Dream Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 4)

by Melissa Bowersock

  “You’re right,” she said, snuggling up against him. “This is pretty comfortable.”

  “Told ya.” He draped his arm across her shoulders and gathered her close.

  Most comfortable seat in the house, she thought.

  ~~~

  ELEVEN

  The next morning, Lacey awoke feeling refreshed and ready to go. Having laid all their cards on the table last night, even if they were still feeling their way forward, banished all the tension she’d been sensing. After the movie and a bowl of ice cream, they had said good night with just a long, warm hug and shy glances. No need to rush, she’d thought.

  Now the world looked bright. Too bright, as she drew back the drapes and the perpetual sun streamed through the window. She was beginning to understand why the night life in Vegas was more popular than daytime activities.

  She splashed cool water on her face and dressed in shorts, a t-shirt and tennies. She’d need to apply sunscreen before they left for the park, that was sure. Her fair skin had a tendency to burn in minutes under a hot sun. Unlike her copper-skinned partner.

  She went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. No sign of Sam yet, but she thought the aroma would draw him out soon enough.

  She pulled open the map and eyed the green patch that signified the park. Yes, Sam was right; she was in cop mode. Investigations, interviews, stitching together the clues; these were the things that fueled her.

  The coffee pot gurgled, signaling the end of its cycle, and Lacey poured herself a cup and sat at the table. She checked her watch; a little after six. They could take their time over breakfast downstairs, then head to the park. There was no hurry. Lacey was pretty sure most drug addicts did not get up at the crack of dawn—no pun intended.

  She was about halfway through her cup when Sam emerged.

  “Good morning,” she called cheerfully.

  Sam stumbled to the kitchen counter and managed to pour a cup. “You got the second part right,” he said.

  Lacey waited until he took the chair across the corner from her, noting the slow and deliberate way he moved. If it were anyone else, she’d suspect he’d had too much to drink, but because it was Sam, she knew it was too little sleep.

  She watched him sip his coffee, settle back in his chair and turn his attention to her.

  “Bad night?” she asked.

  “Bad… and good,” he said.

  “Kyle?”

  He nodded. “Remember on the drive over when you told me about lucid dreaming?”

  Lacey sat up. “Yes.”

  “I tried it.”

  “And…?”

  “It was hard, at first, to pull myself out of the dream, to know I was dreaming. Kinda like swimming up through heavy oil and trying not to get sucked back down. But I kept working at it and I finally got to a place where I could ask him to show me where he was.”

  Lacey bit her lip to keep from prompting him.

  “At first, he showed me the same thing, him folded up in a box. But then it was like he pulled back, so my view was wider. The box is in a storage unit.”

  “A storage unit,” Lacey repeated. “Like a self-storage place?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Huh,” she said, trying that new bit of information on for size. “So not buried in the desert at all.”

  “Nope. Hidden in plain sight.”

  “A storage unit.” Lacey jumped up and rummaged in the drawers underneath the kitchen counter. She found the phone directory and brought it back to the table.

  “Storage,” she murmured as she riffled through the yellow pages. “Storage. Ah, here we go.”

  She ran one slender finger down the page. “Holy crap,” she said. “There’s a lot of them.” She turned the book around so Sam could see.

  “Yeah, there are,” he agreed.

  “Do you think if we got to the right one that you could feel him there?”

  Sam thought about that for a minute. “Yeah, I do. He’s come to me stronger since we’ve been here, so if I could get very close… yeah.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. “We can hit the park first, see if I can coax any more info from the guys there, then we can start going to storage places.” She took the phone book back and eyed the list of businesses. “Jeez. Where do we start? Alphabetically, or by proximity to the dodgy end of town?”

