Isabelle didn’t fall asleep as much as crash into it. The darkness enveloped her, pitch-black and dense, lifting only to slip in the dream like a dagger—silent and deadly.
The steady stream of images was unexpected. Andy was running down a dimly lit street. She was angry, her face contorted with rage. She charged into a front door and across a noisy space, fighting against a stream of panicked people rushing to escape.
It was a…restaurant. No, a diner.
Andy’s breath was hurried, as if she’d been running for a while. Her boots hit the floor like gunshots. She had her weapon in her hand.
Isabelle’s heart thrashed in her chest.
Not Andy. No, no, no.
Andy stopped abruptly. In front of her, on the ground, was a body. It was a woman. She was lying on her stomach, face turned away, arms outstretched, a gun inches from her hands, as if she had been crawling toward it when she was shot in the back, just as had been the case with Arlene Hampton.
Andy bent down next to the woman and turned her over.
It was Detective Jane Wright. Andy placed her gun on the floor and called for help, but there was nobody left in the diner to come to her aid. She bent down to listen if Detective Wright was still breathing.
Behind her, from another booth, a shadow emerged.
The figure stealthily approached Andy.
Oh no…
Andy turned on her heels.
No, no, no…
The shadow lifted a gun and pulled the trigger.
Isabelle screamed, trying to warn Andy, but she couldn’t get the words out. They stuck to the roof of her mouth, like birds clawing at closed windows.
Then the mud came. The thick, black mud sucking her in. Covering her feet, her hands, her eyes, her mouth.
* * *
Andy held on as Isabelle’s body bucked like a wild horse against her own. She kept on whispering soothing words as Isabelle struggled to escape the dream, her breathing erratic and her body increasingly panic-stricken as she tried to find her way back to the Brooklyn apartment.
They’d slept six hours before Isabelle’s screams had woken her.
“I got you,” she murmured. “Come back to me. I got you. All is well here. Come back.”
But the fear remained. In fact, it ratcheted up a notch, emerging from Isabelle’s mouth in a high-pitched scream. Andy stopped thinking and kissed her, capturing the terror in her mouth, breathing it in.
Isabelle’s body froze, then melded to hers. Her arms, battling unseen foes, slipped around Andy’s neck, pulling her closer. Desperate, hungry, she clung to Andy, slipping her tongue into her mouth.
Andy tasted a strange mix of blood and peppermint, then groaned with the unexpected pleasure of Isabelle moving against her, opening her legs, inviting Andy in. She forgot about the constant dull ache in her upper body and flipped Isabelle on her back, her mouth in the crook of Isabelle’s neck, moving down to her clavicle, pushing aside the white T-shirt to taste the sweet expanse of skin that lay hidden beneath. She explored one full, heavy breast, the nipple rock hard in the palm of her hand.
She pushed her leg into Isabelle’s core. The pressure made Isabelle gasp and groan as she moved against it, her hips riding a sharp wave of arousal.
Retract.
Isabelle was in no state to know what was happening to her. Yesterday’s flirtation was not this morning’s consent. She retreated even further, opening her eyes and staring down at Isabelle’s forest green gaze.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Isabelle gave a strained smile. “I’m not. Why did you stop?”
Isabelle immediately closed her eyes again, grabbing her head as if it was going to explode. She leaned over the edge of the bed, giving a dry heave.
Andy rubbed her back in slow circles. “I’m going to make you something to take the edge off. Just hang on a minute.”
* * *
“And you’re sure it was me?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Isabelle ate the last bite of the beef sandwich hungrily, then washed it down with a mixture of strawberry and tomato juice. She sat up in bed, resting her back against the wall, the bedding a white pool around her waist.
Andy sat next to her, contemplating the dream Isabelle had told her about. She sipped her coffee, trying not to stare at the white T-shirt and what lay underneath the thin white cotton.
“Is there any link to the Hampton case?” she asked. “Did you see anything that may point to Arlene Hampton?”
“No. The only possible link would be Detective Wright.”
“And Marat Sharapov? Was he anywhere in your dream? You touched him yesterday.”
“Not that I could see, no.”
“Any idea of time and date?”
“No. I got the sense it was night, but I can’t even promise you that.” Isabelle reached out, cradling Andy’s hand in hers, stroking it softly. “We have to stop the dream. You can’t…you can’t die. Please. You have to make sure you don’t walk into any diners in the next week or so.”
Andy smiled wryly. “It’s never that easy.”
Isabelle’s hand stopped, then gripped Andy’s tightly. “You’ve been here before.”
“Where?”
“Someone dreamed about you. About you dying.”
Andy put down her coffee next to the bed. She didn’t want to answer.
“Tell me about Victoria.”
“How do you know about Vic?”
Isabelle shrugged. “I overheard René talking to someone.”
“What did she say?”
Isabelle shrugged. “She’s surprised that you’re back—glad, because you should be able to temper your mother’s ambition, and because she’s happy to see you. It seems you left without saying good-bye?”
Andy was torn between talking and running away.
When did running away become such a knee-jerk reaction?
“Vic was my previous dreamer,” she said. “The how and when are not important. She dreamt one night that I was going to be killed along with sixty-seven other people in a terrorist bombing in the subway.” Andy swept her hair from her face and touched the scar under her eye. “It was going to be later that day. Evening rush hour. She could spot it from the newspaper a businessman was reading on the platform. And his watch gave the time. Anyway. I went in. Kate sent me in. I decided to go. It’s irrelevant how I got there.”
Andy looked at her hands. “Vic deceived me. We had a good-bye drink and she put something in my vodka. She timed it perfectly. I passed out fifteen minutes later. I only woke up hours later when the EMTs carried me from the subway rubble. I had made it as far as the stairs before I collapsed.”
