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  The vision clouded, faded and began to solidify again in her mind's eye. This time there was only a still form, facedown on the floor. The baggy T-shirt's back was covered in crimson stains. The long, multicolored hair reached into the blood, its ends soaked in it. Near her head, the bloody jeweled dagger rested.

  "Caroline!"

  Then she felt it, the insidious creeping sensations that were not her own, but echoes of someone else's feelings. Rage, so intense she felt her body shake with it. The shadow of a black soul eclipsed her own for just an instant, and terror held her in an unshakable grip.

  Joey sat up in bed, eyes wide in the darkness. She couldn't go on like this! She wouldn't! Tears flooded her eyes, and her throat spasmed. She wished to God she could escape this thing people called a "gift." It was a curse, and she didn't want it anymore. Why should she be the only one to know what was going to happen? Why should she be the only person in the world who could prevent her sister's murder? God, she was so afraid she'd fail.

  Her bedroom door swung open and Ash filled the doorway. "Joey?"

  She reached out, flicked on the lamp. He stood there in nothing but a pair of white boxers, looking anxious. "I'm okay. Bad dream."

  He came in, approached the bed and finally sat on its edge. He did it all slowly, as if waiting for her to object She kept quiet

  "You don't look okay." He lifted one hand, brushed the tears from her face, then looked at his hand as if it had acted without his consent. "You're shaking all over."

  It was then that she realized she couldn't keep him from being killed while she slept. She had to be close enough to prevent it, at all times. It meant her sister's life. She had to break the killer's chain—and she had to break it beginning with Ash.

  "You screamed...your sister's name, I think. Was the dream about her?"

  She bit her lip. It was so difficult, lying all the time, hiding the things that troubled her the most. "I don't remember." Her throat closed off. "It scared the hell out of me, whatever it was."

  She tried to catch the sob before it escaped, but she failed. She heard him swear softly just before he slipped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "It's okay, Joey. It was just a dream. It's over now."

  Her tears dampened the crisp hairs of his chest. Her cheek was pressed tightly there, and his scent completely invaded her senses, drowning out the memory of that alien presence in her mind. His arms around her were strong and hard and felt as if they could be barriers against the dark invader. She snuggled nearer without quite meaning to. That damned chemical attraction she'd felt before she'd even met him came to life inside her.

  "You want me to stay?"

  She sniffed. She was glad he'd offered, so she wouldn't have to ask. She did have to be near him at all times, attraction or no. It had been foolish of her to let her temper make her forget that earlier. What if the killer had struck tonight? Ash could be dead already, and the Slasher on his way to his next victim.

  Caroline.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. "I'm not going to have sex with you, Ash."

  "I didn't ask, did I? What do you think, that's all I ever think about?"

  She felt something then, and it made her frown. Nightmares. God, he'd had nightmares all the time...a long time ago. That's why he was reacting this way to hers.

  That was all. Just that tiny kernel of revelation. Then nothing.

  She sighed, shook her head and settled back under the covers. Ash lifted them and slipped in beside her. They both lay on their backs, looking at the ceiling, saying nothing. She wondered if his body was as stiff with tension as hers was.

  She had her answer a second later. He swore and rolled onto his side, facing her. "This is ridiculous. Neither one of us bites. Roll over."

  She did, facing away from him. A second later she went rigid as his arms came around her from behind and his body snuggled close to hers. "Relax, Joey. I'm not up to anything. I promise."

  She did relax after a moment. Actually, it was rather cozy lying this way. Incredibly warm and sort of...safe feeling. It was a real shame she had to lie awake and wait for him to fall asleep. It would have been so easy to simply curl into his strong embrace and drift off.

  But an hour later, when his deep, rhythmic breathing told her he slept, she eased his arms from around her waist and slid carefully to the edge of the bed. Then she paused, listening. His breathing pattern didn't alter. She slid to the floor and tiptoed out of the room, going down the stairs.

  She went to the closet in the living room and took down the gun. Without checking, she knew it was unloaded. She removed the clip. Empty. A little chill snaked up her spine.

