Dream Stalker

Dream Stalker

Colorado Skies

Sandra S. Kerns

Copyright © 2014 Sandra S. Kerns

Smashwords Edition

Published by Sandra S. Kerns, LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Tatiana Vila – Vila Designs

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Dear Reader,

Even in thoroughly proofed and meticulously edited books, errors and typos can slip through. If you find an error in my book, please feel free to send a personal note to me at sandrakerns.com. I endeavor to give you the best book possible and am always interested in your comments.

Happy reading,

Sandra

DEDICATION

This one is for you, Itsy. For always believing in me, always encouraging me, and never letting me give up. I love you, thanks.

CHAPTER ONE

Eddie stood silently absorbing the hushed sounds of the darkness around him. To some, if anyone were up at this early hour, it might appear as if he were giving thanks to the heavens. He felt a grin pull at his mouth because they wouldn’t be that far from the truth. Other than being a little chilly for him, he favored this time of day. In these early hours of the morning, there were no noisy people in his way and no damned glaring Colorado sunshine blinding him. Nothing interrupted him as he prepared for the task ahead. Even the old brick building in downtown Pinecrest seemed to pause with him, as if gearing up for the attention it would soon draw.

The early morning air whispered around him, tossing the tails of his trench coat. The flapping of them around his knees changed the grin to an uncharacteristic smile. He hadn’t felt this positive in two years. Even the recent missions hadn’t held such an optimistic feel. He tipped his head back and stared up at the dark, star-strewn sky. Pinecrest, Colorado didn’t have as many streetlights as other cities, which made it easier, even downtown, to appreciate the number of stars above. Eddie closed his eyes and drew all the positive power of the night’s quiet comfort deep inside. Pulling his gloved hand from his pocket, he pushed the button on the panel next to the old building’s door. A woman’s wary voice came over the speaker.

Who is it?

Eddie Craven, Ms. Tibbets. I called earlier. I have the information you wanted, he spoke into the intercom, jumping when the obnoxious buzzer released the door’s lock. All the calming effects of the previous moments disappeared. He hated the sign of weakness. In his frustration, he yanked open the door with more force than necessary.

Once inside the dark stairwell, Eddie flexed his hands several times to cool the rush of anger. It wouldn’t do to hurry this through and miss all the satisfaction because of a stupid buzzer. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Yes, there, that was better. He took hold of the railing and paused to let the coolness of the metal penetrate the thin leather covering his hand before he started up the steps.

Eddie looked up at the landing. An apartment door stood ajar, light spilling out. He squinted. He hated bright light and the pain it brought to his sensitive eyes. The constant sunshine, especially in the summer months, was one of the reasons he had enjoyed missions outside of Colorado. The other . . . memories. Pinecrest was much too close to the worst of them, his abandonment, the group home, the pain, the . . .

He needed to stop the negative direction of his thoughts. He reminded himself how easy this particular mission had been. He would have to use this ruse again. Posing as a private investigator who specialized in finding children given up for adoption had worked like a charm. He shook his head remembering how Ms. Tibbets had pleaded with him for his help. It worked as well as when he’d worn the cleric’s collar. The memory of wearing it while he sat across the table from the cop in Philadelphia washed over Eddie. People always trusted a man of religion. The desperate were always so gullible, and Detective Dawson had definitely been desperate.

The door at the landing opened further, sending more light flooding downward. The added glare forced him to put on his tinted glasses. Another weakness he had to accept, but getting a headache would ruin the satisfaction of completing his task.

Did you find her? Ms. Tibbets called down from above in a voice full of hope.

That’s what you paid me for, isn’t it? he asked and smiled the innocent, generous smile he’d mastered over the years. Yes, he would definitely have to use this ploy again. Payment for his mission was a bonus he hadn’t experienced.

I can’t believe it, she said waving her arm toward him. Come in, come in.

He stepped onto the landing and felt the first wave of triumph. It was followed by another feeling, one Eddie couldn’t identify, but knew he’d felt before. He tried to classify it, but it evaporated before he could. Shaking it off, he focused on the task at hand.

I know you’re anxious, but could I ask a favor? He smiled and tilted his head in an apologetic manner.

Of course, what can I do for you?

I’ve been up most of the night verifying information. Could I trouble you for a cup of tea, and maybe a little less light? My eyes are tired from staring at the computer for so long.

Yes, yes. She twisted the button on the wall and the light dimmed considerably. After she filled the kettle and set it on the burner, she turned back to Eddie. It won’t take but a minute for the water to heat. Can I get you a cookie or something to go with it? It’d be no trouble. I’m so grateful for all you’ve done.

Eddie smiled again, but shook his head no. May I sit? He motioned toward the kitchen table and chairs.

Of course, yes, I’m sorry. I’m just so excited I’m not thinking straight.

