In Dreams. Patricia Rosemoor

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СКАЧАТЬ You can come down now.”

      FLEETING SOUNDS of a mournful saxophone followed her as she sloshed through the rain. People were still coming in and out of restaurants. Even a torrent wouldn’t stop those revelers—they would still hop from bar to bar, determined to make every moment count.

      Angry and upset as she made her way home, she forced herself to hold together…. Crying could wait until she got to the privacy of her own bedroom.

      A block from the town house, she heard a splash behind her, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing but a puddle in the sidewalk. Even so, her flesh crawled and she practically raced down the wet street.

      Laughter echoed from one doorway…moans from another. She pressed her hands to her ears and ran. By the time she got to the courtyard, the rain had intensified just like her pulse. Her heart was pumping like she was in the midst of an aerobic workout.

      Then she saw him waiting for her, rivulets of wet sheening his face. For a moment, she faltered and stared.

      Then, when tears threatened again, she demanded, “What are you doing here?” and pushed by him, keys in hand.

      But before he could answer, the quiet of the courtyard was split by a sharp blast and she turned in time to see him jerk and crumple to the wet flagstone….

      Lucy awoke with a gasp.

      Blinking, she looked around into the shadowy corners and realized she was back on the houseboat.

      The rains had started again. A waterfall was drumming against the roof. She concentrated on the sound…closed her eyes for a moment…no, that was a mistake, she realized as remnants of the dream tried to claim her.

      The psychic dream that was another warning like the one that had come to her before the woman had been killed!

      Only this one had been about Justin being shot.

      No…not again!

      She steeled herself against giving into the emotion of what she’d envisioned. Instead she focused on how she’d ended up in Justin’s bed again.

      She remembered following Justin downstairs to face his mother and aunt. They’d had to tell the women everything, after all. Marie Guidry had listened with an open mind, had wrapped her arms around Lucy in sympathy afterward, and declared her too warm. She’d demanded Justin take Lucy to a doctor for proper care.

      Lucy had refused.

      Justin had somehow gotten her to agree that she would come back to the houseboat with him to rest first before going back to New Orleans. He’d tended to her wound with an antibiotic salve and had threatened her with a visit to the emergency room if her fever spiked.

      And then she had slept.

      But though she was wet now—as if she’d really been rained on as in the dream—her body felt cooler than it had earlier. The fever seemed to have dissipated while she was sleeping.

      “Feeling better?”

      She gazed toward the doorway where Justin stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. Her heart began to thud with a distinct warning. Had he been standing there while she’d been trying to escape danger? While she’d seen him shot in front of her eyes?

      “How long have you been there?” she demanded.

      “Long enough to know you’re awake, is all. You’ve slept half the day away.”

      Shaking away the remnants of the dream, she pushed herself up out of the bed and told herself it was up to her to change the future. “I need to get back to New Orleans.”

      “Not today.”

      With images of him shot in that courtyard haunting her, she said, “Yes, today.”

      “You need watching.”

      “I need to get into town as soon as possible!” she snapped. “So I can tell the authorities about the murder.”

      So she could get away from LeBaux before she put Justin’s life in danger, before he could become another victim because of her.

      “No, not yet.”

      She heard the steel in his voice and wondered at the contrast between this Justin and the one who cajoled smiles from her. His expression brooked no argument. There was something dark and determined and a little scary about him when he was like this.

      “Y-you’re keeping me prisoner?”

      “I’m keeping you safe. Just until morning,” Justin said. “You’re in no shape to take care of yourself yet, chère. If you want to get out of here now, you’ll have to swim to your car.”

      “A challenge?”

      “No.” He sighed. “I just hoped you could be reasonable is all.”

      Reasonable?

      What was reasonable about being stranded with a man who invaded her dreams? Who threatened her peace of mind? Who was going to become even further embroiled in her mess and maybe die for it if she didn’t do something to stop what was already set in motion?

      But one look at Justin told her his mind was made up. And it wasn’t like she could just leave on her own.

      Surely she could resist him for another twelve hours. She’d never actually managed to change fate before—she certainly hadn’t with the murder of that poor woman—still, how did she know she couldn’t manage it?

      Besides, the sun had already set and she wasn’t about to go wandering around the bayou alone at night. Obviously Justin wasn’t going to take her back to her car until he was good and ready. Until morning broke.

      Twelve hours was a piece of cake, she told herself, even knowing it was a lie. Twelve minutes near him was enough to make her weak-kneed and all soft inside.

      In the midst of her distress, she was distracted by a wonderful smell wafting into the room, making her stomach rumble. “What is that?”

      “Mama’s crawfish étouffée. Remember, she gave me enough for supper. You must be hungry.”

      “Starving,” she admitted.

      “Come and eat then.”

      He moved away from the door and she followed. Maybe food would give her the fuel to resist the man who occupied her dreams.

      Maybe…

      Once more she sat at his table, while he fetched the food. No matter that he hadn’t cooked it himself, he seemed to wield pots and utensils like an expert, the same way he had that morning when he’d made her breakfast.

      If she concentrated on the details, on the now, she didn’t have to deal with the future yet. She didn’t have to worry about psychic dreams that she maybe could or couldn’t change.

      “I’m not used to a man feeding me,” she murmured as he filled her plate.

      “What СКАЧАТЬ