Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (125 page)

She heard her parents talking, knew Mom was thinking of leaving the FBI. Part of Megan felt guilty—Mom was really, really good at her job, and she loved it; Megan hated to think she was leaving it because of her.

Yet most of her was angry Mom hadn’t left a long time ago. Megan never, ever wanted to be someone who got so focused on her job that she didn’t see what it was doing to her family. She knew that was the real reason behind Dad’s “work emergency.” He wanted Mom and Megan to reconnect, mend fences, heal the breach between them.

Yeah, right. Megan loved her mom, she really did. But that didn’t mean she had to like her. And she sure as hell didn’t want to
be
like her.

“Still,” the boy said, interrupting her thoughts, “I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

Megan smiled. Mom would have a conniption—that’s what Grams used to call it—if she woke to find her gone, much less with a boy older than her. Stranger danger, red alert, just say no, all that crap.

Made being with him all the more exciting and appealing. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. By the way, I’m Megan Callahan.”

“Nice to meet you, Megan Callahan. I’m Mateo Romero.” He stopped and turned, thrusting a hand out to her. She shook it, noticing the rough callouses and scratches that lined his arms. Various states of healing. Not defensive wounds. Irregular, not from fingernails or even animal claws.

They passed the beachfront mansion beside the hotel, its high wall covered with climbing roses and a flowered vine that looked and smelled a bit like honeysuckle. Mateo slowed, plucked a dead leaf from the vines, settling them back into place with a sense of ownership. If he belonged to the mansion, which had its own pool and path to the ocean, why was he rinsing off in the hotel pool?

She glanced at his wetsuit. Seams frayed, shoulders stretched out. Nope, the mansion didn’t belong to him. “How old are you, Mateo?” she asked.

“Sixteen. Why?” His smile crinkled his eyes. “Too young or too old?”

“Just right for me. But kinda young to be a gardener, isn’t it?”

They came to the front of the hotel and the street with the small collection of shops and eateries. It was pretty much the only shopping on the island. She and her mother had crossed four bridges—the last one a drawbridge—to reach Harbinger Cove, and even last night in the dark, Megan could tell it wasn’t exactly a tourist hotspot. When she’d pulled up a map on her phone, she saw that the narrow barrier island was surrounded on three sides by wide stretches of tidal marshes and cut off from its closest neighbor by the Intracoastal Waterway. There were no more than a few dozen streets, all jutting off the one main road that dead-ended at the marina on the other side of the shopping center.

He laughed. “How’d you know? I work for my uncle’s landscaping company after school and on the weekend. We do the hotel and a few other houses on this block. That’s why they let me use the pool.”

“I’m a pretty good observer,” she said, flushing under his attention.

“Like Sherlock Holmes.” He took her hand while they crossed the street, even though it was empty this early on a Sunday morning. It was a casual thing, almost a reflex like when her dad held a door open for her mom—although Mom always said that was a smart tactical move on Dad’s part because it left her exposed as an easy target for anyone waiting inside.

They arrived on the other side and he dropped Megan’s hand once more. She wondered if he was used to guiding little kids across the street and hoped he didn’t see her that way.

She hated to ruin things so soon, but figured if he was serious about teaching her to surf, she should be up front with him—better now than when Mom found out and hunted him down to interrogate him. “Actually, it’s more like my mom is Sherlock Holmes. She’s an FBI Agent. You may have heard of her—she’s kinda been in the news lately. Her name’s Lucy. Lucy Guardino.”

Chapter 2

The dog in Lucy’s dreams was a beautiful creature and she wanted to be its friend. But dreams, like wild animals, were unpredictable and no matter how she tried, sometimes they morphed into nightmares. When that happened, the dog turned into a vicious monster tearing at her flesh—like the dog in real life had, the one that had been trained by a killer.

You’re in control
, Nick’s voice soothed Lucy’s panic as the dog clamped down on her ankle and threatened to tear her foot off. Blood spewed through the air, staining the snow around them.
It’s not real,
Nick insisted, using the calming tones of a therapist—usually she hated when he used that tone with her, but not now when he was leading her out of danger.