Her nervous laughter sent another wave of triumphant adrenaline through his bloodstream. She sounded so hopeful, so pitiful, and so repulsive. Why the Lord had put her on this earth, Eddie couldn’t imagine. It also didn’t matter. All that mattered was He wanted Eddie to get rid of her.

You’re doing fine, he told her in his practiced, patronizing tone.

Tell me, where is she?

Let’s wait for the tea. I want your full attention when I give you the news.

He watched as she turned back to face the stove. The nervous energy vibrating through her body was apparent by her weight shifting from one foot to the other and the way she kept wringing her hands. She glanced back at him, as steam escaping the kettle’s spout flushed her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. Her ever-increasing anxiety fueled his enthusiasm for the moments ahead. His recent missions hadn’t held this kind of excitement. Not in years. Not since – no, he couldn’t think about Mary. He had to stay centered. Reaching in his breast pocket again, he poked the tip of one of the hatpins there into his palm. Eddie closed his eyes as he increased the pressure. Finally, the pain disappeared and focus returned. When he opened his eyes, Ms. Tibbets carried two cups from the stove to the table.

She sat across from him and blew across the hot water before dumping two heaping spoons full of sugar in her cup. Because her hands were shaking some of the sugar ended up on the table. Eddie grinned as she brushed the spilled sugar into her hand with a sheepish glance at him. He shook his head when she pushed the sugar bowl across the table.

No, thank you, but maybe I will take you up on a little something to nibble on.

Certainly, she said, and quickly stood to do as he requested.

Eddie had slipped a small vial from his pocket after re-focusing himself with the hatpin. When she turned to get the snack, he reached across the table and poured the contents of the vial into her cup. There was no need to stir; it wouldn’t matter if she tasted it. He had been careful to make it potent enough to take effect almost immediately. As Ms. Tibbets returned to the table with an open package of cookies, he took off his glasses and put them in his pocket along with the empty vial.

Thank you, he said, taking a cookie but not biting into it. The number of chemicals in processed food turned his stomach, and Eddie knew chemicals. He spent hours perfecting the formulas he used for his missions. He may not have gone to college, but he was smarter than most PhD’s and a genius when it came to chemistry.

Now, about your daughter, he said. Tea spilled over the edge of her cup onto the table as he spoke. The irritation that he would have to clean it up before leaving was a mere blip in his thoughts as he enjoyed toying with her.

She glanced at him over the top of the cup and took another sip before setting it on the table. Her brow wrinkled, and she glanced down at the cup before wrapping her hands around it and looking back at him.

Eddie smiled when her eyes met his. Not the soft, so sorry smile he’d used earlier. He knew this one revealed every ounce of superiority he had over her. Renewed energy zinged through his bloodstream as her gaze turned to a panicked stare.

Is something wrong? He knew she wouldn’t answer. It was already too late. The poison had taken effect.

Fear widened her eyes and replaced the earlier hope. The tears would come later when she realized the truth. These low lifes were so pathetic. Desperate to right the wrongs they had committed, and too dumb to know they couldn’t.

No, that was his job, meting out justice for the forgotten. The rush he got from each mission was a bonus.

You know, Ms. Tibbets, you should have been more careful when you shared your life story. You shouldn’t have shared your most intimate secrets with just anyone. He shook his head and cast a pity filled frown.

Terror now showed bright in her eyes. For a moment, Eddie stared back, and then closed his eyes. The warmth of success flowed through him like a transfusion, renewing his soul. When he opened his eyes, he tilted his head and grinned. Before we deal with your sins, though, let me help you clean up this mess you’ve made.

He felt her eyes follow his movements as far as they could. She probably wondered when he was going to sneak up behind her and slice her throat with a knife. However, that kind of drama was beneath him. It was also messy, and Eddie hated messes.

Eddie prided himself on his ability to follow his plan without getting caught up in the excitement. Methodically, he washed and dried her cup before returning it to her paralyzed hands. Not one to forget details, Eddie tore a paper towel from the roll by the sink and wiped up the tea she had spilled earlier. Then he poured some tea from his cup to hers and after catching the drips with the paper towel, carefully folded it, tucking it into his coat pocket as he returned to his seat.

Folding his hands on the table in front of him, he met her gaze. Now, about your daughter, he began again. I didn’t have to find her. I knew her at the group home where you abandoned her. Amy was a beautiful but sad little girl, as I remember. She grew into a beautiful but sad young woman who all the boys there liked. He sneered across the table knowing his innuendo had made its point by the widening of her pupils.

On her thirteenth birthday . . . He leaned across the table. . . . she learned she was pregnant. She was devastated. He shook his head, truly saddened by the memory. He had liked Amy. She didn’t want her child to live the horrible life she did, so, that night she killed herself.