  She could have sworn she'd left the gun loaded. She'd deliberately put it out of reach of her two nieces. So who had taken the bullets out?

  A tremor worked its way from her toes as she dragged a footstool nearer, climbed onto it and reached farther into the closet, to the shoe box in the back. She removed the shoes and pulled out a box of cartridges, reaching for the extra clip. She didn't get down first. She filled the clip right there, while standing on the stool. She slipped it up into the hollow handle of the gun, then slammed it home with her palm. On unsteady legs, she stepped down. Checking the front door, she made sure the lock was engaged, glancing at the broom handle lying lengthwise in the sliding-glass door's track. Then she rushed downstairs, to assure herself the back door was locked, as well.

  It was. So who had taken the bullets out of the gun? There was only one answer. Ash. And if he'd found the Ruger, then he must have been snooping. And if he was snooping, then he must not trust her. He must suspect something.

  She had to be more convincing. She couldn't mess this up. Not when her sister's life—when Ash's life—depended on it.

  Her nerves jangled. Her muscles twitched. She paced the floor for a while, until her pacing took her to the kitchen cabinet where she kept the cigarettes. She rarely smoked anymore. Only in times of extreme stress. She invariably finished by vowing never to light up again. And she invariably lit up again anyway when things started getting to her.

  She lit one now and paced as she smoked it. Something was wrong. Something more than just the suspicious mind of the man upstairs, sleeping in her bed. Some darkness loomed too close, reaching out its gnarled, ugly claw. She shivered, took a final drag from the stump of the cigarette and ground it out in an empty tuna can she snatched from the recycle bin.

  Only then did she slip silently up the stairs, the gun held at her side. She paused at her side of the bed, glanced once at Ash and frowned. He wasn't in precisely the same position as before. She watched him a moment. His dark lashes rested on his face. A shadow of beard darkened his jaw, giving him a fierce look and making her want to rub her hands over his bristles. His arm was on the outside of the covers, and she could tell easily that his disapproval of weight training applied only to women. She wanted to touch his arm, to feel the iron in those bands of muscle when he tensed beneath her fingers.

  She shook her head quickly. This was stupid, this moon-eyed staring at him as he slept. She was a grown woman, not a love-struck teen. But even with the dread embedded in her soul, she felt the attraction. It was impossible to forget it, even for a minute.

  She thought about slipping the gun under her pillow, but was afraid he'd touch it in his sleep. If it hadn't been Ash who had taken her bullets, then he still didn't know about the gun. What on earth would he think if he knew? She decided on the drawer in the nightstand beside the bed. She could reach it quickly and with a minimum of effort

  As she closed the drawer, Ash moved. She swung her head around quickly, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing steady. He'd only rolled onto his back, exposing the chest that so disturbed her, its crisp, springy curls that lured her lips. It also revealed the ripples of his abdomen. She could see the "six-pack" beneath his skin, even as he lay there, completely relaxed. She had the absurd image of running her hands over him, feeling the hard shape of his muscles, the warmth o
f his skin, the springy hairs tickling her palms. She almost groaned aloud.

  Shaking her head, she gently eased herself into the bed. A second later she was imprisoned by his arm snagging her waist, and one hair-roughened leg covering hers. Rather than struggling free and waking him, she opted to relax and go to sleep. She told herself it was so she wouldn't wake him. In truth, his weight was more a comfort than a burden, even if such closeness was more likely to keep her awake than lull her to sleep.

  #

  He couldn't rest easy after she'd sneaked away to get the cannon and had returned, tucking it within easy reach. He told himself it was okay, that he'd removed the bullets already. But he couldn't be sure she hadn't reloaded it, and he couldn't be sure she wasn't a lunatic who was planning to use it on him. He figured at least with his arms around her, he'd know if she went for the gun.

  Unfortunately this close he could smell the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke that clung to her hair. Radley's words floated into his mind like filmy ghosts. "She lights up a cigarette, my friend, you get the hell out...think about those butts with the coral-frost lipstick stains on them...."

