Sleeping With Fear

by Kay Hooper

  Riley winced. “That fast? Christ. We weren’t subtle about it, I gather.”

  “Subtle?” He laughed. “In case you didn’t see it today, the man usually drives a Hummer, Riley. A bright yellow one. Pretty damn obvious parked outside your place overnight. And people on this island do love to talk.”

  “Great.” She sighed, debated briefly, and decided not to ask Gordon if he was privy to any more particulars of the intimate nature of her relationship with Ash Prescott; that was something she’d need to find out for herself. Instead, she said, “But he surprised you?”

  “Gettin’ involved with you so fast? Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Hard to say, exactly. He’s not a man to let much show, but I wouldn’t have said he was all that susceptible to a pretty woman, ’specially living in a beach community with plenty of flesh on parade most of the time. I mean, you’re a fox, any man with eyes can see that, and hot as hell when you put your mind to it, but I doubt that was it.”

  Riley ignored the blunt assessment of her charms, which she had heard before from Gordon and other army buddies, to ask, “Did I do that? Put my mind to it?” She had to ask, in light of all the sexy underwear she’d discovered among her clothing.

  “I saw you a few times dressed up a bit more than usual, but like I said, I don’t think it was looks that got to him. And I’d say he was the one went after what he wanted. Didn’t need any encouragement at all, far as I could tell. And he has the rep for gettin’ what he wants. Still, I’ve only lived here a couple years, but I can’t remember Ash ever gettin’ involved with a summer visitor before. So visibly, anyway.”

  “Maybe he was in the mood for a fling.”

  Gordon shook his head. “If you was to ask me, I’d say he wasn’t the type for a fling. Neither are you, if I have to remind you.”

  “Well, apparently that’s what I’m doing,” she muttered.

  “Flinging. With a man whose last name I couldn’t remember.” Gordon pursed his lips in another characteristic gesture. “You didn’t remember him or Jake, huh?”

  “No. At least…I had a flash of memory after Ash joined us at the crime scene. But do I remember meeting him or Jake? Dating them? No. There are faces in my mind, but neither of theirs showed up until they did.”

  “And you don’t remember anything you might have found out investigating the situation here?”

  “I don’t remember the situation. Or, at least, I’m having to piece together what I do—did—know.”

  “That is definitely not good.”

  “Tell me about it.” She sighed, then straightened and added, “And I mean that, Gordon. Tell me about it all. Everything, starting with why you called me down here, what’s been happening here, and what I’ve told you since I got here.”

  “Filling in the pieces. Hoping something will wake up your memory?”

  “I’m counting on it. Because Bishop will expect a report every day—and if I can’t convince him I’ve got a grip on things here, he’ll pull me by Friday. Maybe sooner, considering there’s been a murder now.”

  With another sigh, Riley added, “Besides all that, apparently I have another date with Ash in about two hours. Dinner. It would be nice if I could remember what we’ve talked about so far, so I don’t repeat myself. Also nice if I could remember why I started sleeping with the man, since from the little I do remember, I doubt he’ll be content with a good-night kiss at the door.”

  “I gather you don’t want to either confide in him or raise his suspicions by suddenly goin’ coy?”

  “No to the first because…because I don’t know where he fits in all this, not yet. As for the other part, playing coy wouldn’t exactly be in character for me, now, would it? Unless—I wasn’t being somebody else here, was I, Gordon?”

  “No, you didn’t see the need. Just being yourself and on vacation, picking this place to visit an old army buddy, seemed to be the best choice. You were here openly, an FBI agent, so why dress it up and make it look more fancy than it was?”

  “Makes sense. Keep it simple whenever possible.”

  “Which is what you did. No, babe, you were just being you, and playing coy is definitely not your style.”

  She nodded. “So I get to feel my way—you should pardon the pun—through a relationship I don’t remember starting.”

  Gordon eyed her. “And?”

  He knew her too well. “And I can’t rely on any of my senses. Any of them, not just the spooky ones. Everything’s gone…distant and blurry. For the first time in my life, I don’t have any kind of an edge. And it’s scaring the hell out of me.”

  Given her druthers, it certainly wouldn’t have been Riley’s choice to keep a dinner date with Ash that evening. She had suggested that helping investigate a grisly murder should probably take precedence over her social life, but as Ash had calmly reminded her, there wasn’t a lot she could do until the body was autopsied and forensic evidence tested—neither of which was a specialty of hers.

  Jake had suggested they brainstorm at the sheriff’s department, but Riley had been forced reluctantly to agree with Ash that endlessly speculating wouldn’t be very productive without facts and evidence in hand.

  Best to get a fresh start early tomorrow.

  Which meant, of course, that she had to get through tonight, feeling her way semiblindly through the nuances of a relationship that had been one of lovers, apparently, for the better part of two weeks.

  Passionate lovers, if her physical reaction to Ash and her single flash of memory were anything to go by.

  As she got ready for Ash to pick her up just before eight, Riley wasn’t all that worried about her ability to behave as he would expect her to during the date. That was the easy part, at least for her. She’d always been able to fit herself into any situation, to look and act as though she belonged no matter what was going on inside.

