Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (11 page)

She moved slightly, and the friction made him bite his lip. Then he bit it harder. Maybe pain would dampen his responses. He tried to back away a little, but her leg tightened around his.

He groaned out loud.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. He closed his fast. Maybe he could pretend he was still asleep.

Joey couldn't believe the way she'd wrapped herself around Ash as she'd slept. Then she remembered the dream, and she knew why.

It had been vivid, the nightmare. And it hadn't been her own. It had been his. She'd experienced every part of it right along with him. There was no imagery in the dream. Only darkness, and the sensation of smothering in it. There had been a deep fear that made his heart race. Fear of being abandoned, alone in the dark, crushingly small place for a long, long time, had smothered her. And then there had been the sudden awareness that he wasn't alone.

She wasn't really there, in the small, black prison.
He
was. It was Ash's nightmare. But in the midst of sleep, she'd gone to him. She'd wrapped herself around him, wanting to shelter him from the darkness, the cruelty, the fear.

He'd clung to her, and the dream had lost its power.

She shook her head and gently loosened her grip on him. Easing her head from his chest, she moved her leg away from his. Then she looked at him, lying there in the golden light of early morning. So big. His long, powerful legs stretched to the very edge of the mattress. And so strong. His bare chest bulged, rippled.

Yet he hadn't always been this way. He'd been young and small and helpless once. He'd been afraid, and so very alone. He'd had nightmares.

And somewhere, right now, today, beneath all the sinewed strength of the man, that little boy lived still, as vulnerable as he'd ever been. Ash kept that child in tight control. But he couldn't control the boy in his dreams.

Why, God, why did that one small glimpse inside him make her want him even more?

She lifted her trembling hand to touch his face. She ran her fingertips very lightly over his cheek and felt tears well up in her eyes for the boy he'd been. She slipped her arm around his waist and lay close to him again, wanting him to feel that closeness, wanting to keep his nightmarish memories at bay.

Tears spilled over, dampening his chest. Then his hand came to her face and very gently brushed them away.

"You're crying." He moved away from her, looking down with a deep frown. "Joey, what's the matter?"

She shook her head, staring into his eyes and seeing more than she ever had before. There was so much more to him than she'd known. So much she still had to learn.

"Bad dreams," she whispered.

And Ash's frown deepened.

She was a puzzle.

No matter how he tried, he couldn't figure her out. And he was beginning to feel more desperate to understand the workings of Joey Bradshaw's mind than he was to identify the Syracuse Slasher. Because he wanted her...more than he'd wanted any of the women he'd dated in search of the elusive Miss Right

Across the table, he watched her delve into the omelet he'd made this morning. She closed her emerald eyes—those rare precious gems that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe when she was serious, and seemed brighter than the sun when she smiled. She licked her full lips, and Ash felt his gut twist into a hard little knot

"God, this is good. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Trial and error, mostly," he admitted. It wasn't his best effort. It definitely needed more salt.

"No, it's perfect," she said. But as she said it, she reached for the saltshaker and handed it to him.

He took it, shook a little onto his eggs, then stopped. He looked at her and blinked. "I didn't ask for the salt."

"Didn't you?" She pretended his remark meant nothing, but she seemed to have trouble swallowing the next bite. "I must have seen you looking for it and guessed."

"I wasn't looking for it." He shook his head and studied her face. His conversation with Rad came back to him.
He
thought she was some kind of psychic. "You do that a lot, you know."

"Do what?"

"Answer a question before it's asked. Hand me something I want, but haven't mentioned." He recalled that she'd appeared in the bathroom just when he'd been searching for a razor, to tell him where they were.

"Maybe it's just that I know you so well, Ash."

But she barely knew him at all, so again she was lying. She just had a keen instinct, he supposed. It was no more than that. There
was
no more than that.

"You know what I was thinking?"

He swallowed his coffee. "Nope. I'm not the mind reader." He said it just to gauge her reaction. She tensed and shot him an alarmed look. So maybe she'd rather he didn't know about her hocus-pocus leanings. He grinned to ease her mind and was rewarded with a smile that nearly knocked him off his chair.

"I was thinking we ought to stay a night at your place."

"Why's that?"

"Well, your memory doesn't seem to be improving at all. It worries me. Maybe if you were around familiar things."

