Murder In Her Dreams (22 page)

She gulped. “Not really. I wanted to stop
him. He has no right to ruin your life or mine. I’ve had enough of
him.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at that. “You’ve seen
him before?”

“Yes. No. That is, he’s the rabbit in my
dreams. I don’t know who he is yet. I’ve been trying to figure it
out.”

“Dreams.” Ian stared down at his coffee. “I
never expected to believe in them, but I have to admit you’ve shown
up at the right times. At one point I even thought you might have
planned the accident so you could save me.”

“What?” Cassie stared at him, her eyes wide.
“Of all the stupid...” she sputtered.

“It was easier to believe than dreams and
intuition.”

She glared at him, obviously offended.

“But I knew you couldn’t have gotten to the
roof, and you had no motive.” Ian smiled at her. “Besides, why
would you or anyone go to all that trouble?”

She looked thoughtful. “You know, I have a
theory about intuition. I think some people pick up all sorts of
information, hints here and there, and they’re just better than
other people at seeing meaningful patterns in what they learn. Some
people are better at reading other people. It’s sort of like that.”
She looked up at him again, her face solemn.

Ian rubbed his chin. “That’s an interesting
thought, but it doesn’t explain your dreams.”

Cassie sighed. “No, it doesn’t, but suppose
that somehow I learned or saw something and my subconscious mind
put it all together and created the dreams.”

“It makes sense, but had you ever heard of me
before?”

“No.” She looked down at her hands.

Ian leaned back in the booth. She really
wanted him to accept her dreams, and he wanted to do it for her
sake, but how could intuition have anything to do with it? “Then it
doesn’t really explain your dreams about me.”

“I don’t know. Whether you like it or not,
they’re real, and if we don’t listen to them, something terrible
will happen.” She clenched her fingers into tight fists. “I won’t
let it. Not this time.”

“What do you mean, this time?”

“I told you about Ellie Latham, remember? She
was kidnapped. It happened over a year ago.” Cassie’s face took on
a faraway look. “I dreamed about her, but when I told Rod, he just
laughed and told me to forget it. I waited too long to tell the
police, and they found her dead, just like in my dream.”

Rod? Who was Rod? Ian felt his pulse race. He
wanted to ask her, but she needed reassurance first. “Those things
happen. What could you have done to prevent it?”

“If only I had gone to the police after the
first dream. The kidnapper didn’t kill her until after my third
dream.”

“But what could you have told them?”

“About the cornfield and the microwave tower.
It might have helped them find her.”

“That doesn’t sound like much help.”

“Maybe not, but they might have found her. At
least I would have tried.” Her eyes took on a haunted look.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You didn’t
kill her. Didn’t you say someone named Rod told you not to contact
the police?”

“My ex-boyfriend. We broke up because of the
dreams.” Her voice took on a harder tone. “He couldn’t handle
that.” She looked up at him and studied his face. “I guess you
can’t either.”

Ian breathed a little easier. He was not like
this Rod. Maybe he hadn’t taken Cassie on faith, but he couldn’t
ignore the evidence, not now.

“Don’t be so sure. Now that this killer has
come out, it proves your dreams may be right. Dreams or no, I can’t
argue when someone tries to shoot me. Thanks to you, he
didn’t.”

“Thank God. I couldn’t stand for you to die
like Ellie because I didn’t try and stop it.” She shuddered. “I
could have saved her, and I didn’t.”

Ian saw tears in her eyes, and he wanted to
comfort her. Nobody, especially someone as caring as Cassie,
deserved to carry such a load of guilt.

“Hey, that’s too much.” He reached over and
took her hand in his. “It’s okay, Cassie. You saved me. If anything
happens, it won’t be your fault.”

“You’ll be careful?” Her eyes, pupils wide,
looked almost black.

“I sure as hell will, but until I can figure
out who is trying to kill me and why, it won’t be easy. Why don’t
you ask the rabbit or the dream me who he is?”

Cassie stared down at her tea, her face sad.
“I’ve tried everything else. I’ve become an expert on rabbits, but
none of it helps. I just don’t know. I really don’t want any more
dreams.” She rubbed her arms.

Suddenly, the realization hit Ian that he had
dragged Cassie into one hell of a mess. The killer wanted him dead.
Cassie had only become involved by trying to help him. His stomach
twisted as he remembered the deadly gun pointing at her.