Yes, yes. He loved this part. Making them realize what cruel, evil people they were. His mission almost complete, he stood and walked around the table to stand beside her. He reached into his pocket for the note and one of the hatpins. He took great care to select the correct pin for each mission. He fingered the tiny gemstones encrusted in the top of the pin. Green for the color of Amy’s eyes and diamonds for the tears those eyes had cried. As he looked down at Ms. Tibbets, he saw tears spilling down her doughy cheeks. As if tears ever helped anything. He shook his head.

Don’t worry, it won’t be long now. He leaned down, close to her ear and whispered. Just long enough for you to think about what you did to the gift God gave you. With that said, he pressed the note to her chest and drove the pin straight through.

Victory blossomed inside him as a drop of blood stained the tired, white shirt covering her ample breast. Warmth spread through his entire body, down his limbs then back up and exploded in his head, and then . . . then he felt it again. The sensation from earlier. The one he’d denied. It was there, it was real; he knew it. He wasn’t alone.

He turned his head away from the dying woman. Eddie felt the first real heartfelt smile he’d known in two years spread across his face. You’re back.

# # #

You’re back.

Janine bolted upright, wide awake and terrified. Her body trembled while her eyes searched the darkness. She wished she had night vision goggles, but knew they wouldn’t help. No physical being, or thing, would be visible. Still, he was there. She knew it from the evil chill that crawled over her fear-dampened skin.

Oh God, he’s back.

Ugly images filled her head. Images from the past of the pain, agony, and death he caused. Burying her head in her hands, she tried to cry. She hoped the tears would wash away the horrible visions from her mind, but the tears wouldn’t come. They had run out years ago.

All that came was anger. Blood-boiling, hand-fisting, body-shaking anger.

Aughhh, she screamed in frustration as she jumped from the bed pulling the sheet with her. The anger instantly turned to pain as she landed heavily on her bad leg.

Shit, shit, shit. She dropped the sheet and grabbed her scarred thigh. Taking deep breaths, she blew them out until the pain leveled off at about a two on her scale of ten. At least the pain had erased the fear that had tried to smother her. Clenching her jaw, determined not to let the fear return, she limped to the bathroom.

Janine leaned on the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The skylight cast an eerie unflattering shadow. She shook her head for even noticing. It wasn’t like she wanted anyone to notice her. Then again, she wasn’t hiding either.

Aughhh. She squeezed her head between her hands. When her subconscious started justifying every thought she had, she knew it would be a bad day. Opening the medicine cabinet, she snagged the extra strength aspirin for the headache growing at the back of her head, then hobbled down the hall into the kitchen. Aspirin, an icepack, and wicked strong coffee would do the trick.

With the coffee brewing, she pulled a bag of peas from the freezer. Before she could wrap them in a towel, the doorbell rang. Slivers of pain sliced through her head, exploding in front of her eyes as she jerked around at the sound. Who in hell would be ringing the bell at; she glanced at her watch, five in the morning? She didn’t have the newspaper delivered and wouldn’t know her neighbors if they were right in front of her. That left her boss, but he would call, not come over. Then the words that woke her echoed in her head, and fear had her crushing the bag of peas she held in one hand.

Look out the window, dummy. Knowing is better than being in the dark, right?

Barefoot, and pressed against the wall, Janine tiptoed to the front door where she could peek through the reinforced window by the door. In the early morning light, her small paint-peeling porch looked pitiful, especially next to the polished boots standing on it when they caught the moon’s glow. A man’s silhouette reached across the window and pushed the button again. She jumped at the sound even though she knew it was coming. God, she hated being a scaredy cat.

To calm her racing pulse, she concentrated on the facts of the situation. She was afraid to open the door because of the dream. She peeked out the window again and sized up the man who reached over his head and stretched. The image captured her. It was somehow familiar, but she couldn’t remember why. But it isn’t him. That fact resounded in her head with certainty. The man on her porch definitely wasn’t the person from her dream, or the one who’d almost killed her. She could handle anyone else.

Before turning the deadbolt, Janine grasped the cane she kept beside the door. Better safe than sorry, she figured flipping the porch light switch and opening the door a crack. The man lifted his head and their eyes met. Janine’s grip tightened on the doorknob. She forced herself not to slam the door in his all too handsome, all too familiar face. Connor.

Janine, he said, tipping his head in response.

Connor Dawson’s presence could mean only one thing. Janine did not want to accept that fact. They continued to stare at one another through the silence.

Making me stand out here isn’t going to change anything.

He didn’t move. Janine knew he wouldn’t. Connor never forced anyone to do anything. Standing at least six foot four with a steel gray stare that could send criminals to their knees he rarely had to try.

