Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  "Boston Tea Party," he said softly with a grin. The American people were an amazing lot. They had a strict standard of fairness, and once it was breached, then revolution was a distinct possibility. "Congress beware," he added under his breath.

  He tuned out the news as Cassandra stirred groggily.

  "…No new evidence in the bombing of several Washington, D.C., activists. Although the home of Dr. and Mrs. Peter Curry was destroyed, there has been no trace of their bodies, or of the man who was allegedly staying with them, Kirk Ranager, a well-known activist who has engineered numerous raids to release political prisoners in foreign countries."

  Adam was vaguely listening to the news when his attention was drawn to the cat. The arrogant feline stood at attention, every hair on his body raised. A low growl came from the cat's throat as he stared intently at the television. It was one of the more amazing things Adam had ever seen.

  The television newscast shifted from national to local focus, and Adam gave it a closer listen. He knew little about Gatlinburg, except that it was a summer town for tourists and that it was in the Smoky Mountains. Someone in his office had mentioned that there was a Cherokee Indian reservation nearby in North Carolina.

  The scene on the tube showed men with dogs traversing a rocky segment of mountainside. Adam watched with mild interest. The camera swung up to a young female reporter who stood, hair whipping in the wind, at the top of the cliff.

  "Authorities have increased the search for Carla Winchester, a twenty-two-year-old Clemson University graduate student who came to Gatlinburg last week to take a job as a waitress at Whitley Resort. Ms. Winchester has been missing for two days and her family has offered a reward for any information regarding her whereabouts."

  The camera shifted from the reporter to pick up a shot of a blue compact car parked in a scenic overlook.

  "Ms. Winchester's car was found today near this overlook. Authorities have begun a ground search of the immediate area."

  The scene changed again to reveal a head shot of a young woman.

  "She is a brunette with blue eyes, five foot five, a hundred and twenty pounds, and was last seen at the Kettle Inn. If you see this woman, contact the local authorities. That's all the details here, Ted, back to you."

  Adam felt Cassandra stiffen and he loosened his hold.

  "That's her. The woman from my dream. She's dead. Or she will be soon."

  Cassandra's voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, that Adam continued stroking her hair.

  "The police found her car up near the lookout point on a road called High Ridge, I think." He forced his voice to be as calm as hers.

  Shifting her legs to the floor, Cassandra sat up. As she felt the full blast of the headache, she put her hands to her temples.

  "Are you okay?"

  "No, but there's nothing either of us can do about it now," she said. "I know you're Adam Raleigh, and I know your cereal company. What are you doing in my home?"

  "I came to speak with you and sort of stumbled in on the middle of…"

  "My most recent seizure, dream, nightmare, take your pick of words. I should have gone to the sheriff earlier. This— " she waved one hand at the television but didn't look up "— is all my fault."

  "The pending revolt in Russia, or the local missing person?" Adam had a smile ready for her when she cast him a sour look.

  "I suspect I know what you want. The answer is no, so think about getting out of my home." She started to stand, but the throb in her head sent her back to a sitting position.

  "Your cat can turn the television on."

  "He isn't my cat."

  "Who does he belong to, then? You aren't exactly overwhelmed with neighbors."

  "He doesn't belong to anyone. See if you can get this straight. I'm a witch and he's a familiar. See, he's a free agent. He hangs out here when there's something on the tube he wants to watch. Now get out of here before I entertain him by turning you into a toad."

  "I thought that only worked on princes."

  As miserable as she felt, Cassandra had to fight to keep the smile from her face. Adam Raleigh was an audacious man. But he wasn't freaked out by her, and he'd seen her at one of her very worst moments. "I'm sure there's something else sinister I can do to you, but before I give it some thought, tell me what you saw here, today." It occurred to Cassandra that she might glean some valuable information from the stranger. Maybe she'd said or done something that would help her understand what was happening. "Start from the very beginning."

  "Okay, I was outside and heard you scream. When I ran in, I found you thrashing about on the sofa, having a nightmare."

