Premonitions: Dream Catcher Series ~ Book 1

by Turner, Brynette L.

  Thanks to Stephanie, they would have irrefutable visual evidence to bolster Chaz’s testimony.

  He stepped back behind the glass wall and watched on the video screens as Watkins and his body guard strolled through the billiards area on their way out of the building. At the same time, he was dialing his cell phone.

  “It’s over and I’m okay,” he told Stephanie as soon as he heard her voice.

  “Well, I guess now I know why you got shot,” she responded with restrained anger.

  “Not really.”

  “What does that mean? Are you saying my dream was wrong? They rarely are. Are you really going to say that gambling didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you?”

  Chaz sighed. He understood that she was only upset because she was afraid for him.

  “No. I’m going to say that nothing is the way it seems, and that I’ll explain it to you in person.” He ignored the look Morgan shot him.

  “When?”

  “As soon as I can. Try to get some sleep.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, but Chaz could tell she was wary. He closed his eyes and wondered how long it would take for the team to talk over this latest development. Almost as important, how soon could he get to Stephanie? He slid the phone back into his pocket.

  “Don’t lose your job over this woman,” Morgan was saying, his sharp eyes studying Chaz. “You can’t break protocol. She can’t know the truth.”

  “She can if Steve agrees.”

  “He won’t.”

  “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chaz needed to conduct business as usual in front of the gambling club’s members before he and Morgan could leave to connect with the rest of their team members. Naturally, the final poker game didn’t end until nearly three a.m. By the time the day’s cash was counted and Chaz was climbing into his car, it was almost an hour later.

  The team meeting wouldn’t happen at the motel. Instead, Steve wanted them to come to the safe house where all of the out of town agents and officers except Chaz were staying. That meant spending an extra fifteen minutes or so to make sure he was not being followed. As he finally pulled into the gated parking lot beneath the high rise building of condominiums, Chaz thought about what he might say to convince the agent in charge that Stephanie deserved to be told the truth.

  Steve started out by handing Chaz a cup of coffee the moment he walked into the kitchen and saying that the insertion of Paul Watkins into their investigation wouldn’t change the scope of what needed to occur. He’d already spoken with his supervisor and confirmed that their focus was still on establishing the identities of and prosecuting the local individuals responsible for organized illegal gambling in northern Pennsylvania. They’d invested too many resources in that goal to redirect it; especially since Watkins’ role wasn’t yet provable and the evidence against Moseley was potentially more solid than they’d hoped for.

  “Having said that,” Steve added, “he congratulated us on capturing information that will certainly lead to a larger investigation.” He smiled. “All we have to do now is play along with what we’ve already put into motion. The billiards operation doesn’t change. Chaz—finish negotiations with Moseley. As soon as money changes hands, we’re done and you’re free to go.” A knowing look passed between them. The local FBI and state police would handle the bulk of the paperwork and trial preparations. “But don’t get careless,” he cautioned. “Pay attention to every detail of what’s going on around you in case Watkins’ presence brings changes we haven’t anticipated.”

  They spent the next hour discussing the details of what they knew about the case and where it was heading. Afterwards, Morgan and Rick headed for the bedrooms while Chaz pulled his boss aside to talk about Stephanie.

  “Dreams? You’re kidding me, right?” He watched Chaz shake his head. “And there’s no other way she could be getting this information?” Steve had heard that law enforcement would, in a very rare situation, use someone claiming to have psychic abilities, but the situation had never happened to him. As far as he knew, when it did happen, it was not without very high-level prior approval.

  “She knows what people are wearing, the order that events will happen in, and almost the exact words they’ll say. I know it sounds insane, but there’s no way she’s faking.”

  Steve McDaniels popped his coffee mug into the microwave and pressed the reheat button. He took a while to consider his next words.

  “I can’t file a report that we’re getting tips from a psychic girlfriend, Chaz.”

  “I don’t want you to. I just want you to authorize me to tell her that she’s caught up in a federal investigation. We’ve been very careful about safeguarding what goes on in the basement. The most dangerous thing she can do right now is to misunderstand and tell her best friend about the dream she had last night. Talking about it could put them—and all of us—in danger.”

  “Do you think she’ll talk?” He retrieved his hot coffee.

  “To Karen? Definitely. To anyone else? I doubt it. But she won’t say a word if I explain what’s going on. She won’t want any of us to get hurt.”

  “Are you sure about her?”

  “Positive.”

  Chaz could see that his boss was weighing the risks.

  “Tell her. But only the bare minimum and nothing that might hint where our investigation is heading. Then I want a written report, for my eyes only, of how the conversation progressed.”

  Chaz nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Seconds later, he was telling Stephanie that he was on his way over. It was just past four-thirty but he could tell that he hadn’t woken her—she hadn’t been to sleep.

  He got into his car and felt around the bottom of the driver’s seat for a small hidden compartment. He removed his FBI identification and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Finally, he could be honest with her.

