They returned to the living room. Colleen curled up on the couch. Now that the situation had had time to sink in, she found her anxiety receding before a wholly unexpected wave of outrage. Who were these people, and how dare they do this to her?
Answers danced at the edge of her thoughts, just beyond memory’s reach. She had a sudden flash of an older man who moved the way Jeremy did. She squelched it with the unconscious ease of long practice. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t her mother.
She realized she’d instinctively folded her body into a smaller target and deliberately uncoiled and stretched out her legs. Her childhood had nothing to do with today. The world had been different back then.
A harsh, wooden groan drew her attention back to Jeremy. No amount of self-compression would make him small enough to fit into the rocking chair he’d selected. She couldn’t keep a giggle from bursting free at the sight he presented, a giant on doll furniture. He winced apologetically at the chair’s every creak, as if he expected it to shatter into kindling beneath him at any second.
“Maybe I should sit on the floor,” he said.
“There’s plenty of room over here,” popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. To her horror he took her up on it, abandoning the chair with eager alacrity to claim the other end of the couch. The cushions sagged beneath his weight.
“Better,” he pronounced.
For him, maybe. Twin urges warred within Colleen, between her head and her cunt. The upper half told her to scrunch up against the armrest and keep as much distance between them as possible. The more insistent lower prodded her to crawl into his lap and bury her hands in that thick, shaggy hair for added security. She told both ends to screw themselves and stayed where she was.
Fortunately, Jeremy also held position and briskly got down to business. “Is this the first time you’ve noticed someone watching the school?”
“Not the first time, just the most recent. We get weirdoes every now and then. Guys who sit in their car or stand at the fence and stare at the kids. Sometimes somebody’s ex stops by without their partner’s consent. We always call the cops. This was just the first time that—” She swallowed down the word scared. “Really worried me. Are you sure they weren’t after Shayla?”
“I’m pretty sure he had an adult in mind. If this is what I think, they don’t bother with children. Speaking of exes…”
“It wasn’t him. That’s over. He won’t come back, and he sure wouldn’t stalk me. This was a stranger.”
“Then you saw him. What did he look like?”
Colleen frowned. She couldn’t remember a thing now, beyond the coat and the hat. And the eyes. Those stood out with frightening clarity. “Red eyes,” she said. “Over by the mailbox. That can’t be right. They must have been brown.” She looked at Jeremy, almost in accusation. “You were staring right at the mailbox, too. Did you see anybody?”
His own eyes grew guarded. “I didn’t want to scare you, or Shayla. Yes, I got a look at him. Yes, he followed us. I’m pretty sure you’re the target.”
“Why?”
“Why you? No idea. They pick their vics at random. Trouble is, now that he’s fixated on you, he’s sure to try again. His kind’s really single-minded. Since he couldn’t get you at the school or the Stantons’, he’ll come here. By now he’ll know where you live.”
Colleen shuddered. “What does he want?”
“He won’t get it,” Jeremy assured her. “Wallace and I will make sure.”
“We should call the police. Make really sure.”
“It won’t help. These people are slippery. Wallace will take care of it. He knows what he’s doing. Let’s talk about something else. You really grew up in a commune?”
Not her favorite topic, but she jumped at the distraction. “The Woods and the Waters. It was up near the Sierra Nevadas, outside Sacramento. I think it used to be an old Gold Rush town. It was one of those rural back-to-nature things. They did some farming and crafts and made ‘authentic’ Indian blankets to sell to tourists. I wonder if they were growing pot? I can’t remember now.”
“How old were you?”
“I was eight when the commune broke up. Mom, well, she had some problems.” Try complete break with reality. “The state put me in a foster home. I got lucky. A nice family adopted me and brought me to Hermosa Beach. I’ve been here ever since.”
“Oh, so you’re adopted, too.”
“Yes, like Shayla.”
“And me. My bio-family died in a house fire when I was little. I was brought up in Tacoma.”
“Washington? How’d you end up all the way down here?”
