Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,38
windows locked. There was no back door.
It had to be Stacey, but he had learned through the years to be prepared at all times. Stacey was sitting up. Her eyes were open, and she was screaming.
“Stacey!”
His shout had no effect.
He realized she was still sleeping. He sat behind her, drawing her against him as he tried his best to wake her gently.
Her scream faded; she went stiff as a board.
Then she went limp, lying in his lap. Her eyes closed and opened, and then snapped into focus on his.
She gasped, a pained sound.
Though he was seldom tongue-tied or at a loss for words, he found himself speaking too quickly. “You fell asleep in the car—dreaming. I couldn’t wake you. I brought you in here. Jackson said to let you sleep. I left you a note—there on the coffee table, right there... I’m sorry. I don’t know how to handle a situation like yours. I’d left you...you started screaming again.”
She winced again, closing her eyes.
When she opened them again, she seemed to realize her position. Lying on the lap of a man still damp from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel.
“Oh, I...I am so sorry!” She struggled slightly to rise, compromising the knot on his towel, apologizing all over again awkwardly as she started to stand, lost her balance and fell on him again, blushing furiously. “Oh, Lord. I am so...sorry!”
“It’s okay.”
“I guess I was so overtired.”
“It’s okay!”
“No, no, you didn’t want an idiot rookie who dreams things.”
She was so distressed—and luckily, not with him. He found himself smiling and trying to assure her again.
“Stacey, you’re fine. Really.” He offered her a dry grin. “Trust me, much worse things have happened to me and probably will again. It’s okay—you’re okay.”
She accepted his words, looking at him with a downcast sigh. She then blinked and looked away, taking a seat a foot away, but still on the sofa.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, fine, thank you. And again, I’m so sorry.”
“Please, quit apologizing. I just wish... I just wish that I’d been able to do something—to stop you from going through such...distress.”
She shook her head. “I need to go through it. It’s...how I see.”
“And you saw something?” he asked. He shifted slightly. He was losing the damned towel again.
She wasn’t paying attention to him, though. “I’m trying to remember now,” she said. “It was...disjointed. And I saw only just a little bit. It will come again, and again.”
He stood, getting a firm grip on his towel. “Excuse me. I’ll get dressed. I’d say that I was going to take you home, but I’m not sure you should be on your own.”
She blinked and looked at him. “I wouldn’t mind going home. I’d love to have a shower. You’re—clean. That must be heaven.” She smiled.
“I have a shower. I mean, not just in my bathroom. The guest room has an en suite.” He hesitated. “Again, I feel like I wasn’t that helpful during your nightmare. But I’m not sure you should be alone.”
“I’ve dealt with this for years,” she said softly. “Anyway, I don’t have any clean clothes.”
“I have clothes—and I believe they’ll fit you fine.”
“Your clothes?” she asked, another half smile curling her lips with skepticism.
“No. Women’s clothing.”
“Oh!” she said, flushing. “Oh, now I’m very sorry. Someone else lives here with you! Or, uh, spends time here with you. I don’t want to interfere—”
“It’s nothing like that. I have some of my mother’s things here. And she’s about your size.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Yes, even I have a mother,” he told her. “I’m one of five kids, and we’re all over the country now. She keeps a few things here, though she spends most of her time with my sister in Chicago—who also has five kids.”
She was just staring at him.
“Hey, quit it. I may be a hard-ass sometimes, but I have a family. And I’m a good uncle, really.”
“I, uh...yeah. Thanks. I can stand myself if I can shower. But your mom’s things—”
“My mom is very attractive and stylish,” he assured her.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she said, then she grinned.
“What?”
“It’s really cute. I mean, that your mom keeps things here.”
“Right. It’s just adorable,” he said impatiently.
“I’m sorry. I just imagined that...that you’d have...um...a busy personal life.”
“You mean sex life?”
“Uh, yeah.”
She seemed so miserably uncomfortable. He laughed.
“Don’t worry, my life is fine. But I’m sure you know, we’re not the kind of people who easily make real relationships. Just this line of work—and then pausing to chat with