The Dream Stalker (Gifted Liaisons)

by Capri Montgomery

  He was silent, for once he wasn’t his cocky self. The man she had fallen for because of his ability to think on his feet and have snappy and witty comebacks without hesitation. “I’ll be home late.” She left before he could say anything else, before he could utter words that they would both regret.

  She missed him. He was right there in the house with her, sleeping in the same bed and yet he was a million miles away. He hadn’t touched her. She wanted his touch, craved it. She wanted to feel his lips on her breasts, his hands between her legs and then his penis pressing deep into her. She wanted their long conversations, the laughter, his protective spirit. Instead she got a man who hadn’t touched her, not even a simple hug. Did he even realize how long it had been since the last time he’d pulled her into his arms and hugged her? She remembered. It was the morning before she got the case handed to her. He had pulled her into his arms, kissed her wantonly, made promises of great sex when he got home and then he’d hugged her so sweetly she felt the connection to the very core of her being. Had she known it would be the last hug he would give her, she would have committed more to memory. She would have remembered what he wore, what she wore, the way his hands felt on her low back, the spot that made her want to let him strip her and take her no matter what deadline she needed to meet. She would have remembered the taste of his mouth. Had he been eating breakfast? Had he had his coffee? She couldn’t remember now.

  If things were going to be bad she didn’t want him to make her work so hard for it. If he wanted out she wanted to know now so she could prepare her heart for the pieces she was sure it would break into…but at least they’d be pieces she’d find a way to put back together. As it went now he was taking little pieces everyday. He, the man who had promised to never hurt her, to never break her heart, was pushing her away more and more everyday and without reason, without provocation…she didn’t know how much more she could take.

  He hadn’t even tried to stop her when she left this morning. No, it went beyond that. He hadn’t even come to her last night, not to apologize, not to take her in his arms, not to tell her she was crazy to think he didn’t want her, because he did want her. That, to her, meant he didn’t want her. He didn’t want to lie about his feelings, but he didn’t want to voice them either. Warren didn’t like being a failure…she had learned that about him early on. He was determined to be the best even if it killed him. A marriage falling apart so soon would be a failure…maybe not his, but hers because clearly she had done something wrong. But he probably saw it as his failure…he probably hated her for it.

  Last night, even if he hadn’t apologized she would have gone into his arms simply because she needed to know he still wanted her there. Clearly he didn’t. She was stronger than this, stronger than letting some man use her as an emotional punching bag. Right now he was doing with actions what some men did with their fists. This wasn’t the Warren she married, and it wasn’t the Warren she wanted to stay married to. If they couldn’t get things together…and by God she meant soon, she was going to leave. He wouldn’t have to ask her to go because she would pack her bags and walk out the door on her own volition.

  Daya spent the morning in court, performing at top notch despite her home troubles. She always had a knack for putting things behind her and focusing on the task at hand. Currently, the task at hand was convincing a jury that her client didn’t kill his child. Jordan Maguire’s little girl had fallen down a flight of stairs, the ones leading to the basement. The steepness of the stairs had been deadly, more of a straight down fall than a gradual decline and because of it, and the speed at which she was traveling when she fell, the injuries sustained were lethal.

  Jordan was devastated. His wife had been there, she had even told the police officers that Jordan tried to stop their daughter from running, but he couldn’t catch up to her in time. Despite the wife’s testimony, the cops believed Jordan was the cause. They believed he did catch up to her and that he pushed her down the stairs in anger. The case wasn’t the proverbial “slam dunk win” because reading a jury on a case where a child died wasn’t easy. The emotions ran high.

  Years ago nobody would think a parent capable of such an atrocity, but now…things had changed and the parent was always the first to blame. One thing in her favor was that the evidence was flimsy. Jordan had been seen running inside behind her, yelling at her, but nobody could say that she was running from him. They also couldn’t say for sure that his behavior seemed motivated by anger. There were some who felt it was implied, but other witnesses saw the exchange as normal. Another thing in her favor was the wife’s testimony. Even though the DA had tried to say her testimony was motivated by her obsession with her husband. It wasn’t a fact, it was speculation and it wouldn’t be difficult for her to breakdown the prosecution’s unfounded theory.

  Jaylan was the Maguire’s miracle baby. Sandy Maguire had been told she would never have a child. It took ten years of trying, but she finally got pregnant. Jaylan was four months premature, had suffered some mental disabilities, but led a life that was very close to normal for her age. With the exception of some slowness to learn, Jaylan came across as perfectly normal.

  The Maguire’s hadn’t cared about the disability because in all accounts Jaylan wasn’t supposed to be conceived, let alone born. They had wanted a child after Jaylan. They had hoped the doctors had been wrong, but Sandy had never been able to conceive again. Three years after Jaylan was born Sandy suffered severe hemorrhaging which prompted the doctors to remove her uterus. Their hopes for another child were crushed, but they had Jaylan…until now.

  Losing a child was hard enough, but being accused of responsibility for her death was even more difficult. Daya believed the jury could see the honest goodness in these people, and with hopes see that the DA was pushing for a conviction to enhance his career. If they couldn’t see that, if they convicted Jordan, she didn’t know how the couple would survive.

