In Dreams

“Thank you, Justin.”

“That would mean more to me with a proper introduction, so I would know who was thanking me.”

“Lucy Ryan.”

His grin widened. “Lucille. Fits you, chère. I always loved that name.” As he took the coffee pot from the stove and filled a mug for her, he said, “Sit,” and began humming the song “Lucille.”

She didn’t correct him. Didn’t want to admit she wasn’t a Lucille with all that exotic name conjured. She was just plain Lucy and had always been so. The Lucy guys were comfortable talking to. The Lucy who never caught a leer at the singles bars she sometimes visited with Dana.

Dana! Good Lord, by now her roommate must have discovered she wasn’t home. That might not be of much concern, but when she didn’t show up at the shop…

“You don’t have a phone, do you?”

“Here? Afraid not.”

“No cell phone?” Hers was still in her shoulder bag on the floor of her car.

“That would defeat the idea of having a few days of solitude, don’t you think?”

Guilt flooded her. “Oh. I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can find someone to get my car unstuck.”

“I’m not complaining. But after we eat, we’ll find a phone and a tow.”

“Great. Thanks.”

As she carefully cased herself into a chair at the table, her stomach growled again.

“Patience, chère, food’s coming.”

Lucy tipped back her mug and watched him take the iron skillet from the stove, links of andouille on one side, scrambled eggs on the other. He handled the food like he knew what he was doing. Unlike her. He split the breakfast on two plates, shoved one at her, then sat opposite her and began to eat. Lucy followed suit, not stopping until every morsel was gone.

“Delicious,” she muttered after swallowing the last forkful.

“You really were hungry.”

“All that stress.”

“That. What was that about?”

“Just some guys stalking me.”

“Oh, chère, you make a very bad liar.”

She glared at him, and even though his expression wasn’t accusing, said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“But I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

“And these guys wanted to keep you quiet.”

She nodded and pushed the empty plate away. “And were willing to kill me to do so.”

“Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. Knowing she couldn’t tell all of it, she said, “New Orleans, last night. It was in a courtyard.” The vision was as clear in her mind as if she were seeing it now. “They were holding her arms…those two swine…and a third man knifed her to death.”

“Did you know this third man?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even see his face. It was…like something out of a dream.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that by the time she arrived, the deed had been done and the woman’s blood was spreading over her white dress as the accomplices let her fall facedown to the pavement. Or that she had seen the actual knifing in a dream that had awakened her an hour before. Lately, her dreams had been more frequent and more vivid than ever before.

Even so, she had arrived at the crime scene too late to save the victim…though not late enough for her own safety. As she’d stared at the body, she’d heard a shout, and the next thing she’d known the killer’s accomplices were after her.

If she told him the whole truth and nothing but the truth, Justin wouldn’t believe her. No one would.

Only her family would, and even they tried their best to make her stop tapping into the universal unconscious. Even her younger sister nagged at her to stop, though Lucy suspected that Jennifer was more intimately acquainted with the family curse of precognition than she would admit to. They all told her to ignore the dreams and they would go away. Only they never had. She’d really tried. Gran was the only one who really understood, because she’d had a lifetime of those dreams. Gran had suggested the day would come when she would want to develop her own gift.

So here she was, being taken care of by the man she’d made love to in her dream—make that dreams, plural—and she couldn’t even warn him that she’d put him in danger.

Which made her feel awkward and intimidated.

“This courtyard,” Justin said, “is it near your home? Would those two be able to find you easily if they went looking for you?”

“The murder took place near Canal, and I live right off Esplanade, so no, I don’t think so.”

“Opposite ends of the French Quarter,” he mused. “So you chose to leave the city instead of going home. And you were on foot so late at night?”

“I walk for exercise,” she hedged. She really did, even if that hadn’t been her purpose last night.

“But your car was nearby.”

Oops. Caught. Now what?

Not thrilled that he was questioning her like a cop with a prime suspect, Lucy took the offensive. “If you don’t believe me, just say so!”

Justin stared at her for a moment before lowering his lids, stopping her from reading his expression. “I simply wanted the whole picture of what happened. More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Lucy tried to relax again, but Justin Guidry was throwing her off-kilter in more ways than one. This unsettled feeling was due to more than a couple of erotic dreams featuring Justin that might link him to the dangerous situation she found herself in. He knew she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Why run here to the bayou?” he continued. “Why not go straight to the New Orleans police?”

Irritation growing, she countered, “Why didn’t you take me to a doctor and report a gunshot wound to the closest sheriff’s office?”

“Impulse. It was only a flesh wound…and I wanted to hear your story before acting.”