Dangerous Dreams (A Dreamrunners Society Novel)

by Aileen Harkwood

  He listened, scowled at something the other said, and ducked back into the pantry. The conversation continued a couple more minutes, at one point Jack speaking forcefully in that deep growl she’d come to understand was a warning. As with the rest of the conversation, however, the words were muffled.

  When he ended the call and returned to the main room, he didn’t look happy.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  She closed her eyes, prepared to mourn for the boy with the book bag, and everyone else she’d seen in the street. “Don’t tell me. It’s already happened.”

  “No. It hasn’t. That’s not it.”

  What, then?

  He heard her question. She could tell from the flicker of awareness that passed through his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “He’s not going to do anything. The first time I have a chance to maybe help some people, give a warning and this guy of yours, Gavin, isn’t going to tell anyone? Why?”

  “Lara, you have to understand–”

  “He doesn’t believe me.” Incensed, she began to pace, eyeing the door to the outside. “Why? Because he needs a sample first? Someone to die when I say they’re going to die before he’ll take me seriously?”

  “Lara, I believe you,” Jack said. “And I think Gavin does, too. But you have to look at it from his perspective. He doesn’t know you. For all he knows, the information you’ve given us is a plant.”

  She stopped pacing, stunned. Was she mistaken, was he, or Gavin, or both calling her a liar, purposefully giving them false information?

  “What are you implying?” she asked.

  “A plant by Grey Man,” he said. “It’s possible he could have told you about the bombing while you were drugged, shown you images, given you every detail, and you only think the dream was yours. Then let’s say Gavin, who does have contacts in the State Department, by the way, passes along what you’ve told us. Except there’s no bomb threat. There never was. The whole thing was a ruse. The Greys follow the fake intel back to its source, Gavin, and suddenly they have a way to get at us.”

  She glared at Jack as if meeting him for the first time and discovering she didn’t like what she saw. What had happened to the thoughtful man who had come to her aid when she lay feverish in bed?

  “No! That was my dream,” she said. “Mine. No one spoon-fed it to me with a syringe full of hallucinogens. I’ve lived with these horrors for over three years. Do you think I wouldn’t be able to tell my own nightmares from some sick drivel Grey Man whispers in my ear? You’re right, Jack. I am a Lost One. Just like the ones you’ve described. I don’t have a life anymore because of those dreams. No friends. My old ones thought I was becoming schizophrenic when I told them about my dreams and asked them if they thought they might be real. I don’t have the heart to look for new friends. No lover either. Do you think I can have a life around other people when half the time I wake up screaming bloody murder out of a sound sleep? I’m just this side of being locked up in the nuthatch. But one thing I know. That was MY dream, and I don’t lie.”

  “Lara–”

  “Tell him he has to do something. He can’t just let those people die if there’s a chance the place in my dream can be found in time. Get back on the phone and tell him.”

  “Lara, he’s my boss. More than that. In the Society hierarchy, he’s like a commanding officer. I take my orders from him, not the other way around.”

  “Well I have an order for you. And him. You can both go to Hell.”

  She was getting out of here. She strode to the door, grasped the doorknob, turned it and yanked with all the mad she had in her.

  It refused to open.

  She rattled the knob, turned it the other way, and pulled hard again. Still nothing. Confused, she studied the door, looking for a lock or a latch, or something to explain why the door didn’t open. Zero. She faced a simple looking door with a knob and nothing else.

  “Let me out!” She pulled and pulled and beat desperately at the door, but it wouldn’t open. She couldn’t get out. She spun around to confront him.

  He pinned her against the door. Each of his large hands had one of her own, his fingers driving into the center of her fists, prying her hands open. He spread her tightly folded fingers apart so that his could slide in and interlace with hers. Heated skin met heated skin, while his hard chest trapped her in place with her back to the door’s rough planking. His face was inches away. His lips were inches away. They mesmerized her as they shaped words, spoken in a voice so deep and unflinching she failed to hear him at first.

