Page 46 of I Dream of Danger
“Of her? Of Elle?”
“Yeah.” His jaws clenched.
“Was there something different about the dream?”
He was checking her briefcase, but swung his head to her at the words. “Different how?” He couldn’t help himself, help his suspicious tone.
She kept her voice soft. “Do you often dream of her, of Elle?”
No! The word was right there, in his mouth, filling his mouth. No, of course he didn’t dream of Elle. That would reveal a weakness. A man was weak in sleep, couldn’t control himself. So, no, he didn’t dream of Elle. He didn’t dream of anything, fuck you very much. His dreams were his own goddamned business.
“Yes,” he said.
She nodded. “And this one had a different flavor?”
Well, he’d woken up with a woodie, if that’s what she meant. He’d woken up in a sweaty panic.
“Close your eyes, Nick.”
“What?” Christ, time was this big heavy thing swirling around a drain. Elle was in danger, in danger right now. He didn’t have time for this shit!
Nick shifted on his feet. He wanted to pull away from Catherine, run for the door, but…he couldn’t free himself.
He was strong. He’d been strong all his life. He’d been in the military for almost half his life, and every single fucking day he’d trained for combat. He was a shooter. He’d shot several million rounds in his life. His hands were strong. Once he’d tested at 180 pounds on the grip strength test. He could crush Catherine’s hand in a nanosecond.
Except…he couldn’t. He couldn’t pull free from her.
“You are scared and you want to spring into action.” Catherine’s eyes exerted a pull as great as her hand. He couldn’t look away from her. “But you have no idea where to go. I’m trying to help you, Nick. If Elle sent you a message, she also sent you the way to find her. So you need to listen hard to what she tried to tell you. Now close your eyes.”
There was no way to disobey her. He closed his eyes.
“Clear your mind,” Catherine said. “There’s only Elle, and the message she sent you. That’s all there is in the world. She’s in trouble and if she called for help, there’s a way to find her in her message. So think carefully. You were dreaming about her. And you heard a cry for help. Think back to that cry.”
Nick nodded, thought back.
“You were dreaming about her, about Elle. Then the dream changed, correct?”
He nodded again. Exactly. That was exactly it. It was as if Catherine had been there.
“All of a sudden, it lost that dreamlike feeling and became real. Something you could touch and feel.”
“Yes.” That had been exactly it.
“You woke up and felt the danger.”
His eyes opened. “Yes.” All over his body, every cell prickling with it. Even before he heard the words, the call.
“Did you see her?”
Did he? Nick dug deep. There was this huge overlay of sweaty panic. He had to get rid of that, try to remember. His jaw clenched. “Yes, I think—I think I did.”
Another squeeze of his hand. “What did she look like?”
“Older.” The word popped out as the images in his head suddenly coalesced. “Tired. Scared. She had—she had her hair all in her face,” he said suddenly. “Short hair. Chin length. She always wore her hair long—”A sudden flash of memory of Elle’s hair trailing over his stomach like a pale waterfall nearly killed him. “But it’s short now. All in her face, messy-like. She’s bleeding—” Mouth dry, he tried to swallow. “From a cut. It’s deep. She’s—she’s worried about it. But not because of the cut itself. There’s something else about the cut, but I don’t know what.” He found himself rocking in distress. “I’m not understanding this.”
“Okay,” Catherine suggested gently, “don’t worry about the cut right now. Put that aside. Is she sitting or standing?”
What the fuck difference did it make? Still— “Sitting,” he said, decisively. Suddenly, the knowledge was there, in his head. A picture of Elle, face in her hands, shoulders sloped in despair. The despair colored the air around her, was deep and dark. Oh Elle. “She’s sitting on the floor, back to the wall.”
