Emily (Dreamcatchers Romantic Suspense Series Book 1)

by Jamie Garrett

  Emily

  Dreamcatchers Book 1

  Jamie Garrett

  Wild Owl Press

  Contents

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by Jamie Garrett

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Jamie Garrett

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. All requests should be forwarded to jamie@jamiegarrett.com.

  Connect with me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/JamieGarrettBooks

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  1

  It wasn’t so much the darkness that had the fear creeping into her spine, but the fact that she couldn't see beyond a couple of inches in front of her. Early morning mist covered the ground as it snaked around her legs in the dark alleyway. She remembered why she hated to be caught in places like this late at night and made a promise to herself to never let it happen again.

  The two buildings that towered over her in the dead of the Chicago night were never-ending, and with each turn in their designs, the alleyway ahead of her became a maze. This is what she got for opting for a short cut. She could have walked the long way around the block, but between the alcohol she had consumed and her need to get away from the man at the club who seemed to think following her every move was a turn-on, she had all but lost her senses.

  Now she felt like the girl in all the horror movies who ventured into the alley and never came out the other side.

  Something moved behind her and she had to stifle a scream. She told her feet to run, but they disobeyed her and stood frozen to the spot. Her eyes shot from left to right as she tried to find whatever had moved, as she waited for the temporarily paralysis to pass. It had to be a rat though it had sounded like a bloody big one. The world seemed dark and silent now as she peered into the blackness, her senses muted by the mist.

  “Help!”

  She heard the feeble cry up ahead of her, and her flight response kicked into overdrive. It was time to get the hell out of here. As the mist thickened her heart rate increased, and her breathing became a panicky choking sound that only served to scare her more. Her feet refused to move again. If someone needed help, she couldn’t leave them out here, no matter how much she was freaking herself out.

  “Is anybody there?” she heard the feeble male voice call up ahead of her. She willed her feet, heavy as cement block with fear, to move toward the sound. As she moved her senses came flooding back, and she could smell the rankness of old urine spots and ten days old garbage emanating from the grimy floors of the alleyway. Used to be that alleyways were useful to easily cut from one street to the next. Now they were places where dumpsters stood proudly, where the homeless set up shop, and where the drunks wandered on their way home, peeing where they stood while their friends waited nearby laughing.

  Maybe the sound was coming from one of them? Her first week here a homeless man had tried to mug her. Still, even that would probably be better than turning around and meeting up with her friend from the nightclub again. She hesitated. Maybe she should. Better to go get help rather than walk further into the darkness on her own? As she made the decision, a moan of pain echoed up the alleyway. She couldn’t leave whoever that was here on their own. Against her better judgment, she steeled her nerves and walked toward the sound. The noise had come from behind the dumpster up ahead and to her left. As she stepped across the trash strewn in her way, she said a few Hail Marys under her breath, using the light from her phone’s screen to light the way just a little.

  "Hello?" She called back, carefully putting one foot in front of the other, but she heard nothing back. Icy fingers of fear crept up her spine, tingled across her back and took a firm grip on her heart that was currently hell bent on beating its way right out of her chest.

  She sure as hell wasn't cut out for this. She remembered playing cops and robbers when she was a child. She always wanted to be one of the good guys. It was a good thing she hadn't continued on that particular career path because she was now sure she would have keeled over from a heart attack on her first day. After this, she was never venturing into an alley after dark ever again.

  The deafening silence of the night consumed her as she made her way over to the dark figure she could just make out huddled on the ground in front of her. Now she was closer she could hear the breathy sounds of pain coming from the man.

  "Help me," the man called to her. She shoved her phone in her pocket and tried to roll the man onto his back. She couldn't see his face, but the dark liquid puddle on the ground behind him was most definitely cause for worry.

  "Hey, I can call an ambulance. You should go to a hosp-"

  Her words were cut short as the man rolled swiftly on his side and kicked her legs out from under her. She hit the pavement hard, knocking the air right out of her body. Her head cracked against the hard ground. True darkness overtook her eyes, and the air felt too thick to breathe.

  As her eyes fluttered, the moonlight sneaking through the clouds overhead illuminated the silver flash of the blade the man drew from his jacket as he sat atop her, blocking her weak attempts to slap him away.

  She screamed for help, but her voice barely reached her own ears. Her frail attempts, though filled with fear, were no match for the man's strength. As he grabbed her arms to fend off her flailing hands, her eyes caught the strange runic symbols carved into the metal of the knife. Her mind immediately shot to the paranormal TV show she’d been watching the night before. A knife with ritual symbols on the blade? Fuck this. She pulled at every last energy reserve she had and managed to elbow her attacker in the ribs. Hard.

