Dream Man (30 page)

She had changed into shorts and a T-shirt when she had gotten home from work, and he stroked his hand apprecia-tively over her bare thighs. “What about you? Anything interesting happen in the accounting department?”

She snorted. “Get real. The most exciting part of the day was when a man called, irate because he had been charged an overdraft fee on a bad check when he had been a customer of the bank for years.”

“Bet that got the old ticker revved up.”

“I almost fainted from the stress of it all.” Marlie sighed and climbed from his lap. “I’d better see what’s in the kitchen if we’re going to eat tonight.”

“Want me to go out for something?” he offered.

“No, I’m not in the mood for takeout. I’ll think of something. Why don’t you just sit here and read the newspaper? You look as if you need to unwind a little.”

He definitely agreed with that assessment, and went into the bedroom to change out of his sticky, wrinkled clothes. Marlie poked around in the refrigerator and cabinets before deciding on chicken stir-fry. She was glad Dane had gone along with her suggestion, because she needed more time by herself. He was so intuitive that he would soon figure out that something more than the situation was upsetting her, and she didn’t want to be around him until she had herself more under control. She hadn’t been paying much attention today when the head of accounting had been talking to the irate customer, trying to explain and soothe without backing down, but suddenly she had been overwhelmed by frustration and anger. Startled, she had automatically looked around for the source, and only then realized what had happened. She was picking up the department head’s emotions. She had quietly panicked, sitting frozen in her chair and trying to shut out the flow of emotion. To her surprise, it had stopped as abruptly as it had started, though the conversa-tion behind her had continued. She didn’t know if she had succeeded in blocking it, or if her ability to read people was merely sputtering to life again. Either way, Dane wouldn’t like it.

She knew that he viewed the visions differently, that he didn’t see them as a threat to his privacy. But if her ability to read people returned in full force, she didn’t know if Dane would be able to accept it. He hadn’t liked being the target of clairvoyance, which was not, and never had been, her major talent. If he knew that she could read him at will… he would probably leave, even though she had promised that she wouldn’t invade his privacy. She had to face that likelihood. Dane cared for her, but she doubted that he cared enough to stay under those circumstances. It wasn’t anything new; people had always been uncomfortable around her.

The decision not to tell him had been easily made. She didn’t know what was happening: if her abilities would return in full force, if she would recover only a portion of her former capability, or if she would be even stronger. She hoped it wasn’t the last possibility, for if her empathic powers returned stronger than before, she would have to move into an underground bunker to find any peace. It was a certainty that Dane wouldn’t share that bunker with her.

She felt as if she were living in limbo with him. There had been none of the customary courtship stages, no getting to know each other. They had been thrown together in a crisis, had first been adversaries, then, abruptly, lovers. They had never had a discussion about their relationship, whatever it was. He had simply moved in, and she had no idea what to expect. After the killer was caught, would he simply return to his own house with a blithe “See you around” or—or what? If circumstances had been normal, the logical step, the one she had expected, would have been for him to spend a few nights each week with her.

She needed emotional security. She could bear anything if she had a solid foundation to fall back on, but she wasn’t certain she had that with Dane.

It was silly, considering that she was living and sleeping with the man, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to ask him outright what his intentions were. She admitted to herself that she was frankly afraid of hearing the answer. Dane wasn’t a man who would prevaricate; he would bluntly tell her the truth, and she wasn’t ready for that. Later. Everything had to wait. After this was all over, then she would be able to handle anything he said, even if it was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. She had fallen in love with him, but she didn’t fool herself that she knew all about the kind of man he was. For all their physical intimacy, he kept a large part of himself private, safely secluded behind an iron wall. Sometimes he watched her with a silent, intent speculation that was almost fright-ening, because she couldn’t read any desire in his eyes during those times.

What was he thinking? More important, what was he planning?

The media were relentless. The phones in headquarters rang endlessly. Reporters camped outside the chief’s office, outside the mayor’s office, outside police headquarters. Both uniformed and plainclothes officers began taking eva-sive action when entering or leaving the building, going to extraordinary lengths to avoid the hassle.

Even worse than the media were the crank calls that began pouring in. Hundreds of people in Orlando suddenly re-called suspicious persons skulking around Dumpsters and storefronts. People with grudges found revenge by phoning in anonymous tips, accusing the person they disliked of being the killer. Every night officers investigated panicked calls of a prowler in the house, but most times it was nothing. Several mothers-in-law turned in their daughters’ despicable husbands, certain that the lazy bastards were guilty of all manner of unspeakable crimes. The hell of it was, all of it had to be investigated. No matter how wild an allegation, it had to be checked. The uniformed officers were run ragged, worn down by the sizzling heat and never-ending demands on their time.

Chief Champlin held a news conference, hoping to ease some of the intense media pressure. He explained that there wasn’t a lot of information he could give them, because of the ongoing investigations. But logic was a useless weapon; it didn’t satisfy the voracious appetite for facts, for stories, for airtime and column space. It didn’t sell newspapers or jack up the ratings numbers. The reporters wanted juicy, gory, frightening details, and were frustrated when none were forthcoming. Carroll Janes watched the news programs and read the newspapers, and smiled with satisfaction. The police couldn’t give the media much information because they didn’t have much. The stupid saps were overmatched, just as all the others had been. He was too smart for them to catch—ever.

All in all, Carroll Janes was pleased with the frenzy. Just two punishments, and look how he had taken over as top story. Of course, he would have to take back his insulting thoughts about the Orlando PD; they weren’t as stupid as he had feared. Though the second punishment
had
been rather obvious, a lot of departments wouldn’t have made the connection between the two, for after all, he had left the fingers intact on the second one. It had irritated him when the Vinick bitch had scratched him and he had been obligated to go to the extra trouble of removing her fingers and disposing of them, but at least fingers were small and easy to get rid of. Dogs had no trouble with them at all, and the tiny bones, if any remained, were unidentifiable.