  “You don’t trust anyone,” he said again.

  She shook her head, whispered, “No.” Struggled still. “Let me out.”

  Fierce indigo eyes snared her attention and wouldn’t let her look away.

  “Tell me you trust me,” he said.

  “Open the door,” she said.

  “Show me you trust me.”

  The kiss was a shock. It was also a command, but she didn’t know who had issued it, him or her. Lara couldn’t help herself. If this really was nothing more than a dream, it was a dream she wanted and needed badly to distract her from the pain and horror her life had become. Her body made her respond. It told her to pull him to her as fiercely as he did her. He released her hands and she found herself burying her fingers in his hair, loving the feel of it, sleek as a panther’s fur. She combed downward through the black silk until that sensation gave way, and her fingertips smoothed over the taut muscles of his shoulders. Another surge of lust swept through her as she felt his manhood grow hard between them.

  What are you doing? She asked herself.

  Thinking too much, he answered for her.

  This is insane. All of it.

  Life usually is.

  She wanted. She wanted so much she couldn’t have. A haven. Raw sex. Understanding. Wildness. She had no idea what this was, if she was really here, if he existed, if there were one or two of her or him. She didn’t think about the interrogation room or Grey Man. Lara simply didn’t care. At this moment, she felt instinctively safe in the arms of the man who claimed her lips with ruthless passion. She moaned and met his thrusting tongue in play.

  Suddenly her back arched.

  But it wasn’t pleasure.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Invisible hands circled her throat, strangling her.

  Chapter 24

  Feet scrabbling for purchase, Lara found herself back in the cell with Grey Man’s hands around her throat, her body lifted several inches off the floor. Pain erupted from the base of her skull with the abrupt trip back to her body. Reuniting with her true form was like tripping and striking her head on cement. There’d been no terrifying journey through the fields, just a sudden, shattering blow, and now this.

  Grey Man smiled calmly, a man at his work. The pressure his hands exerted cut off the blood circulation to her brain, and created a ferocious buzzing in her ears. She tried to kick, but without a solid surface beneath her, her legs were like those of a puppet dancing clumsily on strings. He controlled the strings.

  “You ran when I wasn’t looking, Lara,” he said.

  “Stop,” she said. It came out a whispered croak.

  “Did you run for help?”

  Though his stranglehold allowed little movement, she did her best to shake her head, no. Grey Man stared at her dispassionately, continuing to suspend her easily above the floor. He didn’t believe her. Strength drained out of her. Consciousness faded. She scratched and clawed to hang on to life, but knew she was failing. Slowly, her struggles lessened, her muscles giving out.

  You’re dying, she thought in disbelief.

  Astonishingly, she ceased to care. She had no way out of this and as Jack had pointed out, trusted no one. What reason did she have to trust? Her time with him may have given her a break from the terror and pain. He might have the ability to set her physical cravings on fire as he’d just proved back in
his cabin. Alone here in her cell, she’d been afraid to believe he was real. She’d prayed he wasn’t just real, but a miracle lifeline, her connection back to humanity. And, yes, down deep where she hadn’t wanted to look, she’d hoped he was even more than that. Hers.

  Yet, were he and his society, with their gutless reaction to the information she’d given them, any better than her captors? Debatable. All they seemed to care about was protecting their own hides. Their safety, trumped that of the little boy on the bike and all those innocent people. She hadn’t even told Jack about the other dream of the campus strewn with body parts. Just as well she hadn’t. She didn’t need to go to her death with additional disappointment and disillusion heaped on top of the rest.

  The realization she’d fallen for Jack was bitter. She had thought it was the same for him, but he’d demonstrated all too well that his only goal in whisking her away from her cell was the interrogation he’d given her. She’d bet anything the kiss, and his insistence she trust him, was just another method for getting at the secrets he thought she possessed.

  Joke’s on him. And Grey Man. I’m worthless to both.

