Andy was tired. No, she was beyond that. Exhaustion nipped at her heels like a yapping lapdog. She needed to sleep and so did Isabelle. At this rate they were going to make mistakes—big mistakes that were going to cost them dearly.
She wasn’t going to lose another dreamer, especially one this young. Fucking Kate Bouchard.
“How are we going to get into Arlene Hampton’s building?” Isabelle asked. “A place like that has security everywhere. At the very least there would be a doorman. Perhaps even surveillance cameras.”
“Don’t know,” Andy muttered.
They were sitting in a coffee shop across from Hampton’s building, weighing their options. Andy knocked back her second espresso, then glanced up to see a look on Isabelle’s face that suggested she might kill her.
“Why can’t I drink coffee?”
“The caffeine is bad for you,” she said. “It upsets your dream cycle and increases the violence. Your experience of it.”
“Oh. And we don’t want that now do we.”
The sarcasm was not lost on Andy. She picked up her cell phone, did a Google search, and made a few calls. Isabelle sipped her tea and continued to page through the New York Times.
Andy slipped her phone back in the pocket of the long black coat slung over the chair next to her. It was late in the day, and harried commuters were straggling home in the wintry evening air.
Isabelle closed the newspaper and looked at her.
“Yes?”
“Tell me what you would usually do in a situation like this.” She filled her cup from the tea pot.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me how you would normally go about solving these dreams.”
Andy thought about it for a second. “It’s much the same as you see now. There is a dream, Jam and her team finds the person, and we keep an eye on them to prevent the attack or accident from happening. In your case we have more time. That’s quite a luxury.”
“That easy?”
Andy shrugged. “No. It can be difficult to locate the person. Or it can be impossible to get to them. We once had a dream about a four-star general. That proved almost impossible to stop. Remember, there is no way we are ever allowed to show ourselves. That remains one of the most important rules.”
Isabelle mulled her answer. “And the dream? How does that happen? How did I get to dream about Arlene Hampton?”
Andy blew out a soft breath. “You tell me, but history shows that you perhaps touched her, or somebody in the recent past connected to her. It could be on the subway, in a shop, on the street, or in Starbucks. Anything as random as that.” Andy reconsidered. “With you, though, it may even be more random. Maybe you saw her photo in the paper. Who knows.”
“Okay, but I still don’t—”
“It will never make sense if you keep looking for a rational answer.” She stood. “It’s best to just jump in. Trust me. We have an appointment to look at an apartment in Arlene Hampton’s building tomorrow afternoon. It’s for rent. That’s the only way to get closer to the point of attack.” She scrutinized Isabelle’s face. “I also want to see if we can run into this woman so you can touch her. It will intensify your visions, maybe give us some clue about her attacker. Are you up for it?”
“Why not just drink some coffee?”
“Ar-ar,” Andy imitated a laugh.
Isabelle held the teacup in front of her mouth. “Exactly how intense will it be?”
“It will be bad. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Isabelle thought about it. “No, no, I can manage. If it saves her life, it has to be okay.”
Andy nodded, put on her gloves, and held out her hand to help Isabelle down from the barstool at the window. She watched as Isabelle bundled herself up in a white parka that had seen better days. “Shall we go get some sleep? Another team—David and Iona—will sit on Hampton until our appointment tomorrow.”
Isabelle tied her scarf around her neck. “I need some stuff from my apartment. Can we go there first, please?”
“Of course.”
* * *
Andy stood inside the cramped space of Isabelle’s apartment, looking at the scribbled formulas and yellow Post-it notes on the walls. She peered inside the fridge. It was empty, apart from a handful of bruised, overripe tomatoes, tomato juice, and milk that was way past its due date.
The small kitchen nook was stacked high with books and papers, balanced next to an open laptop.
“What will happen with your exams?” she called to Isabelle, who was in the bedroom packing.
“I’m done with exams for now. I have to hand in assignments. I have a project due in a few days. I emailed my professor while we—you—drank coffee. Seems like I can hand in the next assignment at the end of the month. He’s not worried.”
“That smart, eh?” Andy paged through the books. A Course in Mathematical Cryptography. Conceptual Mathematics.
“Yup.”
“And not shy about it,” Andy muttered under her breath.
“I didn’t imagine you’d want me to fake anything,” Isabelle spoke behind her.