  In this case, what was going on inside was more at odds than usual with her composed exterior.

  Butterflies.

  Big butterflies. With claws.

  The entire situation made her profoundly uneasy, because it really wasn’t in character for her to get personally involved with anyone in the course of an investigation, far less tumble into bed with a man when she hadn’t had time, surely, to judge his character.

  “Just tell me he isn’t evil, Gordon.”

  “He’s a prosecutor, Riley, in a small Southern beach community. How evil could he be?”

  “Oh, man, don’t ask that question. The worst serial killers I’ve ever known operated out of small towns.”

  “Maybe so, but I doubt Ash is a serial killer. Mind you, I’m not sayin’ the man doesn’t have a few rough edges. And talk is, he raised some hell as a kid. But he’s respected around here, I know that much.”

  “The last serial killer I knew was respected. Before everybody found out what was in his basement.”

  “You been around way too many serial killers, babe.”

  Probably true, that.

  In any case, what Riley had admitted to Gordon was also true. She was scared. Despite the cool and confident exterior she was adept at showing, there was a very large part of her that wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, hoping to wake and find all this just a nightmare. Or to run back to Quantico, her safe haven.

  Not that she could do either, of course.

  Nope, not Riley Crane, sensible, rational, trustworthy professional that she was. She’d stay and see it through, finish the job she’d started, soldier on—and all the other clichés. Because it simply wasn’t in her nature to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

  No matter how bad things got.

  So when the doorbell rang just after seven-thirty, she drew a deep breath and went to greet Ash with a smile and total serenity.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he responded. And wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet to kiss her. Right there in the open doorway, for God and all of O
pal Island to see.

  So much for privacy. So much for serenity.

  Riley suspected that all her bones were melting. She also suspected that she didn’t much care.

  When he raised his head at last and lowered her back to her feet, Ash said a bit roughly, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day. Just for the record, you seem to have become a habit with me. I didn’t sleep at all last night after you kicked me out.”

  I kicked you out? Why on earth would I do that?

  “I didn’t kick you out,” she murmured, reasonably sure she wouldn’t have.

  “Maybe not literally, but the result was the same. Instead of spending the night in a warm bed with a warm woman, I ended up alone with whiskey and an old movie. I thought we’d gotten beyond that, Riley.”

  She took a chance. “Beyond what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. If all I wanted was a dinner companion and an hour of sex afterward, there are willing women in my life a lot less complicated than you are.” The statement was utterly matter-of-fact and without conceit.

  Hmmm. Wonder which complications he’s referring to? Wonder who those other women are? And maybe I’m not a fling?

  She didn’t know how she felt about that. Hell, she didn’t know how she felt about any of this.

  Ash went on, “Look, I respect this need of yours for space and time to yourself. I get that, I really do. We both know I’m a prickly bastard and pretty much a loner myself. All I’m saying is the next time you decide you want to sleep alone, a little more warning would be appreciated.”

  I must have had someplace else I needed to be later last night. Note to self: obviously something last-minute, or else I would have headed Ash off long before bedtime. Wonder what it was? Did I know there was someone in danger? That something bad was going to happen? And if I did…

  Why didn’t I confide in you about it, lover?

  “Sorry. And noted, for future reference,” Riley said, wondering when her own arms had wound themselves around his neck. Since they were already there, she didn’t bother to remove them. “I missed you too, by the way.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He kissed her again, briefly but with just as much intensity. “We could skip dinner.”

  “Not unless you prefer your women nearly comatose,” she said, feeling on safe ground here. “I’m starving.”

  He laughed. “Then we definitely need to get you fed, and I’m not in the mood to cook tonight. Ready to go?”

  Guess that explains my well-stocked kitchen. He’s been cooking here.

  She didn’t know how she felt about that either.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Five minutes later, they were in his very large, very yellow Hummer heading toward the bridge to the mainland, and Riley had to agree with Gordon’s assessment of the highly visible appearance of Ash’s highly visible ride. Plus, the very low speed limit on the island allowed people sitting on their porches and decks or strolling the walkways beside the road to not only get a good look at the vehicle but recognize who was riding in it.

  People waved. And called out hellos to both her and Ash. He didn’t stop the truck at any point, which at least allowed Riley to merely smile and wave in response to those greetings from strangers.

  Well, at least there was never anything secretive about the relationship. Points for that, I guess.

  But there had been secrets in the relationship, obviously, since she hadn’t told him the truth about why she’d needed him to leave early the previous night. Unless he had known and was lying about that…

  Don’t borrow trouble, goddammit. He doesn’t know you’ve lost your memory. So he isn’t lying. About that, anyway. But something else is going on here. Because apparently you didn’t tell him the truth about why you asked him to leave early, and you don’t know why you failed to do that.

  Then again, perhaps she really had only wanted time to herself, and the fact that something had obviously happened later on had been sheer coincidence.

  Nah. She really didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “You’re very quiet,” Ash said.

  “That scene in the woods today.” Riley shrugged, ruefully aware that “shop” talk was what sprang most readily to her mind whenever she needed something to fill the silences or the blanks. “I’ve seen a lot worse, but…it never gets easier.”

