The Summit. Kat Martin

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      It was raining, the air heavy with mist. Inside the house, it was warm, the kitchen steamy from the pot boiling on the stove. A group of three women moved together with practiced ease, working to prepare the evening meal. They were a family, Autumn thought somewhere in the depths of her mind. All of them were blond and fair, girls and women of various ages, the oldest, a woman in her late thirties, all of them pretty.

      Autumn watched the women chop vegetables and roll out biscuit dough. They didn’t say much as they did their jobs and began to take down cups and dishes to set the kitchen table.

      Autumn might have kept dreaming if the youngest of the women, a girl of eleven or twelve, hadn’t turned just then and looked straight at her. Autumn knew that face. She recognized the pretty oval shape, the soft blue eyes and long silky lashes, the pale blond hair drifting like corn silk around her narrow shoulders.

      Those eyes were staring into hers and the pain in them jolted Autumn from a deep, hypnotic sleep.

      Heart pounding, palms sweating, she bolted upright in bed. It was her! The girl named Molly! It was the little girl she had dreamed about before, only she was no longer a child but a girl approaching her teens. Autumn knew it deep in her bones.

      Trembling, she swung her legs to the side of the bed.

      It was nearly two-thirty but she was wide awake, her mouth dry and her heart beating too fast. Images of the dream rolled around in her head. Straightening her pink silk nightie, she padded into the bathroom and turned on the tap, shakily filled the glass next to the sink with water and took a long, calming drink.

      Her mind spun, replaying the images she had seen. If this was the same girl—and Autumn was convinced it was—she was somewhere around eleven or twelve. How could that be?

      She tried to recall the first series of dreams, when the child was much younger. Was there something in the dream that hinted at the time frame? Nothing she could recall. Still, if the child was five or six then and eleven or twelve now, the abduction—if that’s what it had been—would have had to have happened at least six years ago.

      The whole thing was crazy. Certainly tonight’s dream was nothing at all like the nightmare she’d had in her teens and yet…

      There was no use trying to sleep. Instead, she walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of milk and carried it over to the sofa. Pulling the soft wool afghan her grandmother had crocheted off the back of the couch, Autumn covered her legs, leaned back and let her mind sift through the dream.

      Maybe the dream tonight was actually that. A real dream where everything’s just a fantasy.

      Or maybe neither of them were real.

      Autumn finished her milk and stretched out on the sofa. If she continued to dream, maybe she would see the girl as a full-grown woman, happy wherever she had finally ended up, and Autumn could stop worrying about her.

      Maybe she was wrong and—unlike before—nothing bad had happened or was going to. Warm beneath the comforter, she finally fell asleep. When she did, she began to dream.

      Three women worked in the kitchen, the little girl no longer a child, but taller, beginning to develop breasts, showing the first signs of becoming a woman. And when she looked at Autumn there was always so much pain in her eyes, Autumn awakened from the dream.

      She lay there on the sofa, heart thumping madly, exhausted and even more worried. This was no simple dream. This was a message—just like it had been when she was fifteen.

      She couldn’t ignore it the way she had before. She refused to sit around and let something terrible happen again. Dear God, if only she knew what to do.

      Four

      It was early morning, almost time to get up. As Autumn lay awake on the sofa staring up at the ceiling, memories of the dream played over and over in her head. If this was the same blond child, the little girl named Molly from the first dream, maybe she was among the millions of children who went missing and were never found. Maybe she was reaching out, asking Autumn for help.

      But if that’s true, why now? Why didn’t the dreams begin years earlier? So far it appeared she didn’t even know the girl. It was all so utterly confusing.

      Tired to the bone and still thinking of the dream, she tossed back the afghan and headed for the bathroom to shower and dress for the gym. She needed some physical exertion, something to clear her head. Hopefully, her climbing class would take her mind off the girl. After lunch she had a couple of private lessons and around five-thirty she was supposed to meet Terri for drinks at O’Shaunessy’s Bar and Grill, an upscale local hangout that was one of Terri’s favorite see-and-be scenes.

      The day passed swiftly. Autumn arrived at the bar right on time but Terri, as usual, was running a little late. By the time she got there, Autumn was sipping a nice chilled glass of Kendall Jackson chardonnay and beginning to relax.

      Terri was smiling as she wove her way through the crowd at the bar and sitting at tables. She walked up and hung her purse on the back of one of the stools around the tiny table and waved one of the cocktail waitresses over.

      “I’m desperate for a Cosmo, Rita. After a day like today, I really deserve one.”

      “Will do, hon.” Rita sashayed away, tray propped on her shoulder, wide hips swaying, and returned just a few minutes later with the drink. Terri was a regular and always got good service and Autumn enjoyed the lively little pub as well.

      Terri took a sip from her frosty, long-stemmed martini glass. “So how was your day, girlfriend? Mine totally sucked.”

      Autumn sipped her wine. “My day was fine. Last night was the pits.”

      Terri rolled her eyes. “Don’t even tell me. The dream, right?”

      “Yes…and no.”