The apartment where Andy and Isabelle slept looked small all of a sudden. Andy stared at the queen-sized bed. Under any other circumstances she would have been happy to jump in there with a woman as beautiful and smart as Isabelle, but this was a completely different ball game.
Besides, there was nothing to say Isabelle was remotely attracted to her, or that she was interested anyway.
“You can take the bed,” she offered. “I’ll take the couch.” She had to be here in case Isabelle crashed again. “How often do you dream?”
Isabelle sat on the white duvet. She looked drained. The last few days had been long and hard. “Twice a week, on average.” She laughed dryly. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“It’s quite frequent, I have to admit. And it may increase as we work this case.”
Isabelle looked over at the couch. “You’ll never fit on there.”
“I will. Just go finish up in the bathroom and get in bed.”
“Sleep next to me. I promise not to bite.” Isabelle kicked off her sneakers.
“It’s better not to.”
“For who?”
“Both of us.”
“Do you always decide what’s best for other people?” Isabelle cocked her head to one side, the long red hair a curtain over her face.
“Is everything always an argument with you?”
“This isn’t an argument. It’s a discussion.”
“Then we’re done discussing the issue.”
Isabelle got up. She closed the space between them and tapped Andy on the chest with a neatly trimmed fingernail. “Let’s get this straight. You’re not the general and I’m not some stupid little trooper you can command as you please.”
Andy raised one eyebrow. The woman had guts, she had to admit. “Okay. Got it.”
Isabelle walked to the bathroom, blindly jabbing a thumb in Andy’s direction. “Sleep on the bed.”
“Thanks, but I’ll take the couch.” Andy picked up Isabelle’s shoes and put them in the closet.
She couldn’t think if everything wasn’t in its proper place.
* * *
Andy woke early, her back in a spasm. She’d been forced to sleep with her legs dangling over the end of the couch, putting strain on her lower back. She glanced at the illuminated hands of her watch. Four eleven. She’d probably managed three hours of fitful sleep.
She might as well get up and go do some exercise. She struggled to her feet, groaning as she stretched from left to right. She slipped past the bed on her way to the bathroom, unable to resist staring at the peaceful figure sprawled on the bed, arms outstretched.
“Sleep on the bed. Yeah, right. Where exactly?” she muttered.
Isabelle had slept soundly throughout the night. No dreams, no sound, except for steady, rhythmic breathing.
Andy nearly bumped into the half-closed bathroom door. What was Isabelle wearing anyway? Those weren’t even shorts. What was shorter than a pair of shorts?
Her legs were long and smooth, her hips round, with a sensual curve that invited you to put your hands around them, to pull them toward you. The white T-shirt she slept in was see-through thin, enough so Andy could make out the full—
Stop. Just stop, Andy berated herself. This was what her mother had wanted from the start. She wasn’t going to get suckered back into this place and all of its promises. Not in a million years.
* * *
The sound of loud punching almost made Andy turn around as she approached the gym. She wanted to be alone, to get rid of some of the restless energy inside her without anyone watching. She contemplated going back to the apartment for a moment, but then pushed the door open. Anything would be better than to face a sleeping Isabelle again.
She immediately recognized the only other person in the gym. René Allandale was a few inches shorter than Andy but bulkier. She didn’t have the predictable, acceptable muscle lines developed for photo ops and social media apps, carved out in one-hour poolside gym sessions with personal trainers. Her defined body was the result of being Ma Soeur’s drill sergeant and a former mixed martial arts champion. She was the woman who looked after all the keepers and their dreamers, who made sure they were fit and ready for fieldwork.
Her coppery brown hair was short, soaked through from her workout, but still she went at the kicking bag as if she wanted to kill it.
She dropped her fighting stance when she saw Andy and placed her gloved hands on her hips, panting heavily.
“I heard you were back, but I didn’t believe it.”
Something like regret tugged at Andy’s conscience. She didn’t exactly leave Ma Soeur in the best way possible. “I’m not back. I’m just here for a few days.”
René padded over on her bare feet, appraising Andy.
“Gotten a bit soft, I see.” She nudged a glove into Andy’s midriff.
“Bull. Still got a six-pack.”
“You used to have a ten-pack, Bouchard.” Rene smiled and deep lines formed next to her mouth.
She must be in her mid forties by now, Andy thought, but still rock hard. Twenty years in the army would probably do that to you.
“Okay, maybe,” she acknowledged. “But why should I? There’s no need to chase the dragon anymore.”
Dragons were what she and other keepers called the dreams. The elusive, mythological vision that could spit fire in your face quicker than you could possibly imagine.
“How have you been?” René asked. She took off her gloves, grabbed a towel from the floor, and wiped the sweat from her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You left in a hurry. Didn’t even say good-bye,” René said in her usual shorthand.
There was an accusatory tone in her voice.
“Yes. Sorry about that. I just had to get away.”
René shrugged. “Sorry about what happened. You got a pretty raw deal there.”
Andy dropped her bag to the floor and pointed with her chin to the boxing ring. “I’m here to get that ten-pack back. You up for it? Or are you scared I’ll kick your butt as always?”