He shrugged. “It’s a long and boring story. You don’t want to hear it.”
“It looks like we’ve got all night. Unless you can think of something better to do?” Inwardly, Colleen winced. Way to be subtle, Slut-Lady.
Jeremy refused to take the bait she dangled. “This commune you lived with. They weren’t one of those survivalist groups or anything like that, were they?”
“Oh geez, no. Just a bunch of retro hippies. They lived off the land and welfare payments and cheating tourists with the fake Indian junk. Why? You don’t think that guy today is connected to them, do you?”
“We shouldn’t rule anything out.”
“We can rule them out,” Colleen said firmly. “Looking back on the whole mess now, I can see what losers they were. They wouldn’t hurt anybody. Anyway, if they wanted me this bad, they had plenty of time to come get me.”
“Maybe they couldn’t find you. Maybe they didn’t know your new family had moved you down here.”
Colleen narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you, some kind of detective or crime fighter or something?”
“What, me?” He snorted. “No, that’s Wallace. I’m not much of a fighter.”
“So if he gets past Wallace, I’m doomed.”
“He won’t get past Wallace. He won’t even try to get inside. We figure he’ll try to lure you to him, like he did this afternoon.”
“Nobody lured me,” Colleen said vehemently. “There wasn’t any voice.”
She could see he didn’t buy it. Even Colleen didn’t buy it. The echoes of that silky voice kept mocking her denial. She couldn’t forget how easily it had oil-slicked over her will. She would have crossed the street and handed herself over to God knows what had Jeremy not stopped her.
Jeremy. Colleen looked up and was startled to discover how close he’d moved toward her. How close they’d moved to each other. She couldn’t recall just when she’d left the security of the armrest. Yet here she sat in the center of the couch, and here he sat right next to her, his inviting lips not even three inches away.
What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? His boyfriend was right outside.
She scooted away. “I think I–I’m going to read for a while. Try to relax. In my bedroom. By myself. I’ve got coffee if you want it, or there’s soda and stuff in the fridge. You can watch TV or play the radio or something if you want. I’ll get you a pillow and blankets.”
“That’d be great.” He seemed as surprised as she at their sudden, unexpected proximity. Like her, he hastily retreated to his end of the couch. For a gay man, he was having one tough time keeping his hands off a woman.
For a supposedly decent woman, she was having an even tougher time keeping her hands off someone else’s man.
Colleen bolted up and darted into the bathroom. She rushed through her tooth brushing. No shower, not tonight. Not with Jeremy only a door’s thickness away. Showers sparked thoughts of wet, naked bodies pressed against bathroom tiles while warm water cascaded over skin and the mirror fogged up. She had to bite her lip to keep from groaning aloud.
What the heck? What’s going on? Since when did I turn into such a slut?
Since she’d first looked into Jeremy’s eyes, that’s when. Every time she looked at him, she had to get close to him, touch him. He had become a craving, a hunger. She needed the contact with his body as mu
ch as her lungs needed air. From his own behavior, it was obvious he was grappling with the same desires.
This is crazy. Think of something else. How about psycho stalkers? Yeah. There’s a happy thought.
It worked, somewhat. She was able to return to the living room with a pillow and blankets and not let herself drift into his orbit again. He’d gone into the kitchen to make himself coffee. The TV was on, tuned to a sports channel. She dumped her bundle onto the couch.
“Here you go. Need anything else?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” He gripped the sink with one hand, as if letting go would send him rushing straight into her arms. He looked at her then quickly away. Embarrassment tightened his jaw.
Oh God. No longer concealed by the pillow and blankets, her breasts had come to attention, her nipples straining against the cotton confines of her blouse. They ached for the relief only a man’s hands could provide. Colleen blushed and dropped her stare. It arrowed straight to Jeremy’s crotch without any effort on her part. The source of his own discomfort formed a huge bulge in his jeans. Nothing short of moist lips and a welcoming mouth would knock that puppy down. If she stretched her jaw wide enough—
“I’m—” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “I’m going to bed.” What a thing to say, given the state they were in. She kept her stare fixed determinedly on the floor.