  He tried not to think about those butts, even as he wondered what shade of lipstick she used. Then he asked himself if he was the one who was stark, raving mad. Despite the fact that he had every reason to believe she might roll over at any minute and try to blow his head off, his body was beginning to respond in some very primitive ways to the feel of her.

  Beyond the clean, crisp feel of the sheets, he felt the silky texture of the nightgown she wore. Beyond the musky smoke in her hair, he could smell the shampoo she used. Under the weight of his thigh, hers was like silk, and firm, and so shapely he wanted to trace the length of it with his lips.

  The image jarred him, and he had to back off a little so she wouldn't feel his response to her tight, rounded backside pressing into his groin.

  How could he lust this way after a woman who might be out to kill him? Maybe that head injury had done more damage than he knew.

  Eventually, after hours of restlessness and several changes in position that did nothing to ease his discomfort, he must have slept. When he woke she was not in the bed. He couldn't believe it. The rising sun slanted through the window, spilling over the empty pillow where she'd been. He sat up quickly, glanced around the room and found it empty. He yanked the drawer open. The gun sat there, like a stern reminder. He did a quick check and found the damned thing had been reloaded...to the hilt. He slammed the drawer, swearing, flung back the covers and leapt up just as she stepped in from a door that apparently linked bedroom directly to bathroom.

  She wore a pair of narrow-legged, tight-fitting jeans, and a tank top that fit like a second skin. Her hair was a mass of long wet straggles. Water beaded on her neck. His gaze moved lower, to the round breasts beneath the clingy material, to the luscious rise of them visible at the scooping neckline and the droplets that clung there. A rush of blatant, animal lust seared him from the inside out, and he cursed himself for idiocy. Even then, he let his glance sweep down to her denim encased thighs, curving calves and adorable little bare feet

  He swore yet again, and didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until she said, "Sorry. I tried to be quiet"

  "You were." He lifted his gaze, by sheer force, to her eyes, slanting and green and full of mystery. "Leave me any hot water?"

  She smiled, and he felt an inexplicable hope that whatever she was doing she had a good reason. "I left you plenty. And while you're showering, I'll make us some breakfast"

  "I thought you couldn't cook."

  "I didn't say I couldn't. I said I didn't...much. I can scramble eggs and nuke sausage."

  "Well, I can butter toast and mix up frozen orange juice, so we ought to survive." He glanced down at his body, clad only in skivvies. "I don't suppose I have a change of clothes here?"

  "No. Sorry. Right after breakfast we'll go over to your place, if you want. Maybe being in your own apartment will sweep some of those cobwebs out of your rafters."

  And that was when he noticed the running shoes dangling from one of her hands. "You going out?"

  "Coming in, actually." She walked to the closet and tossed the shoes carelessly inside.

  He frowned. Dammit, how could he have slept right through her leaving the house? He was lucky he hadn't woken up dead. Why hadn't he heard the car, or the bike? "Where did you—?"

  "I run every morning. I hope I didn't bother you when I sneaked out."

  Sneaked out.

  "I never even knew you'd left. What time—?"

  "A little after five." She smiled softly and her eyes traveled over his face. "You were sleeping like the dead, Ash. I think your body has a little recovering to do yet."

  Right. He must have been out cold. And the last time he remembered glancing at the clock's luminous digits, it had been twelve twenty-something. She could have been gone half the night, for all he knew. He had nothing but her word for it

  The entire time he spent in the shower, he kept thinking about the famous scene in Psycho. But nothing happened. He emerged, groped for a towel and smelled the scent of scrambled eggs and sausage wafting up the stairs.

  He pulled on his jeans, but didn't snap them closed. The sight of the clothes she'd left discarded on the bathroom floor distracted him. He bent to pick them up. Shiny black spandex leggings with hot pink racing stripes. Thickly woven white socks. Her damp towel was still there, too. She wouldn't win any housekeeping awards. He stuffed the clothes into the hamper, then opened the medicine cabinet, rubbing one hand over his scruffy face.

