Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,88
was paid and he sent groceries—keeping them off the streets. And their pimp is still in jail, no bail, so if they are innocent, at least they’re safe.”
“But nothing has happened yet. I’m sure the killer is gearing up for his next strike.”
“We work with what we have. And maybe we have something here.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. She glanced at him and grimaced, and then closed her eyes.
Waiting.
Watching.
Waiting.
It was certainly a very unglamorous part of the job. At least she was waiting with Keenan.
Even if it wasn’t exactly quality time, she was still glad that she was sitting in a car with him. She could say whatever came into her mind. She could close her eyes and rest.
They were running on empty.
Just sitting still...
She closed her eyes.
Night was almost fully upon them. She was so ridiculously tired...
She drifted, and she began to dream.
This time, the dream went a little differently. She was in the room again. The fog was as thick as ever, swarming, moving as if it was something that lived and reeked of both a warning and a promise of evil. The killer was there.
He knew that she was there. And he was angry.
“Catch me when you can, Stacey.”
He knew her name. He spoke to her from the depth of the shadows, calling her by name.
“Catch me when you can!” he said, repeating the phrase from a Jack the Ripper letter, real or hoax, that answer never known.
“If you can, Stacey...”
Her name was a hiss. And something about the sound made her nerves leap to life and fear invade her.
“Stacey! Stacey!”
She heard her name again, this time spoken firmly and tenderly. She opened her eyes.
Keenan had leaned over to draw her against him.
She straightened up, not awkward about him holding her but embarrassed that she had fallen asleep in the car again.
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Did you see something? About this place?” he asked her.
“No,” she told him, letting out a long sigh. “I was in that damned room again—and I can’t see. With the killer who I can’t see, and the victim I can’t see.”
“I know you’re frustrated,” he told her. “And I know your dreams are disturbing. But there is a bright spot to your sleeping.”
“There is?”
“Yep. They got the warrant. Adam knows every judge in DC, Virginia, West Virginia and Maryland. Jackson is coming with Angela and Raina—with the local police department on call, though the sergeant Jackson talked to was apparently dubious that they’d be needed. Dr. Lawrence is a fine surgeon, you know.”
“And maybe he is,” Stacey said.
“What did you see in the room this time? Anything new?”
“The killer saw me, talked to me—he was saying, ‘Catch me when you can’.”
“Pulled out of a letter sent to London police,” Keenan said.
“And he addressed me,” Stacey said. “By name.”
He pulled her close to him, despite the bucket seats. “I know it’s disturbing. But we know that he knows your name. He sent you the kidney.”
She nodded. “He’s so smug, Keenan. Are we completely on the wrong trail?”
“No. I don’t believe that we are,” he told her.
It had grown dark. A light was shining on Dr. Lawrence’s front lawn. It barely reached into the trees and the benches at the side of the house.
“Has...anyone appeared? Said anything else?” she asked.
“The fellow who called me a genius?” he asked dryly.
She smiled. “Anyone?”
He shook his head. “They must think that we’ve driven away—I wanted to be out of sight, and I didn’t want to be seen walking around. Once the warrant gets here, anything that we find will be legal.”
“Do you think that the ghost in the T-shirt and jeans is one of the men on a missing-persons report?”
“I think it’s likely,” Keenan said. He smiled at her. “I know you’ve been through these dreams before. And you’re an excellent partner, an amazing rookie. But might they get to be too much for you?”
She looked at him smiling and slowly shook her head. “No. I’m ready to dream more. And listen more, open up to all possibilities.”
“Cool,” he said, still evidently a bit confused.
“I talked to Raina today. She made me feel more grateful for being...weird, or gifted. Take your pick!”
“I say gifted,” he told her.
“They’re coming,” she said.
“Jackson and team? I don’t see lights—”
“No, the ghosts are coming, heading this way, out of the forest.”
She smiled at him.
Open up.
She had done so, and she had sensed that they were being sought, and when she had turned, she had seen them.