“Okay,” he croaked back. “Yell if you need anything.”
He’d provide it, too, and without hesitation. Anything she wanted, even with his partner right outside. His straining groin and the impressions her prickle picked up on made that as clear as California’s sky. All she need do was give the word.
Colleen bit down hard on the word and scurried back to her bedroom. She shut the door and locked it, more for his protection than her own.
Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind—Guess what’s number one? her inner Norelle voice gleefully mocked—so she plucked a book at random from the pile of paperbacks on her nightstand and tried to relax enough to read. Fifteen minutes later, she slammed it irritably back onto the pile, having spent the time staring at the same two paragraphs. Apparently not even Grisham could close her eyes tonight.
Instead, she lay awake and listened to the sounds of the man in the other room. These consisted of the low murmur of the TV and the groans of protest from her couch every time he shifted his weight. At length he got up. She followed the sound of his footfalls from the living room to the bathroom. He didn’t clump as Colleen expected from someone his size. He almost seemed to whisper over the floor.
Again distant memories stirred. His quiet steps reminded Colleen of someone a long time ago who could move through dry leaves without making them crackle or tread through dirt without leaving tracks. Then the bathroom door clacked shut and Colleen lost the thought or perhaps buried it again.
The toilet flushed, and the door opened. Jeremy stepped into the hall. This time he paused before her door. She watched the knob intently, convinced it would turn at any second. Her imagination saw him as if with X-ray vision. He stood there with one hand poised to knock and the other resting on the knob. Colleen drew in a long, anticipatory breath. He would ask, and she’d invite him in. He’d slide in beside her and they would—
But he didn’t, and she didn’t, and they wouldn’t. The knob remained still, and the knock never sounded. Jeremy stepped away from the door. The couch creaked fatalistically at the return of his body. Colleen rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.
She got up only once, about a half hour later, to have a look at the street. Of course there was nobody out there. She thought she caught a glimpse of a blur, but it vanished between blinks. Great. She was so keyed up, she was seeing things. Trapped in her own apartment with a drool-worthy hunk on her couch and no chance at all anything would happen. Norelle would rip her a whole slew of new ones for this.
Colleen crawled back into bed. She tried to slow her racing thoughts by planning out tomorrow’s activities. Maybe a new route for the students’ daily walk. Give the kids new things to look at. Shake things up a bit. She snorted nervously under her breath. Upend the normal routine. Like now. Yeah, that always worked.
Somewhere between route considerations and a mental inventory of arts and crafts supplies, she must have dozed off, because she wasn’t a prisoner in her own bedroom anymore. Trees replaced walls. The scent of real pine overwhelmed the artificial tang of air freshener and furniture wax. A cool breeze stirred her hair.
She was back in the Woods and the Waters. She was home.
And he was there—not Jeremy, but a man who moved in the same manner, with a swift, ethereal grace. His red eyes beckoned to her. He held out his hand. “Come, pretty. You don’t belong with them. Come to us. Come home.”
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. However, her feet slogged as if through deep mud in spite of her eager efforts. Strive as she would, she couldn’t reach him.
Some dim part of her screamed and thrashed like a panicked animal caught in a net. His oily voice overrode it. “Forget them, pretty. They’re beneath you. Come back to us, where you belong. Come now.”
The part of her enthralled by the voice struggled to obey. The rest of her just struggled. The wall she’d so studiously built between herself and her childhood threatened to crumble, sabotaged by whispered words in a slick, compelling voice. Colleen thrust them away, and abruptly thrust herself awake.
She wasn’t in bed anymore. Somehow she’d ended up in the living room, in Jeremy’s arms. Yet the voice persisted, like an oily, silken chain on her mind. It dragged at her, ordering her out the door, down the steps, into the street toward whatever awaited. Except she couldn’t go to it because Jeremy held her tight.