“Cassie, this guy knows about you. You’re a
target too. He said he’d gotten you out of the way. I don’t want
him to focus on you.”

“Me?” She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“He called you. At home. He knows who you
are. I don’t like this at all.”

The more Ian thought about the gunman and
Cassie, the worse he felt. The man could be anywhere. He could
attack at any time. With the bricks he had tried to fake an
accident, but with the gun he had come out of hiding. What would he
try next?

“You know, Cassie, he hid himself behind that
ski mask, and he came to the office at a time when no one else
would be there. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep his identity
hidden.”

Cassie nodded. “I guess that means we have to
figure out who the rabbit is. Once we know, we can do
something.”

“Yeah, but I hope you’ll look over your
shoulder and be extra careful. If anything happens to you because
of me... Well, I would...” Ian stared at her suddenly aware that he
would do everything he could to prevent that.

He looked down at the check the waitress had
left. “Shall we go?”

Neither of them said anything on the drive
back to Ian’s office. He parked next to Cassie’s car and got out to
check her car before he let her open the door.

“Why isn’t it locked?” He stared at her,
appalled.

“Why lock it? A car thief will get in anyway,
and they would only break a window or such.”

“But this gunman may not know how to open a
locked car.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

Ian wanted to shake her. “Promise me you’ll
lock your car from now on.”

“If it will make you happy, okay. But I don’t
think it will make any difference.”

“Of course it will.”

She stared up at him, her chin jutting out.
“I can take care of myself.”

“Maybe, but I’d like to help.” He ran a
finger along her chin, savoring the softness of her skin. “I’d feel
a lot better, knowing you were okay.”

“I don’t think Miss Arthur would like
that.”

“Miss Arthur? Oh, you mean Sharon. No, I
don’t suppose she would.” He gazed down into her eyes wanting to
lose himself there. “Maybe your dreams were meant to bring us
together.”

“Funny you should say that.” She looked away.
“My best friend, Tula, tried to tell me you were the man of my
dreams.”

He tilted her chin up forcing her to face
him. “Would you like me to be?”

“I ... I don’t know.” She lowered her
lashes.

Ian cupped Cassie’s chin. She shivered. She
looked up at him, her eyes wistful. For a moment, he stared back
and then he leaned forward and kissed her.

At first, his lips brushed hers. Then, he
pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers. For a moment,
she held herself stiff, but then she relaxed against him.

His thrusting tongue probed her warm, tea
flavored mouth.

* * * *

Cassie gave in to the delight of his kiss.
Her pulse raced. Her knees sagged, and if he hadn’t been holding
her, she would have fallen.

“Cassie. Cassie, you’re so sweet.” He pulled
her closer and kissed her again. “You know, this could be habit
forming.”

She leaned against him savoring his warmth
and his nearness. Safe and protected in his arms, nothing could
touch her. Nothing could hurt her.

Then she remembered. He was engaged to
another woman, to the elegant, poised Sharon Arthur. He had no
right to kiss her. She didn’t belong in his arms. They belonged to
another woman, not Cassie Blake.

“No.” She pushed him away. “You’re engaged. I
don’t poach on someone else’s territory.”

She pulled open her car door and slid into
the seat, slammed the door closed, and locked it before he could
protest. The car started with a jerk, and she burned rubber as she
sped away.

He had no right to take advantage of her. No
right at all. Tears slid down her face as she drove. She swiped at
her eyes, but didn’t stop. Damn Ian McLeod. Why couldn’t he just
leave her alone?

Why did her dreams force her into the arms of
a man who was practically married? Why did she feel she still had
to protect him? Most of all, why did she have to want him? She
wanted him more than she’d ever wanted Rod, but it didn’t matter
what she wanted.

Chapter
Seventeen

All weekend the feel of Ian’s arms holding
her and his mouth on hers haunted Cassie. The memories clung to her
at work on Monday. During the mid-afternoon lull, her thoughts
returned to him and their last encounter. The faint scent of spruce
from his aftershave and the taste of his coffee lingered in her
mind. So solid, so real. Why did he have to belong to someone else?
So much for Leah’s Tarot cards and their prediction of a happy
romance.