  She had needed her closing arguments to be strong and she had assumed she had weeks, a couple at least, to make sure of it, but Alex had called her in chambers along with the DA to say that closing arguments needed to be ready for the next day. The DA had decided not to present new evidence, even though he had requested redirect once the defense rested. She assumed it was because he didn’t have new evidence to present. District Attorney Harvey Hanover had probably conspired to knock her off her game by making the closing arguments sooner than she expected, but it hadn’t worked. She knew what she believed about this couple, their love for their child and their innocence and she went into court that morning determined to be sure the jury knew the truth, the whole truth, not the TV movie version dramatized to gain press.

  “Now what?” Jordan looked at her, his entire life sitting in her hands…at least that’s how he saw it.

  “The jury deliberates—”

  “If it’s short it’s bad right?” Sandy nervously twisted her hands together.

  “Typically speaking a short deliberation is not always good…but it’s not necessarily bad either,” she tried to alleviate their worry.

  The knock on the door heightened her own worry. The jury was back, after not even an hour of deliberation they were back. This was the first case, since her first solo case, that she felt nervous about the results. This case meant the world to her because these two people needed a happy outcome…at least in court. Their lives were changed forever and she didn’t know how they’d get past that. But Sandy and Jordan loved each other, they never wavered from each other’s side and she was sure they would survive together.

  As usual she stood with her client when the defendant was asked to stand. The nervousness she felt she tried to contain. Nervousness was contagious and the last thing a guy facing life in prison needed was to feel nervous vibes coming off his attorney in buckets.

  “How do you find?” She heard the familiar voice ask. It was a question she’d heard a thousand times, but for some reason today it carried more weight than any other day.


  “On the charge of first degree murder, we the jury find the defendant not guilty.”

  She felt the relief hit her like a wave. She felt Jordan’s arms wrap around her and heard him say “thank you,” but it was as if it were happening to somebody else. Sandy professed her thanks and Daya watched the couple happily leave the courtroom together. She felt her own knees shaking because she truly felt relieved, happy even, for the outcome. It was a rush she hadn’t felt in years. This win was greater than all the others.

  She looked at Alex who was silently going into his chambers and he gave her a slight head nod and smile. She knew the action. It was his way of saying “job well done,” without uttering the words.

  Something about Jordan and Sandy made her long even more for the Warren she had married. She didn’t know what she had done, or where they had gone wrong, but they were so off course she wasn’t sure they could get back on. They were like a train about to derail. The question was, would she survive that wreck, or would she be so broken she didn’t trust another man again?

  “If you want to fix this, Daya, then you’re going to have to put in the leg work,” she told herself. “A nice dinner, a long conversation without a repeat of last night…that should be a start.” She shut her car door and headed to the local Fry’s to pick up what she would need for dinner. The jury coming back early with a verdict meant she would have time to cook before Warren got off work. She could surprise him with dinner…and a forced conversation. Whether he was ready for it or not, they needed to talk.

  Chapter Three

  “Hmmm...I guess we really need that honeymoon,” Daya smiled as she rolled over to look out the balcony door. “I’m dreaming about cruise ships…” she laughed. She stood and walked over to the balcony, just a quick glance out told her Warren wasn’t there. “Honey?” She walked back to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Why did she knock? They never knocked…they just entered at will, which is probably why she’d learned to lock the door if she wanted privacy.

  She reached out and turned the knob. The bathroom was dark and empty. “Great, now I’m alone even on our honeymoon.”

  “You’re not alone,” the dark timbers behind those words were unfamiliar. She didn’t bother to turn around to see who was there she immediately went for the door.

  Before she could even take a step he was there, blocking escape. He had long, dark hair hanging loosely down his chest. His face was masked with something…war paint and dark shadows she couldn’t see through. She knew…”Go away. You’re not welcome here.” Though she doubted those words would save her now. Why was she asleep without Warren? Why? Because he hadn’t come home, hadn’t even called, but then why would he? She was supposed to be working late.

  “I like you,” he approached with a daunting gait.

  The front door was off limits right now. The balcony was just plain stupid. She’d probably jump off the balcony and land head first on a rock or get sucked under and die. Warren had warned her about dying in dreams. She wasn’t yet willing to experience that darkness.

  “You think of escape,” he laughed. “Soon you will think only of me.” He lunged for her, knocking her over on to the bed. Within seconds he had her pinned beneath his body.

  “Warren!”

  “He can’t hear you now,” he laughed before pressing his lips against hers. She tried to turn her head, tried to break free, but he wouldn’t let her. Every limb felt too heavy to move, as if they were weighted down with steal.

  He leaned in close to her and said, “I wish to come inside you.” He licked her neck. “If you are good to me I may let you live.”

  She felt her clothes being torn from her body, heard her screams, but saw no escape.

  “Daya!” Her body shook as she heard Warren’s voice.

  “Daya, come on baby, wake up completely now…don’t keep your eyes closed.”

