Falling Awake

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Let me take a giant leap in the dark here,” Ellis said. “Belvedere offered to let you return to your old job at the center.”

  “With a substantial increase in salary.” She smiled. “I have to tell you, it felt very good to turn him down.” She walked back into the kitchen and picked up her wineglass. “He sounded quite anxious. Evidently he has just discovered that anonymous Client Number One paid some hefty fees for my services.”

  “What did he say about Hardy’s death?”

  She frowned. “He had heard the news but he didn’t seem the least bit interested. All he cared about was getting me back to the center. When I declined his offer, he got mad and demanded contact information for Clients One and Two.”

  “But not Three?”

  “No.” She paused and then shook her head decisively. “I got the impression he only knows about two anonymous clients.”

  “And when you didn’t give him any information that would help him identify them, he threatened you with legal action if you lured Clients Number One and Two away from the center.”

  She looked smug. “Guess I’m a player now, huh?”

  He raised his brows. “Oh, yeah.”

  Her expression turned uncertain. “He was bluffing when he said the two anonymous clients had signed contracts that made it impossible for me to do any consulting work for them outside the center, wasn’t he?”

  “Relax, neither Lawson nor I signed any contracts,” he assured her. “Didn’t want to leave a paper trail. You’re free to consult with us.” He considered briefly. “Sounds like Number Three didn’t sign anything, either.”

  She picked up a knife and started to slice tomatoes. “Do you think the fact that Randolph was so callous and unfeeling about what happened to Gavin Hardy means he might have had something to do with his death?”

  “If he killed him without getting the information concerning the three mystery clients out of him first, he really screwed up, didn’t he?” Ellis said.

  “True. I’ll call my friend Ken Payne after dinner and see what he has to say about the situation at the center. He’s always a great one for in-house gossip.” She turned toward the refrigerator and then paused, looking worried. “Do you have a problem with puff pastry?”

  “Depends what you plan to do with it.”

  She looked anxious. “Cook it and serve it for dinner.”

  He smiled slowly. “If you make it, I will come.”

  21

  she finally got ahold of Ken Payne at ten o’clock that evening. He sounded pleased to hear from her.

  “Isabel, I’ve been meaning to call you but I’ve been kind of busy since you left. I kept that appointment with the cardiologist. The next thing I knew, I was headed into surgery.”

  “What was it?”

  “Aortic aneurism. Disaster waiting to happen but a straightforward repair job if you find it in time. Had the operation on Monday. I’m home and doing great.”

  “Ken, I’m so relieved to hear that.”

  “They said the problem is often hereditary and that an aneurism is probably what killed my father and grandfather. It often goes undiagnosed because there are no symptoms until it ruptures, and then it’s usually too late. The results look very much like a sudden heart attack so that’s usually what goes down in the records as the cause of death.”

  “But you’re okay, now?”

  “Better than new, they tell me. Susan is here with me.” There was a short pause and then Ken came back. “She says thanks for everything. Needless to say, I second that. I really owe you, Isabel.”

  “I’m just relieved that everything worked out so well.”

  “What’s going on with you? I haven’t been back to the center since the operation but I’ve heard things are kind of chaotic there.”

  “Yes, I can imagine. Not my problem anymore, though—I’m starting a new job at my brother-in-law’s company. It will pay the bills until I can get my consulting business up and running. Did you hear about Gavin Hardy?”

  “Yeah, Jason called with the news this afternoon. What a shocker, huh? What was Hardy doing in your neck of the woods?”

  She looked at Ellis, who was crouched in front of one of the six cartons containing Martin Belvedere’s research papers. He was sorting the documents by date.

  When they had opened the first box after dinner they were dismayed to discover that several decades’ worth of notes, dream logs and unpublished journal manuscripts had been dumped haphazardly inside. Evidently, although the lawyers had dutifully saved everything Belvedere sent to them over the years, they had not felt any obligation to organize the mass of paperwork.

  “Gavin was trying to put together a stake so he could go back to Las Vegas,” she said carefully. “He offered to sell me some confidential client information he had discovered on Belvedere’s computer, but he was killed before I could find out what it was.”

  “Confidential client data, huh? That sounds like something Hardy would try to peddle. He wasn’t a bad sort, but he definitely had a gambling addiction.”

  “He lived for those trips to Vegas,” she agreed. “Did Jason have any other office gossip from the center?”

  “He mentioned that several people are dusting off their résumés. I’m thinking of doing the same. Word is that the funding has dropped off quite a bit since the old man died. There’s even some question about whether or not Randolph will have to declare bankruptcy.”

  Isabel curled her legs under her and frowned at Ellis, who was listening to every word. “That sounds serious.”

  “That’s about it, gossip-wise,” Ken said. “Unless you’re interested in the news that Randolph Belvedere and Amelia Netley are an item.”

  Isabel raised her brows. “No kidding? They managed to keep that quiet while I was there. Never had a clue.”

  “According to Sandra Johnson, they were seeing each other even before the old man died.”

