social Services took the kid.”

  Jake nodded. “She’s a good woman.” He wished he’d known someone like her growing up. “She’ll do right by him.”

  The cat sniffed. Fred stared at him.

  Jake preferred direct action. He sauntered to the bed and started to sit down on the cat.

  The tom hissed and hopped away. “You’re not dead,” the cat repeated. Then he lifted his nose and twitched his ears. “But I am. I am a Ghost Cat. Soon to be an Angel Cat. I will go home with you to help you meet Shauna. Then I will get wings. When you love her and marry her, I will get My Crown and Temple and Road of Great Adventure. And I am Borissssss.”

  “Are you okay, Jake? Hell, the blood drained right out of your face.” Fred hurried to help Jake sit on the bed.

  Jake dropped his head to his hands. “Geeze.”

  “You hallucinating, man? What kind of drugs did they give you?”

  “Nothing,” Jake mumbled. “It’s nothing. Just a little dizzy,” he lied. Summoning up a charming smile, he sent it to Fred. “I’ll be fine.”

  Fred shook his head. “You’re lucky.” He grinned and Jake felt to his bones that Fred’s lopsided smile was gold while his own was tinfoil. Jake didn’t like his facade anymore.

  Then Fred sobered. “I’d invite you home, but you know my sister is staying with us. We don’t have room.”

  Now Fred was lying. He lived in an old sprawling farmhouse that had been surrounded by burbs. Jake rubbed his head again, glancing to his right from the corner of his eyes. Boris—no, he would not name the cat—was still there. Jake let his shoulders slump. “You don’t have to say that, Fred. You just don’t want me near your sister.”

  Fred’s big feet shifted. “Sorry, no offense, but—” He stopped.

  “Yeah, I know. I use women and let them use me.” Jake didn’t know where the phrase had come from and was appalled he’d said it. He scrubbed his face. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Tough day. I’d appreciate a ride home, though.”

  “Sure.” Fred lightly punched his shoulder. For once, Jake didn’t stiffen or flinch. Fred cocked his head.

  The doctor, an older woman, came back in. Jake rose on unsteady feet and offered his hand. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said sincerely. She shook his hand, then gave him a bottle with a couple of pills. “These will help you rest. Don’t be as macho as you look. Take them.”

  “I will. Thanks again for all your help,” Jake said.

  Fred stared. The doctor nodded, then left. Studying Jake with cop’s eyes, Fred said, “A close shave with death can shake up a man, make him rethink his priorities.”

  “Rethink his whole damn life,” Jake said. Buzzing in his ears solidified into “Jake the Jerk.” Had he been a jerk?

  “Yessssssss,” hissed Boris. “Fred always thought you could be a better man, especially with women.” Jake’s gut twinged. He’d always thought Fred had respected him. Being respected by his buddies was the most important thing in the world.

  Jake turned his head. The tom appeared as solid as ever. Ghost cat! “Geeze.”

  A short laugh came from Fred. “That’s the old Jake, saying geeze instead of damn or shit or f—”

  “Yep.” Jake stood and struggled to find his balance. Flashing memories blew through his mind of slaps and backhanded blows accompanied by cursing from members of both sexes—his parents and their lovers that came and went. It was an old, sorry wind and brought the taste of blood in his mouth from a split lip.

  He blinked, remembering for the first time in a long time the six-month stretch where an old neighbor guy gave him soda and corrected his swearing into the mild “geeze.” It rocked him to realize that he’d used the word all this time out of simple respect for that man.

  “Ready?” Jake asked Fred, glad nothing more revealing came out of his mouth.

  “Sure.”

  “Yessss,” said Boris, hopping down.

  “I don’t like cats,” Jake mumbled.

  Fred gripped Jake’s upper arm. “I know, buddy, but you don’t have to deal with any,” he soothed.

  That’s what he thought. Boris marched, tail waving, in front of them. A ghost cat. Right.

  “Jake?” Fred’s voice pulled him from a light daze to find himself outside and next to a car, with Fred holding the door open. Jake slid into the front seat and fumbled with his seat belt, then grunted when Boris landed in his lap. For a ghost cat he was damn heavy.

  “Yeah?” Jake pulled the door shut, trying to ignore the animal. Fred went to the driver’s seat, slammed his door, hooked his seat belt, inserted his key, and took the wheel. His face set in impassive lines. His fingers flexed once, then curled around the steering wheel.

  “Don’t take this wrong, buddy, but it seems the hit you took is improving you. Keep it up.”

  “Up what?” Jake asked ironically.

  Fred grinned and shrugged.