  "What did I say?"

  "'No,' and you struggled, as if you were fighting someone."

  "That's it?" She felt deflated. That much she could remember herself.

  "Sorry. You were deep in the dream. So deep I almost couldn't wake you. If it hadn't been for that cat attacking me— " He broke off and gave Familiar a curious look. The black cat was sitting at the end of the sofa cleaning his back leg.

  "Yes, he is rather unusual," Cassandra said. "And so are you. Since you've come all this way, I'll listen to what you have to say. By the way, I received all of the materials you sent, and I did read it. But I'm not going to have anything to do with your product. Now tell me why you're here and then leave."

  "I'm president and owner of Good Stuff Cereals, I want you to be spokesperson."

  "No, and I don't want to. I don't believe in processed foods. Cereals are ruining the health of children. Sugar. Preservatives. Salt. Nasty, sticky candy that floats in tepid milk and rots children's teeth. Ick!"

  "Good Stuff isn't like that. In fact, it's marketed for adults, not children. It's totally nutritious and completely healthy and all natural."

  "I'm impressed, Mr. Raleigh, but I'm not interested."

  "I came all the way here from Michigan to ask you to represent my company."

  Cassandra stood at last. The movement made her a little dizzy, but it soon passed. "Have you read any of my books?"

  "Every single one— the natural way to eat and live."

  "Your product is the antithesis of what I believe in."

  "I knew you'd say that, but it isn't true. If you'll give me ten minutes of your time, I can prove that my cereal is as healthy as anything you could pick from the woods around us."

  "If I could help you, Mr. Raleigh, I would. I'm in your debt for helping me. But what you're asking is impossible. I'm sorry you came all this distance for no better result."

  "I'm not going to leave unless you agree to at least try my cereal."

  "No thanks."

  Adam settled back into the sofa. "I don't have anywhere else to go. My car broke down on the way up your drive."

  "It's a long walk to the highway, but it won't kill you."

  "What do you know about the woman who disappeared?"

  Adam's last question was a showstopper. Cassandra turned away from him and went to the stove. She put the kettle on for a cup of hawthorn tea. She felt nervous, itchy, as if her skin were suddenly too tight.

  When she had the kettle on, she turned back to face him across the open room. "It's getting late, Mr. Raleigh. I'll drive you down the mountain to town. I need to go and see the sheriff anyway."

  Adam nodded. He hadn't meant to make her blanch so. He'd only wanted to throw her off stride for a moment. His words had upset her far more than he'd intended. Maybe it would be wiser for him to take a room in town and try a softer approach.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "It was brutal of me to press you that way."

  "Yes," she agreed. There was a sincere concern in the man's face, and she suddenly remembered his hands stroking her hair, the way he'd held her with such compassion and strength. "Let's have a cup of tea before we go," she said. "I'm sorry, too. I can't endorse your product, but there's no sense in being rude about it."

  "I couldn't help but notice the blackberry leaves you've dried. I'd be delighted to have a cup of that tea. I
've read about it in your books, but never tried it."

  Cassandra's lips tilted in the slightest suggestion of a smile. "My pleasure," she said.

  "I really have read all your books. I'm a fan of yours," Adam said as he stood up and joined her in the kitchen.

  "Give it up, Mr. Raleigh," she said.

  "Okay," he agreed easily, "if you'll tell me about your nightmare. I know enough to figure out that you were dreaming about the missing woman, Carla Winchester. Whatever you dreamed has deeply upset you."

  "Carla Winchester," Cassandra said the words and felt her hands begin to tremble. It was always this way after a dream. There would be a few moments of calm, then the shakes and a headache. The dreams were becoming more and more frequent.

  "Hey," Adam caught the cup before it slipped from her limp hand. "Sit down and I'll make the tea." He guided her toward a kitchen chair.

