Sleeping With Fear

by Kay Hooper

  Riley had thought she was completely exhausted, but her body was coming to life, and as her arms lifted to wrap themselves around his neck, she decided that she just might have the strength for this….

  As it turned out, she also had the strength left for a shower with Ash afterward, but by then her energy reserves were seriously low and they both knew it.

  “I’ll go get started on those omelets,” he said, knotting a towel around his lean waist.

  “I’ll get my hair dry and meet you in the kitchen. Sorry to be so high-maintenance,” she said.

  He tipped her chin up with a finger to kiss her. “You aren’t,” he said, and left her alone in the steamy bathroom.

  Riley finished wrapping herself in a towel, then held her hands out and watched them shake for a moment. Damn. Between the mental and emotional demands of a Swiss cheese memory and the physical demands of a relationship with Ash, she was using up energy at a rate far faster than normal even for her.

  Something was badly wrong, and she knew it.

  Shaking off yet another worry, she rummaged in the vanity drawers for a hand mirror and wiped off the steamy mirror over the sink so she could check out the back of her neck. It took a bit of maneuvering, and she ended up sitting on the vanity with her back to the big mirror while she held the hand mirror with one hand and pushed her hair completely off her neck with the other hand.

  It looked like a burn, as Ash had said. Like two burns, actually, very close together, just below the hairline at the base of her skull.

  Even in the warm, steamy room, the chill that swept her body left gooseflesh in its wake. She had to concentrate fiercely in order to hold the hand mirror steady long enough to study the marks until she was certain of what she already knew.

  They were the marks of a stun gun, a Taser.

  And what they very clearly showed was that someone had held the gun to the back of her neck and discharged an electrical current directly into her body.

  Into the base of her brain.

  It took less than ten minutes to blow-dry her short hair, and that didn’t allow Riley enough time to think much past the numb realization that in all likelihood a killer had stood over her twitching body and emptied into it from a weapon meant to incapacitate a target a potentially deadly amount of electricity.

  Riley had used a Taser. She had also been Tasered herself. She knew what the weapon was capable of, and what its normal aftereffects were. There was nothing normal about this.

  The marks on her neck indicated sustained contact, with both voltage and amperage considerably higher than the manufacturer had ever intended for the device.

  The question was, had her attacker deliberately used an amped-up stun gun knowing it could be a lethal weapon? And, if so, was she alive by design or only by accident?

  Either way, the attack could explain her headaches and the memory loss, and the dulled—or absent—senses. It could even explain her unusually frequent need for more fuel.

  An electrical jolt to the brain could scramble a lot of things in the human body.

  It could also cause a hell of a lot of problems, some worse than those she was coping with now. And the fact that those problems hadn’t yet manifested themselves didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

  Great. That’s just great. Somebody tried to fry my brain, probably tried to kill me, and he’s still out there running around loose—with a big advantage.

  He knew who she was.

  And she didn’t have a clue who he was.

  With her hair dry and no more excuses to linger in the bathroom, Riley went into the bedroom to put on one of her customary sleep-shirts. She took a moment to sort through their scattered clothing and lay Ash’s more neatly over a chair, and despite everything felt a flicker of amusement when she picked up the sexy underwear she had, at the last minute while dressing for their date, chosen to wear.

  She doubted he’d even noticed it.

  With that wry thought in mind, she chose a football jersey sleep-shirt, exchanged her towel for it, and headed for the kitchen.

  You can think about all this later. Figure out what’s going on later. Right now you just have to get through tonight. You have to act normal and be Ash Prescott’s summer lover.

  If that’s what she was. Or maybe she was, despite his denial, the trophy he had taken away from his boyhood rival.

  There was a cheerful thought. Not.

  “Perfect timing,” Ash said as she joined him. He was transferring the two halves of a large omelet onto two plates on the work island. He had already set out silverware and napkins, as well as poured two glasses of wine.

  Riley took her place on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and looked at him with lifted brows. “Wine? You know that makes me sleepy.” She hoped he knew.

  “Yeah, well, I think maybe you need to sleep.” Ash put the pan in the sink and brought the plates to the bar.

  Riley left her brows raised and waited.

  He was frowning just a little, and before she realized what he was going to do, he grasped her wrist and lifted it slightly so they could both see her fingers trembling. “Your tank’s not just empty, you’re running on fumes. After finishing a sizable meal about three hours ago.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t talk about how much I eat,” she said, keeping her tone light as she reclaimed her hand and took a sip of her wine.

  “That’s not what this is about, and you know it. Was it the scene in the woods? Is that what took so much out of you?”

  “Well…scenes like that do, usually.” She started eating, hoping the calories would kick-start her sluggish mind.

  Oh, I’m in fine shape, I am. If I was half as responsible as I’m supposed to be, I’d have Bishop recall me to Quantico. Tonight.

  “Because of the clairvoyance?”