  If Jack’s orders were to pump her for info, he’d better hurry, she thought wryly. She was no longer breathing.

  These are my last moments.

  A sonic boom rocked the cell, concussive force rippling outward like the blast from an explosion. Startled, Grey Man dropped her. Before she could even crumple to the floor, a large blur swept past her and collided with her kidnapper, flattening him to the ground. Violently, Grey Man and the huge, blurred figure tumbled over and over across the floor, moving at a speed Lara had trouble following, until the blur separated itself from the man in grey, and rolled to its feet, becoming solid.

  Jack!

  His magnificent chest labored with the effort it had taken him to jump back here to her.

  Grey Man recovered quickly, however. Reaching his right hand into his jacket for a gun, he pointed and fired.

  Lara screamed, a useless whispering sound.

  Jack winced and stumbled back a half step. Lara saw it. She knew she saw the bullet strike him in the upper body, but there was no sign of it. No wound, no visible bullet hole.

  In the next instant, Lara’s captor flew back, Jack delivering a roundhouse kick to the man’s jaw so brutal and efficient, she expected to hear his neck snap. Grey Man practically flipped over backward. The gun was slapped away, skidding across the floor.

  “Stay away from what’s mine,” Jack said.

  He advanced on his opponent only to find a knife arcing toward his face.

  Lara watched Jack block Grey Man’s attack, but it was clear the journey here had taken a lot out of him. Meanwhile, for all Jack’s powerful blows, Lara’s tormenter was fresh and ready, a dangerous combatant.

  Though still wheezing for breath, Lara knew she had to act. He may not be perfect, but she couldn’t let Jack be hurt. She began to crawl toward the gun that lay on the floor in the center of the cell. Every inch she moved toward it cost her. Her brief respite at Jack’s cabin, in a healthy twin of herself, highlighted how much her true body’s condition had deteriorated during the intervening hours. Her body was in grave shape compared to when she’d left it. Her fever had rocketed. Previously healthy tissues in her hand now appeared alarmingly red and the swelling had returned, greater than before. Her arms and legs shook, oxygen-depleted muscles refusing to obey. Only sheer determination propelled her forward. Her legs gave out and she ended up dragging herself across the floor on her stomach. She reached for the gun with her good hand. It was so heavy. Come on! She had to lift the weapon, call out a warning, stop the fight.

  She didn’t have time.

  From out in the hallway came the sound of running feet. The door to Lara’s cell banged open against the wall and another man, the guard who had brought the file of photos, rushed inside, gun in hand.

  Grey Man looked toward the door and visibly relaxed.

  It was his first and last mistake.

  Chapter 25

  Pivoting, Jack dove for the semi-auto wavering in Lara’s grip.

  Even in the midst of battle, he was aware of her every move. He’d sensed each one of her dying thoughts while still in the fields, the futility gripping her as intractably as the hands around her throat. Any lingering doubts he might have had about her complete innocence disappeared. She hadn’t been turned, willingly or unwillingly. She was a victim with a will of iron to have survived as long as she had under their torture. When he’d heard her think to herself that he was no better than her captors, his stomach dropped as if he’d just taken a header off a fifty-story building, He vowed to change her opinion of him. He would not let Lara die, and after he made certain she was safe, he would show her exactly how he felt about her.

  Skidding toward her, he twisted so that he slid in parallel to her body, almost spooning with her. His huge body shielded her smaller, slender one, while he wrapped his hand around hers. Instead of taking the gun himself, he lifted her hand with the gun in it, aimed, and fired.

  One, two shots.

  One, two bodies thudded to the floor.

  He rolled over and up to see to Lara. She wasn’t breathing.

  Oh, God! What had he done? It was the tragedy of his first two cases as a finder happening all over again. He’d gone off on his own to try and save her and cost Lara her life. Why hadn’t he confided in Gavin? If he had, maybe his boss would have sent him help, another finder, or even a team to make the run with him. If he’d come charging in with a team on his first trip here, she might have been freed hours ago and already be safe with the Society. History strove to repeat itself. Someone he cared about deeply lay dying in his arms.

