“Rebekah Dragsa, Special Agent First Class,” Leah replied coolly. “The circumstances are urgent, and I outrank you and the local law enforcement. So unless you want to become truly involved in this investigation, you will step aside. Now.”
Leah grabbed Vincent by the shoulder, spun him around, and pushed him toward the room’s only exit. He noted that Dr. Phillips did, in fact, step aside in order to avoid catching Leah’s elbow in his chest.
Vincent allowed Leah to guide him to the exit. They were more than halfway to the small office he had nicknamed the Nurse’s Checkpoint, when Dr. Phillip called out. Leah’s fingers dug painfully into his flesh. She turned around. So did Vincent.
“I imagine you’ll want to see his file,” Dr. Phillips said. “If you can wait just a minute…”
“You’ve wasted enough of my time already,” she told him. “My people will be in touch.”
Leah gave Vincent another push, and he resumed his captive’s march.
***
Leah slammed the car door shut and fell back against the seat. Her thoughts racing, her heart hammering beneath the suffocating blazer, she took a few steadying breaths. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, her face was devoid of color.
Did I really just do that?
The past fifteen minutes felt more like a dream than her time with Boden in Valhalla had. When she considered her actions, she felt a wave of nausea ripple through her insides.
From the backseat, Vincent asked, “Are you really a secret agent?”
His voice snapped her out of her trance. She swallowed the metallic taste in her mouth and turned the ignition.
It’s not over yet.
“Jesus, Vincent, how doped up are you?” She maneuvered the rental car—an extra-shiny black Lexus—out of the parking lot, her eyes flicking back and forth in search of pursuers. When she spotted a mounted security camera, she scrambled for the oversized sunglasses she had bought at a drug store on her way there.
It was all she could do to keep from grinding the gas pedal into the floor.
“Why did you call yourself Rebekah Dragsa?” he asked. “And where did you get that badge?”
Leah winced. Her little sister’s name had been the first thing to pop into her head. Using it had only given the police another chance to link Leah Chedid to the false CIA agent.
All they’d have to do is haul me in, and Dr. Phillips would pick me out of a lineup in a heartbeat.
She cranked up the air conditioning, and a rush of cold air washed over, homing in on her damp armpits and chest.
“The badge is real,” she replied. “It arrived this morning, along with the gun. Boden sent them.” Her heart jumped when she caught sight of a squad car in her rearview mirror. After several terrifying seconds, it turned out to be a black sedan with a luggage rack. “He works for the CIA, though God only knows why he didn’t send a real agent to get you out of there.”
She expected him to inquire about Boden and why she was working for him. Instead he asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?”
“Huh?”
“You’re the only person I’ve talked to since…since yesterday morning who hasn’t asked why I went to see Daniel at the hospital,” Vincent said.
She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. His eyes were glassy, and he was wearing the standard-issue sweats of a mental patient. He looked years older.
“I’m guessing it has something to do with discovering that your half-brother can barge into people’s dreams and take on a variety of forms?”
A gasp from the backseat. “But how…?”
“The messages you left,” she said. “And Boden filled in the rest of the blanks…though no one seems to know what he’s really up to with The Dream.”
Leah did her best to repeat what Boden had told her about dream drifting, Milton Baerwald, and Project Valhalla.
“They think Daniel is keeping Milton trapped in a dream, but Project Valhalla’s agents can’t get to Milton when Daniel…or DJ, as he calls himself…is around. And they can’t find either of them when Daniel is in The Dream. They’re hoping they can follow you into The Dream, which is why I had to get you out of the mental health center and away from any drugs that hinder REM sleep.”
Several cities blocks came and went in silence. Leah wondered if anything she had said was sinking in.
Finally, Vincent said, “I thought you said I never got to the REM stage that night at the clinic, the time when Daniel appeared as himself in my dream.”
Leah allowed herself a small smile.
Looks like he’s paying attention after all.
“I didn’t have the chance to ask Boden about your polysomnogram, but I did take a closer look at it last night. You did reach REM that night, but just barely. According to the instruments, you apparently woke up right after getting there. My guess is Daniel was waiting for you, and the moment you could have a lucid dream, he pounced.”
She considered the problem further while passing an obscenely slow minivan.
“Maybe the brain always looks like it’s awake when someone is visited by a dream drifter,” she said. “Or maybe that’s something unique to Daniel. If that’s his personal MO, that might be why Project Valhalla can’t find Daniel and The Dream.”
“Clementine is his MO,” Vincent insisted. “You were right, Leah. He’s somehow using my memory of her to pull me into The Dream. I just wish I could figure out why.”
Leah pulled her foot off the gas when she noticed a squad car farther up ahead. She considered pulling off at the next exit to reattach the rental car’s license plates, which she had removed on a whim, but was afraid that if she lost her momentum, she might lose her nerve too.
We’re almost there anyway. I’ll just hang back…and pray…
“Daniel said not to trust Odin,” Vincent said.
“That’s Boden’s code name,” Leah said.
Vincent chuckled. “Yeah, I kind of figured that part out, but do you…trust Boden, I mean?”
