Falling Awake(35)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Las Vegas, here I come.

15

ellis knew he was dreaming. There was nothing unusual about that. He was a Level Five lucid dreamer, after all. He even recognized this particular dreamscape. But there was something different about it tonight. . . .

He stands in the center of the circular room. The ceiling is transparent. He can see the night sky through it. High, gothic-style entrances to dozens of darkened halls ring the space.

Tango Dancer comes toward him from one of the many corridors. He wants to make love to her more than he has ever wanted anything in his adult life. But he is afraid that afterward she will walk away from him and vanish into one of the mysterious halls.

She glides into the circular room, smiling a feminine invitation that makes him ache with desire. She stops in the shadows. Raising one hand, she beckons him with a graceful curl of her fingertips.

He does not move. He knows that if he stays where he is she cannot see him clearly. It is better that way.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “I’m afraid of wanting you this much.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he lies.

“Yes you do. You think that I will leave you.”

“Everyone leaves.”

“Will you let that stop you from touching me?”

“No.” But a great despair and anger well up inside him because he knows what will happen. She will demand more than he can risk giving her. She will want to see him, really see him. She will want to get very close and he cannot allow that. He has a rule about letting people get close. He put that rule in place a long time ago, when he was twelve.

She reaches out to him with both hands. “Come with me.”

He starts toward her because, in spite of everything, he cannot resist her.

But when he gets close enough for her to see his face, she turns and runs away, disappearing into one of the dark gothic passages . . .

The harsh jangle of the phone jarred him awake.

He sat up quickly, trying to ignore his erection and the tight, heavy sensation in the lower part of his body. The phone rang again.

He swung his legs out from under the covers, planted both feet on the floor and looked at the face of the radio alarm clock. Twelve fifty-three. It was the room phone. Not Lawson, then. Lawson always called him on his personal phone.

That left Isabel. At this hour? Adrenaline spiked. His pulse pounded.

He grabbed the phone. “This is Cutler.”

“Ellis?” Isabel hesitated. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I know it’s late, but—”

“What’s wrong?” He cut in before she could get out another word.

“Well, I want to ask you a hypothetical question.”

He glanced at the face of the bedside alarm clock again. “It’s almost one o’clock in the morning so I’m going to assume that this question is more than hypothetical. What is it?”

“It’s a little complicated.”

“Isabel—”

“All right, here’s the question. Do you think there are any serious laws against an honest citizen buying or selling e-mail addresses, at least one of which was created specifically for a government agency that doesn’t officially exist?”

he made it to her front door in fifteen minutes flat. She was waiting on the porch. The yellow lamplight gleamed on the glossy black, calf-length raincoat she wore. Her hair was drawn up into a careless twist at the back of her head.

She flew down the front steps, the black coat flapping around her, and yanked open the passenger-side door. She slid into the seat beside him and glared at him through the lenses of her black-framed glasses.

“I’m warning you, Ellis, I won’t let you threaten Gavin.”

“Fasten your seat belt.” He put the Maserati in gear and accelerated swiftly.

“Ellis, I mean it.” She fumbled with the seat belt. “He’s not a criminal. He’s got a gambling addiction.”

“Where is he?”

“The Breakers Motel.” She shot him an uneasy look. “Just outside of town on the old highway. I tried to call him back on his personal phone a few minutes ago but he didn’t answer. Gavin is having some financial problems with a casino. He sounded worried.”

“Trust me, he’s got a good reason to be worried.”

“I told you, all he wants is some cash.” She sat tensely in the seat, arms crossed beneath her br**sts. “In hindsight, I can see that it was a mistake to call you tonight.”

“No, your mistake was in refusing to tell me where Hardy is staying unless I agreed to pick you up and take you with me to confront him.”

“I didn’t care for your tone of voice when I told you what had happened.”

“You didn’t care for my tone of voice? I don’t believe this. I was pissed when you wouldn’t tell me where Hardy was staying. How the hell did you expect me to sound?”

“I couldn’t let you confront him alone,” she said firmly. “I was afraid you’d scare the daylights out of him.”

“That would have been a good start.”

He shifted gears. The Maserati leaped forward so fast the change in speed slammed both Isabel and him back into the seats. He was accustomed to it. Isabel was not but she said nothing. She did, however, brace one hand against the dash and give him a quelling glare.

This was bad, he thought. They were in the midst of a major quarrel. Things had been going so well, too. They’d made it through a first date and a first kiss. And now he was blowing the whole thing because of his little obsession problem. At this rate she was going to conclude that he was a dangerous, unpredictable lunatic.

“Don’t you think you might be overreacting?” she asked.

He downshifted for a curve. “No.”

“For heaven’s sake, they’re just e-mail addresses.” She spread her hands. “Two of which you already know.”

“Let’s get something clear. I’m not real worried about what Hardy does with my e-mail address or with Lawson’s, either, for that matter. They’re both so well secured that I doubt if there are more than half a dozen people on the face of the earth who could trace them back to their sources. In any event, once I tell Lawson what’s going on, those addresses will cease to exist.”

“Okay, so it’s the third client you’re concerned about,” she said, amazingly calm.

“Yes.” He changed gears again, wondering what was going through her mind.