Night Moves : Dream Man/After the Night

  “I know what you told me. I also know you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His teeth ground together. “For the last time, I didn’t get involved with you just to set you up as bait.”

  “No? Just exactly when did you come up with this brilliant plan? And I’m not being sarcastic. It’s a damn good idea. It’ll probably work. But when did you think of it?”

  He didn’t have to think, he knew exactly when the plan had occurred to him. Again he chose not to lie. “On the plane coming back from Denver.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You mean right before you came to my house and made a heavy-duty pass?”

  “Yes,” he growled.

  “The timing’s a mite suspicious, isn’t it?”

  “I wanted you before that, damn it!” he yelled. “But you were a suspect, and I couldn’t get involved with you. As soon as I cleared you of all suspicion, I was knocking on your door.”

  She smiled. “And it was just pure luck that I could be used in this way, wasn’t it? I don’t mind that part of it, Dane, I really don’t. What I hate is the way you used a personal relationship to set it up—though it wasn’t very personal for you, was it?”

  Red mist swam in front of his eyes. He was so angry that he could feel himself losing control. He got up and walked out of the house, to keep himself from doing something he would regret later.

  Damn, this wasn’t looking good at all. How could she doubt what they’d had together? He’d never felt like this about any other woman, and she thought it meant less than nothing to him. He walked around the yard, the lingering evening heat making him sweat. When he thought he had himself under control, he went back inside, but Marlie had gone back into the bedroom.

  Probably that was for the best. Both their emotions were too raw for them to talk about this sensibly. Tomorrow, when they both had calmed down, would be better.

  • • •

  Carroll Janes watched the evening news telecast. So that was how they had known! A damn psychic. Whoever would have thought? That certainly wasn’t something for which he could have planned.

  The cops didn’t seem to have much faith in her, but just looking at her had given him chills. And what she had said; how could she have been so vicious? She had called him a worm and a coward. After a moment of hurt, he began to get angry. So he wasn’t anyone’s dream man, was he? What did that little bitch know?

  Actually, he realized, she knew quite a lot. The cops didn’t believe her—for now—but the fact was, she was a real danger to him. As no one else had, she had gotten close to him. The only way she could have seen him was in a psychic vision, and the thought made him feel maddeningly vulnerable.

  It was intolerable. How ignominious it would be for his downfall to come about because of some kook psychic! The trouble was that she wasn’t a kook. She was for real. It was the only way she could know what he looked like.

  He wasn’t safe as long as she lived.

  The solution was obvious. The psychic would have to die.

  23

  JANES CALLED IN SICK THE next morning. Marlie Keen had been listed in the phone book, and he had looked up her address on a city map. He didn’t have any time to waste; he had to get rid of her as soon as possible. And then perhaps he would think about leaving Orlando; he usually remained in an area longer than this, but the psychic bitch had loused things up for him here. They had that sketch of him. They might discount it now, but when the bitch turned up dead, they would give it a lot more credence.

  He smelled setup, but he didn’t dare ignore the situation. It was simply too dangerous for him. But he didn’t take any chances; he switched license plates with a car belonging to an old lady in the apartment building who seldom drove anymore. He would switch them back when he returned, so that if any suspicious cop was watching the traffic on Marlie Keen’s street, when they traced that tag, it would come back as belonging to a Mrs. Velma Fisher, whose car was nothing like the one that had been sporting the plate. But when they checked Mrs. Fisher’s car, the license plate would be there, convincing them that they had made an error in writing down the number.

  His blond curls were snugly in place when he set out. Such an extravagant head of hair was a brilliant disguise, if he did say so himself. They were looking for a bald guy. It was an ingenious way of changing his appearance, because either way, his head was what people noticed: They would look at the blond curls, and not the face beneath it, or, if he was seen during one of his nights, they would notice the slick skull and nothing else. Simply brilliant.

  He rolled down his car window and turned up the radio. That was another piece of psychological subterfuge: Cops wouldn’t expect him to draw attention to himself with a loud radio. If this was a trap, they wouldn’t expect him to boldly drive by, where they could get a good look at him. That was why they never had been able to catch him. He could predict their actions and reactions, but they didn’t have a clue how his mind worked. After all, how could anyone without an imagination begin to understand what it was like to have one?

  So he casually drove by the bitch’s house, and just as casually glanced at it. There was a car in the driveway; why wasn’t she working? The newscast had plainly said that she was employed at a bank. There seemed to be a lot of cars parked along the street. That chill went down his spine again. He didn’t actually see anything, but he hadn’t escaped for so long by being stupid; quite the opposite. This definitely felt like a setup.

  He didn’t risk another drive-by. He drove back to his apartment, switched the license plates again, and thought. If it was a setup, then the cops wouldn’t let the bitch stay at her house. They would have her salted away somewhere they thought was safe. It would be impossible for him to locate her, much less get at her.

  Or would they? The trap would look much more realistic if she appeared to be going about her normal routine.

  There was only one way to check. He looked up the telephone number of the bank where she worked and punched in the numbers. It was answered on the first ring, by a bored-sounding young woman with a breathy voice.