“Miss Blake, I’ve got it.” Jimmy Wilson stood
next to her desk and grinned from ear to ear.

Cassie blinked, pulled back to reality. “Got
what, Jimmy?”

“I figured out the rabid rabbit. It’s a March
Hare right? As in ‘mad as a March Hare.’”

She smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

“You made it too easy, Miss Blake. The answer
was right there in that ... that book .”

“I know, but if you hadn’t looked it up you
wouldn’t have guessed now, would you?”

“Umm, I suppose not. Anyway, I’ve got one for
you. It’s a hard one this time. What do you call the offspring of
an Angora rabbit?”

“The offspring of an Angora rabbit? Jimmy,
how do you think these up? Rabbit? Bunny, lapin, cottontail, hare,
cony.” Cassie paused a moment. “Offspring? Son, child, heir.
Angora? Fur, hair.”

Cassie groaned as she recognized the awful
pun. “Oh no, Jimmy. An heir of a hairy hare? Boy that is bad.”

“I thought it was pretty good and so did the
guys at school. You’re the only one who guessed.”

“That’s because I get so much practice from
all of you.”

“Well, maybe next time. I almost had you,
didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you almost did, but knowing how your
mind works, once I knew you were using the same word sounds, it was
easy. Better luck next time.” Cassie smiled at him, and he grinned
back.

As he walked away, she turned back to her
work. Leave it to Jimmy to come up with the worst puns. She had
accomplished one goal though — at least now, he knew about
Roget’s
.

As she thought about Jimmy and the heir of a
hairy rabbit, she drew small furry rabbits and then started to
scribble over them. Her pencil, a soft No. 2, blurred the rabbits.
They varied from a soft gray to black. Black? The black rabbit.

Cassie sat bolt upright. What had Jimmy said?
The offspring of an Angora rabbit was the heir of a hairy hare.
Cassie wrote the three words down. Hare? Could the black rabbit be
a hare? But so what? What did that mean? Hare? Hair? Hairy?

Cassie looked at the third word. An heir? An
heir could be a relative. A son, a daughter, or something else.
Next to heir, she wrote son. Heir, son. She stared at it for a
moment and then, somehow like a puzzle shifting into place,
something clicked. She wrote the word son next to hare. Hare’s son.
She stared at the words. A name? Could her dream be telling her the
name of Ian McLeod’s attacker?

Hare’s son. She said the words aloud and then
said them faster. Harrison. Harris? Harrington? All possible last
names. Harrison Ford. Oops. Harrison could be a first name too.

She looked at the words again. Hairy? She
said it aloud. Harry Harris? Harry Harrison? A rebus? Jimmy must
have more effect on her subconscious then she realized

Okay, maybe, just maybe, she had a name, but
that didn’t explain the nail she had seen in the rabbit’s paw. What
did that represent? She drew a nail on the paper. Had the rabbit
been injured? Nail, tack, fastener.

Cassie threw the pencil down, overwhelmed.
Still, she had the possibility of a name. Maybe it would mean
something to Ian. The rabbit had to have some tie to him. With
growing excitement, Cassie picked up the phone and dialed Ian’s
office.

She could hardly keep her voice businesslike
until he came on the line. “Ian, do you know anyone named Harry
Harris or Harrison?”

“Harrison?” He sounded surprised. “Where did
you hear about him?”

“You know a Harrison?”

“No, I knew a Harrison. He embezzled money
from me, and when I went to prosecute him, he died of a heart
attack.”

Cassie frowned as she picked up her pencil.
“Then it couldn’t be him.” But it had to be. The name fit. She
tugged at Tula’s sun pendant.

“Did he have any relatives?

“His wife committed suicide. I think there
may have been a child, but I’m not sure. Jim never talked about his
family.”

“Sounds like if there is one, that person
might have a reason for hating you and wanting to kill you.”

“That’s reaching. Why would a child do that?
The man we saw was no child. Anyway, how do we find out?”

Cassie wished Tula were here, but finding
information was a librarian’s business, and Cassie considered
herself a good one. Where would she look to find next of kin?
Obituaries and birth records. Now the mysterious rabbit began to
take on the identity of a flesh and blood person a sense of relief
flooded Cassie. She could deal with reality because she could do
something about it.