She ground her teeth instead of offering a retort. Resting the cane back against the wall, Janine pulled the door open further. When he stepped inside, he brought along the scent of damp lawns from early morning sprinklers and probably the only cool breeze for the day. Janine closed her eyes and inhaled deeply while telling herself it had nothing to do with her two-year Connor deprivation, but it was a lie. She had missed him.

Still into minimalism, I see, he said as she opened her eyes and followed his gaze around her front room.

Still judgmental, I see. As a rule, Janine didn’t care what people thought of her decorating, or lack thereof. She considered her house a place to sleep and eat, not a showcase. She had more important things to do than match fabrics and colors. Whatever decent furniture the second-hand store had was good enough for her. Living alone she didn’t require much of it either. Besides, the more stuff you had the more you had to take care of. Less cleaning time meant more time for work, and that was fine with her.

Observant, Connor replied.

Janine huffed her bangs off her forehead and stalked, as much as her aching hip would allow, past him back to the kitchen and her courage inducing coffee. Coffee’s done if you want a cup. She picked up her mug, then her bag of peas and climbed onto one of the kitchen bar stools. How did you find me?

With the coffee in front of her, she placed the makeshift icepack on her neck and leaned forward inhaling the steam from her mug. She tried to gather her thoughts. Between the dream, the headache, and her unexpected, unwelcome visitor, they were too scattered. Her acute awareness of Connor moving around her kitchen, finding a mug and filling it, didn’t help. When he leaned against the opposite side of the bar, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. Being so affected by him frustrated her and brought fresh waves of pain pulsing through her head. She looked up and his eyes stared straight into hers.

It wasn’t a matter of finding you. I’ve always known you were here. He took another sip of coffee and set the mug on the counter. Good coffee.

What do you mean? Janine clenched her teeth. Being stalked had terrified her. She didn’t care for the idea of anyone monitoring her every move. She had bought a house in an older neighborhood, instead of renting a downtown apartment, as she would have done in her previous life. She had even changed her last name to her grandmother’s maiden name of Chase. Besides no one else knowing it, it had felt right considering she felt like she was in a constant game of chase with the damned Tea-Time Killer.

She watched Connor mull over what to say. He always considered his words before he opened his mouth. Even the apparently simple banter between them filtered through that quicksilver brain he had. Most people got caught up in his good looks and easy charm, never appreciating his intelligence. Janine freely admitted he had a great physique, but many people missed the best part of the man in her opinion. To match wits with Connor Dawson was an intellectual treat almost as satisfying as a double fudge mocha sundae.

The investigation is still open. Keeping track of our only lead seemed important, he said, cutting into her thoughts.

Lead or suspect? she asked and watched the corner of his mouth quirk up. Damn she loved the dimple it caused. Focus, Neen.

Lead. Even I, world class devil’s advocate, couldn’t buy you trying to kill yourself by rolling your car down a hill and ramming it into a rock wall.

Could have fooled me, was on the tip of her tongue, but a quick glance up reminded her of how hard that night had been for him. She kept her mouth shut. When his eyes met hers, Janine saw regret dim their usual bright intelligence.

I know it didn’t come across that way, I’m sorry.

You had a lot on your plate, you don’t have to apologize. She had to admit, it did her good to hear him say it.

Yeah, burying Brian nearly killed me.

The mug slipped from Janine’s hand, shattering on the floor. She jumped off the stool landing on one of the broken pieces. Air hissed through her teeth as she grabbed her foot. Then her other leg buckled. Before she could hit the floor, Connor caught her and put her back on the stool.

First aid kit? He pulled paper towels from the roll on the counter and pressed them to her foot.

Second drawer by the fridge. Janine pushed his hand away to hold the toweling herself.

Connor found the first aid kit, grabbed more paper towels, dampened them under the faucet, and then returned to the bar.

Let me see it. He squatted beside her stool and eased the toweling away. Blood began to seep out immediately. With the damp toweling, he applied more pressure. It doesn’t look too bad. With more pressure and some butterfly bandages, I think we can avoid stitches.

He looked up when she didn’t make a comment. Her elbow propped on the bar held her fist pressed against her lips. Her eyes tightly closed as if to hold back tears, but Janine didn’t cry. Connor knew the reaction had nothing to do with the cut. She had a high threshold for physical pain. This was a much deeper hurt. The death of his brother had been hard on them both.

I’m sorry, he said again, as he pulled his gaze away from her face and back to her injury.

Stop, please. I don’t deserve your apologies.

He wanted to disagree. He wanted to take her pain away. He wanted, hell, he wanted a lot of things. That didn’t change the facts. His brother was dead because of her connection to the Tea-Time Killer, and Connor couldn’t let it go. His rage at that fact, and the impossibility of changing it, had him tearing one of the bandages in half. He threw it to the floor and tore open another. He put a gauze pad over the butterflies for extra protection. "That