  “I was hoping I’d never see anything like it again,” Ash said. “I got more than my fill of murder scenes in Atlanta.”

  Which told Riley that he had, clearly, lived and worked in a large city. Most likely, of course, as an attorney of some kind. Interesting that he was here now. Career setback, or a deliberate choice?

  “Murder happens everywhere. Unfortunately.”

  “True enough. But this kind of murder? You seriously think we could have some kind of occult nonsense going on here? A ritual murder?”

  “I think that’s what it looks like. At first glance.”

  Ash frowned. “You still have doubts, don’t you? Despite what you said today.”

  Riley hesitated, then spoke slowly, trying to weigh each word and wondering if she was making a huge mistake in confiding anything at all to this man, even if he was her lover.

  Maybe because he was her lover.

  “I think—I know—that true occult rituals, especially those ending in murder or any other kind of actual sacrifice, are very, very rare. Especially the sacrifice part. A lot more rare than some of the media would like people to believe. Rare as in virtually nonexistent.”

  Ash nodded, frowning. “I remember. The vast majority of occult groups are completely harmless, you said.”

  So we have talked about this. Good. I think.

  “Right. Their rites and practices are merely the…trappings of their religious faith. Most such rituals are completely benign, designed to celebrate life and nature.”

  “But those that aren’t benign?”

  “Are very rare.”

  “I get that. And?”

  “And involve actual worship of Satan and the belief in magic, the belief that a specific ritual or rituals can cause supernatural forces to grant the wishes or desires of the practitioner. But even those rarely involve physical sacrifice or murder.”

  “So I gather nobody dies. Usually.”

  “I’m serious, Ash.”

  “Okay. So occult rituals, offensive though they may be to the mainstream, are both rare and mostly benign.”

  “Yeah. What’s a lot more common—though still pretty damn rare—is for someone to borrow the trappings, the ceremonies and rituals. To do his own thing within the framework of the occult. He may or may not possess occult beliefs. He may feel that he believes but not fully understand the rituals he’s trying to command. Or it may have nothing to do with faith or belief and be simply window dressing. He may stage a murder scene implicating Satanism or other forms of the occult to confuse or mislead an investigation. He may deliberately use what he knows will frighten and panic his neighbors.”

  “To cover his tracks.”

  “It’s been done before.”

  “I think I’d believe that before I’d believe in a cult of Satan worshippers conducting a blood sacrifice in the woods a mile from town.”

  “It does sound unlikely, doesn’t it?” Riley brooded. “That bothers me as much as anything, the proximity to people, choosing a place where dogs are allowed to run and often do. Where people walk most every day. How long would anyone expect their supposed secret to stay that way?”

  “Not all groups are secretive,” Ash noted. “There’s one just up the beach from you, as a matter of fact.”

  Purely from his tone, Riley gathered somewhat hesitantly that this wasn’t something he expected her to already know, so she risked asking questions.

  “What, a cult? A coven?”

  “They aren’t calling themselves either, as far as I know. Just a group of like-minded friends renting the Pearson place for the rest of the summer. But they’ve applied for and be
en granted permission to build a beach bonfire on Friday night—the full moon—and they’ve been asking questions, strongly implying they believe there’s occult activity in the area, and they’ve let it be known that they practice an…alternative religion.”

  “Were they more specific about that? ‘Alternative’ covers a lot these days.”

  “Not that I’ve heard. So far, anyway. But people are talking, of course, especially given what’s been happening this summer.”

  Jesus, I wish I could remember how much of this we’ve already discussed.

  “Can’t stop people talking,” she ventured.

  He sent her another glance, dark brows lifting. “When the talk is bordering on panic, it’s time to try. Or, at least, time to offer them a rational explanation to discuss. I thought we’d agreed about that, Riley.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I remember.”

  Except that I don’t.

  The cold, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach got worse, and it wasn’t because she needed food.

  “Calls are already coming in,” Ash said. “No media yet, but that’s probably only because their attention is on all the shit happening in Charleston.”

  What the hell’s happening in Charleston?

  Riley scrambled for yet another elusive memory or bit of knowledge and again came up empty. She had absolutely no idea what was going on in the nearest city of any size to Castle.

  “Still, I’m bound to be asked for an official statement of some kind soon,” he went on. “Especially after today. What do you suggest I say—on the record?”

  “That…a murder is being investigated.”

  “It won’t stop the talk.”

  “No. But I can’t offer anything else, Ash, not yet. I need time. Time to get a better grip on what’s going on here.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you working alone on this.”

  “Jake and his people—”

  “Are out of their depth. We both know that. Why don’t you want to be on the official clock, Riley? Why not call your boss, have him send down some help?”

  “The unit’s spread really thin right now,” Riley answered truthfully. “Besides, Jake said an official FBI presence would stand out around here, and he’s right. It may be no secret I’m with the Bureau, but at least I won’t be flashing my badge or gun and interrogating people. That makes a difference, Ash; it changes how people respond to even a casual question, much less a pointed one. If I can keep my presence low-key, I’m more likely to find out…something.”