  Riley was only a little surprised he knew about that. It wasn’t something she often confided on short acquaintance—or even long acquaintance, in most cases—but the man was in her bed, after all. And at least his knowledge answered one of the questions she’d been asking herself.

  One down, at least a dozen more to go.

  She nodded. “It takes more energy, yeah. Especially a murder so…horrific. Everybody around me is tense, frightened, sickened—and usually worried about their nearest and dearest. Sorting through all that…”

  “Takes a lot of energy.” He was still frowning, still intent. “So this happens whenever you work on a case?”

  “To varying degrees. I tried harder than usual today, probably because I wasn’t getting anything. That happens sometimes too.” Information she hoped would head off at least some of his questions.

  Ash picked up his fork and began to eat, but after several bites said, “I had the impression you used your abilities as just another investigative tool.”

  “Generally. They often give me an edge in an investigation—but not always. This is very good, by the way.” She indicated her plate and the omelet, already half-finished. Sure, keep wolfing down food—that’ll solve everything.

  “High-calorie,” he said in a tone of sudden amusement. “I put in extra cheese.”

  Riley had to laugh, albeit without much amusement of her own. “Sorry—I didn’t expect to get involved with anyone this summer, much less during a full-blown investigation.”

  “Stop saying you’re sorry. Feeding you is not a problem, believe me.” He smiled, then added casually, “So business and pleasure don’t mix too well in your world?”

  “They both take energy.” Riley lifted her glass in a small salute. “One more than the other, sometimes.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  It was a potential out for her. Maybe. One less pretense she’d have to keep up. If she told him the investigation would demand all her energy, all her attention, then maybe he’d step back out of her personal life for the duration.

  Except that she didn’t think he would.

  Or maybe you just don’t want to believe he would.


  Finally, she said, “It’s never come up for me, so I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess.”

  He gazed at her steadily for a long moment, then smiled again. “I’ll order a couple more cases of those PowerBars.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  The wine had its usual effect on her, and she was yawning hugely by the time she crawled into bed a few minutes later. “Probably should have checked the doors,” she murmured.

  “I did. All locked.” Ash got into bed beside her but before turning out the lamp on the nightstand paused to reach into the top drawer. “Here—I know you won’t rest easy until this is under the pillow.”

  Riley blinked at the gun he was holding casually by its barrel, then took it from him. She checked it automatically to make sure the safety was still on, then slid it underneath her pillow.

  She always went to sleep on her right side, a habit that made her turn her back to him as she lay down. It was clearly a routine he was accustomed to, since he turned out the lamp and settled down behind her without comment.

  Close behind her.

  He kissed the nape of her neck just below the burn and said, “Try to sleep past dawn, okay? I think you need to.”

  “Mmmm. ’Night,” she murmured in response.

  “’Night, Riley.”

  Her body relaxed because she told it to. Her breathing was slow and even. Her eyes were closed.

  She had never been more wide-awake in her life.

  The realization had been slow in coming, but now it took root in her admittedly sluggish mind and began to grow into at least one horrible possibility.

  She always slept with her weapon under her pillow. Always. Ever since a very nasty experience with a predawn burglar nearly ten years ago. But very few people knew that.

  She had awakened the previous afternoon fully dressed except for her shoes, with her gun under the pillow as always.

  There were only two possible routes to that destination, as far as Riley could see. Both of them started with her leaving the house—after telling Ash she wanted time alone—undoubtedly armed, because she certainly would have been. Going to do whatever it was she’d gone to do, and in the process getting surprised or otherwise blindsided by someone with a stun gun. After that…

  Either she had, after being stunned for God only knew how long, managed to get herself back home and to her bed, too addled to remove her bloodstained clothing but able to kick off her shoes and remember where her gun should go, or…

  Or her attacker had brought her home. Removed her shoes. And put her gun under her pillow, because he’d known she would expect to find it there whenever she woke up.

  Shit.

  The field of suspects if that turned out to be the case had suddenly gotten very, very small.

  Ash knew where she kept her gun at night. So did Gordon. If anyone else here knew, Riley would be very surprised. But maybe someone else did know. Hell, maybe everyone knew.

  Oh, God, what else don’t I remember?

  Her car had been here, the keys in her bag. Had she driven wherever it was she’d gone last night? Could she have driven back here, suffering the aftereffects of near-electrocution? No evidence of blood in her car, but…Three miles to the bridge, assuming she’d gone over to the mainland; surely she hadn’t walked?

  I’m assuming whatever happened didn’t happen here on the island. Why am I assuming that?

  Because the altar—if that’s what it had been used for—was on the mainland. Because a tortured and murdered man’s body had been discovered there. And because she found it almost impossible to believe that a second, totally separate violent event had taken place in this small community on the same night.

  Rational. Reasonable. Probably right.

  Probably.

  “Riley?”

  Oh, shit. I can’t even fake it anymore?

  “Hmmm?” she murmured.

  “Why are you still awake?” He nuzzled the back of her neck. “I thought you’d go out like a light.”

  “Just thinking, I guess.”