  Stephanie was understandably tense and angry when she opened the apartment door. She had obviously been crying and looked drained. Still, Chaz was glad to also see relief sliding into those tired eyes.

  “I’m not a criminal,” he said as soon as the door was closed.

  “Oh, no?” She crossed her arms in front of her and stared at him. “Private gambling clubs are illegal. And the people you associate with carry guns and you seemed very comfortable chatting with someone who wants to hurt you.” She shook her head. “I saw it, Chaz, and while I was freaking out waiting to know whether my dream ended before you got shot again, you were calmly conducting your illegal business.” She was fighting desperately to hold back tears. “What was all of that about?” she demanded.

  “I can’t answer that. But I can give you a general idea of what’s going on.” He slid the ID folder into her hand, watched her flip it open, gave her time to absorb what she was seeing, and followed as she walked to the sofa. They sat before he continued. “I’ve been an FBI agent for about ten years and have been working undercover for almost eight, mostly supporting state law enforcement agencies. Before that, I was a highway patrol officer in Ohio. Obviously, I don’t really own the pool hall—but you can’t tell anyone about that or what you saw in your dream. Not even Karen.” He curled his fingers around hers. “The reason I didn’t want anyone to know about us was that I wanted to keep you separate from the people I do business with.”

  “But my dreams put me right in the middle of everything.”

  He nodded. “If I could stop your dreams, I would. I don’t want you to hurt or to be afraid—but this is what I do for a living, Stephanie. I’m part of a multi-regional task force that investigates gambling and extortion activities.” A hand reached over to massage her tense neck. “You helped us tonight, but this case isn’t over. And, even if you eventually hear about it on the news, it might not ever be safe for you to talk about what you know.”

  She stared at his ID for a long time before handing it back.

  “You risk your life all the time?” Her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. Chaz
resisted the urge to pull her into his lap and kiss away her tenseness.

  “Very few of my assignments are dangerous.” That was true. The bulk of his cases could be handled by local law enforcement with the FBI stepping in only to provide support with sting operations where federal laws were also being violated. And most of what he did didn’t involve people well-established in organized crime, like Paul Watkins. He generally dealt with middle men, like Evan Moseley, to prevent minor operations from growing. “No one expected this case to get so complicated.”

  “Thank you for telling me that you’re a cop.” There was no sarcasm in the words. She looked at him and saw guilt and unspoken questions hanging between them. “Listen, Chaz, I don’t know how I feel about this. My dreams make me more than someone on the sidelines. And they’re connected to whether or not you’re in danger, not whether you’re a criminal versus an FBI agent. But I’m too exhausted to think about all of that right now, and I don’t know how it affects us.” She stood and tiredly shrugged a shoulder.

  “I’m going to bed. You can stretch out in the guest room or with me, but I’ve got to lie down. My head hurts and I can barely keep my eyes open. Give me a few hours, and then we can talk some more. Okay?”

  He followed her down the hall to her bedroom and watched from the doorway as she climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her waist. Moments later, she was asleep. With her back to him, he could see the top portion of the dream catcher tattoo gently moving with slow, steady breathing. It was good that her brain was shutting down, although he felt guilty that he was the reason she was overwhelmed: she’d been awake all night worrying about him.

  As he crossed the hall to the guest room, he couldn’t prevent himself from thinking about her offer for them to sleep in the same bed. He would have liked nothing more than to hold her for these few early-morning hours; touching her always calmed him, so maybe it did the same for her. He could kiss away the fears and keep trying to reassure her that his life wasn’t always what she’d seen: he wasn’t always in danger. But she needed time to process what he’d already said. She needed time to reconnect to everything honest and beautiful about their relationship.

  He undressed and slid under the covers.

  A few hours later, Stephanie stood in the doorway watching him. His chest rose and fell so slightly that she knew he wasn’t asleep. When she spoke his name, he opened his eyes. She walked to the bed and sat down as he sat up. Her fingers reached over to touch the scar on the left edge of his chest.

  “How do people do it: watch someone they care about go off to work knowing there’s a possibility they’ll get hurt or killed as part of their job?”

  Chaz didn’t have an answer. Stephanie kissed a bare shoulder.

  “Last night was hard for me.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “I don’t have to do undercover work, sweetheart.”

  “But you enjoy it.” She was silent for a long time. “You said you’re part of a multi-regional task force. Do you even live in Erie?”

  “No.” He saw her get tense.

  “Then, when this case is over, you’ll leave?”

  “Yes.” Chaz wanted to say more but remembered that he had to report back to Steve McDaniels about how much information he’d revealed.

  She felt her chest tighten as that one word sunk in. That word confused her. Was this all there was to their destiny? Was it all about to end? When she raised her face to look at his, her eyes were moist and a little sad.

  “Then, when you’re gone, maybe our connection will be gone, too.”

  “I hope not.” His fingers touched the side of her face before tucking a curl behind her ear. “Maybe we can figure out a way to keep it alive.”