Leah adjusted her belt so that the gun holster wasn’t digging into her thigh. “Yes. Mostly. I believe that he wants to save Milton and win the war in the dreamscape, and in order to do that, he needs our help.”
He had better keep his word. Otherwise, we’re going to end up in prison.
“A war in our dreams. I’m not sure what to make of that,” Vincent said.
“Neither do I,” she said, “but if you consider what Daniel has already done…tricking loved ones into believing lies to keep him alive, giving you symptoms of narcolepsy, trapping Milton in a coma…well, I hate to think what else he and his friends can do.”
In the mirror, she saw Vincent shift and gaze out the window. After a minute or two, he said, “Daniel also tormented the cop who shot him. The cop ended up killing himself.”
Leah didn’t know what to say to that, so she turned to a more immediate topic. “You can’t go back to your apartment. The police might return with a warrant. And they could come looking for you at my place, since I went to the police station to see you. Hopefully, you’ll be safe here.”
She flicked the turn signal and pulled into the parking lot of a hotel.
“Leah, I don’t…” She heard him inhale a big breath. “I mean, I’m a little light on money these days, and the cops still have my wallet anyway.”
She shifted into park and twisted around to look into the backseat. “Don’t worry. I’m paying. In cash. And I’m going to get back every penny I spend from Boden and the United States Government.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vincent said. “I just can’t wait to get these cuffs off.”
“You can do it yourself. They’re trick cuffs. There’s a small release latch down by your wrist.” She smiled. “Looks like my RBD came in handy for once.”
“What do you mean?”
“I bought those cheap handcuffs before I realized there was more comfortable bondage gear out there,” she said. “We’re just lucky I held onto those. Most thirty-ye
ar-old women don’t have spare handcuffs just lying around, you know.”
“The freaky ones do,” Vincent said.
Leah laughed in spite of herself, but it did little to ease the tension that made her muscles feel stiffer than the second-hand suit jacket.
Chapter 30
The hotel room looked like every other hotel room Vincent had ever seen. There was a bed, a television, a dresser, and a bedside table that undoubtedly contained a Gideon’s Bible. A still-life painting of flowers hung in a shiny silver frame above a small table, which contained a laminated room service menu and a chocolaty mint.
Vincent unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth. His eyes lingered on the mini fridge tucked under the TV stand. He opened it and considered the tiny bottles of vodka, gin, and whiskey.
“Don’t even think about it,” Leah said, closing the door and engaging both locks behind her. “Mixing alcohol and antidepressants is not a good idea. Besides, you need to get natural sleep so that The Dream continues.”
“I was drunk the last time I had The Dream,” Vincent pointed out.
“You also got arrested for attempted murder.”
“Touché.” Vincent said a silent goodbye to the booze and reached for a soda instead. Taking a seat at the end of the impeccably made bed, he said, “I couldn’t do it, you know. Even before Nurse Rambo walked in, I’d already chickened out.”
Leah leaned against the table. He spotted her heavy blazer draped over one of the chairs. Her white sleeveless blouse hugged her curves. She smiled reassuringly. “I’m actually relieved to hear that. There must be a better way to stop Daniel. Better yet, if you can get him to come out of hiding, Project Valhalla can deal with him.”
“‘Get him to come out of hiding’?” Vincent repeated. “What does that even mean? How exactly am I supposed to lead Odin and his buddies to Daniel? I don’t decide when The Dream happens. Daniel does. What if I don’t become Valenthor again?”
She shrugged. “All you can do is try.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. Now that the pleasant cloudiness in his head had started to dissipate, he felt a sarcastic front moving in. “So that’s the plan? I stay at this hotel until I have The Dream again or the cops find me?”
“I don’t see what other choice we have,” Leah said. “With ‘the gods’ watching your dreams, hopefully, you’ll be safe from any more of Daniel’s tricks.”
“You’re assuming Valenthor will find Locke,” he said. “When I unmasked Daniel, he said we had to part ways. He also mentioned a final battle with the gods. For all we know, Daniel wants Odin and the others to come into The Dream.”
Leah sighed and sat beside him on the bed. “I suppose that’s possible, but there’s really only one way to find out.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the bait!” When she didn’t say anything, he frowned and glanced at her. “I’m sorry, Leah. You’re just trying to help. You didn’t have to spring me from the nut house. You’ve already risked so much for me.”
She smiled and patted his hand. “I guess that makes us both crazy.” She started to laugh, but Vincent silenced her with a kiss.
Leah shoved him away.
“Vincent!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “What the hell?”
His cheeks burned mercilessly. He couldn’t lift his eyes from a mystery stain on the beige carpet. “I thought…I thought you liked me. I’m sorry.”
“You’re married!”
“Barely.”
She walked across the room, reaching for her purse, lying next to the hotel’s welcome binder. “I should go…”
Vincent summoned the courage to make eye contact. “Hold on a second. Are you planning on talking to Boden tonight?”
“That’s entirely up to him, I’m afraid,” Leah said. “I still don’t have a direct number for him.”
Vincent kicked off his tennis shoes—laces-free since his stay at the mental health center—and settled back on the bed. “Well, if he contacts you, tell him to check into the receptionist who works in the coma ward. I’m pretty sure she knows about The Dream. As a matter of fact, she claims Valenthor and the gang are characters in a book she’s writing.”
