Dream Man

He had to clench his own hands, to prevent himself from reaching out to support her. Suddenly she looked so frail, as if she might faint. And maybe she was just a damn good actress, he grimly reminded himself, pushing away the unwanted and uncharacteristic concern for a suspect. “Tell me about Friday night,” he said. “What did you say you were doing?”

“I went to a movie, the nine-o’clock one.”

“Where?”

She told him the name of the cinemaplex.

“What movie did you see?” She told him that, too, then said, “Wait—I may still have the ticket stub. I usually put it in my pocket. I haven’t done laundry since then, so it should still be there.” She walked swiftly out of the room; he didn’t follow but listened intently, tracing her movements through the house so she wouldn’t be able to slip out without his knowledge, if that had been her intention. Of course, he had her car blocked in the driveway, and he didn’t think she would try to run away. Why should she, when she was so certain he didn’t have anything on her? The hell of it was, she was right.

She came back in only a minute and gave him the ticket stub, being careful not to touch him as she let the small piece of paper drop into his hand. Then she swiftly retreated a few steps; his mouth twisted as he noticed the move. She could hardly make it more plain that she didn’t like being close to him. He looked down at the ticket stub in his hand; it was computer-generated, with the name of the movie, the date, and the time printed on it. It proved that she had bought a ticket; it didn’t prove that she had actually watched the movie. He hadn’t seen it himself, so he couldn’t ask her any pertinent questions about it.

“What time did you leave the movie?”

“When it was over. About eleven-thirty.” Marlie stood tensely beside the table.

“Coming home, what route did you drive?”

She told him, even the exit numbers.

“And where were you when you had this so-called vision?”

Her lips tightened, but she kept her composure, and her voice was steady. “As I told you this morning, I had just left the expressway. The visions have always been very … draining, so I pulled off to the side.”

“Draining? How?”

“I lost consciousness,” she said flatly.

His eyebrows rose. “You lost consciousness,” he repeated, disbelief so plain in his tone that her palm itched with the urge to slap him. “You mean you fainted from the stress?”

“Not exactly.”

“What, exactly?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I’m taken over by the vision. I can’t see anything else, I don’t hear anything else, I don’t know anything else.”

“I see. So you sat there in your car until the vision ended, then calmly drove home and went to bed. If you’re so certain that you’re psychic, Miss Keen, why did you wait over two days before telling the police? Why didn’t you call it in immediately? We might have been able to catch the guy still in the neighborhood, or maybe even in the house, if you’d called.”

Marlie’s face lost its last tinge of color under the lash of that deep, sarcastic voice. There was no way she could explain what had happened six years before, why some of the details had confused her until she wasn’t certain if she’d had a flashback or if the knowing had returned. She couldn’t expose herself to this man like that, strip her psyche naked to let him see all of her fears, her vulnerabilities. Instead she focused on the one thing he’d said that she could refute.

“N-No,” she stammered, hating the unsteadiness of her voice. She took a deep breath to banish that hint of weakness. “I didn’t just drive home. A patrolman noticed my car and stopped to see if there was any trouble. I don’t remember anything except the vision from the time I pulled over until he knocked on my window and brought me out of it. I was pretty shaky, and I told him that I was an epileptic and must have had a mild seizure. He was a little suspicious and made me get out of the car, but finally he let me go, and followed me home to make certain I got here okay.”

Dane didn’t straighten away from the cabinet, but acute attention was in every line of his big body. “What time was this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Estimate. You left the movie at eleven-thirty; about what time did the vision start?”

“Eleven-forty, eleven forty-five. I’m not certain.”

“So what time did you get home? How long did the vision last?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted, whirling away from him. “I barely made it home; I collapsed afterward and didn’t wake up until late Saturday afternoon.”

Dane studied her rigid back. She was shaking, a very faint but visible tremor. He should have been glad that he had her rattled, but instead he had this crazy urge to comfort her.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said abruptly, and left before he gave in to that urge. Damn it, what was it about her? He was very aware of the heaviness in his loins, and knew that if she had looked, there was no way she could have missed it. Thank God, she seemed to want to look anywhere but at him. He’d heard of cops who got turned on by danger, but he’d never been one of them. What in hell was the matter with him?

As he got into his car he admitted that he never should have come here, at least not without Trammell. Ostensibly they had called it a day, but he hadn’t been able to. Instead he’d waited for her in the parking lot where she worked, then followed her home. Stupid move; what if she called the lieutenant and complained that he was harassing her? The LT had given them the go-ahead to investigate her, but Dane knew he’d been out of bounds this afternoon.