Dream Man

“My stuff. My house is being renovated, and I have to clear out for a couple of weeks.” He stopped on the porch, watching her intently. “I apologize for not asking, but it was a sudden decision to have the work done.”

“I see.” She managed an ironic smile. “Moving in is a good way to stay on top of the situation, I guess. Figuratively as well as literally.”

Very carefully he set the box down on the porch. His expression was both cool and blank. “What does that mean, exactly?”

She shrugged. “Can you honestly say that moving in with me has nothing to do with the murders, with this entire situation?”

“No,” he said bluntly. It was the truth. He couldn’t. Marlie was his best chance of catching the bastard, but it wasn’t just that. He had seen how the visions affected her, the physical and mental price she paid. For both of those reasons, in addition to the fact that he was violently attracted to her, he wanted to stay close to her.

She stood silently for a moment, considering the situation. They had become lovers, but her instinct was to take things slowly. Circumstances had decreed otherwise, throwing them together in a pressure cooker. Even though she would like to put the brakes on now, feel her way through this strange new relationship, those same circumstances were still aligned against her. He was, first and foremost, a cop, and she was his direct link to a killer. Until the murderer was caught, she couldn’t expect Dane to stray far from her side. She would simply have to remember that the main reason he was there was his job; it was a sure bet that he didn’t practically force his way in to live with every woman with whom he had gone to bed.

She stepped aside. “Just so we understand each other. Come on in.”

Trammell gave a long, low whistle when Dane walked in the next morning, and everyone in the squad room turned to look. Never mind that there was a serial killer on the loose; cops were never too busy to harass one of their own. Freddie clutched her heart and pretended to swoon. Bonness, who had been standing beside Keegan’s desk, was totally deadpan as he asked, “May we help you, sir?”

“You sure can,” Dane replied good-naturedly as he dropped into his chair. “All you smart-asses can apologize for the crap you’ve given me for years about how I dressed.”

“He said it in the past tense,” Trammell noted, turning his eyes upward. “Please, God, let it stay that way.”

Dane smiled at him. “Want to go for a couple of beers after work?” he asked silkily. Trammell picked up the hint and subsided, but still with an unholy gleam of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Take me, take me!” Freddie cried, waving her hand exuberantly.

“Yeah, sure, and get my legs broken?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m overwhelmed by your concern.”

Bonness left Keegan’s desk to perch on Dane’s. “What caused the transformation?” he asked. “Were you mugged by a fashion designer on the way to work?”

Dane grinned, knowing that his answer would make Bonness choke. It wasn’t something he could keep to himself, so he decided to have a little fun. “Marlie doesn’t like wrinkles,” he explained calmly.

Bonness looked blank. “Marlie?” Obviously he could think of only one Marlie and just as obviously he couldn’t get the connection.

“Marlie Keen. You know, the psychic.”

“I know who she is,” Bonness said, still confused. “What does she have to do with it?”

“She doesn’t like wrinkles,” Dane explained again, as deadpan as Bonness had been. He could hear Trammell snickering, but didn’t dare glance that way.

Poor Bonness was slow that day. “So she goes around the city zapping them out?” he demanded with heavy sarcasm.

“No.” Dane smiled, a slow, very satisfied smile. “She ironed them out. At least, she ironed the shirt. She made me iron the slacks myself, because she said I had to learn.”

Bonness gaped at him. Trammell was making choking sounds as he tried to keep from laughing aloud. “You—you mean … Marlie … that is, you and Marlie—”

“Marlie and I are what?”

“Um … dating?”

“Dating?” Dane pretended to think. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what would you say?”

He gave a negligent shrug. “It’s simple. When I got dressed this morning, she said that no way was I leaving the house looking like that, so she hauled out her iron and ironing board and made me take off my clothes. When I put them back on, they looked like this.” He wondered why a crisply ironed shirt, neatly knotted tie, and slacks with a razor-edge crease were such a big deal, not just to Marlie but to everyone else. Not that he minded; he just hadn’t cared before. He didn’t care about his clothes now, but Marlie did, so therefore he would make more of an effort. Simple.

Bonness was literally sputtering, his eyes bugging out. “But you only met a week ago. You ridiculed her, accused her of being an accomplice to murder. She hated your guts on sight.”

“We changed our minds,” Dane said. “If you need me, you can reach me at her house.”

“Shit. You’re kidding me. I thought she had better taste than that.”

Dane smiled peacefully. “She does. She’s already improving me.” And he would let her do it. If she wanted him to wear Italian loafers like Trammell’s, he’d do it. If she wanted him to shave twice a day, he’d do that too. If she wanted him to stand on his head for an hour every morning, he would happily put his butt in the air. When he had returned the afternoon before, with his clothing, it had been plain that the thought of living with him made her uneasy. He knew he should have lied to her about his motives, but damn it, his interest in her was two-pronged. He couldn’t just forget about the murders and assure her that her involvement never entered his mind. Hell, her involvement never left his mind.