The Shimmering

Praise for Susan Kearney

Kearney is a master storyteller.

—Virginia Henley,

New York Times bestselling author

Susan Kearney is a gifted storyteller with carefully woven plots and refreshing characterization. Her style is crisp, and keeps her readers hungrily turning the pages.

—Tampa Tribune

Out of this world love scenes, pulse pounding action, and characters who come right off the page.

—Suzanne Forster on The Dare,

New York Times bestselling author

Other Titles by Susan Kearney

Romantic Suspense

Kiss Me Deadly * Dancing With Fire

Secrets of Moore House * Born in Danger

Born in Mystery * Born in Secret

Science Fiction and Fantasy Romance

The Challenge * The Dare * The Ultimatum * The Quest

Lunar Heat * Solar Heat * Shifter in Paradise

Historical Romance

Conquer the Mist

Coming Soon

Stargazing * Seeker * Beyond the Edge

A Burning Obsession * Bordering on Obsession

Double the Thrill Enslaved * Royal Target * Royal Ransom

Royal Pursuit Daddy to the Rescue * Defending the Heiress

Saving the Girl Next Door * Hijacked Honeymoon

Cradle Will Rock * Little Boys Blue * Lullaby and Goodnight

When the Bough Breaks * Touch Me * On the Edge

The Shimmering

by

Susan Kearney

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-746-5

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2008 by Hair Express, Inc.

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This story was published in an anthology by Tor Books, Tom Doherty Associates, LLC, in 2008.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Snake (manipulated) © Ekaterina Gerasimova | Dreamstime.com

Background (manipulated) © Rolffimages | Dreamstime.com

Man (manipulated) © Andrei Vishnyakov | Dreamstime.com

Glyphs (manipulated) © Laszlo Mayer (Caballus)

:Eswd:01:

Prologue

SANDRA LOWELL tossed in her bed, half-asleep, her dream too delicious to wake up from. Without opening her eyes, she flung her hand toward the ringing alarm clock, hit the snooze button, and slipped back into the arms of her dream lover. And oh . . . wow. Her dream man had powerful biceps that sported a two-headed serpent symbol that twisted around them, a chest as wide as a Kodiak bear’s, and the arrogant features of a Viking, except for his dark hair. Perfect lips. Perfect cheekbones. Perfect fingers that wrapped around her neck and drew her mouth to his for a kiss that ravished, seduced, stroked.

Yum. Threading her hands into his hair, she tugged him closer and breathed in his exotic scent, an alien and erotic scent that caused her heart to pound. She leaned into his kiss, arched into his touch, ground her hips into his. He traced a path from her mouth to her collarbone, and in anticipation of him going lower, her breasts tingled.

Her alarm clock shrilled again and she wakened, pulse pounding, heart jolting. Her arms clutching . . . her pillow.

Breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly, Sandra groaned. Another minute. She’d only needed one more damn minute to find release. Instead, she’d overslept and had no time to take off the edge herself. When it came to men, her social life was nonexistent. So it figured she’d run out of time and wake up from her dream—just when things were turning deliciously interesting.

With a sigh of frustration, she ripped back the sheet and padded toward the bathroom. Even in her dreams she’d never been that lucky.

Chapter One

YOU THINK THE astral projection machine is legit?

At Dr. Liza Mancuso’s question, Sandra halted on the concrete steps of the Psychophysical Research Institute, shaded her eyes from the Florida sunshine, and frowned at her best friend. Do I think a machine can sling someone’s mind into an out-of-body experience? Of course not.

Really, how could Liz even seriously consider the possibility? The chances of Sandra having an out-of-body experience were no more likely than bumping into her dream man as they approached the institute’s front doors.

Setting down her medical bag on the steps, Liza wrinkled her brow in confusion. Then why don’t we just forget it?

If only Sandra could forget it. This lightweight assignment was not at the top of her make-a-difference-in-the-world list. Nor was it even on the page. But reporters had to work their way to the top within a hierarchy of corporate politics. Until Sandra was one of the lucky few who could choose their assignments, she had to take the stories her editor handed out.

As Sandra answered Liza she ticked off points on her fingers. I’m a reporter. My boss believes that astral projection is newsworthy, if only for its quirkiness. He assigned this story to me. So here I am to uncover the facts, while you protect me from becoming a medical malpractice victim. She refrained from mentioning her boss was currently none too pleased with her after she’d taken a few risks while covering a celebrity murder trial last month. She’d gotten her scoop, but word had gotten back to corporate that she’d impersonated a book editor to gather background material and apparently that was a no-no. Of course, if one of her male colleagues had pulled the same trick, he’d be accepting free drinks in the bar for a month. Her reward after putting the follow-up to bed was this bizarre assignment, a definite comedown. Come on. She glanced at her watch. I’m on deadline.

Liza hesitated, her warm brown eyes filled with concern. You’re supposed to report the stories, not become the experiment yourself.

A little risk comes with the job. Especially if Sandra wanted to get ahead. When she’d started as a cub reporter three years ago, she’d made up her mind to stand out from the others in the fiercely competitive world of journalism. An A student in college, she’d also worked on the student paper. When a slot opened at the Sun, a professor had recommended her. Sandra had made herself available nights, weekends, and triple shifts, determined to get ahead. And now she refused to give up because of a minor setback. If she had to write soft news, she’d search for a different angle to make the story fresh and riveting. And if she had to try astral projection for the sake of her work, she was up for that, too.

Liza’s tone had an edge of Southern-accented disapproval. Was it your job to skydive out of that helicopter and break your leg?

Sandra flexed her limb. You fixed me up good, doc.

Was it your job to volunteer as a hostage when those crazy kids robbed Citibank? I had to remove a bullet from your arm that time. Another four inches over and it would have been your heart. And remember when—

I’ll be careful, Sandra sighed. It wasn’t as if she had a family to worry about her. No parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles. Not even a lover. Being alone had advantages. She could do what she wished; take risks to get ahead, prudent risks to kick her career into high gear. However, Liza worried so Sandra did her best to ally her fears. If I put in another medical claim, my boss has threatened to demote me to writing classifieds. Yet, despite his annoyance and Liza’s worries, Sandra recalled with satisfaction how her investigative pieces had made page one.

She enjoyed her career too much to turn down this assignment. Or to give it up for a family. Sure, someday she’d have a guy like the one in her dreams—but not yet. Nothing pleased her more than uncovering the layers to a story, learning secrets, and finding the truth. The sense of satisfaction as she gathered bits and pieces of a puzzle until she had the entire story kept her working long after her colleagues went home to their families. The only downside was she’d sacrificed her social life. She had a crazy schedule—it wouldn’t be fair to ask anyone to put up with her eighty-hour work week. Plus, she was too young to make commitments to anyone since she yearned for her career to soar. Damn. She didn’t need a shrink to tell her why her unconscious was inundating her with lusty fantasies. Three times this week, the same lover with the exotic serpent symbol had invaded her dreams, leaving an impression that splashed over into her waking hours.

Here we go again. Rolling her eyes, Liza’s words pulled Sandra’s attention back to the conversation.

Sandra shrugged. There’s no real danger involved this time, because nothing’s going to happen. The astral projection machine is a hoax.

How can you ignore all those people you interviewed who claim they’ve left their bodies?

Three years as a