  “Proximity,” Sam decided. “We could plot out a few on the map, hit the closest ones first. And hope we’re lucky.”

  “Okay, we’ve got our orders,” Lacey said. “Let’s go get breakfast and get moving.”

  With a clear plan, Lacey was anxious to get to it. She did her best to rein in her nervous energy, finishing her eggs and juice down at the breakfast area well before Sam. The Navajo, of course, was in no hurry and watched Lacey fidget with glittering eyes.

  “I think I’ll go get a refill on juice,” she said finally. Any action was better than just sitting there watching him eat. She went to the kitchen area, edging around two of the female employees who kept the breakfast offerings stocked. As she held her cup under the spigot and pushed the button for apple juice, she couldn’t help but hear their quiet conversation.

  “…some kind of Indian,” she heard one woman say. Lacey’s ears pricked up.

  “All I’m saying,” the second one whispered, “is that I wouldn’t kick him out of bed on a cold night.”

  Lacey slid her eyes sideways, looking over her shoulder at the two women without being too obvious. Both in their mid-forties, she guessed, and both so focused on Sam they took no notice of her.

  “I’m not so sure,” the first one said.

  “I am. Mr. Hunky. Yum.”

  Lacey almost burst out laughing, but luckily managed to hold it in. She topped off her glass and made her way around the two women, walking directly back to Sam. She wished she had eyes in the back of her head so she could see their faces when they realized she’d heard them.

  “What?” Sam asked when she took her seat.

  She knew she was grinning. Now that she was far enough away not to be heard, she laughed.

  “Don’t look now,” she said, “but those two ladies over there are drooling over you.”

  Sam cut a quick glance toward the women, frowned and returned his eyes to Lacey. “The hell you say.”

  She muffled her laugh. “One called you Mr. Hunky.”

  His eyebrows slanted over his eyes, and his mouth turned down with displeasure. “You’re hearing things,” he said. He turned his attention to the last of his breakfast.

  Lacey watched him with obvious delight. Not only for his embarrassment over being thought a hunk, but for the man himself. She remembered the first time she’d seen him. He was quite impressive in his tight t-shirt, his expressionless face intimidating by its very lack of emotion. He was at once exotic, unattainable and incredibly sexy.

  “If you’re going to keep staring at me like that, we might as well go.” His voice was a low growl.

  Lacey downed the last of her juice and stood up, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. “You’re the boss,” she said cheekily.

  Once in the car, she returned to cop mode, something she guessed Sam would be grateful for.

  “Okay, navigator, tell me how to get to the park.”

  Since they were going directly, not by way of all the early stops yesterday, her memory of that trip would not be helpful. Sam directed her up streets that took them further from the center of town.

  “So I wonder what happened to Courtney,” Lacey mused as she drove. “I would have thought she’d return your call, maybe even want to go with us today. Did you tell her what we’re doing?”

  “Yeah, told her we were going back to the park. Maybe she was too nervous about being seen again.”

  “Maybe,” Lacey agreed. Although the girl had seemed to feel safer in their company. Well, not having her along was okay by Lacey. That left her alone with Mr. Hunky. She stifled a laugh when she looked over at Sam, but couldn’t hide the grin.r />
  “What?” he demanded crossly.

  “Nothing. Where’s our next turn?”

  The park came into view and Lacey tried to recognize any of the few people scattered there, but finally had to turn her attention to pulling in the driveway and parking. She set the brake and made sure she had her phone in hand. She hoped to show a picture of Kyle to some of the derelicts to see if it jogged any memories. Together, she and Sam set off across the grass.

