month . . . hell, last week you would never have gone to that scene.”
“Last month I hadn’t just had a dream about a similar crime,” she said flatly. Raiker knew all about her nocturnal visions. She’d been upfront about them when he’d first contacted her about working for him. Had been shocked when he’d eventually offered her a job anyway.
He’d stilled at her statement. “The dreams are back.”
A frisson of ice splintered through her. The words sounded stark. Inescapable. “One dream. One time.”
“Well.” He eased his form more comfortably against the ancient couch. “That had to have been . . . a surprise.”
A short laugh escaped her, although humor was the last emotion she was feeling at the moment. A surprise. Masterful understatement. And so Raiker. “You could say that. As a matter of fact, you predicted the nightmares would fade and that eventually the dreams would come back. I didn’t believe you.”
“You didn’t want to believe me.”
Risa looked away. The welter of emotion from this morning returned. The sick dread for what the dream indicated. Filtered by a shuddering relief that the normal had returned. Or what had always been normal for her.
And layered by the paralyzing self-doubt that had been her constant companion since that dark cellar in Minneapolis.
“It might not mean anything.” She desperately wanted to believe that. To distract them both she headed toward the kitchen. “I’m getting a water. Do you want one?”
“No.”
Risa took her time, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting off the cap to take a long swallow. It wasn’t necessarily avoidance. She’d been out on the scene with McGuire all day, with nothing but a soft drink from the selection one of the officers had brought back after the canvass.
But as one minute turned into two, and then three, she knew evasion was at play. That recognition had her heading back into the living room. She’d had to face some hard truths about herself in the last few months. Cowardice hadn’t been one of them, despite what her employer might think.
She dropped into a chair across from Raiker’s seat and observed that the man looked curiously out of place in Hannah Blanchette’s modest home. There was a veneer of gloss to Adam Raiker, a sophistication that owed little to the expensive suits. It almost hid the shimmer of danger that emanated from the man.
“The dream could have been a fluke,” she said finally, in the face of her boss’s silence. “And even if it’s not, we already know that they can’t be trusted.”
“Then don’t,” he said tersely, his gaze intent. “I didn’t hire you because you go to sleep and dream of murder. I hired you because you’re a damn fine investigator with some of the best instincts I’ve ever seen. Accepting a role on this case will give you a chance to learn to trust them again.”
Bitterness surged. “I think Minneapolis proved my instincts are flawed.” She had lived with the knowledge, with the guilt, for the last four months.
“That case proved you’re not infallible.” His flat tone would have sounded cold to someone who didn’t know him. “None of us are, and sometimes it takes a fucked-up case to make us realize it.” She looked at him then, saw the faintest flicker of empathy in his expression. The sight had her throat knotting up. “Once we live through something like that . . . we’re not the same. We aren’t meant to come out of it unchanged. The question is, are you going to let it merely change you or eviscerate you?”
She couldn’t reply. Wouldn’t have known what to say if she was able. But Raiker was better at commentary than conversation. Already he had his cell phone out, texting a message that would doubtless have his driver returning for him. He’d pulled the necessary strings, applied the necessary pressure. Now the ball was in her court. She could return, in an unofficial capacity, to the work that had once identified her.
Or she could continue to hide and dodge coming to a decision about her future.
The familiar longing and self-doubt warred inside her, emotions crashing and colliding in an inner battle that left her feeling bruised and weary. But Raiker couldn’t help her with that. No one could.
Risa eyed him. “What are you doing in Philadelphia anyway?” This was his second visit. Usually he contented himself with short, terse phone calls. He had a reason for coming here. Raiker had a reason for everything he