Dream Man

by Linda Howard

  Which brought her to problem number three, the one so distressing that she had put off thinking about it: The evil she had felt, which had made her so uneasy, had the same … texture, or personality, as the force she had felt the night Nadine Vinick had been murdered. It was the same man. He was still out there, and his evil was focusing on someone else. It was unformed as yet; she had caught only an echo of it. But he was going to act again, and she was the only hope the police had, and his intended victim had, to stop him in time.

  She had nothing to go on. No face, no name. Eventually, though, she would be able to focus on him, stay with him, and he would make some mistake that would tell her his identity.

  She would have to work with the police, and that meant working with Hollister. She had no doubt it would be an uncomfortable, difficult situation, but she had no choice. She was caught up in this and had no way of getting out.

  7

  MARLIE HAD JUST FINISHED DRESSING THE NEXT MORNING when the heavy knock at the front door made her jump, then frown with both annoyance and alarm. She had no doubt who was pounding on her door at seven-twenty in the morning, and it didn’t take any special skills to figure it out.

  The best way to deal with him, though, was to not let him know that she reacted to him in any way. He would see her anger as a weakness, and heaven help her if he should get even a hint of the unwilling attraction she felt. He was too aggressive to let either circumstance pass by.

  She wasn’t about to invite him in. She had to get to work, and she had no intention of letting him make her late. She got her purse and had her keys in hand as she marched to the front door. When she opened it, he was standing almost in her face, leaning with one muscular arm braced against the frame and the other one raised to pound on her door again. The closeness of his body made her catch her breath, a reaction she hid by stepping out and turning to close the door behind her. Unfortunately, he didn’t move back, and she fetched up solidly against him, all heat and hard muscle. She was practically in his arms; all he had to do was close them around her, and she would be caught.

  Grimly she concentrated on locking the door, trying to ignore the situation. The brief look she had had at his face told her that he was ill tempered this morning, but now she sensed an alarming male edginess beneath the temper. He was as fractious as a stallion scenting a mare in season.

  The mental image was unfortunate, and so apt that her heart began beating wildly. With her back turned to him as she wrestled with the stubborn lock, she was suddenly acutely aware of the press of his body against her buttocks. An unmistakable ridge had formed, thick and hard, blatant in intent.

  The lock finally clicked into place. She stood motionless, frozen with indecision. If she moved, she would be rubbing against him; if she didn’t move, he might take it as an invitation. She closed her eyes against the insidious temptation to simply turn and face him, giving him silent permission by giving him access. Only the certainty that it wouldn’t work, that she would freeze under the onslaught of a six-year-old horror, kept her from giving in. She couldn’t go through that again.

  She forced her voice to work. “What do you want, Detective?” Then she could have bit her tongue. Bad choice of words, under the circumstances. With his erection insistently nudging her, what he wanted was obvious.

  For two seconds he didn’t answer. She felt the lift of his chest as he slowly inhaled; then, thankfully, blessedly, he moved back a step. “I’m not here as a detective. I just came to see if you’re all right.”

  The heavy sexual tension eased with the small distance between them, making her feel as if she had been freed from shackles. The relief made her light-headed, a reaction she countered with action. “I’m fine,” she said briskly, and went down the steps before he could stop her. Oh, damn. His car was blocking hers in the driveway. She stopped, and her self-control had returned enough that she hesitated only briefly before turning to face him. “I have to leave or I’ll be late to work.”

  He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive. You have plenty of time.”

  “I like to leave early, in case of trouble.”

  The explanation didn’t budge him. His heavylidded hazel eyes moved over her, their expression shielded. “Anything else scare you last night?”

  “I wasn’t scared.”

  “Couldn’t prove it by me.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” she repeated, this time with her teeth clenched. His obstinance was already fraying her temper. She needed to get away from him, now.

  “Sure you were. And you’re scared now.” His gaze raked over her again. “Though not for the same reason,” he said softly. This time when his eyelids lifted, she saw the predatory gleam of male awareness.

  Marlie stiffened, a chill of apprehension touching her. He might not be psychic himself, but his male instincts were acute. It would be more difficult to evade him than she’d thought, for he sensed the response she couldn’t quite mask. He came down the steps toward her, and she swiftly retreated to her car. She jerked the door open and slid behind it, using it as a barricade against him.

  He regarded her over the open door, his eyes sharp now, piercingly intent. “Calm down,” he murmured. “Don’t get in such a snit.”

  She glared at him, agitated almost beyond endurance. If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to lose control and say something she knew she would regret. She clutched at the door for support, her knuckles white with the effort. “Move your car, Detective. And unless you have a warrant, don’t come to my house again.”

  Great going, Hollister. Dane felt violent as he swore at himself. He glared down at his desk, ignoring the noise around him of overlapping voices and the incessant ringing of the telephones. He was raw with frustration, both sexual and professional. There were no leads in the Vinick case, no evidence. The investigation was going nowhere, and it looked as if his interest in Marlie Keen was rapidly headed in the same direction.

