The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [156]
SEVEN
No! No. Tell him!
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t bear the distance between them, so she stood and went to kneel beside his chair. “I’m so sorry.”
He took the hand she placed on his knee, held it with gratitude and relief. “People told me there was nothing I could have done differently, that I did the best I could, that he was clearly determined, but . . .”
“You feel like you missed something, like you could have done more.”
He gave a slow nod as his gaze caressed her face.
Please. Help me. Now! Tell him.
His lips jerked into a crooked smile; their eyes met and his hand left hers to graze the back of his index finger down her cheek. “Would you like to hear something crazy?”
“Sure.” It couldn’t be crazier than the voice in her head.
“I dreamt about you.”
That was crazy? “Not good dreams, I gather.”
“Great dreams.”
“Oh?” Even as heat rose to the top of her head, she was tempted to tell him that she’d trade his dreams for hers anytime.
A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “Not quite that great . . . at least not until after I met you. That dream’s a more recent development. And I don’t have to be asleep to have it.” They grinned, unabashed, at each other. He leaned forward, using his left hand to curl over hers; the other slipped into her hair and cradled her face. “For months now I’ve been sleeping in as late as I possibly could, racing through my days and blowing off evening commitments just so I could go back to bed and back to sleep and back to dreaming of you.”
For months? Well yeah, okay, that was crazy. She hadn’t been here a whole month yet.
“I knew who you were the minute you turned around and screamed at me. I told you that you scared the hell out of me, too? You did. But it wasn’t in the same way I startled you. I was really spooked. I couldn’t get away from you fast enough.” He chuckled. “First thing I did was go straight to bed for a nap. I never nap. Wanda and Gus were worried sick about me.”
“But they’re not worried anymore?”
“Because now you are?” He was amused but she was . . . Well, who was she to comment on his strange dreams?
“Not really. Not if you aren’t, but . . .” She cocked her head. “Do you think they mean anything? I mean, do you think your dreams were trying to tell you something?”
“Are trying to tell me something . . . They haven’t stopped. And yes, I do think they’re trying to tell me something because it’s always the same basic dream, over and over—more vivid now that I’ve met you, but they’re basically the same. You save me. Seriously. You pull me out of the water into your boat. I’m down a well, I look up, see your face, and I know I’m saved. I’m hanging off the top of a tall building, you reach down and grab my arm, and I’m saved. The worst one . . . I’m in a sewer or a cave or a dungeon or something; it’s dark and dank and it has rats. I hate rats, worse than snakes. They’re lurking and scrambling closer to me. I call out. I know you’re out there. I know you’re looking for me. I know you’ll save me. They’re squeaking. Their teeth are three inches long, for Christ’s sake. I yell . . .”
Screams! Like a girl!
“. . . and then I’m outside in the sun, with you. I’m saved.”
Tell him. Tell him! TELL HIM!
The voice grew so loud inside her head that she sucked in air at the sharp pain it caused behind her eyes. Automatically, she covered both ears in a futile attempt to muffle the sound.
“What is it? Ivy? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Testing, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes slowly. No voice, only Craig’s anxious face. Her smile was feeble.
“Sorry. Aftershock, I guess. From the faint? It’s gone now.”
“You should lie down again.” He stood and helped her to stand. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs. You can lie down, get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Or the hospital . . . let me take you to the hospital.”
“No. I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re not. You’re pale and—”
“Oh no.” The words came as a soft whimper as she stood numbly staring at the wall opposite the fireplace, behind the couch, above a console table,