Page 17 of A Storm of Nightmares

Keith raises his eyebrow and looks directly into my eyes. “I think that’s enough spilling for now. What I did or did not do while alone isn’t a conversation for a lady. Especially not over breakfast.” He leans in for a quick kiss. “Besides, I prefer your company over anything I could do by myself,” he adds in a seductive whisper. The sexual innuendo is not at all lost on me, and I blush as I realize what he’s hinting at.

My mind is running wild now. I want nothing more than to catch him in one of those compromising situations. It’s incredibly hard to maintain my appetite for food. I’m suddenly hungry for something else.Breathe, Kat. It’s only been a week,I try to remind myself. I glance back at Keith. It’s been a week of pure happiness, though. Doesn’t that mean something? And it’s been a week of non-stop time together.

Normally, people go out on dates, spending a couple of hours together once or twice a week as they get to know each other. But Keith and I have pretty much spent every waking minute for the last seven days getting to know each other. So really, it’s like it’s been longer than a week. Right? Ugh, my brain hurts from trying to figure this out. I can’t think straight after he says things like that. I certainly can’t decide to sleep with him over breakfast while he’s sitting right next to me, putting every single one of my nerves on high alert.

Fortunately, my thoughts are interrupted by Keith’s phone buzzing on the countertop. I breathe a sigh of relief. I will happily come back to this train of thought when I’m alone and can think clearly. I mindlessly pick at the rest of my food.

“Frank, what’s going on?” Keith says into the phone. I recognize the name. It’s his cop friend who’s been trying to figure out who the hell Roger really is. My stomach is instantly in knots.

“Are you serious?”

...

“Holy fuck.” He shoots a nervous glance my way and runs his free hand through his hair.

...

“So, how do we find the bastard?”

...

“Alright, man, thanks for the info. I’ll take it from here.”

...

“I’m not a cop anymore. And I’m not afraid of breaking the law if I have to. Thank you for all your help, but this is where you should step back. I’ll call if I need you.” And with that, Keith ends the phone call.

He turns to face me. His eyes search my face for a moment, and my anxiety rises with each second passing by. Sighing, Keith starts, “Roger Baxton’s real name is Rick Baker.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction.

When I don’t say anything, Keith continues. “Rick and Dan were childhood friends. They were next-door neighbors and went to school with each other their entire lives. There’s a good chance Betty would have met Rick at some point during her relationship with Dan. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he started dating Jess, and now she’s missing too.”

My mouth goes dry. If I wasn’t sitting down, I think I would faint. I knew Betty and Jess’ cases had to be connected. I can’t seem to find words at the moment. My brain is in utter shock at this revelation. I try sifting through my memories. Did I ever meet someone named Rick? No, I don’t think so. I never met any of Dan’s friends.Dan. Guilt hits me like a tidal wave.

There was a time when I wanted to blame him for my sister vanishing. I thought since he never turned up anywhere, then it had to be him that took Betty. But now... If Dan was never found, what happened to him?

I can feel all the color leaving my face, and I reach for my glass of orange juice, hoping some liquid will help bring my body back into the moment.

“You’re shaking,” Keith states matter-of-factly as he watches me struggle to not spill my drink all over the counter.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just in shock. I don’t know what to say. I’m relieved we finally figured this out. I’m worried about where Dan’s been this whole time. I want to throw up at the thought of what Betty may have gone through the last four years, if she’s even still alive.” All of what I’m saying is true. But as I’m blabbering on about it, I realize there’s one emotion outweighing the rest.

“Actually, most of all, I’m fucking pissed. This whole time it was right under my nose. I’m a private investigator, for Christ’s sake! Geez, I’m such an idiot. I should have figured this out a long time ago. I could have found Betty and protected Jess!” I’m pacing the kitchen now, in a full fit of anger and anxiety. My initial shock is long gone. My breathing is ragged, and my entire body feels hot.

Keith gets up abruptly, walks over to me, and pulls me into him. I try to fight him away, but my strength doesn’t match his. I give up and let his strong arms hold me. I nuzzle my face into his chest and take deep breaths of his cologne. Suddenly, I fear if Keith lets go, I might shatter into a million pieces.

We stand like that, in the middle of the kitchen, for at least ten minutes. Keith doesn’t say a word. He’s just been rubbing his hand up and down my back. I slowly feel my anger dissolve, and I finally feel like I can hold myself together without his help. Somehow, he can sense my change of emotion, and he lets his arms loosen, but he doesn’t let go. I lean my head back and look up at him. My strong knight in shining armor, it seems. He’s been nothing but a calming force in my life since he showed up at my motel room.

“Thank you,” I mutter quietly, frankly embarrassed at my outburst.

His eyebrows furrow. “Thank you for what?”

“For calming me down. And for keeping me safe here. And for still working on Betty’s case even though you left the force. Thank you for everything you do, Keith. Really.”

“You never have to thank me for any of that. I do it all because I want to win you over. I’m acting out of purely selfish motivation.” He gives me a boyish grin, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. I think you have a big, giant heart, and you do things to help because you remember how nice it was when someone was there to help you.” I snake my arms up and around his neck. “And you don’t have to try very hard to win me over.”

“Is that right?” Keith says, smiling down at me.

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