In Dreams

Marie! Lucy winced, then saw Marie’s ploy worked. Marcus and Justin relaxed as if preparing to go inside, and the men backed off and headed for town.

Lucy paced, while Stephen merely waited patiently, quietly, so unlike his rowdier brothers.

A few minutes later, Justin opened the door to his old bedroom. “Go after them and see what they’re up to,” he told Stephen. “We’ll stay here until they leave town.”

“I’m on it.”

The moment Stephen left the room, Lucy asked, “What if they decide to stay over?”

“Then you’re stuck in this room with me for the duration.”

“You like to give orders, don’t you?”

“I like people to listen when I tell them to do something for their own good.”

She got the feeling this was a criticism. Of her? “People listen,” she muttered.

“Except when they can’t stay away from a window.”

“You couldn’t have seen me.”

“That’s your opinion. If one of them saw you…” He shook his head.

“All right, stop trying to scare me.”

Justin stepped close enough that his potent maleness seared her. “Are you scared, Lucy Ryan?”

“No,” she lied, and sat herself in a creaky old chair near a makeshift desk and away from him.

Of course she was scared.

Scared, tired and sore.

The wound was making itself known once more and she wasn’t feeling so good. As a matter of fact, her head felt a little woozy. Maybe she’d overdone it. Or maybe the adrenaline of the morning had simply worn off and exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

If she expected Justin to continue the discussion, she was disappointed. He remained at the window until a few minutes later Stephen’s voice snaked up the stairs.

“All clear! You can come down now.”

FLEETING SOUNDS of a mournful saxophone followed her as she sloshed through the rain. People were still coming in and out of restaurants. Even a torrent wouldn’t stop those revelers—they would still hop from bar to bar, determined to make every moment count.

Angry and upset as she made her way home, she forced herself to hold together…. Crying could wait until she got to the privacy of her own bedroom.

A block from the town house, she heard a splash behind her, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing but a puddle in the sidewalk. Even so, her flesh crawled and she practically raced down the wet street.

Laughter echoed from one doorway…moans from another. She pressed her hands to her ears and ran. By the time she got to the courtyard, the rain had intensified just like her pulse. Her heart was pumping like she was in the midst of an aerobic workout.

Then she saw him waiting for her, rivulets of wet sheening his face. For a moment, she faltered and stared.

Then, when tears threatened again, she demanded, “What are you doing here?” and pushed by him, keys in hand.

But before he could answer, the quiet of the courtyard was split by a sharp blast and she turned in time to see him jerk and crumple to the wet flagstone….

Lucy awoke with a gasp.

Blinking, she looked around into the shadowy corners and realized she was back on the houseboat.

The rains had started again. A waterfall was drumming against the roof. She concentrated on the sound…closed her eyes for a moment…no, that was a mistake, she realized as remnants of the dream tried to claim her.

The psychic dream that was another warning like the one that had come to her before the woman had been killed!

Only this one had been about Justin being shot.

No…not again!

She steeled herself against giving into the emotion of what she’d envisioned. Instead she focused on how she’d ended up in Justin’s bed again.

She remembered following Justin downstairs to face his mother and aunt. They’d had to tell the women everything, after all. Marie Guidry had listened with an open mind, had wrapped her arms around Lucy in sympathy afterward, and declared her too warm. She’d demanded Justin take Lucy to a doctor for proper care.

Lucy had refused.

Justin had somehow gotten her to agree that she would come back to the houseboat with him to rest first before going back to New Orleans. He’d tended to her wound with an antibiotic salve and had threatened her with a visit to the emergency room if her fever spiked.

And then she had slept.

But though she was wet now—as if she’d really been rained on as in the dream—her body felt cooler than it had earlier. The fever seemed to have dissipated while she was sleeping.

“Feeling better?”

She gazed toward the doorway where Justin stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. Her heart began to thud with a distinct warning. Had he been standing there while she’d been trying to escape danger? While she’d seen him shot in front of her eyes?

“How long have you been there?” she demanded.

“Long enough to know you’re awake, is all. You’ve slept half the day away.”

Shaking away the remnants of the dream, she pushed herself up out of the bed and told herself it was up to her to change the future. “I need to get back to New Orleans.”

“Not today.”

With images of him shot in that courtyard haunting her, she said, “Yes, today.”

“You need watching.”

“I need to get into town as soon as possible!” she snapped. “So I can tell the authorities about the murder.”

So she could get away from LeBaux before she put Justin’s life in danger, before he could become another victim because of her.

“No, not yet.”