Dark Daze (4 page)

Would she be as sexy as her voice? And what
could he expect from her? He wanted to find out, because he’d never
had a woman both ask him out and offer to pay. Paul leaned around
him, eyebrows lifted.

“How can I say no to such an enticing offer?”
He frowned and ignored his friend’s enormous grin. “But I insist on
paying.”

“Deal. How about tomorrow noon?”

“That’s not dinner, that’s lunch.”

“So it is. How about this…we can go to a
restaurant and have the waiter draw the shades so we can pretend
we’re eating dinner.”

Ian smiled. “I’ll do you one better. How
about tonight? Then it will be dinner.”

Paul gave him a thumbs-up and Ian rolled his
eyes, pursing his lips to hide the smile tugging at the corners of
his mouth.

“Tonight?”

“If you’re not too busy.”

“No, it sounds great. I was just surprised.”
She laughed—an unexpectedly sexy sound. “I don’t have any
plans.”

“You know where Amanderos is?”

“In Apple Valley, right?”

“Yup.” He paid no attention to Paul who
pumped the air. “Six?”

“Great, see you there.”

She ordered the disconnect without waiting
for a reply. What an unusual woman. He liked her already, which
only made it harder. Why hadn’t he said he couldn’t? Made an
excuse? He really didn’t want to break her heart or his own, and
those were the only two options for this date.

Paul stepped toward him, arm extended.

“Don’t even say it.” Ian held up a hand. “For
your sake, I just hope this woman is more interesting than the
last. If not, you’ll hear about it, my friend.”

“Take it up with the boss if you’re unhappy
about a selection,” Paul said, his eyes shining with laughter.

Ian grasped the dog food. Deep inside, he
hoped she wouldn’t like him. Or perhaps she would be cruel or a
simpleton. Anything to make this easier on both of them.

<><><>

Brie grabbed her dress off the end of the
rumpled bed. She slipped it on as the itch began in the back of her
mind—the part where the psychic twinge lived. Closing her eyes for
an instant, she prayed she wouldn’t flip.

Heading into the living room, she glanced
past the overstuffed furniture and bookshelves and eyed the wall
clock. Four ten. She would leave in an hour or so. She took the
time to brush out her hair and apply the finishing touches to her
lips, trying to suppress the twinge, which continued to needle the
spot in her head. She never should have agreed to this date. What
if she flipped right across the table from him? Another
relationship would begin based on lies.

Or end abruptly.

Besides, she couldn’t flip again. She’d never
done it twice in one day, or even one week. No, she was imagining
it after the strange experience she’d had. It rivaled the afternoon
her brother died. The aptly named Dark Day she never spoke of with
others.

Pain shot through her head, like a lightning
bolt heading right for the spot on the base of her skull. Her head
slammed back so hard she barely managed to keep her feet. The
living room flipped, folded, and slid away.

After a short shopping trip to resupply,
Andrea already craved the quiet of her home. And the next chapter
of Cold Terror. As she got in her car, she surveyed the line of
vehicles leading up the hill to the local ski resort. A girl in the
passenger seat of a Honda was reading the novel. She could see some
of the picture and part of the title…LD…ROR.

That girl’s copy would never be better than
hers. The call, telling her she’d won an advanced reader copy and
would be expected to write the first review, had been a surprise.
She couldn’t even remember entering a contest. Guilt nagged at the
back of her mind for not having turned in the review, which she
should have turned in yesterday. Her release day review would be
late. Due to problems with the post office, she hadn’t received her
book until yesterday. She looked at the clock. Five twelve. Time to
read her chapters.

Pain slammed through Brie’s head, but not in
the spot where her psychic twinge formed, the world went gray and
fuzzy. Then Andrea faded into a cloud of blackness.

Brie found herself standing before the door
to a small diner. A chicken, sitting on an egg near the door,
clucked at her in a semi-human voice, “Can I take your order, or
are you leaving?”

