She leaned close and softly said that a gunshot wound isn’t “nothing” and saw confusion wrinkle his brow. He quickly told the bartender he’d be in his office and led her along the edge of the room to the hallway marked PRIVATE.
“What do you know about it?” he asked suspiciously as they stepped into the smaller room. He motioned for her to sit in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk.
“Only what I saw in a dream.” She waited for the look of utter disbelief. It never came. She wiped her hands on the rough denim of her jeans and continued. “The first time I dreamed it was about a week ago, then again three nights ago.” She told him all the details that she could remember from that second night when everything had been clear.
“And you dreamed this? Twice?” He watched her nod and recalled the night they’d met and her question about whether he believed in people having strong vibes. He believed her. “How?”
“It’s something I’ve always done—have dreams that come true. It doesn’t happen all the time.” She stared back at him with relief. “You haven’t laughed at me, yet.”
His head shook. He wouldn’t laugh at the sincere concern that had brought her to him.
“Let’s just say that I believe the mind works in ways we don’t understand. And you weren’t with me, so there is no other explanation for your knowing what you do.” He sat in the chair beside hers and reached for her hand: it was trembling and he wanted to calm her.
“I got shot three nights ago; the same night as your second dream. The bullet didn’t do a lot of damage but the wound will still take a little while to heal.” His fingers curled more securely around hers before he added, “The weird thing is that I thought I saw you that night while I was recovering from surgery. Your hair was loose and you were wearing a blue nightgown. I assumed it was a hallucination because of the anesthesia. But it wasn’t, was it?” His eyes searched hers for the truth. “This is a crazy question, but did you come to me in a vision, Stephanie?”
“I don’t know; maybe it’s possible.” She told him about the pain she’d felt during that second dream that hadn’t gone away until the next morning. “I’ve never been connected like that.”
Connected. It was the perfect word, Chaz decided.
“Do the police know who shot you?”
“They’re working on it.” He reached over to push a stray curl behind her ear.
Stephanie heard the evasiveness in his answer but didn’t say anything. Instead, she briefly touched the side of his face. The intensity of her concern showed in her eyes and moved him. He resisted an immediate urge to pull her onto his lap and just hold her; just let them enjoy whatever was drawing them together. But, he couldn’t ignore his surroundings or the truth about his job.
“This isn’t a good idea,” came from him.
“Life plays out like it has to, Chaz.”
“Aren’t you afraid to be with a man who just got shot?”
She shook her head. “I’m more afraid to not be with you,” was her honest reply. Whatever it meant, Chaz was part of her destiny. She leaned forward and kissed him, lightly at first and then again until he sighed and allowed the exchange to have more depth. As had happened when he’d touched her in the restaurant, Stephanie felt electricity pass through them.
Longing sprang to life and caused a conflict between his head and his heart. The timing was all wrong; his life was getting more dangerous and he wanted to shield her from it. Still, he wanted her, suspected from the way her kisses drew him that maybe he even needed her. But he might not be able to keep her safe, he argued with himself.
Well, he’d have to figure it out.
Chaz looked into her face and asked, “Do you trust me, Stephanie?” She nodded. “I’m not a bad person. But there are things happening around here that I can’t let impact you. So, for now, I won’t be able to let anyone know about us.” He studied her for a reaction. Nothing. “When we’re together, it can’t be here, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed even though she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. Stephanie trusted her instincts. At that moment, they were telling her that his concern for her was sincere, just as hers was for him.
Chaz asked for her cell phone and input his number. Then he allowed himself the luxury of holding and kissing her for a few minutes before he walked with her to the front of the pool hall and watched her leave.
His phone rang only seconds after she was gone.
“Who was that?” Morgan’s voiced asked.
“No one important.” Chaz glanced up at the black tinted dome above the bar that concealed a surveillance camera and was immediately reminded that the man downstairs was able to watch most of what went on above him.
“Don’t get careless, partner,” was a gentle warning. The call ended. Chaz understood. Morgan was being very protective since the shooting. And he had a right to be. A lot was at stake, and Chaz was the key to nearly a year of hard work.
Around three a.m., Chaz and Morgan locked the doors of the billiards hall and set a complex alarm system. They got into separate cars and drove to a small motel less than two miles away and entered the adjoined rooms where two other men sat waiting for them. Steve McDaniels and Rick Benton.
“How’s the arm?” the boss asked.
“It hurts.” Chaz dropped onto a spot on the edge of a bed. Without realizing it, he used his right hand to pull the immobilized arm closer.
“Yeah. Well, it could have been much worse.” Steve shook his head.
They’d all been thankful that the bullet had struck the flesh between Chaz’s armpit and ribcage—tearing muscle but missing any bones and his left lung. Their biggest concern was figuring out who’d shot him and why.
Everything had happened quickly. He’d just gotten out of his car and was approaching the rear entrance when he’d noticed a movement near the dumpsters opposite the building. The bullet had struck him just as he was turning but before he’d had a chance to raise his gun. Chaz had only seen the shooter’s legs running past him. Now, he gave them the description of the man and his vehicle according to Stephanie’s vision.
