Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,39

the dead now and then—can cause a bit of unease in others. With your dreams, it must be worse for you.”

“Yeah...um, frankly, dating sucks,” she admitted softly.

He nodded. “But I do love my family. And I’m happy to see them whenever possible.”

“I, uh...then, thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be personal like that. If you wouldn’t mind letting me have something that your mom wouldn’t mind being borrowed... I’ll shower.” She was quiet a moment. “And then, yes, I’d like to stay. In the guest bedroom. I have a feeling that this might continue. And it might be important.”

“Let me get dressed, and I’ll get you a towel and some things.”

He quickly turned, clutching the towel, and hurried to his room. He pulled on pajama pants and a robe, and then, before she could change her mind, he found one of his mother’s nightgowns and robes and looked blankly at the closet for a moment. He saw a pair of tailored black pants and a shirt to match and even a cardigan and laid it all out. He remembered a clean towel and washcloth.

He walked back to the living room. She remained seated on the sofa, deep in consternation.

“Go take your shower. Then you can tell me about it,” he said.

She nodded, rising. “Thanks.” She started down the hall and then turned back. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Sure. It’s just a shower.”

“No, I mean...for understanding. For believing.”

“Well, I’ve yet to hear what went on in your dream.”

She paused, studying him. She seemed very still. Regal, somehow. Her face with her beautifully crafted features was stoic and determined, her head high.

“I saw...the beginning.”

“The beginning.”

“I saw it,” she whispered. “Bits...pieces...”

“Bits and pieces?”

“But I knew I was there. I was where it’s going to happen. But...it was just the beginning. The moments leading to the next murder.”

Six

It was bizarre. Of course, she might be considered bizarre herself, just as the Krewe might be considered bizarre. And maybe it took the bizarre to step in when a case seemed to be just as unusual.

But the strangest thing at the moment, Stacey thought, was the fact that she was sitting on a sofa with Keenan Wallace, and he was in pajama pants and a terry robe. And she was in a T-shirt gown and a robe that belonged to his mother.

And she wasn’t blind. He was an amazing presence. Height did that, and surely, that had to be most of it. But while his height made him appear lean, he had broad shoulders, tight abs and, she was certain, rocks and wire for muscles. Then, there was his face. A good face: his eyes were so intense and a deep blue. Broad forehead, strong jaw. Solid, high cheekbones.

She’d thought he was a total jerk. He’d made little effort to hide his initial distaste with her as a partner. But he was growing on her.

He was studying her—she was supposed to be speaking. She had stopped and was just looking at him. And he was waiting patiently.

“I...um. Anyway, this is the way that it has always worked. My dreams, or nightmares, in the past. I see something, a place usually, and know that something is happening that shouldn’t be happening. Then the dream comes again, and I see a little more, and then each time the dream comes, it moves further into what is happening...or what is going to happen, or what might happen.”

“You weren’t even out of high school that first time, when I was on that case. I saw you then, but you were younger, and it was so briefly. Adam didn’t want you involved with any of it.”

She nodded. “But that wasn’t the first time. My father was a private investigator. When I was about ten there was a double murder made to appear as if they’d been accidents—a doctor and his colleague. The wife of the one victim had been afraid for her husband. I believe he’d been getting threats—threats he thought nothing of but she took seriously. So, on her behalf, my dad started to investigate, following a man named McCarron. He was ostensibly a businessman, in pharmaceuticals, but his businesses were all rather dicey. But it seemed nothing could ever be pinned on him; he was very rich, you see, and had friends who were very rich, politicians, movers and shakers among them. My dad had video of McCarron going into the building where the doctor and the other man died—one supposedly from a fall and the other of a