Dream Walker (Bailey Spade 1)

He shakes his head. “I promised everyone you won’t be an inconvenience. Besides, actually making a connection is less important than making them think you did so.”

“What do you mean?” I enter the place and plop down on a chair.

He remains by the door. “My hope is that the killer thinks you’re a threat. They’ll move to eliminate the threat, and that’s when they’ll reveal themselves to me.”

I scowl at him. “So I’m bait? You’re hoping they’ll try to kill me so you’ll know who it is?”

“Me or one of the Enforcers will protect you,” he says dismissively. “And you’ll get your reward.”

“If I live.”

He gives me a level look. “I swear your mother will be healed even if you’re dead.”

“Well, that’s morbidly reassuring,” Felix whispers.

Some of my anger dissipates. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Not bothering with a “you’re welcome,” Kain leaves, and I hear the lock turn in the door.

I guess I’m a prisoner. Oh, well.

The first thing I do is grab some bananas and start munching, consuming one after another while ignoring Felix’s jibes.

“When you’re done with that monkey business, it would be a good time for a nap,” he says when I get to banana number six. “I sure could use one.”

I finish the banana, clean my hands, and take out my phone to text: You go ahead.

“I will,” he says with a yawn. “Wait, why are you texting? Do you think there’re listening devices in the room?”

Can’t dismiss the possibility, I text. If Kain doesn’t trust me, I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Good point. Enjoy your nap.” He yawns again. “Feel free to visit me in the dream world if you feel like it.”

I make a thumbs-up gesture in front of my lapel camera.

“Talk later.” I hear rustling as he puts down his headset.

I down some water and try to decide what to do next. Napping is out of the question; the vampire blood I imbibed won’t let that happen. Since I haven’t run out of power, I decide to finish Valerian’s gig—then maybe reward myself with a visit to the dream version of my employer.

Petting Pom’s fur, I enter the prerequisite trance. On the way to the tower of sleepers, I update Pom on the investigation and tell him what I’m about to do.

“You’re lucky,” he says when we reach Bernard’s nook. “He’s sleeping in today.”

“I don’t feel very lucky.” I eye the clouds around Bernard’s head. “His trauma loop consists of more than one dream, it seems.”

“This one is less severe than the last,” Pom says, sniffing at the clouds. “Still, I’m not going in there with you. Sorry.”

I shrug and reach out to touch Bernard.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A woman—Bernard’s wife—is angrily packing a suitcase.

“Don’t go.” Bernard tugs on his messy beard, his hair disheveled around his tired face. “Please don’t.”

“I can’t live this way,” she says without looking at him. “That killer is more important to you than either me or your living daughter.”

A killer? What a pity. Sounds like the kidnapping I witnessed ended in the worst possible way.

Bernard’s hands tighten into fists, but instead of yelling at his wife—or worse—he turns on his heel and slams the door behind him so hard it nearly flies off the hinges.

He storms into his office, where I can see the scope of his obsession. The place is completely covered with newspaper clippings. On the wall is a map with pushpins, and there’s even a collection of milk cartons with pictures of kids on them.

The good news for me is that this section of the trauma loop looks to be over. The bad news is that there’s at least one more coming. I can feel it approaching.

A familiar pressure appears on my arm that has nothing to do with the dream. Confirming my suspicion, my cheek stings from a slap.

Just like it happened the last time, my dreamwalking trance breaks, and I open my eyes back in the waking world.

Filth stands over me with a satisfied expression on his pale, weaselly face.

“Kain said you need to save your powers for the investigation,” he snarls. “And here I come and catch you entertaining yourself.”

I debate lying that I was doing my job but decide not to risk it. Resisting the urge to sanitize the skin he touched, I say in the nicest tone I can manage, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He looks at me as if I’ve sprouted an elephant trunk. Then a nasty smile splits his face. “Do you need something from me?” he asks in what he probably thinks is a seductive tone. It’s repugnant. “Some precious liquid, perhaps?”

I fight my gag reflex. “Actually, I need information. It’s related to what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” He cocks an arrogant eyebrow.

I remind myself that I’m talking to a killing machine and that it wouldn’t be wise to punch him in that weaselly mug. “Keep in mind I’m asking for the investigation, okay?” I take a breath. “Is it true you supply Gertrude with said precious liquid?”