tumbling around her face. Her hands were shaking.
Little beads of sweat had formed on her skin, running unattractively down her forehead and between her breasts. She had fought the sheets, but she hadn’t gone to sleep with a slew of blankets, knowing from experience what was coming. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t catatonic. She was thinking, her brain processing.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, Stella,” Sam said. Respect was in his voice. Admiration. “Of course, you’re okay. You’ve got this, sweetheart.”
Just knowing he believed in her was half the battle. She wasn’t alone in this fight. She had Sam and Zahra and even Raine if she needed to call on her. Raine would believe her and help in any way she could.
“Tell me what you saw while it’s fresh in your mind,” Sam encouraged.
She liked that he didn’t coddle her. There was no, Don’t think about it. He was all about, Get it out. Go over it a dozen times if you have to. Write it down. Draw it. That was Sam.
“It was dark. I couldn’t see much. They both wore headlamps. She kept moving hers around so I caught a few glimpses of the terrain, but not much. At the end, when the lens was shutting down, I did my best to force the dream to continue and I studied the lens. I think I can draw a couple of features I saw around it. I don’t know if that will help or not.”
That expressionless mask softened and his eyes lit up. His mouth curved. “You were right about Zahra. She really came through, didn’t she? Whether it pans out or not, she had a couple of really good ideas.”
“She did point out that Harlow knows cameras and photography better than anyone in the county. She’s really good, Sam, but if I went to her, that would be bringing another person into our circle,” Stella said a little reluctantly.
Sam had been so adamant about keeping the number who knew about her past very low so there was no way the killer would discover Stella’s true identity. She didn’t want others to know about her, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to be like her mother, going to any length to protect what she had and letting others die when she could possibly have saved them. She knew going to the police wouldn’t do any good at this point, but perhaps bringing Harlow in might help if she really was able to find something about the camera to widen her view.
Sam tapped a rhythm on his thigh, his dark eyes drifting moodily over her face and then taking in her thin racerback tee that she’d worn to bed. It was old and ratty but it was soft and comforting and she’d needed it when she knew she was going to have a nightmare. The cotton was damp from her sweat and clung to her skin, revealing more than it covered.
“Don’t like that you have to go through this, Stella, but your friends are women and we know the killer’s a man. These women have been your friends for over five years, some a little longer, and they’re all loyal to you. I can’t imagine any of them selling you out to the media, especially Harlow. If we bring her in, I want to be with you. They’re your friends, so it’s your call, but I want to be there.”
She lifted an eyebrow. Her nerves were beginning to settle. Just talking to Sam did that for her. “Why?”
“I scare people, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed? I don’t have to say anything, I can just sit next to you instead of a few seats down and they’ll get the message.”
Stella frowned, trying to analyze his tone. His voice had a velvet quality to it, almost as if it brushed over her skin. At the same time there was a note of menace, something very sinister and frightening, when he never raised his voice at all. He spoke low, but his instructions were always carried out. She’d noticed if he talked to a drunk causing a problem, the drunk listened immediately, no matter how far gone they appeared to be.
“What message, Sam?” She looked directly into his eyes, challenging him. Daring him to tell her. She wasn’t afraid of him. She would never be afraid of him.
“Not to fuck with you. They do and they’ll have to answer to me. That’s something they aren’t ever going to want to do.”
His honesty sent