Dreamweaver

By TJ Bennett

What happens when a killer invades your dreams and the only man who can help you is the one you once betrayed?

[Excerpt]

As Rome stepped from the victim’s air-conditioned Victorian-style home, a light breeze played with his hair. The coroner’s wagon had removed the body from the Hancock Park estate. Most of the reporters were gone, though a few were setting up camp on an adjacent corner of the gated estate to file any “breaking news” in what they were all calling the Lady Killer case.

Rome hated when serial killers got to pick their own names. No one ever chose “Sick Bastard with a Grudge.”

Patrol units and a rescue ambulance lined the sidewalk. As he walked through the gates, he scanned the curious passers-by, drawn by the flashing lights, queuing up outside the estate. Sometimes a suspect came back to view the aftermath of a crime. However, it didn’t appear he’d get that lucky today. He strode to his pickup truck a short distance away.

The last thing he needed was to see Jessie Ryan standing near a news van with a cameraman who looked like he bought his wardrobe at “Harley’s R Us.” She glanced up; their eyes met and held. An instant shot of adrenaline went through him. That didn’t surprise him. What did is that he didn’t turn around and get into the truck.

Maybe because a minute ago he’d been dead on his feet, and now he wasn’t.

She said something to the cameraman, then darted across the street to Rome.

She looked pale, and tired, and beautiful just the same. She bit her bottom lip in a gesture he interpreted as uncertainty. The movement only served to draw attention to her lush mouth and to remind him of the taste he’d had of her so long ago. Tamping down on a flicker of raw heat, he wondered with resentment if she realized it. Why was it, after five years, he could still remember the flavor of tart white wine on her lips?

He folded his arms and spoke before she could. “Feeding frenzy over?”

She furrowed her brow in that cute way he used to like. Used to.

“I beg your pardon?”

He waved a hand at the house and the reporters still outside. “Blood in the water. Piranhas. That sort of thing.”

She frowned. “You don’t have a very good opinion of us, do you, Rome?”

He simulated a smile. “Gee. Wonder why?”

She pressed her hands together in front of her, as if in prayer. “I don’t know how many times I have to apologize for that. It’s never happened again, if you want to know. That whole situation taught me a lot about the kind of reporter I was versus the kind I wanted to be.”

He studied her for a moment, trying to subdue the buzz in his blood that made him want to run his tongue along that plump lower lip.

Don’t go there.

“What’d you learn?” he asked, as much to distract himself as anything else.

She looked surprised at his question. “I realized they didn’t match up. I wanted my work to be about truth, to bring about justice, and you made me see that the—” she swallowed, “the ‘hatchet job’ that I did on your friend was unworthy of who I wanted to be.” She stood a little taller, lifted her chin. “I’ve changed.”  

Rome raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Part of him was tired of the whole business; part of him wanted to believe her, to take away the animosity that had kept them apart for so long. However, that wasn’t the part that belonged to his brain. The rest of him still smarted from being burned the last time.

The awkward moment drew out, and Jessie squinted and rubbed a finger against her nose. She hooked her hands in the pockets of her tailored slacks, glancing away as though she wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else. He couldn’t help thinking she looked as drained as he felt.

 “You don’t sleep,” he said softly. He didn’t know where that had come from, but he knew it was true as soon as he said it.

Her gaze shot back to his, her eyes widening in alarm. “How do you know that?”

He scrambled for a reasonable answer, shrugged. “You look ... tired.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “How do you know I don’t always look this way?”

He almost told her. He caught himself just in time, and instead told her a half-truth he thought she’d accept. “You didn’t used to look like that when I knew you. You were always raring to go.”

One corner of her mouth lifted in a bitter smile. “That was a long time ago. Time has a way of changing things.”

She ran that nervous hand over the nape of her neck like she wasn’t used to the hair being gone. It was the color of roasted chestnuts; the short cut brought out the gold and red highlights streaked throughout.

“Why’d you cut it?”

She blinked. “What?”

He gestured to her hair. He’d liked it the way it was before, but this was nice, too.

“New territory, new style.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s almost summer. Hot.”

That last word created images in his head that he sure as hell didn’t need. 

The windows in her car steamy with mist. Her skin like damp silk in his hands, her gasps echoing in his ears ...

His face must have reflected some of his thoughts, because she blushed and backed away.

“Well, I’d better ...” she motioned to the news van, and something tugged at him. Regret, maybe. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t let her go just yet.

“You wanted something?”

She hesitated, her glance bouncing back and forth between him and the van. “I wanted to ask you ... to tell you ...”

“Yeah?”

She shifted her feet, started to say something, but then stopped. When she finally did speak, Rome knew that whatever she had been about to say was not what would come out of her mouth.

“Are there—are there any leads yet?”

Disappointment flowed through him. Well, what had he expected? “No comment.”

Her shoulders drooped, and he knew she was as sorry as he that they were in opposite corners again. She backed up into the street. “Okay, just thought I’d ask—”

Rome saw the car before she did. It raced towards her, the driver gawking at the police and RA units parked in the street and oblivious to Jessie in his path.

“Watch it!”

Rome reached for her, yanked her towards him just as the car whipped by the spot she’d been standing in. She gasped as he spun her, shielding her with his own body. The idiot driver slammed on his brakes, then honked and gave them the one-finger salute. He sped away. A black-and-white pulled from the curb and went in pursuit.

Rome swore. “Damn looky-loo. If I’d been any slower  .... ”

Jessie would be plastered all over the windshield right now. The thought made him shudder.

He stared down at her. She gave him a weak smile, those wide, haunted eyes staring up at him.

“Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me  ....” her voice trailed off.

He knew the exact moment she became aware of his body brushing hers.

 “Rome?” Jessie murmured.

Rome tried to answer her, but nothing came out. He felt like a fly trapped in amber, suspended, frozen in a moment of time from which he could neither go forward nor back. In that moment, he could swear that he heard her heart beating, rapid and strong, or maybe that was his own.

He held her against him far longer than he should have only because he couldn’t let her go. His mind sent the order to his hands, but his fingers refused to obey. The heat of their connection passed through him and scorched any working brain cells in their path. All he could think about was how quickly a life could be snuffed out, how fragile it really was, how thin the line between here and there. He wanted to press her against him, protect her, feel the living heat of her skin touching his. A hunger surged inside him that threatened to swamp the walls he’d carefully erected over the past five years.

It scared the hell out of him. He released her with a jerk, stepping away from her as though she were contagious. He could feel a flush spread up his neck, and he cleared his throat. “You okay?”

She tilted her head to one side, looking up at him. “Are you?”

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