“Let me go.” She struggled peevishly, halfheartedly. She wanted to obey the voice. She wanted to run from it in panic. At the moment, she couldn’t do a damn thing either way because this enormous human lout wouldn’t let her go. She hissed up at him like an animal. “I want to go home. I have to go home.”
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. Hold on.”
Colleen lunged her mouth at his throat. Unable to reach it, she sank her teeth into his arm, right on the scarecrow tattoo. The bastard didn’t even flinch. He kept up his insipid monologue while the real voice, the only voice that mattered, upped its demands for obedience. It tore at her head like talons, like fangs. She screamed her frustration, unable to comply.
Then the voice cut off abruptly, as if sliced by an axe. Colleen lurched at the sudden shock of its loss. She sagged, disoriented. Had Jeremy not been holding her, she would have hit the floor.
Gradually, awareness crept back in. Somewhat ashamed, Colleen opened her eyes. Oh God, it hadn’t been a dream. She really was in her living room, barefoot on the shag rug, with only her cotton nightie between her and Jeremy’s naked chest. He had his arms wound around her, but not so tightly now. Several kinds of shivers danced along her skin. She clung to the arms she’d recently fought against and pressed her back against his rock-solid support.
The voice had vanished entirely. Not even echoes remained.
“Wha—” she squeaked. Even on a second try her words still came out scratchy. “What happened? Was I sleepwalking? I think I had a nightmare.”
“Something like that.” He didn’t let her go. “It’s over now. You’re going to be okay.”
“I was home,” she chattered. “In the commune. He wanted me to come home. He kept calling and calling, and I couldn’t get to him.” Her roaming gaze found the teeth marks on Jeremy’s bicep. “Oh my God. Did I bite you?”
He chuckled softly. “You call that a bite? You didn’t even break the skin. Do you want to sit down?”
She’d like to have a good collapse and maybe a bit of a cry, but sit down sounded fine. Colleen allowed Jeremy to half-carry her to the couch. He sat beside her with his arms around her while the aftereffect shudders worked their way out of her system. This time she let herself take full advantage of his proximity
. She desperately needed his warmth. That voice had been so cold, as frigid as death itself.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I’ve had nightmares before, but I never sleepwalk. That voice just seemed so real.”
Jeremy nodded. No empty dismissals, no pithy platitudes. He regarded her as if he believed her. “Was that the voice you heard this afternoon?”
“Yes.” The admission sparked a fresh wave of shudders. “You must think I’m nuts.”
“You’re not crazy. I heard it, too. Not words, not the way I’m sure you did, but I got the gist of it.”
She searched his eyes for lies and found only earnest belief. “You heard him? Are you psychic, too?”
“You’re psychic? Wow. That explains a lot. No, I’m not, but I’ve had a lot of experience with his kind. I’m kind of attuned to it.”
Attuned to telepathic stalkers? Just who was this guy? Colleen shoved that aside for a later date. “Who was he? How did he do that? What did he want with me?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone and he won’t be back.” He shot a glance toward the door. “I need to go outside for a minute. I want to check on Wallace. Will you be okay?”
No. Without his arms to buoy her, she feared she’d collapse into a shuddering wreck. However, she made herself nod. “Go ahead. Just hurry back, okay?”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze, pecked a sudden kiss on her lips, and was up and out the door before she could register surprise. Had he just kissed her? On the mouth? It had been so quick and brotherly, but still. She wondered if he even knew he’d done it.
Now that she was alone again, the distress alleviated by Jeremy’s presence returned with a vengeance. It hadn’t been a nightmare. The voice in her head had been real. Jeremy believed her. Why? Why didn’t he think she was nutty like her mom? What did he know about these people and their oily mental voices that he refused to share? Did he think she was too fragile to handle the truth?
Ah, anger. So much more comforting than terror. Colleen breathed in steady pants and let it have free rein. Some psycho had just attacked her mind. She deserved full disclosure. But mostly, she just didn’t want to shiver on the couch all by herself.
Cunningham, Pat - Legacy [Sequel to Belonging] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 4