She fought her terror, calmed her breathing, and forced herself to look at the dog. It wasn’t a monster, despite the blood sliding from its fangs—her blood. It was just a dog, a victim of a sadistic killer, like Lucy had almost been. Both victims. Back then. In the January cold. But not now. Now, it was April and it was hot… no, that wasn’t right. April wasn’t hot, not in Pittsburgh. When they left yesterday morning, there had been ice on the roads, and yet she was sweating and smelled salt, and that roar wasn’t the dog panting but the sound of waves… waves? There weren’t any waves in Pittsburgh…

Lucy opened her eyes and blinked at the bright sunshine angling in through the sliding glass door. The door was open, a warm breeze stirring the gauzy curtain. She rolled over, one hand searching the empty space beside her. No Nick. Right. He was at home. Just her and Megan.

She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth, tasting bile. Another bad night. She’d thought she’d put them behind her, but after driving twelve hours yesterday, her bad leg throbbing most of the time—wait, where was Megan? She jerked upright.

The bed beside her was empty, the bathroom door open, lights off, no movement. Lucy resisted the urge to reach for her Glock on her bedside table and fought to keep her voice light as she called, “Megan?”

She clawed her way free of sweat-soaked sheets and stood up. Pain spiraled through her bad ankle as she put her weight on it, but the pain was just what she needed to clear the fog of her nightmares. She hobbled around the bed to the balcony. No Megan.

A glance at the rumpled sheets and discarded PJs on Megan’s bed reassured her—Megan had left on her own, which meant that unless she wanted to spend her spring break grounded inside this hotel room she would have left a…ah, there it was on the counter of the small kitchenette, beside the coffee, ugh, not real coffee, instant, they’d have to do something about that.

Apparently, Megan already had.
Mom, gone for coffee, back soon, have my phone.

Okay, then. No need to panic. Megan was fine. The coffee shop was just across the street. It was one of the reasons they’d chosen Harbinger Cove with its only two hotels and slow start to the tourist season, given that it was off the beaten path compared to Hilton Head and Savannah to the south or Charleston to the north. Nick’s family had been coming here for years—called the town “quaint” and loved that the beaches were quiet and relatively free of tourists since most of the ocean-side property belonged to millionaires who rarely visited their sprawling mansions.

Lucy glanced at the bathroom, desperate for a shower to wash away the night terrors. She looked back at the note. No time written on it. What if Megan called when Lucy was in the shower? It wasn’t being overprotective to ask her to pick up something to go along with the coffee, right?

She grimaced at her own indecision. Give her a hostage taker or serial killer and she could make a dozen life-and-death decisions in the time it took to chamber a round in her forty caliber Glock. But deal with her daughter who’d just turned fourteen and who seesawed back and forth between acting like a child and an adult and Lucy found herself second-guessing every move she made.

It’d been the same way with her own mother when Lucy was Megan’s age. Although as a child, Lucy hadn’t had to deal with the stresses Megan faced—parents whose jobs meant that, despite their best efforts, they were often absent, both physically and emotionally, and a world where violence had trespassed into their own home.

She sighed and returned to her bed, sinking onto the mattress as she reached for her phone. Megan picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” Lucy said.

“Did you get my note?” The sound of china rattling and reggae music filled the background.

“Yes, wasn’t sure how long you’d be.”

“Mateo is getting our food now—he knows the chef, there’s this Cuban pastry he says is amazing. I’ll bring you back some when we’re done and then he’s going to give me a surfing lesson.”

Lucy blinked, looked around the room. No, this was real. Her fourteen-year-old daughter out with a man—boy—stranger.

“Back up,” she snapped. “Who’s Mateo? Details. Name, age, address.”
Juvie record, social, GPA…

Megan was so much like her father—a born extrovert, interested in everyone she met, and she never met anyone who wasn’t a best friend within five minutes.
You can’t change who she is,
Nick reminded her. At least the voice in her head channeling her husband did.

“Mateo Romero. Sixteen. He’s in school and he works for his uncle’s landscaping firm—hard worker, today is his only day off. He does the hotel’s garden and they like him enough to let him use their pool and gym. He’s a surfer and he’s going to teach me. Not too much today because high tide has already passed for the morning, but after breakfast, we’re going to hang out on the beach and he’s going to show me the basics. Then tomorrow, he’ll take me out for real.” The words bubbled out of Megan without giving Lucy a chance to protest.