  “Being honest,” Boris said. “And not superficial, especially with women.”

  “Huh.” Jake would have to think about all this. Boris kneaded his thighs and Jake tensed. “One last question, Fred.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you see any cats?”

  Boris settled and lifted a paw to lick it, slurping loudly.

  Fred peered out the windshield, checked the driver’s and passenger’s windows and mirrors. “Nope. Not a one.”

  “I may be turning over a new leaf, but I still won’t like cats,” Jake said, shutting his eyes and letting weariness take him. Boris grumbled. Not purred, grumbled. Jake sighed. “Geeze.”

  Jake crashed at his place—a rented condo near Skyline Park—for the rest of that day and the next. Strange dreams played through his mind. Mostly of a woman, but now and then there was a shadowy figure called Gray and an insistent cat. He liked the erotic ones about the woman the best, even though they stopped before he climaxed and left him aching.

  Finally he awoke to a growl. He stared. There was the cat, sitting next to him on the bed, glaring at him.

  “What’s for dinner? It’s four o’clock, time to eat,” Boris said.

  “You’re a ghost cat. You don’t eat,” Jake said before he could stop himself. Hearing a cat and replying! He rolled over. “I’m asleep and dreaming.”

  “You always think that. We have things to do.”

  “We?” Jake asked. “You do them. You’re the talking cat. You can do anything, right?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Go catch ghost mice.” Were there ghost mice? What was he thinking? How’d he get into this mess? If he got up and got his act together, he wouldn’t be talking to an imaginary cat.

  Boris moved in, glowering, until they were nose to nose. Jake sat up. Claws pierced his skin and scratched. He looked down. Where there should be red lines there was nothing. The stinging vanished as if it had all been an illusion. He narrowed his eyes at Boris and visualized sending the ghost cat through the wall.

  The cat stepped out of reach, sat, and began to whine. Jake slid down and rolled over and put the pillow on his head. The yowl started low, then increased to pierce his ears.

  “We need to go out to the park. Now,” Boris said.

  “This can’t be happening,” Jake mumbled. A heavy weight settled on the pillow over his head. The screech stopped. Jake sighed.

  Something cold and damp touched his arm. Jake flinched, hoping it really wasn’t a cat nose. Then the nose slid up his arm, leaving a wet trail. Jake couldn’t stand it. He rolled from bed and stood, weaving a bit to get his balance and suppressing a groan at all the aches in his muscles. He opened one eye, then the other.

  A scruffy black-and-white tomcat sat like a king in the middle of Jake’s bed. He rubbed his face, shook his head. He turned and limbered up with stretches. When he glanced back at the bed, the cat had his back leg stuck in the air and was grooming. Jake stared
. Boris was well equipped in the sex department. That didn’t seem right.

  “You have time to shower and dress before we go to the park. You should open a can of tuna so I can eat while you shower. You have slept very long and I am hungry.”

  Jake grunted. As far as he was concerned, the cat could scavenge in the garbage cans of the park. He wondered if he should bother talking to the tom. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.

  “I am not an it—”

  “Haven’t we had this conversation?” asked Jake, then shook his head. “No.”

  Boris lifted a paw and licked it. “You can remember now, if you want.”

  Jake didn’t. He stalked from the bedroom to the bathroom. The park might be a good idea. He could work the kinks from his muscles with a speed walk.

  The park would also be crowded on a summer Saturday afternoon. Usually he’d think about picking up a woman, maybe near the tennis courts, but now the idea didn’t appeal. Somehow he didn’t think it would ever appeal to him again. His world had shifted—or maybe it was just his perspective—but he was going to try and figure out how to act without the shallow, joking mask he’d worn for so long. All his adult life. No more practiced and charming manner, just straight honesty.

  A walk in a public park would settle him. The image of a golden aspen tree came, and he shook it away, though it made him smile.

  When he finished cleaning up and went back to the bedroom to dress, he found a blue polo shirt and darker blue slacks laid out on the bed. The cat grinned. “Shauna likes blue.”

  Shauna. The name echoed in his head and to his amazement it also stirred his body with recollections of hot dreams.

  He shrugged and dressed. If the tom wanted to visit the park so much, maybe Jake could ditch the cat there. Not much of a plan, but other than pretending Boris didn’t exist, Jake didn’t know how to deal with an alleged ghost cat.

  Boris jumped from the bed and led the way to the front door—tail straight up and humming creakily.

  Jake started out at a brisk walk along his sidewalk that led to the asphalt paths of the park. To his horror, several people jogged right through Boris. The cat grumbled and hissed and the runners stumbled a few steps later.