  Cassandra allowed him to seat her. As he set up two cups and prepared the tea, she watched him. He was a tall man, well muscled but not heavy. He moved with a grace and agility that she enjoyed. His chestnut hair was neatly cut, his brown eyes intelligent with a hint of concern for her. Well-controlled concern. He probably thought she was an escapee from a mental institution and he was trying hard not to provoke her. She smiled at the thought.

  "Feeling better?"

  She nodded. Talking would only ignite the headache she knew was waiting. She took the cup of tea he offered. "Honey's in the cabinet," she said.

  He got honey, lemon and milk, and put them on the table. As they drank their tea, he talked of his impressions of the mountains and of his admiration for her work. He kept the conversation light, quick, and without any requirement for her participation. As he talked he watched the tremors pass through her body, and he saw the pain and fear in her eyes when she raised them to his. Not for the first time, the thought crossed his mind that Cassandra McBeth was not a stable woman. She might be a brilliant writer, but she also might not be completely sane.

  Looking at her, he felt a strong compulsion to make sure that she was okay. No matter what happened with the cereal, he wanted to be sure that nothing hurt Cassandra. Not even herself.

  "We'd better go," she said shakily.

  "It could wait until tomorrow," he suggested, seeing the way her body shook again.

  "No." There was iron determination in that one word. "That girl is probably already dead, but if she isn't, then I have to do something. I have to try and stop her murder."

  Her blue eyes were crystal clear, and completely tormented, as she stared at him.

  Chapter Three

  The FBI Wanted posters fluttered against the bulletin board in the sporadic gusts of an oscillating fan. Cassandra watched the papers move up and down, avoiding the penetrating stare of Sheriff Beaker. He was looking at her as if she'd escaped from a mental institution.

  "You say you saw Janey Ables's murder, and now you've seen Carla Winchester strangled, too."

  Cassandra nodded. Against all of her adamant insistence, Adam had accompanied her to the sheriff's office. In fact, he'd driven her when he saw the condition of her car. The right fender had been damaged when she ran off the road.

  Adam's car had miraculously cured itself. The motor turned over on the first try, and Adam did have the decency to blush— a little. Cassandra had graciously let his fib pass. She was simply glad he'd come with her. He'd heard her story for the first time, along with Sheriff Beaker. While Beaker thought she was mad, Adam was watching her with calm deliberation. He probably didn't believe her, but he was willing to listen.

  "Ma'am, we appreciate your help and all, but so far, we have no evidence that Ms. Winchester is in any danger. Lots of young women come up here for a vacation and sow a few wild oats. We're thinking Ms. Winchester might have met some friends and gone off with them."

  "She had a job," Cassandra said softly. "She was a college student who needed summer employment. A good student from what you say. Not the kind to go running off without some consideration for her responsibilities."

  "Young folks make mistakes. It's their prerogative, Ms. McBeth." The sheriff's voice was tired. "Now thank you again for your help. It's late and my wife has been holding supper for me for two hours."

  Cassandra stood. "And if I have another vision, should I contact you?" The sarcasm was sharp in her tone.

  "Yes, ma'am." Beaker stood, too. He was tall and thin. His sharp eyes watched Cassandra with a new speculation. "If you have any revelations about where the body might be, I'd be interested in hearing that, too."

  "Of course."

  Adam opened the door to the sheriff's personal office, and he and Cassandra stepped into the main room. A dispatcher watched them with open curiosity.

  As Adam opened the outer door for Cassandra, he heard the woman question the sheriff. "Wasn't that Sylvia McBeth's daughter, that hermit who writes?" Adam shut the door as fast as possible, but he could tell that Cassandra had heard the question.

  "It's okay," she said, and shrugged. "It's part of the price of having a fortune-teller for a mother."

  "How about something to eat?" Adam could see the tension in Cassandra.

  "I'd better go home."

  "Is there anyone who can stay with you?"

  Adam's obvious concern was the final straw. She had no desire to appear like some pitiful half-wit scorned by her own community. Cassandra stiffened her spine. "I'm not a child, and I'm not a lunatic. I don't need a baby-sitter. I want to go home, alone."