  “You can’t leave me,” the man yelled as she struggled to break free.

  “Wake up damn-it!” And this time she did wake up. She woke scared, crying, trembling as she went freely into Warren’s arms.

  “I heard you screaming when I came through the door. I thought somebody was in here hurting you, but it was just a dream.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “It was him…I know it was him.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who killed those women. It was him, Warren.”

  She felt his grip on her tighten. She didn’t protest because being in his arms felt safe, felt right, and she wanted to be there. “He’ll come back, Warren. I know he will.”

  “Then we’ll sleep at the same times from now on.”

  “You haven’t been able to walk my dreams, how can you help me if you’re sleep?”

  He pulled away from her just enough to look in her eyes. “Trust me,” he mumbled with some measure of conviction, but it didn’t alleviate her fear. “Tell me about him. Looks, hair, eyes, anything you can remember.”

  “He was tall…I think…about your height,” she stopped to think. “Yes, your height,” she thought about where her eyes looked when he stood in front of her and it was just at his chin, like Warren. “He had long, dark hair, straight and silky. He was in shape, very muscular, but in a runner kind of way and not a body builder. He wore paint on his body and his face from what I could see. He was there, but so dark I couldn’t make out much…I’m sorry…I don’t think he wanted me to see him clearly.”

  “If he planned to kill you I don’t see why he’d care if you saw him.”

  “I don’t think he planned to kill me…at least not right away. He told me if I were good to him he might let me live.”

  Warren cursed before pulling away from her and shoving his hand through his hair. “He planned to toy with you until he was tired and then kill you. Bastard! I knew he’d escalate. Killing wasn’t enough he wants to break them down, torture them and then kill them.”

  “The “them” you’re referencing would include me,” she reminded him. She shuddered again before pulling herself from the bed. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life…not even when—” She let the thought go unspoken, but she knew he understood. She hadn’t been this scared even when she was near death at the hands of one of her clients. Warren had saved her then, he had saved her now. Still, she was afraid to close her eyes.

  “Daya, go back to sleep. I’m here now.”

  “No,” she pulled on her lime green housecoat. “I think I’d prefer some tea,” she left the room. Maybe she didn’t really want tea at all, but she preferred it to sleeping. She did trust Warren, but the reality was he hadn’t walked her dreams for a long time now. She couldn’t take the chance that he wouldn’t be able to protect her inside of them again. She didn’t want to die and she sure as hell didn’t want to be violated. She already felt stricken from the possibility that he would. Even if it were in her dream world, it still scared the hell out of her.

  “Daya,” he sighed as he entered the kitchen. “I’m sorry for…everything.” The words sounded strained, forced, insincere and she wondered why. “The case has me transfixed on work and the deaths of those women. I guess I’ve let it affect me.”

  He was lying to her…or no, not lying, just telling her half the truth. Their problems were deeper than this case and she knew that. “It happens,” she gave a fake smile. If he wanted to pretend then she’d pretend with him because right now she couldn’t stomach another argument. “I cooked dinner,” she said. “It’s in the oven on warm.”

  “Daya, you can’t leave the stove on while you sleep you could…”

  “I know. I guess I was more tired than I thought and I fell asleep. It won’t happen again.” How long had she been asleep anyway? Not long, or at least it hadn’t felt like it. She was still tired…very tired. Maybe she needed some caffeine instead of herbal tea, but she couldn’t handle caffeine. Caffeine made her heart beat irregularly, made her jumpy and had nearly killed her once. If it weren’t for Julian, her brother, she would
have died. Thank God he finished med school and became a doctor otherwise she probably wouldn’t be where she was today.

  “Daya…”

  “How was work?” She changed the subject.

  “Work,” he shrugged before expertly shifting back to the topic at hand. “Did he get inside of you?”

  “No.”

  “But he was close wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she saw no need to lie. A few more articles of clothing, on his part, not hers because he’d already had her clothes torn from her body, and he would have had his way with her. She shivered.

  “How close?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she pushed aside the knife she had used to cut the lemon for her hot water. “It’s over and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Tough,” he snapped. “He’s coming back and I need to know what he’s after.”

  She turned abruptly, staring at him with angst and anger. “He’s after something you haven’t wanted for weeks,” she snapped. “Does it make you feel better to know that? Does it make you feel better to know he ripped my clothes from my body, that he had me naked and was nearly free of his pants himself before you woke me? Does it make you feel better to know any of that?” She felt the tears burning her eyes and her throat burning from where she tried to hold back the sobs that were waiting to break free. “It doesn’t make me feel any better, Warren. It doesn’t make me feel any better at all.”

  He approached her, pulled her into his arms and held her. “I’m sorry. I just need to know what this guy does so I can…”

  “What? Know what the other women went through? I’m not them. I’m your wife…whether you want me to be or not…and I don’t want to remember it anymore.” She pulled away from him as the water began to boil. She poured the hot water over the freshly squeezed lemon juice, stirred it a few rotations with her spoon and then took a seat at the table where she sat practically nursing her tea.