  “Sandra would know. She sits right outside Belvedere’s office and she doesn’t miss a thing.”

  “There may be trouble in paradise, though. Sandra heard Amelia and Randolph arguing behind closed doors a couple of times after you left.”

  “Ken, you are a fountain of interesting office news, as usual.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes and then Isabel said goodbye and put down the phone.

  Ellis stopped stacking papers, got to his feet and rotated his right arm in an absent, circular motion, loosening his shoulder. She saw the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes.

  “Would you like some anti-inflammatories?” she asked, starting to rise from the sofa.

  “I’m fine,” he said tersely. “Did Payne have anything useful?”

  “No, unfortunately. He’s recovering from surgery so he hasn’t been in his office since shortly after I left. The only gossip he had was the news that Randolph is sleeping with a member of the professional staff, Amelia Netley. Not very helpful, I’m afraid.”

  “Who’s next on your list?”

  She glanced down at the pad of paper on the table next to the phone. “Sandra Johnson. She was Martin Belvedere’s secretary. Randolph inherited her.”

  She was reaching for the phone again when a muffled clatter followed by a soft thud sounded from the vicinity of the small laundry room off the kitchen.

  Ellis spun around so quickly he was almost a blur. He dove for the briefcase and came up with a pistol in his hand.

  Before Isabel could recover from her shock, he had hit the light switch on the wall, dousing all the living room lamps.

  The space was plunged into darkness.

  “Ellis—”

  “Get down on the floor,” he ordered, his voice dangerously soft.

  “But—”

  “Do it.”

  She sensed him moving toward the kitchen. It was all happening so fast she could scarcely understand it. Then she had a sudden, horrifying thought.

  “Don’t shoot, it’s just Sphinx,” she said quickly. “He’s using
the dog door in the laundry room. Please, don’t hurt him.”

  There was a short silence. And then the light came on in the small space, spilling into the kitchen.

  She saw Ellis silhouetted in the fluorescent glow, the gun alongside his leg, pointed toward the floor. He stood looking into the laundry room, his features stark and grim.

  “You just had one hell of a close call, Sphinx,” he said, his voice still frighteningly low and even.

  Unconcerned with his brush with a messy death, Sphinx greeted Ellis with a few flicks of his tail and then padded to his food dish.

  Isabel started to breathe again.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot to mention the little dog door. Sphinx found it right after we moved in. He disappeared while I was unpacking. I thought he ran off. I was worried he wouldn’t be able to find his way back but he came home a short time later, just as calm as you please.”

  For a couple of heartbeats, Ellis did not move. She was not sure he had even heard her. But just as she parted her lips to repeat her explanation of events, he turned, very slowly, as though reluctant to look at her.

  “You’re supposed to be on the floor,” he said.

  The ice in his words froze her to the spot.

  “Ellis? What’s wrong? I’m sorry you were startled.” She was starting to get worried now. “Are you okay?”

  His jaw was rigid and his eyes narrowed in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of Sphinx in a bad mood. She got the impression he was angry but whether he was mad at her or himself was not clear.

  “Sorry,” he said roughly. He stalked back into the living room and put the pistol inside the briefcase. Then he straightened and looked at her. “I’ve been a little jumpy for the past three months.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t scare me. I was concerned, that’s all.” She glanced at the briefcase. “Although I, uh, didn’t realize that you were armed.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at her with an enigmatic expression.

  She reminded herself that he had just responded to a perceived threat with a gun in his hand. There was probably a lot of adrenaline and testosterone still pumping through him. She needed to give him time to get himself under control.

  “It’s okay, Ellis.” She made her voice as soothing as possible. “Why don’t I fix you a nice cup of tea?”

  He took a step toward her and stopped. “Next time I tell you to get down on the floor and stay there, you do it. Understood?”

  She sighed. “You’re really mad, aren’t you?”

  “I’m mad, all right. Last night someone you knew well got himself killed, remember?”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget it.”

  “We aren’t playing games here.”

  “I’m perfectly well aware of that.” She felt her own temper start to flare. “You don’t need to lecture me.”

  This discussion was turning into a full-blown quarrel, she thought. Why was that happening? Now that the small scare was past, they should both be relaxing, savoring the relief, maybe even joking about the incident.

  But there was no amusement in Ellis. She could feel the edgy, battle-ready tension coming off him in dangerous waves of raw power. She wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been a few sparks in the air.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want any tea.”

  She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Maybe a drink?”

  “No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”

  “I think that, under the circumstances, your reaction is entirely reasonable.”

  “Lawson says my jumpiness is a side effect of my post-traumatic stress and my obsession with Scargill.” Ellis scrubbed his face with one hand. “Maybe he knows what he’s talking about. Maybe I have gone around the bend and just don’t realize it.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said quietly. “Not for a moment.”

  He lowered his hand and stared hard at her. “How can you be sure?”

  She unfolded her arms and moved to stand directly in front of him, inches away. “I’ve walked through your dreams for the past year, Ellis Cutler. I would know if you were dangerously obsessed or deluded. I would also know if you were suffering from post-traumatic stress.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Yes. I think you of all people would know the truth about me.”