  What else had he expected? That she wouldn’t notice his erection jammed against her ass? The wonder was that she hadn’t started screaming.

  He should have moved back immediately when she had stepped out of the house, but he hadn’t. The first accidental touch of her body had frozen him in place, all of his senses painfully focused on the contact. It had felt so good that he had barely been able to tolerate it, but at the same time it hadn’t been enough. He had wanted more. He had wanted to strip her naked, to thrust inside her. He had wanted to feel her legs wrapped around his hips, wanted to feel her quivering beneath him as she came. He wanted to dominate her, smash her resistance, bend her so thoroughly to his will that he could take her whenever he wanted … and he wanted to protect her from everything and everyone else. That was why he had been on her front porch this morning. He hadn’t been able to rest all night, almost certain something had frightened her but totally certain that she wouldn’t welcome his concern if he’d called her again. When morning came, he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d had to see for himself that she was all right.

  So what had he done? Alienated her even further. He had mishandled her from the very beginning, and he still had no idea what he was supposed to do about her. Officer Ewan had cleared her of being at the scene of Nadine Vinick’s murder, but she obviously knew something about it, and had come to the police with it. So what was she, a suspect or a witness? Logic said the former, some uneasy instinct said the latter, and his dick frankly didn’t give a damn.

  “You’re in a piss-poor mood,” Trammell commented lazily, all tipped back in his chair and watching Dane’s expression.

  He grunted. There was no denying it.

  “Talked to Marlie lately?”

  Annoyed, Dane shot him a glance. “This morning,” he said briefly.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Nothing? Then why did you call her?”

  “I didn’t.” Restlessly Dane twirled a pencil. “I went over there.”

  “Oh, ho. Keeping secrets
from your partner, huh?”

  “No secrets to keep.”

  “So why did you go over there?”

  Damn, all this interrogation was making him feel twitchy. Dane had a brief moment of sympathy for the suspects he and Trammell had questioned for hours. A very brief moment. “No reason,” he replied, blatantly stonewalling and not giving a damn if Trammell knew it.

  “No reason, huh?” Trammell was having fun. His dark eyes were gleeful. He had never thought he’d see the day when his good buddy Dane would be so antsy over a woman, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it. Dane never had woman trouble; they had always cared about him far more than he cared for them, which gave him a tremendous advantage in his relationships. He’d never mistreated a woman, but at the same time their influence on him had been very slight. If they didn’t like his irregular hours, tough. If he had to miss a date, so what? He’d never given anything of himself beyond the physical to a woman, because the job had always come first. Dane was a damn good cop, one of the best. But he’d pretty much sailed unscathed through the rough seas of romance, unlike the rest of them who wrestled with the conflicts between job and relationships, so it was nice to see him squirming now.

  Trammell prodded the beast again. “What did she say?”

  Dane scowled, and darted another irritated look at his partner. “Why are you so curious?”

  Trammell spread his hands, feigning innocence. “I thought we were working on this case together.”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with the case.”

  “Then why were you over there?”

  “Just checking on her.”

  Trammell couldn’t hold back a chuckle, and the telephone rang while he was still laughing.

  Dane picked up the receiver. “Detective Hollister,” he barked.

  “Finally turned up some stuff on the Keen woman you asked about,” a laconic voice said in Dane’s ear. “Interesting. Damn interesting.”

  Dane had stiffened at the first mention of Marlie’s name, his entire body alert. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “I’ll let you read it for yourself, pal. I’m faxing it to you. Didn’t know you went in for that kind of shit. Nice-looking woman, though.”

  “Yeah,” he said automatically. “Thanks, Baden. I owe you one.”

  “I’m marking that down in my little book,” Baden said cheerfully. “See ya.”

  Dane hung up the phone to find Trammell watching him with sharp interest, all amusement gone. “What’s up?”

  “Baden’s faxing me some information on Marlie Keen.”

  “No kidding.” Trammell’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t think anything would turn up on her.”

  “Well, it has.” The fax machine in the corner began to hum and spit out paper. Dane got up and went over to it, his face grim. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see this. Two days ago he would have loved to get his hands on some information about Marlie, but not now. Ever since she had called him the night before, he had stopped even trying to deny the effect she had on him. He wanted her, damn it. And he wanted her to be innocent. He wanted there to be some explanation of the things she had told them on Monday. Trammell came over to stand beside him, his dark gaze inscrutable as he watched Dane.

  The first sheet came out. It was a photocopy of a newspaper article. Quickly he scanned the headline: TEENAGE PSYCHIC FINDS MISSING CHILD.

  Trammell whistled, the single note almost soundless.

  Page after page followed. They all had a common theme: Marlie Keen’s psychic abilities. Some of the articles seemed to be from psychology magazines, or were papers on parapsychology. Several grainy photographs were printed, showing a younger, almost childish-looking Marlie. Most of them were newspaper articles, reporting how “noted psychic” Marlie Keen had worked with police to solve various cases. The articles were all from the Northwest, he noted. Oregon and Washington mostly, though there were a couple in Idaho, one in northern California, one in Nevada.