  The man grunted in surprise as he was pushed sideways, and she wasted no time in scrambling to her feet and bolting down the alley back in the direction she’d come. There was no way she was going to be found lying dead on the fetid ground, drained of her blood. She had things to do. Besides, she had always envisioned her death to be a hell of a lot more glorious than that. It was just a pity that her high heels disagreed with her.

  Before she could make it back to the main road, a hand closed around her neck and she was shoved roughly in the back. All she could do was put her hands out in a
n attempt to break her fall. His face still obscured in the night’s darkness, her attacker rolled her onto her back and wrapped a strong hand around her neck. She tried to keep on fighting, but as the hand around her throat strengthened her lungs felt tight and it was hard to breathe. She grasped feebly at the fingers closing her throat when suddenly she felt them loosen. She opened her mouth but before she could suck in a life-giving breath the hand tightened under her chin, forcing her head back.

  She felt a searing, burning pain. Blood gurgled from the corner of her mouth. The last thing she saw was a flash of steel as the knife slashed across her throat.

  Emily bolted up in bed, clutching at her throat and gasping for air. The pain coursing through her body from the slash at her neck had disappeared into the night. The dampness she felt covering her body and soaking her sheets was cold sweat, not blood. Running her hand over her neck, for just a moment she could still feel the knife pulling across her skin.

  What the hell?!

  This was not the first time in recent weeks that she'd woken up apparently trying to sweat herself into dehydration, but it was the first time the dream had remained with her after she awoke. Moving to a new city had really screwed with her head.

  She flopped back in her bed and closed her eyes just as her alarm blared out across the room, and she slammed her hand down angrily against it. The sun was peeking through the thin sheets covering the windows. It warmed her limbs and pulled her further out of the nightmare. “Nice to still be alive then,” she chuckled to herself as she swung her legs out of bed and made her way toward the kitchen. This was definitely a morning for caffeine, the stronger, the better.

  As her morning necessity brewed, Emily couldn’t help but shiver as memories of the dream invaded her thoughts. It had just seemed so damn vivid. The thought of it sent a new wave of shudders up her spine, and so she ditched the idea of coffee and turned on the shower, drenching herself in the hot water to burn away the memory.

  Growing up, her grandmother had always told her that dreams were her subconscious trying to speak to her or warn her of something. Her mother had told her she should grow the hell up and stop believing in the cockamamie stories of a deranged old woman, but over time, she'd come to realize it was her mother who was a tad bit on the crazy side and not so much her now-dead grandmother.

  Well, maybe they both were.

  Despite her mother’s insistence that the older woman was completely cuckoo, Emily liked the idea that dreams could maybe mean more than just make-believe. She'd always thought there was some amount of truth to things her grandmother said. Too many cultures had too many beautiful stories for it all to be completely untrue. Her mother, however, disagreed.

  No! Let it go. You thought leaving that behind was worth moving states away. Do not go back there now.

  As the water washed away the chills of the night, Emily was beginning to think that maybe crazy ran deep in her family. Three generations deep, if her current mood was anything to go by. Sighing deeply, she pushed it aside for now. If she didn’t get out of the shower and get moving, she was going to be late for work. Not a good way to make an impression at her new job.

  Work. The idea brought a smile to her face. It wasn’t a high-flying position by anyone’s standards, but it meant a hell of a lot to her. It was the best job she'd had in a while, and even better it paid well enough that she could finally tell her mother to shove it. After years of living with her overbearing negativity, Emily was finally out of her mother’s house, her mother’s town and her mother’s state. She wasn’t running away so much, as running toward a better life. At least, that’s the way she liked to think of it.

  A cup of coffee, her favorite song on her phone, and a short train ride later, her heels were clicking against the expensive tiles of one of the most beautiful buildings in Chicago—the head office of El Estilo Magazine. When she reached her desk, the height of the files stacked in her little cubicle sent her newfound positivity skydiving out the window of the twenty-third floor.

  I guess there really is a valid reason for hating Mondays.

  Shrugging her shoulders, Emily settled into her three walls, poured a little water on her Chinese bamboo, and then forgot the rest of the world as she started sorting through the mess. When she finally looked up again, it was mid-afternoon, and her grumbling stomach let her know she’d forgotten all about taking a lunch break. She had more pressing concerns right now, though. Hurrying to the bathroom, she nearly crashed into the mail clerk. She rushed by, stuttering an apology as she stepped past. Wow, the man had gorgeous tattoos, a tribal design down one arm.