“
It’s not safe here.” Brie wanted to move
the chicken, but the neon signs offering daily specials distracted
her. She pushed open the door and stepped up to the counter. A
woman stood behind it, looking pale and haunted. Brie’s intuition
told her the waitress held some importance. Passing a book to Brie
over the counter, the woman met her gaze and nodded. A starkness
filled her eyes, a quiet sadness and horror, which crept through
her expression.

“
Thank you.” Brie reached out to grab the
proffered book, but it was gone. “Oh dear, a twice fallen
tree.”

Brie glanced down at the bare floor, and when
she looked up, the woman was gone. In her place…shadow. No, more
than shadow. Something loomed, dark spiral eyes sucking light from
the room, drawing her in with it.

She whirled and ran. When she reached the
door, she shoved it open and raced onto the sidewalk. The chicken
squawked but she couldn’t see it on the unnaturally dark street
beyond the diner. An abandoned car waited for an owner who would
never return.

Heart pounding out of control, Brie rushed
past the hunk of metal and down the road. She could feel the thing
closing in on her, its hot breath on her neck. Teeth and claws were
ready to catch…to tear. A shriek welled in her throat but wouldn’t
come. Her chest constricted, and her lungs burned from the cold
air. A loud squeal behind her and something solid slammed her to
the ground.

Pillow-like softness met her when she landed.
She rolled on the mattress, looking up at the man who held her. Not
the demon with the empty black hole sockets, but a man with the
most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Deep green, flecked with
every color known to man. He smiled, and she calmed in an instant.
He would protect her…Keep her safe. Things would be okay if he
stayed with her.

Terror flowed from her in a rush of laughter
and relief flooded in to replace it. His masculine scent, mixed
with pine and some fabulous spice, made her breathe deep. She
pressed her nose to his strong neck and closed her eyes. Her body
warmed at his closeness and wet in preparation for him. She wrapped
her legs around his waist, bringing her hands to his hair. His
mouth met hers, and she slid her legs up and down his thighs,
enjoying the amazing sensation of his hard muscles beneath her soft
skin.

Their clothes were gone, and he devoured her
like a starving man. His mouth left hers to slip over her jaw and
find the sensitive spot on her throat. The menace faded into a
memory long forgotten as she ran her hands over him, playing across
the muscles. Arching her back, she offered herself to him.

Brie opened her eyes, her breathing ragged.
She pushed up from the floor, probing the painful bump on her head.
The abrupt change in her flip and her current sprawled position
told her she must not have managed to keep her feet after all.
Instead, she’d been dreaming about something wonderful. A smile, a
beautiful warm smile, promising nothing but happiness and peace.
She’d never had a prophetic dream before, but she couldn’t help
feeling it belonged to someone real.

No. That would be too crazy.

<><><>

Ian tossed the last of the empty moving boxes
on the pile in front of his new three-bedroom house. He’d found his
secluded home while working in the hills outside Apple Valley and
snatched it up quick. Most of the time, it was just Buster and him,
so the remote location worked out great. Less people to worry
about, if he should have a relapse. Plus, he loved the view. Past
the bay window and out toward the “high desert” lights twinkled
from the houses below like Christmas lights in late December. It
epitomized what he wanted in life—peace, quiet, and normalcy. All
the things he could never have. Not after what he’d become.

“Come on, Buster.” Ian shook dog food into
the bowl. A blur of excitement skidded around the corner at light
speed and wolfed the food down in what seemed to be just three
bites. Ian patted Buster on the head and moved to the reclining
chair. He sat down and turned the television on, finding a local
sports station.

He’d never even liked playing sports, but for
some reason he didn’t want to change the channel, so he sat through
the recap of the football game. His chest swelled when the
television sports anchor announced the Raiders had won.

“Oh Yeah. Did you hear, Buster? The Raiders
won!” He pumped the air twice, then glanced at Buster, who yawned
and rested his chin on his paw. “Wait? The Raiders? I know they
play football, but why should I care when I never cared
before?”

Buster blinked at him.

“Do they play for this state? Or is it by
city?” Ian put a knuckle to his chin, but couldn’t come up with the
answer. “Oh well, they won, and the win is all that matters.”

