“Much more comfortable than the sofa. Unless you prefer the sofa. Anyway, let’s both try to get some sleep.”
He smiled and gave her a wave.
She smiled back. She heard him enter his room, heard the door close.
He wasn’t so bad, after all.
No, not bad at all.
She watched after him, appalled by the way her thoughts were roving. The door would open, he’d rush back out, he’d whisper that she was amazing, forgive him, he shouldn’t be saying such things, he just wanted...
No, no, no, no, she told herself. This is your first case! He’s a work colleague. A respected agent!
She stood and headed down the hall for the guest room, having an absurd idea that she would stop and, with an overwhelming impulse, open the door to his room and run in and tell him...
That he was compelling, and she had been alone far too much, and that she just wanted him to touch her. Hold her.
He had suddenly awakened so much more in her.
It was like being one of those people who was afraid of heights. They were so afraid that they would suddenly walk to the edge of a precipice and just keep going...
No, no, no.
She did have control of herself. She passed his door and hurried the few feet to the next. She opened and closed the door, leaning against it and gasping as if she had just escaped a great danger.
The danger had been herself!
Shaking slightly, she moved toward the bed, pulled down the covers and careened onto it. In minutes, sheer exhaustion took over.
And she was asleep.
She knew the dream was coming.
A protective and unconscious instinct tried to fight it. Somewhere in her sleep, whatever neurons played in her brain knew that the dream must come.
She wasn’t sure where she was within the room, just that she was there. The walls were a blur, but she knew there was a hearth. She could hear that a fire was crackling, see that the flames were playing, blue and gold, and that smoke was rising.
She still couldn’t see him; she didn’t know how he had gotten in. Had he come through the front door?
He was in the shadows, as she was. There was a curious sound, as if something was being dragged, but she couldn’t see what.
The woman in the room heard it, too. She started to turn.
But Stacey couldn’t see her face.
She saw the flash of a knife, rising silvery and glittering, caught for a moment in the firelight.
The woman screamed.
“No!” Stacey whimpered, the sound loud enough to nudge her, wake her enough to know that she was dreaming.
But she didn’t open her eyes; she wasn’t out of the dream or the nightmare.
The killer had her. And while she couldn’t see him clearly, she knew that he turned, and he looked straight at her—she could see a glitter as the firelight then reflected in his eyes.
How could he see her? He could not!
And yet it seemed he looked straight at her.
He lifted the knife in her direction. And he smiled.
* * *
Keenan walked to the far end of the kitchen, checking in the refrigerator for anything edible, then he turned to push the button on the coffee maker.
At that moment, Stacey came into the kitchen to start the coffee.
They slammed right into one another, then broke apart, laughing.
“Nice and early,” he told her, stepping back a distance from her, his hands on her shoulders.
She smelled incredibly good.
He removed his hands from her shoulders and took another step back, still smiling. He had the thought that having her in his house, with no one else around, and remaining able to maintain their platonic partnership was not something that was likely to happen again.
He needed distance. They were professionals at very important jobs.
“You’re up nice and early,” he said. “We’ll make sure we’re at Colin Smith’s office by eight, in time for our appointment. But it’s barely six—”
“I’d like to go by my place. Please! I mean, it’s great to borrow your mom’s things, but I’d really love to get into my own.”
“We have time,” he assured her. He was still in his pajama pants and robe. “I’ll just get dressed.”
“I’ll throw on my stuff from yesterday—and, I promise, I can get ready at my place in a matter of minutes.”
They moved apart, retiring to the separate rooms. Fifteen minutes later, after each had downed a mug of coffee, they were in the car, heading to her place.
It was close, just a matter of blocks. And it was