Page 1 of I Dream of Danger
Chapter
One
Burial of Judge Oren Thomason
St. Mary’s Cemetery
Lawrence, Kansas
January 10
He came.
She knew he’d come. Somehow she’d known.
She dreamed of him last night. She often dreamt of him, dreams so vivid she woke with tears on her face, aching for him.
Elle Thomason rose from where she’d thrown dirt onto her father’s coffin before the two undertaker’s assistants covered it with earth and he would finally, finally be at peace, and that was when she saw him.
He was outlined against the chilly winter sun on the small hill where the chapel stood. He was only a dark figure against the dying sun, but she would recognize him anywhere, any time.
Nick Ross. The boy she’d loved so much, now clearly a man. The dark outline against the pale winter sun was tall and broad-shouldered, with the heavy muscles of a strong man. He’d been lean as a boy, like a young panther. Now he was a lion.
He saw her. He didn’t wave to her or nod. Neither did she. She simply watched as he walked down the small hill toward her, eyeing him hungrily. She’d waited five long years for this moment.
In all the dead years, the years of caring for her father as his mind died long before his body, she’d longed for this moment. As everything else fell from her life, as she lost everything, as her life was taken over by daily care of a man who no longer controlled anything about himself, the only thing left to her was her imagination. And in her mind, she went wild.
In her mind, she and Nick were together.
Her favorite daydream was meeting him in some sophisticated city. New York, Chicago, San Francisco. Even better, London or Paris. Of course, she was sophisticated herself. She’d had a number of love affairs that had taught her a lot. She was well-groomed, successful, utterly in control.
Turning around in an expensive restaurant, there he’d be.
In her fantasies she could figure out what she was—poised and successful and happy. But she could never figure out what Nick was. What he’d become. She only knew he’d be handsome and he’d love her. She couldn’t get beyond that point. That he still loved her, after all these years.
She’d ask why he’d disappeared so suddenly. It was still unfathomable to her. One night she’d gone to bed teasing him that he’d grow up to be Commander Adama of Battlestar Galactica and the next morning he was gone. Completely disappeared. His things were in his room. The only articles missing were two pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, a winter jacket and his gym bag.
She’d been frantic. She wanted to call the cops, report him missing but her father had gently taken the phone from her hand. He never answered her questions and soon, very soon, he became incapable of answering any questions at all.
Not a phone call, not a letter, not even a post card. It was as if Nick had dropped off the face of the earth, taking with him her entire existence. From a carefree teenager, the beloved only daughter of a respected and wealthy judge, her life plunged into the pits of hell. Her father started losing his mind day by day, darkness descending, and Nick wasn’t there.
How many evenings she stared out the window, pretending to read, her father having finally exhausted himself enough to nap in an armchair. Going out on a date was unthinkable. There wasn’t enough money to pay a nurse for evening hours. She’d had to earn extra credits over the summers to graduate at seventeen, because she could see the day coming when the money would run out and she’d have to stay home all day to nurse her father, and she wanted at least a high school certificate.
Dating was out, going to movies with girlfriends was out, having friends over was definitely out. What she got was a nurse coming for a few hours a day in which she could rush to do the shopping and rush into the library to stock up on books. What she got was staring out the window, waiting for Nick.
Hoping for Nick.
Yearning for Nick.
Who never came.
So in her daydreams, when she finally did meet him, utterly by chance in a big city, she got to choose how it would be. He was either immensely rich and handsome or powerful and handsome. He was never a loser, a drunk, or an addict. That wasn’t Nick.
Hello, he’d say, stepping back in admiration. Aren’t you beautiful?
Thank you, she’d answer. I hope you’re well. I’d love to stay and chat but I need to get back to my?—
Here Elle’s imagination struggled a little. To what? Get back to what? What could possibly be more important than Nick?