“We’ve been here less than twelve hours and you’ve already picked up a guy?” Lucy asked. She hated her tone—it was an exact copy of the way her own mother had sounded when Lucy was a teen and pushing boundaries. Ugh.
Not
what this week was supposed to be about. This was meant to be the break she and Megan needed to get back on even footing instead of the constant bickering that had become habit.

“What’s wrong with that?” Megan sniped. “Want me to get one for you, too?”

“Megan Constance Callahan, don’t you take that attitude with me. You may think that turning fourteen is the equivalent of turning forty, but—”

“No…” She surprised Lucy with her contrite tone. “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry. I was just so excited and it’s so beautiful here and I really like Mateo—you will, too, I promise—and I really, really, really want to learn how to surf.”

Lucy’s sigh was a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. “You finish your breakfast, bring my coffee and Mateo back, and I’ll meet you both on the beach in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

“No promises,” Lucy warned, but it was too late, Megan had already hung up. Lucy stared at her phone for a long moment before phoning home. “Do you have any idea what your daughter did now?”

Chapter 3

Megan had been dreading Lucy’s interrogation of Mateo, but for once, her mom acted semi-normal instead of being overbearing and overprotective—she didn’t even “accidentally” let Mateo see the semiautomatic she carried in her bag.

Turned out Mateo had never heard of Lucy, which helped. He was even more wonderful than Megan had dreamed he’d be, talking about how his mother left Honduras alone and pregnant with him, made her way to America so her son could be born here, became a citizen, married, and helped his aunt and uncle to also emigrate. The way his eyes gleamed when he told stories about his younger cousins—all of whom he was fiercely proud and protective of—and the sorrow when he told them about his stepfather—the only father he’d known—dying when a drunk driver hit him as he crossed the highway to help an elderly couple with a flat tire.

But what really sealed the deal was when, after spending the morning showing Megan some of the basics of handling the board in the water and walking with her on the beach, Mateo excused himself to return home.

“Sunday dinner is family time,” he explained. “My uncle’s landscaping business runs six days a week. My mother and aunt’s condo rental business means cleaning and check ins on Saturday and Sunday, so we’re all always working or in school. Except for Sunday dinner.”

“And time off to teach tourists how to surf,” Megan added.

To her surprise, he blushed. “Actually, I was meant to be helping my cousins with cleaning the rental units, but I hate being stuck inside, especially on a day like today when I could be spending it with such a beautiful lady.”

A little sappy for Megan’s taste, but her mom smiled the smile she got when she and Dad cuddled on the couch watching old black-and-white movies. They walked Mateo to his bicycle and watched him strap his long board to it with practiced movements. He nodded to the mansion beside the hotel, the one they’d walked past earlier.

“I promised Pastor Fleming I’d check in on his garden and orchids today. They’re out of town and he’s very particular—told my uncle I was the only one he’d trust with his plants.” Mateo beamed proudly. “If you’d like, when I’m done, we can go to the surf shop, find you a board and wetsuit to rent for the week.” He turned to her mom. “If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Callahan.”

Megan loved how he called her mom by her traditional married name, despite her telling him to call her Lucy. It was always weird when Mom used her maiden name for anything other than work, made her seem more like other moms when she used Dad’s name.

“Are you sure you have the time?” Lucy asked. “We don’t want to take you away from school or work.”

“Our spring break starts tomorrow, so no school. And my uncle,” Mateo’s grin widened, “he doesn’t mind as long as the work gets done.” He focused on Megan. “So I’ll meet you here at three?”

“I’m looking forward to it. Thanks, Mateo.” He rode off, his muscles flexing effortlessly as he pumped the bicycle pedals.

Best thing of all? Mateo had so charmed her mother that Lucy totally forgot about yelling at Megan for leaving this morning, much less meeting up with an older guy. Maybe this spring break with your mom thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all. It gave Megan a chance to prove to Lucy that she was old enough to make her own choices, that she didn’t need watching over 24/7.