  “Sir?” She approached the first man nearest them. “Sir, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  The man turned their way, his surprise morphing into suspicion. He was probably in his fifties, razor thin and distinctly unkempt. His longish hair looked greasy and he sported a week-old beard. Lacey stopped several feet away from him.

  “We’re looking for someone,” she told him. She held up her phone with the picture of Kyle. “Do you know this man? Have you seen him?”

  The man’s eyes shifted nervously between the picture and Lacey and Sam. “You’re cops, ain’t you?” he accused.

  “No,” Lacey said, “not cops. Private investigators. This man is missing and we’re trying to find him. That’s all. We don’t care about anything else. Do you know him? Have you ever seen him here at the park?”

  The man squinted at the photo obliquely, still not trusting the duo. “No. Never seen him.” And he turned and walked away.

  Lacey looked over at Sam. “Telling the truth?” she asked.

  Sam watched the man for a moment, then shrugged. “I think so. I didn’t really see a spark of recognition there.”

  “I agree,” she said. “Let’s try that guy.”

  As they approached the second man standing near a picnic table, Lacey remembered the ragged army jacket. This was one who was here yesterday. This guy was with Willie.

  “Sir?” she called out. Learning from the first encounter and the suspicion that they might be cops, she changed her tactic. “Sir, we’re private investigators looking for a missing man. Have you seen this man? Do you recognize him?” She held up the photo.

  The man hunched inside the jacket, almost like a turtle pulling into its shell. He had swarthy skin, dark hair and dark eyes. The eyes regarded Lacey with mistrust.

  “Sir?” Lacey waggled her phone at him, trying to redirect his attention. He glanced at the picture, his mouth thinned into a straight line.

  “No,” he said, and walked away.

  Lacey glanced at Sam.

  “He’s lying,” Sam said.

  “I think so, too.” She exhaled heavily. “This isn’t working so well. Maybe we should try a different approach?”

  Sam held out his hand. “Give me your phone. Let me try.”

  Phone in hand, he strode to the next man. Lacey followed a few steps behind. As Sam approached, he called out.

  “Hey, man, I’m looking for my brother. He hangs out here sometimes. Here’s his picture; you seen him?”

  The third man, wearing tattered jeans with the knees out and a faded plaid shirt, seemed less anxious than the two previous ones. He studied the photo as Sam came closer.

  “You seen him?” Sam asked again. “I need to find him.”

  “Dunno,” the man said, staring at the picture. “Maybe.”

  “Do you know when? How long ago? He’s missing and I need to find him.”

  The man frowned. “Uh, maybe a few days ago? I’m not really sure.”

  “His name’s Kyle,” Sam said. “Did you know him, talk to him?”

  The man began to edge away. “Not sure. Don’t know his name. Maybe a few days ago. But I don’t know for sure.”

  As the man moved off, Lacey joined Sam. “I don’t think he actually knew him,” she said.

  “Me, neither.” He handed the phone back to her. “Batting zero so far.”

  She glanced around the park. “The only one that seemed likely…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?” Sam prompted.

  “Is leaving. Look.” Lacey pointed to the man in the army jacket. He strode toward the parking lot, cell phone to his ear.

  “How is it,” she asked, “that people who have no job, no home and no car can afford six hundred dollar smart phones?” She turned away in disgust.

  They were running out of interviewees and still had gotten no information. They even stopped a jogger—probably Air Force, judging by the buzz cut and the developed pecs—but he was no help either.

  “This has not turned out to be one of my better ideas,” Lacey said.

  “It was worth a try,” Sam said. They turned and started back toward the parking lot. “We’ll see if we do any better casing out storage places.”

  Lacey nodded without much confidence. She pulled out her car keys and they climbed in the car. As she started it up, she glanced around and noticed the guy in the army jacket was nowhere in sight.

  But a black Cadillac Escalade was.

  And it was driving straight toward them.