  There was a tap on the door. He went to it and swung it open.

  Joey didn't say a word. Her lips were parted, as if she'd started to speak, but nothing came out. Not even, he thought, a breath. Her wide green gaze moved down his bare chest, pausing for a moment at the slightly gaping fly of his jeans, then jerked upward to his face again. Her cheeks pinkened.

  His ego spiraled upward. He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. "Did you want something?"

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She shook her head. "No. I just—the razors. They're in the closet, top shelf. Shaving cream, too. I thought you'd be looking for them."

  She wanted something, all right. Her eyes said it all. And why the hell did it give him such a thrill to know a murder suspect was lusting after him?

  "Thanks. I was just looking for them." He turned and opened the closet, pulling down the cream. She still stood in the doorway. He glanced at the pink can. "Powder-fresh scent?" He looked at her again, standing so flustered and flushed and sexy, her still-damp curls falling over her shoulders, cat's eyes fixed on his.

  A mischievous smile played with her lips. "It's the best I can do for now."

  "It won't be so bad. I like the way you smell."

  She cleared her throat and lowered her gaze.

  "So how's that breakfast coming? It doesn't smell half bad, either."

  Her head flew up again. "Oh, God, my eggs!" She whirled and raced down the stairs. He chuckled and turned back to the sink to begin applying the lather to his face.

  A few minutes later he heard the phone ring, and then her voice, cussing long and fluently. He stuck his head out the bathroom door. "Want me to get it?"

  "Please!" she yelled back.

  He wiped the last of the lather from his face and ducked into the bedroom to snatch up the receiver.

  "Ash?"

  Radley's voice was strained. The bottom fell out of Ash's stomach.

  "We've got another one," he said when Ash didn't answer him.

  "When?" Ash tried to keep the turmoil from his voice.

  "He was found half an hour ago. Coroner's putting the time of death between two and three this morning with what he has so far. We'll know more later."

  Ash swallowed hard. He couldn't be sure of Joey's whereabouts between two and three this morning. He only had her word that she'd left the house around five. He didn't want to ask the next question, but he knew h
e had to.

  "Where?"

  "Phoenix, Ash. A couple of miles from where you're sitting." .

  Ash shook his head as it began to throb again.

  "Ash, did she leave the house? Was she away from you at all between two and three?"

  "It's circumstantial."

  "Dammit, Coye—"

  "I don't know, okay? I fell asleep."

  "You fell—"

  "I know. I'm an idiot. Shoot me. Save her the trouble."

  "You really think—?"

  "It was a sick joke." He didn't think she was out to kill him. Or anyone else. Hell, the idea was ludicrous. "Look, we don't know anything yet. Keep this to yourself until we do." Why in God's name was he trying to protect her? He ought to call the cops himself.

  "Too late for that, Ash. They have the plate number of that bike from the last time. Now, with this murder practically in her backyard, don't think they won't be over there to grill her."

  Ash closed his eyes. His mind was spinning. He just couldn't make himself accept that the woman he'd held in his arms last night, the woman whose tears he'd wiped away after a nightmare had scared her half to death—could also be a cold-blooded murderer. "Thanks for the warning, Radley."

  "You want me to be there when they show up?"

  Ash chewed his lip. He looked up at the sound of her steps, light and quick. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes just as huge and innocent as an angel's. "I burned our eggs."

  She looked so damned remorseful he couldn't help but smile at her. He covered the mouthpiece. "That's okay. I hate eggs."

  Her face brightened immediately. "Raisin bran?"

  "My favorite," he lied.

  She grinned and trotted back down the stairs. Ash stared at the empty doorway until Radley's voice brought him out of his trance.

  "You want me to come over or not?"

  Ash stiffened. "Only if you're going to back me up. And I mean one hundred percent"

  There was a long pause. Then, "What are you going to do?"

  "Trust my instincts. They haven't been wrong yet, have they?"

  Chapter Four