“How does she know this?” Steve frowned with skepticism. “We didn’t see her on any of the security tapes.”
“You won’t believe me,” Chaz shrugged. He had no intention of telling anyone about the dreams: hers or his. “But she wasn’t there and I don’t believe she has any connection to Moseley.”
“Then we need to find out who she is.”
“She’s no one,” Chaz assured Steve.
The three men looked at Chaz and everyone waited for Steve’s reaction.
“What does she know about you?” was the boss’ eventual question.
“That I own a pool hall.”
“Do you think she suspects you’re a cop?” That was Rick.
“No. But I don’t think she’s afraid of me being a criminal either.”
“What does that mean?” Morgan demanded. “Our case depends on people believing you’re a criminal.” As an undercover detective with the state police, he’d been a part of the investigation long before the FBI had been called.
“Not her. She has nothing to do with our case.”
“Are you sure?” From his seat at the small table in the corner of the room, Steve stared at the undercover federal agent. Steve had worked with him before and Chaz’s judgment had always been solid, dependable beyond a doubt. Steve wouldn’t second guess him now, and definitely not in front of these men who didn’t know Chaz like Steve did. They’d have to talk about this woman soon enough. “Okay—for now. Tell me about Moseley. Whoever shot you could have made sure you were dead, could’ve shot you in the head or heart after you were down. Since he didn’t, we have to assume one of two things: either he was inexperienced or he was only supposed to scare you. What do we know for sure?”
Rick fidgeted before mentioning rumors circulating that Moseley’s plans for taking over as many independent gambling rooms as possible might have another reaso
n besides his own greed. Those rumors hinted that Moseley could want to position himself as being valuable to a bigger boss who was moving into the area. Maybe he needed Chaz to make a decision soon. Speculation. No names. No corroborations. It was the best theory they had to work with. Still, no one was comfortable with the possibility that their case could get more complicated than it already was.
Chaz closed his eyes briefly to consider all that was said. “Nothing we know about Moseley indicates he has the stomach for anything more drastic than extortion and gambling. Actually, he doesn’t even like the messiness of loan-sharking. It’s not likely that he sent someone after me. And if he did, why wouldn’t he already have used the shooting to bully me?” In the three days since the ambush, Moseley and his no-name representative had been silent.
“So, maybe he’s not being obvious because he wants you to stew in fear for a while. If you were a civilian, you might suspect the shooter was a dissatisfied gambler or someone not otherwise tied to Moseley. That might make you think you’re into more than you can handle and, therefore, a little more eager to take his offer.” Rick shrugged.
“Is it possible that Moseley is trying to preserve the image that he’s small time so that this phantom boss doesn’t perceive him as a threat? That would explain him wanting Chaz shot but not killed.”
Another possibility (if the phantom boss existed) was that, whether Moseley liked that type of work or not, this other person might be impatient and want all roadblocks out of the way. Would he want a reluctant owner like Chaz eliminated? That scenario would indicate that this was much more than a regional problem and that someone might still be after Chaz. Of course, that theory had its flaws, too. As far as any civilians knew, the previous club owner was Chaz’s uncle who had retired and moved to Arizona—Chaz was the only person to negotiate with. Killing him would make it less likely that Moseley, or anyone else, would have a chance to take over.
“Well, I believe that he probably wants me scared but not dead. I guess, in a way, that makes me safe,” Chaz observed.
Not everyone was so sure.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Chaz drove to Stephanie’s apartment a few days later, a plan to keep her safe was forming in the back of his mind. She wouldn’t like it, so he wouldn’t tell her. But if anyone saw them together, he needed them to believe she was no more special than anyone else. To that end, he would date some woman who frequented the billiards bar, maybe even two of them. Then, it would be okay to occasionally be seen in public with Stephanie. As Karen had probably told her friend, he was often the recipient of harmless flirting and sometimes outright propositions. If Moseley or anyone else was watching, they could easily come to the conclusion that he was casual about each of them.
Tonight, however, he and Stephanie were having dinner in.
“Right on time,” she smiled as she swung open the door to her colorful and cozily furnished apartment and stepped aside. The door was barely closed behind Chaz before he was pulling her into his arms. Just hold her, he silently instructed. She feels so good was the next thought. Reluctantly, he released her.
“I brought ingredients to make Mexican mojitos,” Chaz was saying as he followed her to the counter that separated the livingroom from the kitchen.
“My favorite.” She was impressed that he’d remembered. “We’ll fix a pitcher and have them with dinner. Something cool for a spicy meal.” On the menu were poblano peppers stuffed with chicken and cheese and a casserole of corn, black beans, tomatoes, and cilantro in a heavy cream sauce, all of which were put into the oven about ten minutes before he’d arrived.
Stephanie washed the fresh mint while Chaz cut limes into wedges on the mosaic board on the counter. She watched as he crushed together the lime, mint, and sugar before adding tequila, ice and a little club soda. A brisk stirring and the drinks were done. He poured some into a glass painted with southwestern scenes and handed it over for her approval before opening a can of Pepsi for himself; alcohol wouldn’t mix well with pain meds.
