Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,37

upstairs apartment was to the side of the house. With a bit of maneuvering, he opened his front door and keyed in his alarm code before walking into the parlor and laying her as gently as he could on his sectional.

He checked her pulse and her breathing.

She seemed to be fine, just...deeply, deeply sleeping.

Perplexed, he hesitated. It had grown late, but he knew that wouldn’t matter to the assistant director, so he called Jackson and explained the situation.

“Leave her.”

“Just leave her—sleeping on my sofa?”

“She’ll be fine, and when she wakes, she may have something for us.”

“This dream thing is...unpredictable.”

“I’ve long ceased trying to explain or understand what some people are capable of or why. Or how,” Jackson told him. “Stacey’s nightmares seem to be a forewarning of what could happen, and when she sees the possibility of what might be, she has a chance to try to change it. I imagine a scientist would say that in the depths of the part of the brain we don’t use, there is a fountain of possibilities, and Stacey sees them in dreams. You’re both bone-tired, right?”

“Right—it’s been a few long days, but then, you know that.”

“And they’ll get longer. Let her sleep. Did you get anything today?”

“Yes. I called Fred. He’s getting his people to reach the owner of a pawnshop that has a video camera. It might have picked up something. And Stacey found a few street girls who would speak with us—Jess Marlborough’s roommates. Jess was excited about a date. She didn’t suggest it was anyone political, but she did suggest someone with money. Someone who didn’t want to be seen in a neighborhood known for being...on the wrong side of the tracks, I guess.”

“Interesting,” Jackson said. “At least that’s something. I spoke with Detective Crandall. He told me that he struck out with the maids. They were just terrified. They had no idea that anyone had been in the house, much less someone killing a woman in the basement.”

“Well, in the morning, hopefully, we’ll see something on that video.”

“Right. I think you and Stacey need to get out to see Colin Smith. I managed to get you an appointment. It wasn’t easy. I wanted to ask him to come in to headquarters, but I know something about the political games these guys play, and I’m damned sure he’d refuse.”

“We’ll speak to him at that meeting. Come hell or high water, somehow. So. All right.” Keenan hesitated again. “So...just let her sleep on my sofa. Until she wakes up?”

“That’s my suggestion.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll leave a note for her there that you suggested that I not wake her and head to bed myself. Be back with you in the morning.”

They ended the call.

He stared at Stacey, raven hair cascading around her face. “Well, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, “the boss says I’m to leave you. So, uh...”

Make her more comfortable? Leave her be?

She was still wearing shoes, though. Maybe she’d wake up if he slipped them off. He gingerly slid each low-heeled bootie off her feet. He also gently unclipped her gun holster and removed it from her hip, setting the weapon nearby.

He went and acquired both a pillow and blanket, setting her head on the cushion, covering her with the blanket.

And still, she slept on.

“Well, at least you aren’t hitting me anymore,” he whispered.

The parlor in his apartment was big. He had an entertainment center that faced the sofa and heavy, upholstered armchairs that flanked it. He went over to his desk across the room.

Jackson said to let you sleep. If you wake up first, help yourself to anything you like. Push button for coffee—I always set it up for the next morning.

He read the note over: it should suffice.

With that done, he headed past the kitchen to the bedroom. He was dead-tired, but not so tired that he could go to bed without a shower.

He’d spent hours at the morgue and then on the streets. He had a feeling that Stacey was not going to be happy with herself. She would have wanted a shower, too.

He studiously scrubbed his hair—glad he kept it cropped short—and then his body. He was standing under a spray of deliciously hot water when he heard the first scream.

Screams meant trouble.

He figured it was Stacey, dreaming again or waking up from a dream. But still, he raced out, just managing to grab a towel to wrap around himself.

He had an alarm system and high-impact windows, and he kept the alarm system set and the