In the windows of the kitchen, there was a gather of three, two males and a female. They were sitting at the table, a piece of paper between them, some kind of sketching going on.
The dark-haired male in the sweatshirt captured and held her attention, and as if he sensed her regard even through the distance that separated him, he looked up and stared out at her.
With the lights on as they were for Nate, he could not in fact see her.
It was best that things stayed that way for her sake.
But mostly for his.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Erika regained consciousness to find herself lying with her head cradled in the crook of a strong arm and one of her hands clasped in a warm, firm grip. As her eyes fluttered open like she was a damn Victorian, she was confused by the stained ceiling overhead, and what was that delicious smell—
She sat up in a rush. The sight of Connie’s body, laid out on a bare mattress, brought it all back.
Wrenching around, she looked into the face… of the man she had been trying to find, who she just knew she had seen properly in her dreams. But the recognition of him was as far as she got. The moment his features registered, her thoughts began to spin and the buzzing that had knocked her out returned. Aware that she was likely to pass out again, she grabbed hold of his leather jacket and jerked their heads together.
Except before she could demand to know what he was doing to her, he said roughly, “How do you know.”
It wasn’t a question, more a declaration. What was he talking about?
Whatever. That wasn’t what was important.
“You’ve done something to my memory,” she groaned through the pain between her temples. “You need to stop it—”
He grabbed her in return and gave her a shake. “How do you know!”
“Let my mind go!”
Their faces were so close, she could see the flecks in his irises, and for no good reason at all, she decided his cologne was the best thing that had ever been in her nose—not that that was in any way helpful or appropriate.
Breathing through the headache, willing herself to stay conscious, she said hoarsely, “I know you’ve taken something from my memories. You have to give it back. Whatever you’ve done is making my mind unstable and causing me to question my sanity. Please. Give it back.”
She was talking fast, slurring her words, careening through the begging request, but it was the best she could do. Her thoughts were loose in a way that scared her and made forming cogent statements nearly impossible.
“You don’t have to save me,” he said roughly.
Save… him, she thought.
Yes… in the dream she’d just had back at headquarters. The black smoke that had come out of him. And then the second nightmare, with the shadow in her house—
“How do you know what was in my dream?” she whispered, aware that she was standing on the precipice of mystery, of another reality.
“I don’t. Those were the words you were saying as you passed out.” Then he cursed. “You’ve been dreaming of me?”
“Yes, and it’s always the same.” The headache got worse as she tried to access the recollection, but she forced herself to keep going. “I can’t… I can’t remember the specifics. It’s not with me when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep, I see you. And I know…” All at once, she felt a terrible dread. “There’s something coming after you, isn’t there.”
The man in black leather eased his hold on her arms. “No, there isn’t.”
When he didn’t go any further, she had the sense she wasn’t going to get anywhere pushing him on that front.
“Give me back my memories,” she demanded.
On some level, she couldn’t believe she was talking like this, especially because she didn’t believe in hypnosis or mind control or any of that kind of crap. But he wasn’t disagreeing with her, was he? If anything, he was looking guilty.
“You know what you’ve done to me is wrong,” she said.
“It’s to protect you,” he shot back. “You have no idea what I am.”
“Yes, I do. You’re a thief.” He winced at that, so she went harder, probing his weakness, her mind becoming a little clearer as she went on, more grounded. “You’re a thief and a violent criminal. I’ve seen you on a hidden camera bringing the watches of a murder victim to the trailer of a known trafficker in stolen goods—who happened to be dead on his couch as you walked in. He’d been shot in the head, but you barely noticed. It didn’t bother you in the slightest. You just took some money and left.”
“How do you know the watches were stolen?”
Were they really doing this next to Connie’s body? she thought numbly. But like she was going to get another chance? If he took off, she knew she was never going to see him again. Their intersection right now was a one in a million stroke of luck.