  Sometimes she was described as a “youthful clairvoyant,” once as “lovely,” twice as “extraordinary.” It was a common theme in the articles that the local police forces had been, at the beginning, both skeptical and derisive of her talents, until she had done exactly what she had said she could do. Usually it was to find a missing person, though on a couple of occasions she had helped find kidnappers. Several times it was mentioned that, when not involved in a case, Miss Keen lived in Boulder, Colorado, at the Institute of Parapsychology. A Dr. Sterling Ewell, a professor of parapsychology at the Institute, was quoted several times.

  Trammell was standing right beside him, reading each sheet as he did. They were both silent. Even though they had been forewarned, by Marlie herself, reading about it in black and white was unsettling.

  Then one stark headline jumped out at them: KILLER ATTACKS PSYCHIC. Dane grabbed the sheet, holding it taut as it was printed, and they began reading as it emerged from the machine.

  There had been a series of child kidnappings in a remote area of Washington; one child had been found dead, two others were still missing. Marlie had been brought in by the local sheriff, with whom she had worked before in another town, to help find the children. Just before she had arrived, another child had disappeared. A big article about her had been printed in the paper the same day.

  That night Arno Gleen had kidnapped Marlie from her motel room and taken her to the same place he had taken the most recent missing child, a five-year-old boy. He had been seen, though, and the sheriff alerted. It was a small town; they were able to identify Gleen and track him down. But the little boy was already dead when they got there, and though they were in time to save Marlie’s life, she had been severely beaten.

  Her condition, “poor,” was reported in a subsequent article. Then there was nothing else. Absolutely nothing. Dane checked the date on the last article. A little over six years ago. For six years Marlie Keen had literally disappeared from the public eye. Why had she relocated to Florida? As soon as he had the thought, he pictured a map in his mind and knew why. Florida was as far from Washington as she could get and still stay in the country. But why, after six years of anonymity and a completely normal life, had she walked into the lieutenant’s office and told them about Nadine Vinick’s murder?

  “It couldn’t have been easy,” Trammell murmured, his thoughts obviously following the same path. “To have involved herself after what happened the last time.”

  Dane ran his hand through his hair. Part of him was elated, the last doubt demolished. There was an explanation for her knowledge. If he still couldn’t quite believe, at least now he had to suspend his disbelief. There was no longer any reason at all for him to stay away from her; he could go after her the way his body had wanted right from the beginning. But another part of him, perversely, didn’t want to accept what he had read. Half of it was the sheer unlikelihood of it, for it went against the grain with someone so solidly grounded in reality and facts. The other half was alarm. Shit, what if it was for real? He didn’t want anyone reading his mind, though after a moment’s reflection he had to admit that it would be convenient if a woman could tell how he felt and he wouldn’t have to talk about it.

  But it was more than that. He was a cop. He had seen things, heard things, done things, that he didn’t want to have as common knowledge between him and his woman. It was something only another cop would understand. The job marked them, forever set them apart from civilians. Some cases would go with him to the grave, living in his mind. Some victims’ faces, he would always see.

  He didn’t want anyone invading the privacy of his mind. Not even Marlie. His nightmares were his own.

  He gathered up the sheets. “I’m going to check on some of this,” he said. “Talk to this Dr. Ewell, find out about the past six years.”

  Trammell looked a little strange, a kind of amusement vying with sympathy. Dane scowled at him. Sometimes having a partner was like living with a psychic, you got to know each other so well. Trammell was sadistic enough, damn
him, to enjoy seeing Dane squirm over a woman.

  “What’s so damn funny?” he growled.

  Trammell shrugged. “It looks like we’ll be working with her, and I was just picturing you trying to get on her good side, after the way you two hit it off. Or didn’t hit it off, I should say.”

  Dane went back to his desk and got on the horn. Wryly he remembered when he had put in for detective. He had pictured a lot of fieldwork, fitting obscure pieces of evidence together like Sherlock Holmes. Instead, he had spent a lot of hours on the phone, and he’d found out that a detective was only as good as his snitches. A smart detective cultivated a lot of contacts on the street, lowlifes who were willing to drop a dime on someone else. Too bad he hadn’t had any snitches in Nadine Vinick’s neighborhood.

  A call to Information got him the number for the Institute of Parapsychology in Boulder. Less than a minute later he was being connected to Dr. Sterling Ewell.

  “Dr. Ewell, this is Detective Dane Hollister, Orlando Police Department.”

  “Yes?”

  Dane frowned slightly. There had been a wealth of caution in that one word. “I’d like to ask you some questions about Marlie Keen. She used to be affiliated with the Institute.”

  “I’m sorry, Detective,” the professor said coolly. “I don’t give out any information over the telephone about my colleagues.”

  “Ms. Keen isn’t in any trouble—”

  “I never thought she was.”

  “I simply need some background information on her.”

  “As I said, Detective, I’m sorry. I have no way of knowing if you are who you say you are. Tabloid reporters have often tried to get information by claiming to be with various police departments.”