  “Marlie Keen, in accounting, please,” Janes said briskly.

  “Just one moment.”

  Another ring, and a click. “Accounting.” Another female voice.

  “Marlie Keen, please.”

  “Hold on.” He heard the woman say, in a more distant voice that indicated she had taken the receiver away from her mouth, “Marlie, line two.”

  Janes hung up the phone. She was at work.

  He laughed to himself as he went back out to his car. What simpletons they all were, if that was the best they could do! He would follow her when she left work, though of course, if she went to her house, he would break off contact rather than take the risk of driving down her street again.

  His biggest problem, he told himself, was finding some shade to park in while waiting for her to leave the bank.

  He picked her out when she went to lunch; he remembered that thick dark hair and slender build. His heart pounded with excitement, then he sternly brought himself under control. He couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake out of haste.

  He snickered as he followed her. She wasn’t much of a psychic if she couldn’t tell that he was only two cars behind her. But she was still a danger to him, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

  She picked up lunch at a drive-through fast-food window, and returned to the bank. He had no chance to get at her. So he patiently settled down to wait once more.

  She left work at four. He had carefully watched the parking lot. There hadn’t been any suspicious lingerers—other than himself, of course. He hummed as he pulled out a few cars behind her, and kept about the same distance behind her.

  She didn’t make any stops. She drove straight to a smallish house in an older neighborhood. He noted the address and kept on driving. He went to the library and looked up the address in the city directory; the house was listed as the residence of Dane Hollister. Janes’s eyebrows shot up, and h
e grinned. He knew that name; it had been in the papers quite a bit lately. Detective Dane Hollister was investigating the Slasher murders. Now, wasn’t that a coincidence?

  • • •

  The bank president hadn’t done it; not even the vice president had done it. But the head of accounting had been called into a meeting with them, and this was one of those occasions when Marlie didn’t need to be psychic to know what was happening. She wasn’t surprised when the department head returned, looking unhappy, and asked Marlie into her office. They regretted the necessity, but their first responsibility was to their depositors, et cetera, et cetera. The bottom line was that Friday was her last day. They felt magnanimous in allowing her to stay that long.

  She thought about being magnanimous in turn and quitting right then, which was obviously what they wanted, but the impulse didn’t last long. She wasn’t in the best of moods.

  She was still angry when she drove to Dane’s house, so angry that there wasn’t much room for anything else. She had been angry since the moment she had realized how Dane had betrayed her, and expected to be angry for the foreseeable future.

  She had been home just long enough to change into comfortable clothes when she heard a car drive up. She looked out the window expecting to see Dane, but instead watched Trammell unfold his long form from his low-slung car. She went to the door to let him in.

  “Hi, sweetie.” He twirled his sunglasses from one long finger and bent down to kiss her cheek.

  She lifted a sardonic brow at the display of affection. “What’s with the sweet talk?”

  He grinned and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed. I see you haven’t cooled down much.”

  “Are you the symbolic hat through the door, to see if I attack?”

  “Not exactly. Dane got delayed for a few minutes, and we don’t think you should be alone.”

  “Thanks for the concern.”

  “You don’t sound sincere,” he teased, but his lazy dark eyes were watchful.

  “I was fired today,” she retorted. “I don’t feel like celebrating. Out of the goodness of their hearts, I’ll be allowed to finish out the week.”

  He snorted. “I’d have walked out on them today.”

  “So would I, if that hadn’t been exactly what they wanted. Do you want something cold to drink?”

  “Only if it isn’t alcoholic.”

  “I can manage that. Lemonade, fruit juice, tea, or soft drink?”

  “Tea.”

  “Coming up. Smart man, not to drink and drive.”

  “I don’t drink much anyway. It upsets my system,” he drawled. He followed her into the kitchen. “Did you get settled in last night?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I got my things put away.” She took two glasses out of the cabinet, dropped ice cubes in them, and filled them up with the tea she had brewed that morning before going to work. “Lemon?”

  “No, thanks. I drink my tea straight.”

  She chuckled as they clinked glasses.

  Trammell eyed her as he sipped the cold liquid. “Are you going to forgive him?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t the media ploy that upset me as much as realizing he ‘trifled with my affections,’ to use an old southern phrase.”

  “You really think he doesn’t care anything for you?”

  “If he does, he’s never mentioned it. What hurts is that he deliberately cultivated my feelings for him, and then used them to manipulate me.”

  “He can have tunnel vision when it comes to his work,” Trammell said delicately. “Let’s sit down.”

  “Are you going to plead his case?” she asked as they took chairs at the table.

  “Not really, but I know Dane better than anyone else on earth, including you, including anyone in his family. They only grew up with him; you’ve only slept with him. I’ve risked my life with him. I know him from the ground up.”

  “Do you think he’s capable of cold-bloodedly using someone in an investigation?”

  “Of course he is. He’s a cop. So am I. But he’s never been cold-blooded where you’re concerned. How can I put this without being crude?” he mused, looking at the ceiling. “Do you remember when you came to Bonness’s office, and you and Dane all but went to war right then?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, to put it delicately, he had a boner so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it.”