Leah dropped her purse onto the table again. “Do you mean Suzanne?”
“That sounds right,” he said. “You met her?”
Leah nodded. “At the police station. She was acting strange when she and your mother left. She asked me about The Dream, but I figured it was because you mentioned it, and they thought you had lost your mind.”
“Do you think Suzanne is in cahoots with Daniel and that nurse, Levi?” Leah asked.
“It’s possible,” he replied. “Or he could be screwing with her head too. Maybe we should pay her a visit.”
“You’re a fugitive, and Suzanne already seemed very shaken up by what you said at the jail,” Leah said. “Going to see her would probably be the stupidest thing we could do at this point.”
No, I’m pretty sure trying to kiss you was the stupidest thing I could do.
Leah added, “It just doesn’t make sense. How can The Dream be from a book someone is writing?”
“Hell if I know, but if Daniel is somehow hijacking her story, she might be able to give me a clue about where I can find him when I return to The Dream. Or…wait a minute…” He stopped suddenly and then blurted, “The Master of All Things Fantasy!”
Leah’s brow furrowed. Vincent was about to explain himself, when she said, “The online guy your roommate chats with? What about him?”
“You talked to Jerry too?” Vincent shook his head. “Man, you have been busy.”
“How can the Master of All Things Fantasy help us?” she asked.
“OK,” he said, “this is going to sound insane, but bear with me. If Daniel can manipulate Suzanne’s thoughts…not her dreams, but her thoughts, and if those thoughts are about a fantasy novel she’s writing, then I think we might be in luck. The Master was right about a lot of stuff, including Locke being a relative, come to think of it. Besides, what do we have to lose?”
Vincent reached for the phone on the bedside table, but Leah insisted that he use her cell.
“You might be here a while, and we wouldn’t want the police to check Jerry’s phone records and find the hotel’s number,” she explained.
“Are you sure you’re not really a spy?” He dialed the apartment, and Jerry picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Jerry, it’s Vincent. I need you to do me a—”
“Vincent! Are you OK, man?”
A pang of guilt soured Vincent’s stomach.
After I treated you like shit, you still care.
“Yeah, I’m fine at the moment. But I need a favor. Do you still keep in touch with the Master of All Things Fantasy?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Can you see if he’s online?”
“Uh…no.”
“Why not?”
Jerry’s sober tone scared Vincent nearly as much as his words. “Some guy broke in here, Vincent. He trashed the place and took my laptop.”
“What?”
Leah leaned in closer to Vincent, putting her ear near the phone. “What’s going on?”
Jerry continued, “I didn’t leave the door open either. He must’ve jimmied open the lock, and when I walked in, he grabbed the laptop and ran for it. He was a big guy, bigger than me. Light blond hair.”
Levi?
Vincent swore.
“What’s going on?” Leah asked again.
Vincent told her.
Leah grabbed the phone from him. “Jerry, did you save the history of your correspondences with the Master? Did you ever go in and delete your chat history?”
Vincent didn’t hear Jerry’s answer, but whatever he said made Leah curse.
“What’s the matter?” Vincent asked.
Leah handed the phone back to him and said, “If Levi didn’t know all of the details about Valenthor and The Dream before, he does now.”
> ***
After cycling through the dozen channels on the hotel TV, Vincent settled on an ultra-late talk show he’d never heard of. He dropped the remote on the bedside table. The clock displayed 1:14 in blood-red digits.
He was procrastinating, and he knew it.
On the TV screen, the young, blond actress laughed a little too forcefully at the host’s quips. She was awfully thin, except for the parts that had been engineered otherwise. Vincent supposed she was attractive in a glammed-up-Hollywood sort of way. He started getting hard, which reminded him that there were other options for fending off sleep.
What is it about hotel rooms that makes a guy think about sex?
His thoughts turned to the unsuccessful kiss with Leah. He hoped she would dismiss the episode as a side effect of Dr. Phillips’s pills, but the answer was much simpler. Leah was attractive, and Vincent was lonely. Aside from Jeremiah Weis, loyal roommate extraordinaire—and his mother, he supposed—Leah was the only person who cared enough to help him.
If he had given into the temptation to take their relationship to the next level, was that such a big deal?
A piece of a conversation he had had with Daniel more than a year ago interrupted his thoughts.
“It is a big deal, big brother, because you’re married to a great girl, and the woman you chose to cheat with is her cousin.”
A commercial came on, injecting the room with a high-octane sales pitch from a local car salesman. He reached for the remote and muted the TV.
Kissing Bella’s cousin had been an accident. A stupid accident. He had run into Sheila at a bar, and they both had been sloshed. His and Bella’s sex life had been struggling for survival ever since Clementine’s death. And Sheila definitely started flirting first…
“You have to tell her, Vincent. Things will only get worse if you don’t.”
Vincent had told Daniel he would keep the kiss a secret to spare Bella any more pain. It wasn’t as though they slept together, though Vincent knew it could have come to that if he had let it. Regardless, he had hated himself for betraying Bella.
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