He got up and went to the fridge, taking out
the fixings for a turkey sandwich and slathered mayonnaise onto the
bread. A sudden craving for a beer struck him. He grabbed a bottle,
popped the top on the edge of the counter, and took a swig. The
bitter taste made him wince, and his stomach rebelled.

“Where did this come from?” Ian stared at the
bottle. Odd. He’d never even drunk more than a sip of beer before.
He looked at the sandwich. “And I have dinner plans, so why am I
stuffing my face?”

Buster remained curled up in the corner,
unimpressed by the magic beer.

Ian’s uncle had been a big beer-drinking
football fan, but it never rubbed off. Women, during pregnancy, can
crave things they would otherwise never consider eating. Ian had
read it somewhere. He placed the sandwich into a baggie. Maybe
something could cause this to happen in a man.

“Well Buster,” Ian said, washing the crumbs
off his hands, “I think I might be pregnant, boy, and I don’t even
know who the mother is. Shame on me.”

Buster seemed to roll his eyes before looking
away, as if his master’s sense of humor wasn’t to his taste.

“Everyone’s a critic.” Ian stepped back
toward the chair, but before he reached it, a loud crash came from
outside.

Buster rushed to the door, barking his “big
dog” bark, the one that told him danger—at least in Buster’s
eyes—was near.

“Probably a raccoon.” But the sound was
cacophonous. Far more noise than a raccoon could make.

Could he have been discovered? Were they
coming to run him off?

No. It had been more than six months since
his last episode, which hadn’t been in front of anyone.

Ian tried to still his jittering nerves. He
held a finger up. “Silent.” Buster quieted at the command and moved
to Ian’s left side, where he would remain until Ian gave the
command to relax. He moved to the utilitarian coat closet near the
front door and grabbed his Smith and Wesson .45 from the gun safe
on the shelf, leaving the safety on. Well-trained as he had been,
he could remove it and fire at the same time if he needed to.

Just in case. He racked the slide and
chambered a round.

He opened the front door and moved along the
small porch in a crouch. Both he and Buster remained silent,
watchful. Ian searched for the source of the crash. Something had
toppled the bulky metal garbage cans. The lids—meant to keep
critters out—lay next to the overturned cans, but whatever had done
it must have been scared off.

“Release.” Ian commanded, but Buster remained
by his side, whining. “It’s okay. Just those stupid raccoons after
all.”

He turned and stepped back into the house.
Buster paced him.

“I’m going to write a letter to the company
responsible for making those trash cans.” He replaced the gun in
its hiding spot. “Raccoons are the reason I bought them. If they
can’t keep them out what good are they?”

He walked back to where the cans lay, Buster
at his side alternately whining and growling.

“Buster, release.”

He bent to pick up the bags and stuff them
back into the cans. Long jagged puncture marks covered the trashcan
lids. He paused in the midst of hefting a sealed black bag. He
understood now why Buster was acting so strange. A bear must be on
the property.

Ian moved back from the cans. Bears could be
territorial about food and he didn’t want to piss this one off over
a little garbage. A bullet wasn’t as effective against a bear as it
was against a human. He glanced around, hoping it wouldn’t be
close. The shadows seemed to close in around him. Buster’s whining
became more insistent. Ian swallowed hard to dislodge the lump
forming in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He’d seen bears many
times in his life. They didn’t scare him, nor did they scare
Buster, who was friendly to all beasts. So why were they reacting
like a couple of puppies who needed to be weaned?

He caught a glint to his right. When he
turned his head, his pulse thundered in his throat. A hulking, dark
figure perhaps twelve feet tall lurked in the shadows—seemed to be
made of the shadows. Two glowing eyes focused on him—well, not eyes
exactly—more like dark holes, sucking all light into their
void.

Ian’s heart tried to break out of his chest.
He froze to the spot. Even Buster ceased his loud whining and stood
unmoving at his side, growling now. Ian stared, transfixed, an
eternity within a moment, unable to breathe. A long sniffing came
from the direction of the shadow.

Taking a step back, Ian lifted a hand toward
the menace. His skin tingled. Blue arcs snapped along his
fingertips, and he curled his hands into balls to repress the
current.