Andy took a deep breath. “Ninety-three people died, much more than the sixty-seven Vic had dreamt about. I was so angry. Kate was livid. Vic couldn’t understand…Dreamers and keepers are not allowed to stop their own deaths unless they are the focal point of a dream. The domino effect may be too big, the price too tremendous to comprehend.” She pulled her hand from Isabelle’s grip. “Vic betrayed me. What we were trained to do. And yet…”
Isabelle rubbed her arm gently. “You’re glad that you are alive?”
Andy hung her head in shame. “Yes.”
Isabelle moved closer to her, putting her arms around Andy. She could fully understand Victoria’s motivations, although she was careful not to say it. Clearly, Andy had a great sense of duty. But what was it like to know your mother was willing to send you to your death?
“What happened to Victoria?” she asked.
“From what I heard she went mad. I have no other explanation. She saw the stories of the people who died. The parents. The eleven children. She retreated into her head.” Andy cleared her throat as if looking for the words. “I wasn’t here to see it. I had moved in with Caroline Diaz.”
“The blonde from yesterday?”
“Yes. Messed that one up too. Royally.”
Isabelle didn’t offer any hollow words of consolation. “And now you are here again, with someone who’s dreamed of your death.”
For a minute or two, Andy didn’t move. Then she inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Yes, but there are a few differences. I’m the focal point of your dream, along with Wright. And this time around, everything won’t happen on the same day as the dream. We have time. We can prevent it.”
“Like we prevented Arlene Hampton’s murder?”
Andy didn’t want Isabelle to go there. “That’s a different matter altogether and I hope to prove that to you later today.”
* * *
Isabelle walked to their small kitchen and made tea for her and coffee for Andy. The smell of coffee made her crave caffeine, but she resisted the temptation. She searched the handful of cabinets until she found a pan, then scoured the fridge for eggs, locating a dozen in the fresh compartment. Somebody had stocked the apartment before they’d moved in.
She turned to Andy, fork in hand. “I can do fried or scrambled.”
Andy looked at her like she was a lifesaver. “Two scrambled eggs on wheat toast would make my day.”
“Doesn’t take much to please you, does it?”
“Apparently not.”
Andy smiled at her, then returned her attention to the computer on her lap. It seemed she was searching for something—what exactly, she’d refused to tell Isabelle yet.
Isabelle watched as she typed, frowned, then rubbed her mouth as if she was considering her options. She turned to switch on the kettle, the kiss from this morning a sudden, vivid memory. It had carried the same intensity Andy seemed to do with everything. The same absolute, complete focus, but coupled with something else. Something unexpected. Something hinting at a kind of release. Of letting go.
Finally.
She flushed as she broke the eggs into the frying pan, the butter already sizzling.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the stove top.
“Hmm?” Andy asked from the couch.
“Why did you stop? The kiss, earlier?” Isabelle stirred the eggs, too scared of what she might see on Andy’s face. “Did I do something you didn’t like?”
“No,” Andy said quickly. “I just…you know. You weren’t…back yet,” she fumbled. “I didn’t mean to force you into anything. It was a mistake. The moment. We’re not in a space of trust where it can just happen naturally. You know?”
This conversation wasn’t going the way Isabelle had wanted. A mistake? “I liked it. Very much. I wanted you to continue.” She swallowed, the apprehension turning her mouth dry. “And I trust you completely. Maybe next time—”
A knock on the door stopped her mid-sentence.
Andy turned to open it with something like relief on her face.
Isabelle cursed inwardly.
René stood on the threshold. “Kate wants to see you. No excuses this time. Her words, not mine.” She looked past Andy to Isabelle. “Smells divine. Got any bacon with that?”
Isabelle waved her in. “Come sit. There’s enough for the three of us.”
Andy placed a hand against René’s chest, glancing over her shoulder. “Maybe just let Isabelle change first.”
Isabelle looked down at her shorts and T-shirt, then at Andy. She didn’t imagine that she was dressed in anything more revealing than the clothes she wore to the gym, but she liked what she saw in Andy’s eyes.
She put down the spatula and moved the pan from the heat. “Just give me a moment to put on some sweats. Andy can make you some coffee while I’m busy.”
* * *
“So?” René asked as she leaned against the counter next to Andy. “What happened last night? This morning. Whatever.”
“Another dream,” Andy said as she handed René a cup of coffee. She looked at her watch. Past noon. The day was slipping away from them.
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Don’t mess with me, Bouchard. Your girl dreamed something significant. You’re all tensed up. Otherwise why hide her from my prying eyes?” René popped two slices of bread into the toaster, then turned, a teasing smile on her face. “Unless you’re jealous. Because I am interested if she’s up for grabs, you know.”
Andy switched on the kettle for a fresh cup of tea for Isabelle. “Back off. Things are complicated enough.”
“Exactly how complicated?”
Andy sighed with relief as the bathroom door opened and Isabelle stepped out in a pair of white sweatpants and a green T-shirt.
Damn woman would look good in anything.
“Complicated?” Isabelle asked.
Thinking fast, Andy pointed to the eggs, then to René. “Making breakfast for René. She eats about six eggs a day to keep up muscle weight. To the big disappointment of her cardiologist.”
Isabelle squeezed past them and switched on the stovetop again. “Don’t worry, we have enough to feed you. But remember this act of kindness when I get into the boxing ring with you again.”
René smiled, then looked at her with concerned eyes. “You okay about last night? About Hampton?”
Isabelle bit her bottom lip, stared at her feet. “I’m okay. Sort of.”
“Sometimes we lose someone. It happens. It’s part of the deal.”
Andy held out her hand, and Isabelle reached out to take it. Isabelle wasn’t okay. Far from it. But hopefully, Andy knew how to fix it.