What Dreams May Come (Berkley Sensation) Page 12
When she’d tried to fight him off after he’d told her she was in a coma, her moves had been jerky and disorganized. Now she seemed to have remembered her martial-arts training.
Her total concentration was on the battle, her arms and legs moving like lethal weapons as she executed moves that took his breath away.
His own training was in street fighting—when kids had teased him about his mother and his aunt’s profession. He’d taken plenty of flack as the son of a Gypsy fortune-teller.
He ached to jump into the fight. But he knew he’d do more harm than good. Frantically he looked around for a weapon. He needed a baseball bat or something. And one winked into existence on the ground near his feet. Score one for him.
Teeth clenched, he stepped behind the guy and wacked him smartly across the shoulder with the bat.
The headless man whirled, and Caleb couldn’t hold back a gasp as he faced the featureless opponent. But he didn’t let that stop him from swinging again. This time he cracked the opponent’s raised arm.
The man made an angry, grunting sound as he leaped at Caleb—who kept swinging.
Maybe Miranda had taken a page from his book, because instead of keeping up with her martial-arts routine, she picked up a large rock and brought it down with a crack on what passed for the man’s head.
He went down, sprawling on the ground. And while he was lying there, his body began to fade away.
Miranda screamed when he disappeared completely. As she wavered on her feet, Caleb surged forward and caught her in his arms.
She made a small sobbing sound, then seemed to get control of herself. “I was losing. Then you came—and saved me.”
“Who was that? Your dad?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I hope not. . . . I don’t think so.”
“I think the colonel was in your room—doing something to you earlier. That’s what yanked me out of here the first time.”
“I . . . don’t know who it was,” she whispered. “Obviously, he didn’t want me to see his face.”
“Yeah, somebody hid it for him.”
“Who?”
“My mother. My aunt,” he suggested.
“That man came here to kill me,” she said in a voice that she couldn’t quite hold steady. “I hope it wasn’t my father. You think your mother sent him?”
His own voice shook as he gripped her shoulders. “I don’t know! Tell me what happened before I arrived.”
She gulped. “I kept trying to get away from camp. And every direction I ran in, I ended up back here.”
“Christ!”
“I saw shadows moving inside one of the tents.”
“Which one?”
She pointed to a red-and-blue shelter, than took her lower lip between her teeth. “Before he came out, I couldn’t tell if it was a man.”
“Because you couldn’t see clearly through the tent fabric?”
“No. He kept changing shape. I saw a man. I saw a bear. A tiger. A woman!”
Caleb’s hands tightened on her shoulders, and he cursed again. “Who could manage that—besides my mother or Aunt Edith?”
“Someone my father hired?” she asked in a small voice.
“What’s his motive?’
She took a step back and scuffed her foot against the dirt. “I can’t tell you.”
Anger boiled through him. “You have to! You have to stop playing games with me. It doesn’t matter anymore. I know about the drugs.”
The blood drained from her face. “You do?” she gasped out.
His eyes narrowed. “I know he and his partner were doing it eight years ago. You’re saying it’s still going on?”
Her face took on a look that mixed fear and anger. “I discovered my dad is back at it again,” she whispered.
“How?”
She sighed, her hands fluttering as she struggled to find the right words. “I . . . he was acting strange, secretive. I . . . I . . . hired a private detective, and he gave me a report. As soon as I read it, I tried to talk to my father. But he wasn’t home, so I left a message on his answering machine, but he didn’t get back to me.”
“You mentioned illegal drugs in a voice message?” he asked sharply.
“Not in those words.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything . . . incriminating without talking to him face to face, so I said I wanted to discuss something important.” She looked miserable. “Maybe the tone of my voice gave me away.”
He shrugged, wondering if she’d said more to her father than she was telling him. “Let’s get back to eight years ago when your mother disappeared. If your dad could smuggle drugs, maybe he could kill her.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Again—her expression gave away strong emotions.
“Did he?” he asked. “Did you find that out?”
“No,” she said sharply, then turned and began walking rapidly out of camp.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute! You can’t run away now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too dangerous. Somebody besides me broke in here! That guy with the digitized face.”
When her gaze darted around the clearing, he went on quickly. “We need to protect you. If Mr. Digital comes back, I want to make sure he can’t get to you.”
He strode to where cooking equipment was stacked beside the fire pit and picked up a pot. Squatting, he began scooping up ashes.
“What are you doing?” she asked from behind him.
“Practical magic.”
When he had a potful, he turned.
“Which tent is yours?”
She pointed to a blue-and-yellow one.
He nodded, then looked inside, seeing a backpack and sleeping bag.
Starting just to the left of the entrance, he moved clockwise as he sprinkled a line of ashes in a circle around the tent, murmuring a chant that he’d read in a book long ago. She didn’t interrupt until he had come almost full circle, leaving an opening at the tent entrance.