Andy jumped. “Nothing wrong with your hearing either.”
“Nope.” Isabelle stood in the doorway with a single small suitcase.
“It that all you’re taking?”
“I don’t have much else of value. I’ll take the laptop and some of the books as well, if you don’t mind. You look strong enough to carry them.” She smiled, and a dimple creased her right cheek.
It was the first time Andy saw her smile. It was beautiful.
Isabelle was beautiful.
And young. And naive about Ma Soeur and what was going to happen in the next few days. Andy knew she couldn’t afford to mess this up. She had to keep her distance. Her job was to keep Isabelle safe. That was it. Nothing more and nothing less.
“I’ll manage,” she said as she snapped the laptop closed and stuffed it into a protective sleeve lying next to the kettle. “What books do you want to take?”
Isabelle selected four from the pile and Andy placed them on top of the computer.
“Can we stop at a few shops on the way as well, please? I need a new coat.” Isabelle pointed at the white parka and a tear that ran down from under her left arm.
“Of course. Ma Soeur will pay.” Andy contemplated the battered suitcase, the old laptop, wondering what else she could add to Kate’s bill.
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t want your money. I can buy my own clothes. I’ve already sold a part of my predictive algorithm to a telecoms company. I just never get around to doing any shopping. I don’t have anything to run around in in this weather.”
“Oh, it’s not my money,” Andy said. “It’s Kate’s and I’m very happy to spend it.”
* * *
“What about this one?” Isabelle stepped out of the dressing room in a new pair of tight, faded blue jeans.
“Nice.”
Andy’s eyes said it was more than nice.
“And the top?”
“Oh. Great. Too. You know.”
Andy ogled the olive green sweater that hugged Isabelle’s body. She glanced away quickly to stare at her boots. Isabelle turned, careful to hide her smile from Andy. She was right. Andy couldn’t keep her eyes off her breasts. And her butt too, if what she saw in the dressing room mirror was true.
Good to know.
“Boots and jacket?” Andy cleared her throat as she rose from the wicker chair at the entrance to the change rooms.
The salesperson, barely out of her teens, looked up at her with something between awe and fear. Andy was dressed in black from head to toe, from her boots to the long-sleeved T-shirt and military watch wrapped around her wrist.
“I got both already,” Isabelle said. She closed the dressing room curtain and changed back into her own jeans.
“Did you make sure it’s something you can run in?”
“I took something with a bit of a heel, but I also got some sneakers, yes. You’re a pain in the neck, you know? I can’t look up at you like that the whole time.”
Andy didn’t laugh. “Are they warm enough?”
“Yes, they are. Promise.”
Isabelle opened the curtain.
“Here you go,” the salesperson said, pushing a dress and some underwear into Isabelle’s hands. “Black, in your size.”
“Thanks.” She turned her attention toward Andy. “Do we have time for me to quickly try these on? It’s been a while since I ventured outside the apartment, and when I had to pack today I realized I had nothing suitable for…” What was this? “Work?”
Andy’s eyes fixed on the lacy underwear in her hands. “Sure. No problem. Work. We have time. I’ll just go look at something. Call me when you’re done.”
“Sure? You’re welcome to stay. I can use a second opinion.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I’m sure Luciana here can help you.” She pointed to the salesperson before disappearing into a throng of Japanese tourists moving through the department store.
Luciana looked perplexed. “Doesn’t she want to see what it looks like on you?”
“It’s a surprise,” Isabelle said. “For later.”
She retreated back into the cubicle. She had to guess Andy’s favorite color and style of lingerie, but she was one hundred percent sure it was not something light and frilly.
The look in Andy’s eyes suggested she’d made the right choice.
As she changed, her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind. You don’t seduce strength with weakness. Your mother doesn’t get that and she never will.
Her grandmother had looked after her while her mother worked her minimum wage job, always looking for that special man who would take care of her for the rest of her life. Gran died when she was fifteen. A week later, her mom dropped her off at social services, fed up with the dreams and numbers.
Isabelle knew it would take a very particular, special set of circumstances and skills to get Andy Bouchard into her bed, the woman she’d been dreaming about for almost a year already, even though she could never admit that to anyone.
She didn’t know if she would manage it, but she was damn well going to try.