  Marlie choked on her tea, then fell back in the chair, shrieking with laughter. Trammell stretched out his long legs, as languorous as a cat, looking pleased with himself while he waited for her to calm down.

  “He’s my hero,” he continued lazily after a moment. He wasn’t looking at her now, but a tiny, rather self-mocking smile lurked around his mouth as he stared at the ice in his glass. “I didn’t join the force out of idealism or anything like that; I was bored, and it seemed like an interesting job. Dane and I were paired after the first year, and we’ve been together ever since. I don’t believe in much, or trust much, but Dane is a rock I can rely on no matter what. Not that he’s idealistic, either. He’s even more cynical than I am.

  “But he’s got a sense of right and wrong that he’s never lost touch with. All I see are shades of gray, but Dane can see the black and white. He knows that there are certain things worth fighting for, and he’s willing to put himself in the front line. He’s a gallant, heroic bastard, and he’s never even conscious of it. He’s an old-fashioned southern good old boy, the salt of the earth. He’s street-smart, woods-savvy, and sly as a fox. A real throwback. Mean, too. Damn, can he be mean! But he turns to putty where women are concerned. We used to laugh at him, when he was still on patrol and had to work an accident. If there was a woman involved, it didn’t matter if she was just holding her arm and a man was lying there bleeding from a dozen places; it was as if Dane never saw the guy. He’d go straight to the woman, make certain she was all right, so tender they’d be melting at his feet within a few minutes. It would embarrass him when he realized he’d left another man lying in the street, and we were all laughing at him.”

  “You don’t have to tell me he has a good bedside manner,” she said dryly.

  “No, I don’t suppose I do. But I’ve never before seen him the way he is with you. He’s always had women, and not one of them ever meant enough to him to interfere with the job. Until you. He couldn’t get you off his mind. You drove him crazy; you made him so angry he couldn’t think. It was the most amusing thing I’ve seen in a couple of years. He may not know he’s in love with you, but trust me, he won’t let you go. I know him. If you walk out that door, he’ll be right behind you.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “How can a man not know if he’s in love? Give me a break.”

  “Well, it’s never happened to him before.”

  “Had it happened to you, before Grace?”

  He looked uncomfortable. He swallowed, hard. “Uh, no.”

  “Did you recognize it?”

  “Let’s just say that I fought it.”

  “But you knew it was there. I’d never been in love before, either, but I knew what it was.”

  “Dane’s more hardheaded than most.”

  “You’re telling me,” she muttered. “I can’t read a thing from him.”

  Trammell gave a shout of laughter, but quickly sobered. He gave her an uneasy look. “Can you read me?”

  She smirked at him, happy to see him squirm. “I haven’t tried since I regained the ability.”

  “How about Grace?”

  “I don’t intrude on my friends,” she said sternly.

  “Psychic’s Code of Honor, huh?”

  “It wouldn’t be polite. I’ve always had to try to block people out, rather than try to receive their feelings.”

  They heard a car door slam outside. “There’s Dane,” Trammell said, and drained his glass. “Think about it, Marlie. Give the guy a break, and save our sanity. It’s been dangerous to talk to the man today.”

  “I’ll consider your view
of things,” she said. “But my final decision depends on him.” Until ten minutes ago, she had thought that she had already made her final decision, but Trammell’s explanation that Dane was hardheaded had made her pause.

  Dane walked in, looking hot and irritable. His gaze settled first on Marlie, with a sort of bad-tempered yearning, then on the tea they were drinking. He prepared a glass of tea for himself and sat down with a sigh. “It’s been a bitch of a day.”

  “Tell me about it,” Marlie said sweetly. “I got fired.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his head to the table in despair. “Shit.”

  “I’m out of here,” Trammell said, smiling at Marlie. “See you in the morning, partner.”

  Dane didn’t reply. Marlie sipped her tea. Trammell let himself out.

  The silence in the kitchen became thick. Marlie said, “When this is over, I think I’ll move back to Colorado.”

  Dane lifted his head. There was a pale cast to his tanned skin, and his mouth was compressed to a thin line. “No,” he said, very softly.

  She leaned back and crossed her arms. “What are you going to do, threaten me with protective custody again? I don’t think you can get away with that.” She pushed her chair back and got up, then carried her glass to the sink.

  She had just rinsed it out and placed it in the drainer when two hard hands closed on her arms and whirled her around. She drew back as far as she could, but the cabinets halted her retreat. He leaned heavily into her, his hips grinding against hers. His face was stark.

  “I won’t let you go,” he muttered. “Damn it, Marlie, how can you even talk about leaving when we have this between us?”

  “This?” she flared, wriggling her hips and feeling him get hard. “It’s just sex.”

  “It’s more than just sex, damn it!”

  “Is it? From where I stand, that’s all it’s ever been,” she taunted him, feeling him quiver with rage and enjoying it. Something fierce and hurt inside her wanted him to feel the pain as she had.

  His hazel eyes went green as his control broke. “By God, if sex is all it is, then we might as well enjoy it,” he said thickly as he swooped her into his arms.