“You’re making a protective circle?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She tipped her head to one side. “You believe in magic?”
He looked at her and grinned. “I’m here, aren’t I? What got me here if it wasn’t magic?”
“Psychic powers you inherited from your mom.”
“I think of magic and psychic powers as two sides of the same coin. You can’t work magic without innate abilities.”
“Whatever you want to call it. You’ve got it. Like that time I ran away from home, and I was sure nobody could find me. But somehow you knew I was hiding in the big drainage pipe.”
“Yeah.”
“You chewed me out for pulling that stunt.”
He nodded.
“But really—you were worried.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I knew how you found me. And you did it another time—when my truck battery went dead. It was just after I got my license, and I got stuck coming back from the convenience store. You showed up at midnight to rescue me.”
He nodded.
Her expression changed. “You have a way of turning up when I’m in trouble. You’re the one who called 911 after whoever it was forced my truck off the road, aren’t you?”
There was no point in denying it. Again he nodded.
“Am I the reason you tried to shut off your psychic abilities?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
His head jerked up. “How did you know that?”
“Because I would feel you reaching out to me, and I would . . . I would clamp down. . . .” She gulped. “I think I hurt you.”
He swallowed. “You did. And now you’re saying you were doing that on purpose?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“So you would stop.”
“Thanks for leveling with me,” he bit out.
She winced.
He clamped his fingers on
the pot handle. “But now I’m using my powers again, whether you like it or not. Get inside so I can finish the circle.”
“What about you?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m going back to have a chat with your father.”
Alarm bloomed on her face. “No!”
“I should have done it eight years ago.”
“I’m not going in there—unless you come with me.”
He knew from the tone of her voice and the fierce look in her eye that she was telling the truth. So he answered with a tight nod.
She studied his stony face, then ducked down and crawled inside.
He stood for several moments, staring at the opening. She had brought back all the old hurt with her admission. But he still felt compelled to help her. He was betting it took a lot of energy to send an enemy into her dream. And energy to get through his circle. Which gave him time to get out of here and make her father come clean with him. Or his aunt. Or the business partner. Or his mom, he thought with a pang. He didn’t know which of them was involved. But he was going to find out.
For now he followed Miranda inside the tent, then turned quickly as he finished off the circle and said more magic words—words he hoped would keep any evil away from this fortress.
Despite his dark mood, he laughed.
“What could possibly be funny?” she asked, her voice jumping with nerves.
“This tent isn’t very big. But I was thinking of it as a fortress.”
“I hope it is.”
She had switched on a camp lantern, creating a warm glow inside the confined space.
“You need somewhere to sit,” she said, scooting to the side and unzipping the sleeping bag. Then, awkwardly, they spread it out so that it covered the floor of the tent.
They both sat, leaving as much space as possible separating them. When she saw him watching her, she looked away. They had been talking about the colonel’s drug smuggling, and Caleb had let it go for the time being. But if she wouldn’t let him leave, he would use the time constructively.
He stared at the tense set of her jaw. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
“About what?”
Maybe he should ask about the detective’s report. What he heard himself saying was, “About us . . . eight years ago.”
He saw her teeth clench, but she kept her eyes away from him.
His anger flared. “Dammit, answer me. You came to me and said we were finished. Then you put up mental barriers against me. Were you afraid I’d find out that your dad killed your mother? Was that it?”
When she sat without moving or speaking, he grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him. “Okay, let’s go at it from a different angle. Look at me, and tell me again that you walked away from me because I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Her eyes were large and green in the warm light from the lantern.
Maybe he could make confession easier for her. “Were you acting on orders from your father?” he pressed.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He felt his throat clog. It was hard to speak, but he managed to say, “I know he was pretty rough on you. I guess that time he really scared you. He was going to punish you if you kept hanging out with me?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Just give me a straight answer, because I can’t help you unless you do.”
Seven
Caleb watched Miranda’s eyes turn fierce. “A straight answer? Okay, I’ll give you a straight answer! My father told me he’d made a deal with my mom. She was his wife, so he gave her money, and he let her go—far, far away. But he didn’t have to let the son of a Gypsy off the hook. He said you were dangerous. He said he’d kill you—unless I broke off with you. And he said he’d kill you, if I told you what he’d said. Or if I told anyone else.”
He felt the air in his lungs solidify, leaving no room for another breath.
She was speaking again, and he struggled to hear the words above the buzzing in his brain.
“He wouldn’t tell me why, but I knew. He was afraid you would pick up something incriminating from my mind. He was afraid your mother or your aunt would do the same thing. So he sent my mom away where she couldn’t contact them.” When he didn’t speak, she went on quickly. “Of course, when my mom first started consulting them, he thought they were charlatans. He’d taunt my mother about how stupid she was going to ‘those mediums.’ But then they decided to tell her about his affairs, and she confronted him. He was mad at them. And mad at me for hanging out with you. But it wasn’t until that drug deal that he came to the conclusion that you and your family were totally dangerous.”