  He managed a half smile as she skittered past, the bathroom door swinging shut behind her. Hell, she hadn’t been too cheery earlier that morning, either. She’d wanted to make it out of there by six p.m. so she didn’t have to walk home in the dark again. By the look of her desk, that clearly wouldn’t be happening today.

  Maybe her mother had been right. She could escape one daily hell, but she would never amount to anything much. She enjoyed her job, but it wasn’t like she wanted to be a clerk for the rest of her life. She wanted more out of life than to go to work, pay bills, and then die. She smiled despite her thoughts, remembering where she’d been a year ago. She was getting there. Despite her mother’s insistence that all she needed to be good at was being a wife, Emily wanted more, and she was going to get it.

  Finishing, she washed her hands and face, catching her own reflection in the mirror. “Back to it you go,” she told herself. She wasn’t going to get anywhere hiding out in the bathroom. Grabbing a sandwich to eat at her desk, she turned away from the clock on the wall and focused on clearing the pile.

  Special Agent Reece Knight stared at the space his desk occupied and the paperwork covering nearly every inch of it. He'd been with the bureau for four years now, but he’d never had a case that got to him like this one. They made it look easy on TV, but at the core of every real case was damn hard work. He put everything he'd into this job, and he was determined to succeed.

  Even before he’d been accepted to Quantico, Reece knew that being an FBI agent was what he wanted to do with his life. He loved the rush, and rescuing victims or saving the world was always cool. After his training, he’d chosen to enter the Criminal Investigation Unit, and he loved his job. Working on anything from serial killers, financial crimes, to drug investigations, life was never dull. This case, though? For the first time, he was completely stumped. No new leads had come in and there was very little to go on at the crime scenes.

  His boss stepped out of the office and caught Reece’s gaze over the files covering his desk. Reece shook his head. Nothing new.

  Just another psycho on the loose. Fun times.

  There was something different about this guy. He’d come out of nowhere, and his crimes were escalating at an alarming rate. Something must have triggered him, but what could be causing his M.O. to change at such a rapid speed? It had all started with the young girl in New York, and then a murder in each state, crisscrossing the country, before landing in Chicago. The bureau had originally thought they were isolated events, it was not until recently that his boss had taken Reece seriously when he’d insisted that they were all linked. Sadly, it had taken a few more bodies piling up here for the bureau to be invited into the local investigation.

  He flipped through the next file, feeling a sort of grudging admiration at the killer’s signature. His stomach threatened to eject his lunch at the thought. How he managed to get the women so deep into an alley without attracting any other attention was a mystery. No witnesses had ever seen the victim being grabbed, and he left no hint of who he was or where he might be heading next at any of the crime scenes.

  And there is definitely something wrong with me for admiring his work. What was it again—stare into the abyss too long and the abyss stares back at you? It was either Nietzsche or Yoda, but either way, it was definitely way past time for a break. Reece dropped his pen on his desk and left the office to go f
or a walk and clear his head. He was really feeling like a spar in the gym, but he was saving that for the end of the day. Instead, he perpetuated the idea that law enforcement was addicted to coffee. He certainly knew he was, and the coffee cart at the front of the building served some of the best drugs.

  “Again?” the coffee man asked as he ordered his third cup for the day.

  Reece laughed. “You're the only street vendor I know who complains about a frequent customer.” He slapped a ten in the man’s palm and took the coffee the man had started pouring the instant he saw Reece walk out of his office. Maybe the coffee man was right. If he started prepping Reece’s order before he’d even placed it, it might be time to cut back a bit on the caffeine.

  “Hey, it’s your ticker and your funeral,” the man shot back and handed him his fix. “At least have something to eat with that,” he added and handed Reece a cheese bagel. It was not until then that Reece paid attention to the rumbling in his stomach.

  “Thanks,” he smiled and leaned against the light post and stuffed his face. A woman walked by and smiled seductively at him. He turned his head to watch her walk away. What could ever make a man kill such lovely creatures? He had to have serious mommy issues, or maybe his high school crush had cheated on him? There was all kind of psychological crap that happened to people to fuck them up, but as his blue eyes followed the woman’s disappearing ass, he had to admit that murder was the last thing on his mind.

  “You found the asshole killing those women yet?” the coffee vendor asked him. Reece shook his head, his mouth too full of food to speak.

  “I hope you do real soon. I have a sister, and I hate the thought of her being out at night with that guy on the loose. She is a pain in my ass, but I would burn this town to the ground to find the guy if something ever happened to her.”