  ~~~

  TWELVE

  “Sam…” Her plan to get his attention was aborted by the sight of a gun barrel sticking out of a half open side window of the Escalade. The SUV was wheeling around in a fast, tight circle, the tires squealing, as it brought the gun into line.

  “Sam, duck!”

  Lacey called out the warning and threw herself down across the console at the same time. She was aware of Sam coming down on top of her, shielding her head with his own body. Several shots rang out, and the sound of impacts—sharp and tinny, then an explosive burst—jolted a yelp from her. She felt her little car shudder, and then some kind of debris hit her bare arms. She pulled herself into the smallest ball she could manage, and only peripherally was aware of the squeal of car tires fading in the distance.

  When silence set in, it was marred by the ragged sound of Lacey breathing hard and fast through her mouth. Her brain told her the danger was past; her body didn’t believe it. She was literally shaking to the beat of her thudding heart. It was only when she felt Sam lift off of her that her awareness shifted from her own body to the outside world.

  “Lacey,” he called softly, “are you okay? Are you hit anywhere?” His hands roamed her back and shoulders with a gentle but inquisitive touch.

  She managed to get an arm down underneath her so she could lever herself up. She felt the pieces of debris falling off as she rose.

  “I—I don’t think so,” she said. Nothing hurt except her lip where she’d bashed it on the console, and she felt no sticky wetness. She pushed herself upright and ran a hand down Sam’s arm. “What about you?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  Lacey sucked in a breath. There was a seam of blood across his cheek. She touched it gingerly with her fingertips, then showed Sam the blood.

  He felt his cheek and she saw him wince. “It’s just a scratch,” he said. “Come on. Get out of the car.”

  They climbed out of the car and the damage was immediately apparent. Lacey’s driver’s side window had a hole in it the size of a golf ball, and the rest of the window was laced with spider cracks. She closed the door gingerly to avoid breaking out more of the shattered safety glass, then saw another bullet hole in the door itself. The hole went completely through. A third hole had been punched into the quarter panel behind the door.

  Sam came around and took a stance next to her, staring silently at the holes.

  “I’ve got to call 911,” she said dully. Her cop mode was trying to kick in, but it was swimming upstream against her own shock.

  “Let me get our phones,” Sam said. He pulled the door open carefully, gathered up both phones and closed the door just until it touched the latch. He handed her phone to her. “You call. I’m going to take pictures.”

  Lacey dialed numbly. The dispatcher’s immediate question helped her focus.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “I, uh, my car—there’s been a drive-by shooting. My car was shot up.”

  “Was anyone injured?” the very b
usinesslike female voice asked.

  “No, we’re fine. The bullets missed us.”

  “Where is the shooter?”

  “Gone. Drove off. A black Cadillac Escalade.”

  “And what is your location?”

  Lacey delivered the rest of the information with calm precision. As she spoke, she watched Sam taking pictures of the bullet holes, both from outside and inside the car. She noticed he took more pictures inside; possibly of the broken safety glass that had showered her. Thinking of other evidence, she turned and scouted the parking lot for shells. Yes, there were three. She waved to Sam and pointed at the ground.

  “I have an officer en route,” the dispatcher said. “Please remain on scene.”

  “We will,” Lacey said. “Thanks.”

  She keyed off the phone and stood beside Sam over the shells.

  “Nine millimeter,” she said. “Three shells and three bullet holes.” She turned back toward her poor car. “We need to see if we can find the bullets.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be too difficult,” Sam said. He led her to the passenger side and opened the door. There was a ragged hole in the plastic inner panel of the door, but no corresponding hole on the outside. The bullet had lodged somewhere inside the door frame.

  “But this one,” Sam said, pointing to an exit hole in the quarter panel in front of the passenger door, “went right through. We can hunt around for that one.”

  “And the one in the back?” she asked. She checked the panel behind the passenger door but saw no damage outside. Finally she went around and pulled her driver’s seat forward and checked the back seat. Nothing obvious there but she looked again at the hole outside. It looked like it might have gone through the side and then into the back seat upholstery. With luck, it could be recovered from there.

  “Found it,” Sam called. He pointed down at the concrete a few feet from the car. Lacey walked over as he was taking a picture of the compressed, spent bullet.

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Three for three. At least the PD can get some ballistics data from them. Wish they’d hurry up and get here.” She frowned down at her phone. Wait a minute; she had Adrian’s number. She punched it in.