  Stephanie nodded, but it was without optimism.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A week later, Evan Moseley delivered a package with $250,000 in cash. It was earnest money, a show of good faith from Paul Watkins that he was serious about taking over the gambling club. Evan bitterly joked that he would have liked the club for himself, but Watkins could make the deal much more profitable for everyone.

  Chaz was able to record the entire conversation.

  A few days after that, sealed subpoenas were issued for the arrest of six people connected with the arrangement. The number being reported in press releases was higher because it included the law enforcement officials so that no one would suspect they’d been undercover cops. The pool hall would be closed as part of the RICO laws, and that would even further help to camouflage the disappearances.

  Over the next week or so, all of the undercover operatives—state and federal—swore lengthy affidavits as to what they had observed and the roles they had performed. They’d be called to testify in a closed court setting as the cases were prosecuted.

  The case against Paul Watkins wasn’t strong enough to include him without a little more corroboration from at least one of the other people indicted. No one expected that to happen. But Steve McDaniels didn’t think that would be a problem. At the very least, his team’s efforts would combine with some other investigation to bring charges that affected more than just gambling along the FBI’s Interstate-90 crime corridor. Watkins would be prosecuted, eventually.

  “So it’s over,” Stephanie concluded when Chaz told her about being released to go back to his home office.

  “No, it’s not.” They weren’t talking about the case. “Cincinnati isn’t on the other side of the country, Stephanie. Come visit me.”

  “You won’t be able to visit me?”

  “No.” His fingers linked with hers. “Most crime is local. The reason the task force uses agents from other areas is so there’s almost no chance they’ll run into those criminals after the indictments have been issued. Coming back wouldn’t be smart or safe; not anytime soon.”

  She sipped her coffee and looked around the kitchen. They’d spent a lot of time in her apartment: cooking together, playing games, watching movies, making love. He’d been with her every night since the arrests were made. Now, realizing how much she would miss his presence made her sad in a way she couldn’t verbalize.

  “I don’t want to leave.” His words didn’t ease their pain. Her eyes met his and he saw the resignation he didn’t want.

  “You have to,” she said softly.

  Chaz asked for her cell phone and deleted the number he’d previously given. His real last name was Lawson and he input a new number where she could reach him. He wasn’t supposed to do that—but he also wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

  “We can make this work,” he promised.

  “We’ll see.”

  Chaz couldn’t give her much time to process what was happening. Two days later, a plane took off for Cleveland to catch a connecting flight to Cincinnati. He was gone while Stephanie was still trying to figure out how to handle what she felt.

  A week later, Karen sat on Stephanie’s sofa and listened.

  Stephanie had already apologized for seeming distant. She had even been evasive when the news reporters named Chaz Winters as one of the people arrested and a shocked Karen had called to console her friend. And Stephanie had let the other woman believe she needed to be alone that following week when she’d actually spent all of her free time with Chaz. Now, he’d left the city and probably wouldn’t return.

  “Well, I don’t care what the news reports,” Karen continued with her own train of thought. “Our perceptions can’t all have been wrong: his behavior, his auras, your dreams, and the déjà vu? No. Chaz is a good man. Is he out on bail? Have you heard from him?”

  “He’s called me.” Stephanie leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes to hold back the emotions. She didn’t want to say that they spoke for a few minutes every night. And, she couldn’t say that the man she’d fallen in love with was an FBI agent or that he’d gone home to Cincinnati: she wasn’t supposed to know those things. She had simply told Karen that Chaz had left town.

  “Your connection is still strong,” Karen observed
. “Your auras are surprisingly balanced in light of everything you’re feeling about him. Have you had any dreams?”

  Stephanie shrugged and agreed that Chaz was still a part of her. But no, there hadn’t been any dreams.

  “I feel empty,” she admitted as tears spilled over. It was an understatement. No amount of long-distance talking could replace the way she’d felt when they were together.

  Neither of the women could know that Chaz was having similar thoughts. In fact, he swore every day that he could feel Stephanie’s heartache from 300 miles away. It matched his. That afternoon, he had sent an email to his supervisor asking for an appointment to discuss doing something other than undercover work. Once the reassignment was final, he’d convince her to come to Cincinnati.

  He spent the next two weeks listening carefully and trying to understand what wasn’t being said between them. While he still phoned her every night, something was changing. She was trying to accept that they were apart; he was trying to hold on to what they shared.

  They needed more than just phone calls. She was strong and brave and practical, but he could hear the weariness in her voice. She needed him. They needed to be together; everything felt right when they were together.

  “Our relationship doesn’t have to be this hard,” he insisted. “Come for a visit.”

  “Chaz, we’ve had this conversation at least five times in the past couple of weeks,” she said patiently. “I always admit that I miss you, you ask to see me, I try to convince you that spending time together will only make me miss you more, and you try to convince me that it won’t. Maybe our friendship will get easier if we give it time.”