Silent Run - Barbara Freethy [95]
“We always had good chemistry. No surprise there.”
“I’m not talking about physical attraction, although it definitely exists.”
“Sarah, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“I know that you’re protective and kind and loyal.”
“I’m not a damn Boy Scout,” he growled.
“No, you’re far too angry and intense and impatient for that. But you’re a good person.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Don’t say any more.”
“I can’t stand this wall between us.”
“Well, it’s not coming down tonight.” He swore. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
She didn’t know why he’d had a change of heart, but she wasn’t going to argue. She curled up into his embrace, her head back on his shoulder. This was where she belonged. This was home, she realized. Where she wanted to be. It was perfect—well, almost perfect. When they had Caitlyn, then her world would be right again.
“Just sleep,” Jake ordered.
“I want to,” she said. “But I’m afraid of where the dreams will take me.”
“Don’t be afraid. We’ll go there together. Take me with you this time, Sarah. Take me into the nightmare. Let me help you find a way out.”
She closed her eyes, keeping Jake’s image front and center. Wherever she went, he was going with her.
* * *
When Dylan woke up the next morning, the storm had passed. After using the bathroom, he walked into the kitchen and saw a kettle on the stove as well as more tea bags. He might have to stop at a Starbucks on his way to LA or die of caffeine deprivation.
He poured himself a cup of tea and took it out on the back deck. Catherine was on the beach with her dogs again, a big floppy sweater around her jeans and T-shirt. Her feet were bare as usual. She apparently wasn’t that into shoes, the first woman he’d ever met who seemed more comfortable out of heels than in them.
She was a lonely-looking figure, he thought, curious again as to why she’d chosen to live such a hermitlike existence. He also wondered what had happened to her Prince Charming, the one who’d come and left, as she put it. Was that guy responsible for the angry mood of her paintings? Or did her art come from some other dark place in her soul?
She certainly wouldn’t be an easy woman to love, not with her psychic claims and cryptic predictions. He wasn’t sure he’d want to live with a woman who could see the future. Not that he really believed in her fortune-telling skills. Still, despite his best efforts to ignore her predictions about his own life, he couldn’t help wondering about the two women she’d seen in his future, one who was supposed to be his worst enemy and the other his salvation. Maybe Catherine should be writing mystery novels instead of painting. She had a knack for opening up a good story, anyway. Not that she’d been interested in finishing it.
Turning away from the view, he reentered the house and checked his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. Time to give Xander Cross a call. He hoped this would be the break they desperately needed. But if not, he was going to get Catherine down to LA to meet up with Sarah face-to-ace. Maybe she could jog Sarah’s memory.
Punching in Xander’s number, he waited for someone to pick up. Finally a woman’s voice came over the phone. “Hex-Games,” she said, giving the name of the shop.
“I’d like to speak to Xander Cross,” he said.
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. Can someone else help you?”
“No, it’s a personal matter. Is he there?”
“No.”
“Can you give me another number for him? It’s very important that I speak to him as soon as possible.”
“Hold on a second.”
Dylan tapped his fingers on the table as he waited for her to return, but instead a man’s voice came over the phone.
“This is Joe Morgan, the owner of the store. Can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Xander Cross,” Dylan said. “I thought he was the owner.”
“He used to be. Are you a friend?”
Dylan frowned, wondering why he was getting the runaround. “Not exactly, but we have a mutual acquaintance. A friend of mine is in trouble,