  “About what? The murder?”

  “Yeah.” It wasn’t a lie. Exactly. “Occupational hazard.”

  Without turning her to face him, Ash gathered her into his arms. “Can I talk you into letting it go until tomorrow, or is this something else I should get used to?”

  What could she tell him? How much could she tell him?

  How far could she trust him?

  Riley was conscious of an unfamiliar desperation, and it was a feeling she did not like. Especially when it caused her to blurt, “I’m different. When there’s a case.”

  “So it’s not just about using more energy,” he said after a moment.

  “No. There’s that too, but…I pretty much live the job. I get obsessed.” She tried to put a shrug into her voice. “My boss says it’s part of what makes me a good investigator. Other people have…indicated that I can be distant or difficult to connect with whenever I’m working on a case.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed?”

  “You have a right to know.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Riley, I understand how our work can drive us. You know how far mine drove me. All the way back to my childhood home, where being the district attorney is barely a full-time job. You can’t allow your job to consume you.”

  She wished she remembered his story, she really did. She had a feeling it was a vitally important piece of this puzzle she was in. But all she could say was, “A man’s dead, Ash. Shouldn’t I be bothered by that? Shouldn’t you?”

  “I’m just saying you won’t be any good to the investigation or yourself if you don’t get some rest.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  His arms tightened around her again, and there was something inexpressibly soothing in his voice when he murmured, “Tomorrow is soon enough to begin to obsess. Go to sleep, Riley.”

  He hadn’t answered her questions, and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit even to herself. At the same time, her body was relaxing against his, for real this time, and she was growing sleepy once again.

  Exhaustion, almost certainly. Catching up with her. But it was more than that, and even as her fragmented thoughts began to settle, a last nagging realization followed her into sleep.

  Despite everything, even her own doubts, here in this man’s arms she felt…safe.

  And for a woman who had learned a long, long time ago that safety was, at best, an illusion, that was terrifying.

  In an unusually grim tone, Gordon said, “Yeah, I’d say this was from a Taser. And a juiced-up one, at that.”

  Riley smoothed her short hair over the burns and turned to face him. “I was pretty sure. Just wanted a second opinion.”

  “Have you reported this to Bishop?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Jesus Christ on a crutch, Riley.”

  “I know, I know. But I also know what Bishop will say, and I don’t want to be recalled. I can’t just cut and run, Gordon. Not yet. Look, if whoever attacked me had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”

  “You don’t know that. It’s more likely he left you for dead and that crazy, messed-up brain of yours kept you alive against the odds.”

  It was a good point, and more than possible. Like all the psychics on the team, her brain had a higher-than-normal amount of electrical activity going on at any given time, so it very well might not have responded as the attacker had expected to an added jolt.

  “Maybe.” She hesitated, then confessed, “I had a nightmarish scenario running last night where the guy stunned me and then brought me home and put me to bed thinking I’d wake up and not know anything had happened.”

  “You mean when you woke up covered with blood you wouldn’t think anything had happened?”

  “I didn’t think about that part until this morning.” After about three cups of coffee and a wonderful breakfast courtesy of Ash.

  Gordon eyed her consideringly. “You really aren’t firing on a
ll cylinders, babe, ’case you didn’t know that.”

  “Why do you men always use car metaphors?” she demanded, even though she’d used the very same one herself in describing her condition to Bishop.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  Riley sighed. “I’ll tell Bishop everything when I report in this afternoon. I can’t justify keeping any of it to myself, not with a man dead. I’ll just have to hope I can convince him to leave me here. But, in the meantime, I’m headed out to the sheriff’s department, where I hope there will be statements, photos, and a postmortem report I can take a look at.”

  “What do you expect to see?”

  “I don’t know. Probably nothing I couldn’t figure out from the crime scene. But maybe I missed something.”

  Gordon was frowning. “I gather the spooky senses are still AWOL?”

  She nodded. “Which makes more sense today than it did yesterday. Now that I at least know what happened to me. Even so, I have a pretty good hunch that Bishop will tell me nobody else on the team has experienced a jolt of electricity straight into the base of the brain. I don’t recall reading that in any of the unit’s case histories, and I think it would have been there. Highlighted. Underlined. With an asterisk.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Which means—”

  “Which means I’m in unexplored territory here and pretty much on my own. God knows what was scrambled or short-circuited inside my head. And what the aftereffects might be.”

  “Want to tell me again why you aren’t going to see a doctor?”

  “Because there’s nothing a doctor would do except probably run tests. Because I’m functional. I don’t even have a headache today, or at least not much of one. Whatever that jolt did to my brain…well, let’s just say I doubt they have a magic little pill to fix me.”

  “It could be permanent? The memory loss and the damage to your senses?”

  “Could be.” Riley drew a deep breath and released it slowly.

  “Hell, that may be more likely than not. If an electrical jolt can trigger latent psychic abilities—and we know it can—then it’s reasonable to suppose one could just as easily short-circuit or even destroy them.”