There was no way the cops could catch him, but at least they
knew
about him; it added an extra fillip to the process. It was nice to be appreciated, rather like the difference between an actor performing in an empty theater and one performing before an awestruck, standing-room-only crowd. He enjoyed the details so much more, knowing that the police would be amazed at his intelligence, his inven-tiveness, his absolute perfection, even while they cursed it. How gratifying it was to know one’s opponents were proper-ly respectful of one’s talents.

He had been frustrated in his attempt to find another transgressor, for experimental purposes, but Janes consid-ered himself a patient man. What would be, would be. It would be cheating to rush things; it would take away from the power of the moment. He had been more content since the news had broken, for of course, it was always exhilarat-ing to read about oneself, to be the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips. Even Annette, at work, had talked of little else. She had told him about all the elaborate precautions she was taking, as if he would ever be challenged by her, the little sow. But it amused him to commiserate with her, to feed her fear and drive her to even more ridiculous safety measures. She refused to even walk to her car by herself, as if he had ever dragged anyone off the streets. How pedestri-an that was—he chuckled at his own wit—when the real challenge was to take them in their own homes, where they felt safest.

Annette was at lunch on Wednesday when a tall, buxom brunette sailed up to the counter, her face tight with anger. “I want to speak to someone about the service in this store,” she snapped. Janes gave her his best smile. “May I be of assistance, ma’am?”

The crux of the problem was that she was on her lunch hour and had stood for fifteen minutes in the clothing department trying to get someone to exchange a blouse for her. She still hadn’t been waited on, and now she wouldn’t have time to eat lunch. Janes controlled a thrill of anticipa-tion as she ranted on, fury in every line of her body.

“I’ll call the clothing department and make certain you’re taken care of immediately,” he said. “Your name is… ?”

“Farley,” she said. “Joyce Farley.”

He glanced at her hands. No wedding ring. “Do you have an account with us, Miss Farley?”

“That’s
Ms.
Farley,” she snapped. “What difference does that make? Does a customer have to have a charge account before this store is interested in her?”

“Not at all,” he said politely. It was simply easier to get vital information if she was in the computer bank. She was one of those prickly, man-hating feminists. The anticipation grew stronger; he would enjoy punishing her. He slid a form toward her. “If you don’t mind, would you fill out this complaint form? We like to follow through on all com-plaints, and make certain the customer is satisfied with our action.”

“I really don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late back to work already.”

“Then just your name and address will do. I’ll pencil in the details myself.”

Hastily she scribbled her name and address at the top of the form while he phoned the clothing department and spoke with the head clerk. He smiled again as he hung up. “Mrs. Washburn will be waiting personally to make the exchange.”

“This shouldn’t have been necessary.”

“I completely agree.” He slid the form off the top of the counter.

She turned to go, took a step, then abruptly stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have a ter-rible headache and I’m angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It wasn’t your fault, and you’ve done every-thing you can to help me. I apologize for being so nasty to you.”

He was so taken aback that it was a moment before he could say, “Think nothing of it. I’m glad I could be of service.” Conventional reply, one that was mouthed thou-sands of times a day by thousands of bored salespeople, because it would mean their jobs if they said what they really wanted to say. Ms. Farley gave him a brief, hesitant smile and walked away.

Janes stared after her, fury rising in him. Viciously he crumpled the complaint form and threw it in the trash. How dare she apologize! She had ruined everything. That wasn’t the point. Punishment was the point. He felt cheated, as if a ripe prize had been dangled in front of him and then snatched away. He had already begun to feel the flow of vitality, and known the hunger to let his power have free rein. Now he was left with nothing! He should kill the bitch anyway, to teach her that she couldn’t act any way she wanted and then escape the consequences by whining an apology.

No. Rules were rules. He had to obey them; it would ruin everything if he didn’t. There were certain criteria to be met, standards to be upheld. If he couldn’t maintain those standards, then he would
deserve
to be caught. No matter how much he wanted to discipline her, he had to save himself for the true lessons.

Marlie sat very still at her desk, trying to control her trembling. Thank God it was lunchtime, and almost every-one had gone out to eat. She had brought her lunch and a book, intending to spend a quiet hour reading. She had been happily engrossed in the book, absently munching an apple, when a dark sense of mingled anger and anticipation had filled her. It hadn’t been as overwhelming as a full vision, but she had recognized the source. There was no mistaking the cold evilness at the core. And then, suddenly, the anger had intensified, but the anticipation was gone, and she sensed disappointment instead. She had come to know him. His mental force hadn’t been strong enough for her to “see” the events, but she knew without seeing. He had selected his next victim, and some-thing had happened to deprive him of his sadistic pleasure.

He was out there. And he was hunting.

“He’s looking for someone,” she told Dane that night. She prowled restlessly around the room. “I felt him today.”

He put aside the newspaper he had been reading—which was full of slightly hysterical and mostly erroneous stories about the Orlando Slasher—and focused the full intensity of his attention on her. Even the planes of his face hardened; she had grown accustomed to that roughhewn face, seeing it through the eyes of love, but abruptly she perceived him again as she had seen him the first time they had met: Dane Hollister the cop, the Dane Hollister who was dangerous.

“What happened?” he asked, a bite in his tone.
“When
did it happen? Why didn’t you call me?”

She shot him a brief glance and resumed her aimless pacing. “What could you have done?”

The answer was “nothing,” and she saw he didn’t like that. “It was during my lunch, about twelve-thirty. All of a sudden he was there. I could feel his anger, but he was excited, too, like a kid anticipating a treat. He had picked her out, I know he had. Then something happened, I don’t know what, but she got away and he was disappointed.”