“Great.” She took another swallow and handed the glass back. “Let’s sit in the livingroom.” He carried the drinks while she grabbed some snack plates, the bowl of guacamole, and chips.
“How’s your wound?” she asked as they settled beside each other on the sofa. Only about a week had passed since the shooting.
“It’s better every day; doesn’t hurt most of the time it’s in the sling. Of course, I’ll probably need a couple of physical therapy sessions once everything heals, but the doctors are positive that I’ll recover fine.” He sipped his drink and set it on a coaster. “How was your day?”
“Boring. Frustrating. Boring again.” She smiled. “Actually, Karen can’t get back from maternity leave soon enough—she makes being in the office bearable.”
They munched on chips and sipped their drinks and talked about the baby and his parents, the pool hall, and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.
“I’m addicted to spicy foods,” Chaz admitted.
“Then it ought to be easy to get you to hang around; I’m probably addicted, too. Mexican is one of my favorites followed closely by Szechuan and Thai.”
“Sounds like my kind of girl.” He hadn’t meant to say that.
“I hope so.” She didn’t look at him as the soft words slid easily across her lips. Instead, she loaded guacamole onto a chip and handed it to him. “It’s homemade. I like to cook.” She gestured toward the rows of cookbooks on the shelves that were built into the front of the breakfast counter.
“At one point, I thought about becoming a chef, but I’m a little too practical for that. Spending twelve hours a day in a kitchen didn’t sound appealing, especially considering the failure rate of restaurants.” She sipped her mojito. “Therefore, I settled for predictable hours and great job security. Don’t get me wrong. I love working with numbers—it’s just that I feel anonymous in my current job. Does that make any sense?”
More sense than she could imagine. An undercover federal agent, working on a case that had so far lasted about 10 months, where no one got to know the real you: he could definitely understand her need for a clearer identity. He wondered whether the rut made her feel as isolated as it did him. Then, he considered that he’d only started having these thoughts recently and after nearly eight years of undercover work. Before her, he hadn’t been lonely.
Chaz leaned over and kissed her. She laughed and kissed him back. As before, he marveled at the way she seemed so confident and at ease with what was happening between them.
During dinner, he listened to her talk about her childhood with doting parents and one brother almost six years older than she. They’d lived in an urban neighborhood but definitely not inner-city. Both parents had careers in finance. Her brother, a civil engineer, was married with three daughters and lived in Michigan.
Chaz broke every rule of undercover work by telling her the truth about his youth in Pittsburgh, the fact that he was an only child and had gone to college in Ohio, and his long-abandoned dreams of a life in politics. Chaz hadn’t wanted to talk honestly about himself in a very long time. Even when not on an assignment, many of his friends were agents who shared a habit of not revealing a lot about their lives. And he didn’t have anyone significant to share moments like he was doing with Stephanie. He missed having this lighthearted life.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing his shift in mood.
“Nothing,” he lied. “I just like talking with you.” That was true.
She searched his face and considered his words for a long moment before choosing not to comment. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t yet completely open with her. This was only the second time she’d seen him since going to the pool hall. She told herself not to expect him to feel the closeness she did; after all, she was the one psychically tied to him, not the other way around.
After putting on a slow jazz CD, she coaxed Chaz into dancing with her. Not that there was much space in the livingroom, but they didn’t need
a lot. And he didn’t need much coaxing.
“This sling is cramping my style,” he complained lightly. “There’s no way I can spin you and dip you with only one good wing.”
“Maybe I should spin you instead,” she offered. They both laughed as she raised his good arm above his head: she was at least half a foot shorter than he.
“How long do you have to keep it on?” Stephanie ran a finger along the strap of the sling until her hand was resting lightly on his shoulder.
“Probably another few weeks. The stitches have finished dissolving but the muscle needs more time to heal. The doctors want me to keep everything as immobile as possible when I’m at work and when I’m sleeping. But, after next week, I’m supposed to spend some time every day just moving it gently when there’s no danger of it getting bumped around.”
“Where did the bullet hit?”
Chaz’s free fingers curled around her hand, slid it under the sling, and placed it over the spot.
“I saw you fall,” she said quietly, obviously speaking about her dream. “My chest hurt so bad that I thought the bullet had hit you in the heart.” She looked at him with moist eyes. “I’m glad it didn’t.”
“Me too.” He wished he could kiss away her sadness. “I’m sorry you had to feel that.”
Stephanie pulled her hand away and slid both arms around Chaz’s neck. His chin rested against the side of her face for a long time before he remembered that they were supposed to be dancing. But his feet wouldn’t move. He closed his eyes and held her as firmly against him as he could with one arm in the way.
It was nearly midnight before he left the apartment. He’d barely had time to close the car door before his cell phone vibrated. Text message from SM: MEET ASAP. He sighed and wondered what Steve wanted.
It was the first time he’d been aware of resenting his superior’s intrusions. Usually, he was sitting around bored, waiting for the next tidbit of information, or acting out the carefully crafted persona the assignment called for. Normally, he wasn’t with a woman who made him want to forget everything except the way she felt in his arms.
Premonitions: Dream Catcher Series ~ Book 1 Page 3