  She smiled slightly. “Want that drink now?”

  He shook his head, slowly, deliberately. Then he raised one hand and wrapped it lightly around the nape of her neck.

  A rush of heat flashed through her, igniting her nerve endings all the way to her fingertips. She knew that her body’s internal temperature-regulating mechanism had just gone on the fritz, because she was suddenly hot and cold all over.

  “I dream about you,” Ellis said. He spoke in the harshest of whispers, producing each word as though it were a chunk of ore that he’d been forced to dig from the farthest reaches of a deep, sunless cavern. “I dream about taking you to bed.”

  Her mouth went dry.

  “You do?” She had to struggle to get the words out.

  He searched her eyes. “I’m scaring you, aren’t I? You’re starting to wonder if maybe Lawson is right about me, after all.”

  “You’re not scaring me.”

  “Didn’t you just hear what I said? I dream about you. Some folks would call that a sign of an obsessive personality.”

  She touched the side of his face. “Studies show that a significant percentage of dreams involve sexual content, and dreams about engaging in sex with strangers are quite common for both men and women.”

  “I don’t dream about having sex with strangers. I dream about having sex with you.” His eyes darkened. “And the dreams are all Level Five, extreme and very, very lucid. Do you have any idea how many cold showers I’ve taken in the past year?”

  “Oh.” She did not know what else to say. She was dazed and breathless.

  His mouth twisted. “Now you’re scared, aren’t you?”

  “No. Honest.”

  “You probably should be.”

  “You don’t scare me, Ellis Cutler.”

  “Maybe not. But I think I’m scaring myself. I should go back to the inn.” He took his hand away from her neck and started to turn toward the briefcase.

  She was suddenly very cold.

  “Ellis.”

  He stopped. The heat in his eyes burned away the chill.

  “What is it?”

  “I dream about you, too,” she whispered starkly. “Level Five with all the trimmings.”

  He was very still. “You never saw me. Never knew what I looked like.”

  “In my dreams your face was always in shadow but I knew who you were. There was never any doubt.” She smiled. “I knew enough about you to recognize you the other day when you walked into the auditorium at Kyler headquarters. Somehow you looked exactly like you were supposed to look.”

  He took a step toward her, not touching her but crowding all the air out of the space that separated them.

  “I recognized you, too.” Now he touched her, cradling her face in his warm, strong hands. “But I had an advantage.”

  “What was that?”

  “After I started dreaming about you, I told Belvedere I wanted a photo of you. Gave him some tale about needing it for security reasons. Not that he cared one way or the other.”

  She went blank for an instant. Then a memory returned. Delight and wonder rose inside her.

  “The gorgeous orchids,” she whispered. “I remember Dr. B. taking a snapshot. He told me it was for his files.” She broke off, her euphoric mood dropping like a stone when she got a sudden, bad flashback to all the failed hairstyles she had tried out in the past year. “I can’t recall what phase I was in that day. What did my hair look like? Did it involve a lot of curls? Please don’t tell me there were curls.�
��

  He smiled slowly. “No curls. Sounds interesting, though.”

  “I hope it wasn’t my blond era, either. That was not a success.”

  He shook his head. “Your hair looked a lot like it does now. You had it pulled back into a knot at the back of your head.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I was between experiments that week.” She put her hand to her hair and winced. “This is my default mode. I call it the Desperately Professional Look.”

  “You don’t look desperately professional when you wear your hair like this. You look like a sexy, sultry tango dancer.”

  “Really?” No one had ever described her as sexy, let alone as a sultry tango dancer. “I’ve never even taken tango lessons.”

  “Neither have I. But something tells me we could learn together.”

  “Oh, Ellis.”

  He used one hand to tilt her head back, baring her throat. She could have sworn that she could hear the first dramatic, mysterious chords of the bandoneón, the instrument forever associated with the most passionate dance in the world.

  When Ellis kissed her shoulder she thought she would burst into flames. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself into him.

  His mouth found the delicate place just below her ear. He used his tongue and the edge of his teeth until she could not stop the delicious shivers that pulsed through her.

  She drew the inside of her thigh upward alongside his leg, thrilling to the shudder that went through him and the powerful contours of muscle and bone beneath his skin.

  By the time his mouth closed over hers, she was shaking with the intensity of the emotions pouring through her. Every nerve ending in her body was alive. The part of her that had been dreaming for so long was fully awake. No matter what happened, no matter where this moment led, she had to discover what awaited her in this bright, new dawn.

  “Isabel.” Ellis tightened his arms around her and crushed her against the length of his body. “I want you so much, I’m hurting tonight. I knew it would be like this.”

  She was stunningly aware of his fierce arousal. There was nothing halfhearted or lukewarm about his passion. He had told her his dreams for nearly a year, but unlike the other men she had dated, he did not see her as a sympathetic friend or a big sister tonight. He saw her as a tango dancer, and in his arms she felt like one: daring, alluring, smoldering, gloriously, powerfully feminine.