  “Breathe for me, Lara,” he said.

  He saw the imprint of her would-be killer’s hands on her throat, and if the man weren’t already gone, he would have gladly sent him on a second trip to Hell.

  He gave her mouth-to-mouth while hoping desperately her kidnapper hadn’t crushed her windpipe so badly she would never breathe again.

  It’s Jamie all over again. No, please. Don’t let her be like little Sweet Pea.

  Lara choked, and then gasped for air like a drowning victim fighting upward to breach the surface.

  “Lara! Thank God!”

  She continued to struggle for air while gazing up at him with eyes touched by the golden light of the fields. As before, her twin hovered just out of sync with her body, showing him how close she was to death. That’s when he saw the thread. He’d almost forgotten it. The glowing cord vibrated in the air around them. Instead of traveling in a straight line, it was knotted and snarled, cutting off the flow of energy between them. She loved him, he could feel that love fighting to untangle the thread, but her belief that he only wanted to use her held her back. That she still didn’t trust him, hurt. She wanted to, but in all fairness, what had he done to earn her trust?

  Lara tried and couldn’t speak.

  “Shh.” He lifted away strands of hair that had fallen into her face. “Just breathe.”

  Shouting and gunfire sounded above. He tensed for action at the noise, battle reflexes sending a heavy shot of adrenalin into his veins. He had no idea what went on up there, but knew there hadn’t been enough time for Gavin and back up to arrive. He’d have to do this on his own.

  Jack released Lara gently, tucked the gun into his waistband and swiftly gained his feet. He hurried to the door, picked up the other dead man’s Glock on the way, and held it in front of him, ready to fire at a split-second’s notice. Darting a quick look, he peered into the passage. The hallway was empty, but Jack didn’t expect it to stay that way for long. He broke from cover and sprinted toward the stairs. He needed to head off the enemy before they could get down here and pose a threat to Lara.

  He made it to the bottom of the staircase at the exact time several booted feet hit the landing immediately above his. With lightning quick aim, Jack raised the gun.

  “Whoa! Whoa, Jack. It�
��s us,” he heard a familiar voice.

  Gavin, dressed in black assault gear, stood at the top of the first flight of stairs with several more men, heavily armed. Sighing his relief, Jack checked his weapon.

  “Gavin,” Jack said. “How’d you get here so quickly?”

  “This place is only 15 minutes from Baltimore,” he said. “We’ve spent the last hour on recon, or else we would have been in faster.”

  Jack was puzzled. “But how’d you get a team together that fast?”

  “Jack, the extraction team has been on standby for four days.”

  “Oh. For Taylor.”

  “No, the team assigned to Taylor is still waiting for the go. This one’s for Lara.”

  Jack was speechless. Gavin already had a team ready? Four days. He must have put them on alert moments after Jack first called about the kidnapping.

  “Any sign of Taylor?” Gavin asked.

  Jack shook his head.

  “Damn. I guess it was too much to hope for that they’d keep both of them in one place.”

  “He might be in one of the other cells, though. I haven’t had time to check,” Jack said. “Hurry, she’s down here. I don’t know if she’s…”

  His breathing, which had become progressively more difficult during this short exchange, made it hard for him to concentrate, but he took off at a run, back toward Lara’s cell.

  Gavin and the others rushed down the stairs trailing him. It surprised him they were able to catch up to him in only a few strides. He must be more wrung out by the fight in the cell than he thought.

  His boss grabbed his upper arm and pulled him to a stop.

  “Jack–” he started.

  “She’s not compromised, Gavin,” Jack said. “She’s not one of your theoretical cult victims. They didn’t break her. They couldn’t.”

  Gavin, evidently on the point of saying something else, answered, “Glad to hear it, but I never really doubted.”

  “Good. So can we go save her now?”