“That’s why you were frightened the last time I was here—when we talked about my mother and my aunt?”
“Yes.”
He was stunned by the information, but he managed to ask, “How does all this fit together?”
She sighed. “Dad promised he wouldn’t do the drug stuff again. He said it was a one-time deal because he needed money. And I believed him, because I didn’t have much choice when I was sixteen. But I don’t have to live with his lies now. I was on my way to confront him when somebody ran me off the road.”
She had finally put a lot of the pieces of the puzzle together for him.
He sat on the sleeping bag, trying to hang on to his sanity as all the assumptions he’d made about her—about the two of them—crashed and burned around him.
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say.
“For what?”
“For hating you.”
“I tried to make sure you would! Because I was afraid for you.”
“Oh, Lord, Miranda. All these years . . . I kept telling myself I never really knew you. All these years I was too wounded to think straight.”
“I had to keep you safe.”
“Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“My father is still dangerous.” Her breath caught as her gaze darted around the small tent. “Caleb, where are you—really. I mean in the real world. Are you safe?”
It was a strange question, but he answered it. “I’m in my car. With the sunscreen in the windshield. And tinted windows. I think I’m safe.”
“Thank God.”
“You’re worried that your father could come looking for me?”
“Or Dustin. It could be Dustin.”
“Is he about five ten? One seventy? A hard face? Salt-and-pepper hair in a buzz cut?”
“You saw him?”
“At the hospital.”
“He and dad are close. Two peas in a pod. Stay away from him! He’s violent.”
“Did he ever hurt you?” Caleb asked sharply.
“No.”
“Is he the guy who was fighting with you a few minutes ago.”
“He could be. I can’t tell without seeing his face. There are too many guys who work for my dad who look like him.”
“Great.”
She lifted her head. “I don’t want to waste time talking about Dustin or my father.” As she spoke, she scooted across the space between them and reached for him.
He caught her against his chest, his arms coming up to pull her close. Once she was in his embrace, all he could do was marvel at how wonderful it felt to hold her.
“I should have . . .”
“There was nothing you could do. You were just a kid. So was I.”
“But . . .” he tried to argue.
Miranda pressed her hand against his mouth. “Do you really want to argue about it? Now?”
He closed his eyes, absorbing her question and the wonderful feeling of her fingers stroking his lips.
“No,” he murmured, opening his mouth so he could play with her fingers.
Miranda closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Caleb nibbling at her fingers. His teeth on her flesh were tantalizing and arousing—and making her want more.
Moving her hand away, she pressed her lips to his. The shock of that contact was enough to ma
ke her pulse drum. With a moan she absorbed the wet heat of his mouth into herself.
She had denied herself this pleasure for years—because she had been afraid—for him.
Back then he’d been a boy. Now he was a man. A strong, sexy, talented man. The man she loved. And she understood what she had never been able to admit. She’d made a life for herself, but she’d only been half alive without him.
He angled his head, accepting what she offered and giving it back, kissing her with a desperation that awed her.
Her heart melted in the heat of that kiss. “Oh, Caleb. I missed you so much.”
“God, yes.”
She dared a glance into his eyes and saw a fierce, aching hunger that echoed her own.
They had shared almost everything lovers could share—except the ultimate joining. But she wasn’t a shy, uncertain girl anymore. And now, in the confines of this tent, she was determined that they were going to express all the passion they had denied themselves for so long.
Quickly, before she could tell herself she was doing the wrong thing, she moved back against the tent wall, found the hem of her plaid shirt, and pulled it over her head without bothering to undo the buttons. After tossing it onto the sleeping bag, she unhooked the clasp of her bra and sent it to join the shirt.
She heard Caleb’s indrawn breath, saw the fire leap in his eyes.
“You’ve hardly changed. You are as beautiful as the last time I saw you like this. So perfect,” he whispered.
“You make me feel beautiful.” She dared a wicked grin. “But one important thing has changed. I’m not afraid of going after what I want. Take off your shirt. It’s been so long since I felt your chest against my breasts.”
He scraped his sweatshirt over his head, then reached to pull her into his arms. The shock of his flesh against hers was almost too much to bear. A low sob welled in her throat, as her hands caressed his back, his shoulders. His hands moved over her with the same frantic possessiveness.
They rocked together, clinging, devouring each other’s mouths in a kiss that was desperate and ruthless.
She felt her heart pounding in her chest, pumping the hot blood through her veins.
When his mouth lifted, his breath was ragged, and his eyes were fierce. “I want . . .”