  "This way," Adam said as he steered her toward the car. Ms. McBeth was headstrong, and a bit surly, but he wasn't ready to give up. Not by a long shot.

  Night had fallen, giving the mountain a solid blackness that made Adam think of the people who had carved a trail through the wilderness and settled the area. There was a savage beauty to the countryside around Sevierville. They'd had to drive to the county seat to talk with Beaker. As they drove back to Gatlinburg, silence filled the car.

  At times the road twisted and the shoulder fell away to empty space. Two or three lights winked far down the side of the drop-off, someone's homestead in a meadow. It made him feel small, and very alone.

  They were turning up Cassandra's drive before Adam spoke again. "Unless you can get someone else to stay with you, I am." He wasn't leaving her alone. The area was too isolated.

  "You'll do no such thing."

  "Of course I will."

  "Not in my home."

  "In my car. I'm not leaving you alone on the side of this mountain. You believe a killer's loose. You need some protection." Adam felt his jaw muscles clench. She was a damn stubborn woman. He felt as if he'd fallen into a briar patch.

  "You believe me?"

  He swung his head to look at her. Her voice had such a plaintive note, he couldn't help but stare. The truth of the matter was, he hadn't thought about what he believed or didn't believe. The story she'd told Sheriff Beaker sounded like something out of a supermarket tabloid. Precognitive dreams, visions, murders. If the tale had come from anyone except the small, worried woman sitting beside him, he would have said that person had a rich fantasy life. But Cassandra— and he'd seen her in the throes of her nightmare, or seizure as she called it— wasn't the kind to exaggerate or lie for effect.

  "I believe you believe it," he said at last.

  "But you don't believe it's real."

  He hesitated. "I don't know. I haven't given a lot of thought to this kind of thing before. Off the cuff, I'd have to say I was a skeptic. That was before I saw you, though."

  "Maybe I'm just a damn good actress." Her temper flared and she couldn't help it. Why was she concerned whether this man believed her or not? He was a businessman out to make a deal. Her sanity wasn't up for him to judge.

  "Maybe," Adam agreed. He cast her a devilish look. "If that's the case, all the more reason you should do a commercial endorsing my cereal. If acting is your career goal, a commercial might help."

  She felt like telling him to take a flying leap off
the side of the mountain, but she held herself in check. It was only another mile to her door. Another few minutes and she'd send him packing. The only trouble was, she didn't really want to stay alone. Maybe Running Stream would send Bounder over after all. The Indian woman was smart, and sensitive. She often did the exact opposite of what Cassandra requested— she knew Cassandra's heart and ignored her mouth.

  "Mr. Raleigh, you've been very kind." She thought about the way he'd held her. "Much more than kind. I appreciate everything you've done, and if there was any way I could help you without betraying my own beliefs, I would. But I can't. It would be best if you went back to Michigan."

  "Best for you, or best for me?"

  In the glow of the headlights, Cassandra could see the last turn in the road to her cabin. "For both of us." She was bone tired.

  "If you'll call a friend, I'll be glad to go."

  She heard the finality in his voice and knew that further argument was useless. It was, after all, a smart request. She wasn't certain if she could wake up again if she had another seizure. As much as she disliked the idea, she could call Running Stream.

  "Okay," she agreed as Adam drove into her yard and cut the engine.

  Inside, Cassandra didn't waste any time. She stopped only long enough to give the big black cat a friendly stroke before she picked up the telephone and dialed. A few seconds later, she was pressing the switch hook up and down. There was no dial tone.

  "Service is unreliable," she admitted. "Lots of miles of line and lots of storms." Uneasiness tingled the small of her back. Local teenagers sometimes sneaked up on her property, hoping for a glimpse of the "mountain witch." Sometimes they committed small acts of vandalism. The idea of being alone, without a phone or a reliable car, was scary.

  "The local kids like to play pranks on me sometimes," she said aloud.

  "If you need me, I'll be parked outside," Adam said. "I know you don't want me to stay, but I'm going to, anyway. For my own peace of mind. Have a good sleep."