Even the aromas of the ham and cheese and onion he'd added to the eggs hadn't drowned out the freshly showered scent of her skin, or the whiffs of strawberry her hair was emitting. He thought there just might be another reason behind her suggestion, but he didn't say so. He would only find out by going along with it and keeping an eye on her. "If you want to. We can go over tonight. I ought to be working, anyway, and most of my projects are on the desktop at my place."

"How much time off are they giving you?"

He detected a hint of worry in her voice, and he wondered about that. "Only what I'll take sitting down. I'm itching to get back to that story, especially since there's been another—" He stopped when he saw her go a shade paler and replace her forkful of food on the plate. "What is it, Joey? You don't want me to go back to work?"

She lifted her head and met his gaze. "What did the police tell you about your car accident?"

He frowned, trying to keep up with the way she hopped from subject to subject. "Not much. Wasn't much to tell. Brakes failed—"

"I thought it was a new car?"

He sipped his coffee, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. Nothing had been mentioned about his car having been tampered with. The cops were playing this one close to the vest. "New cars break down, Joey. Accidents happen."

"What if it wasn't an accident?"

He set his cup down and stared at her. Did she know something? And if she did, was it because of her alleged ESP, or because she had an inside track with the Slasher? "What do you mean?"

She lowered her gaze, shook her head. "You were trying to expose a serial killer. What if... what if you were making the Slasher nervous?"

He drew a deep breath and released it with utter control. That was exactly what had happened. So how did Joey know about it? He pasted a false smile on his face and chucked her under the chin. "Hey, I'll go along with any theory that makes you worry about me. I kinda like it."

"This isn't a joke, Ash. I really don't want you going back to the office. Not until..." Her voice trailed off.

"Not until the Slasher's caught?" He reached across the table, closed his hand over hers. "You really are worried about me, aren't you?"

She nodded, and Ash found himself believing her. It felt kind of warm and fuzzy having someone worry about him. It was a feeling he thought he could get used to. "Let's not stress about it at the moment, okay? I have a full week to go before I get the doctor's okay to go back to work."

She sighed long and low, but nodded.

"You haven't been working yourself, lately."

"I'm self-employed. There's nothing pressing right now."

"Have you been turning down jobs, Joey?"

She met his gaze and he thought she was going to lie to him again. He was relieved when she didn't. "A few. But I can afford it."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated.

"Why haven't you been working?"

She shrugged and picked up her fork, pushing her omelet around her plate. Finally she met his gaze. "What I do takes a certain amount of...concentration. And instinct." She shook her head slowly. "Lately I just haven't had it."

So her supposed
powers
were failing her. "What's distracting you? Me?"

She looked up fast. "No. I don't know what it is. It doesn't matter, anyway. It'll pass."

Now she was lying. He had no doubt. The way her eyes couldn't quite hold his, the quick tightening of her jaw. It was surprising how quickly he'd learned the signs.

She shoved her plate away, obviously ready to change the subject. And again it was clear to him how much she disliked lying to him. "You know, I'm getting a little bored with this sitting around the house all the time. Are you up for a little recreation?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Something that requires physical exertion."

He cocked one brow. "You're not thinking of dragging me into a cave somewhere are you?"

She laughed aloud. "Not until your head’s a little better. And we won't bother with the exercise room because I don't want to hang around the house." Her gaze traveled down to his chest and a speculative gleam lit her eyes. "You're in great shape. What do you do to keep from going to pot?"

"You mean you'd be willing to try a little one-on-one?"

She leaned forward, hands propping her chin, elbows on the table. "Only if you're talking basketball."

"You wouldn't stand a chance. Too short."

"Sounds like a challenge to me."

An hour later she was standing on a concrete outdoor court, wearing a loose-fitting tank over a pale gray sports bra, a pair of black spandex shorts, and high top Chucks. Red. The court was behind a school, but school was out, so they had it to themselves. The grass had been mowed that morning, and it smelled so potently fresh that the air was almost tinted green. The ball wasn't old. It still had that new-ball smell.

She dribbled close to the ground, which was an advantage of being short. The rough texture of the ball felt good on her palm. The sun on her back felt even better. Ash towered over her, arms spread, trying to keep her from making any progress. She faked right, then drove left, ducking under his arm and charging to the basket for a layup worthy of the WNBA, she thought.

The ball hit the hot blacktop, bounced twice and rolled to a stop at Ash's feet. He didn't look at it. He was looking at her with something that might best be labeled amused wonder.

"I never would’ve guessed."

"Don't just stand there, big guy. We're here to sweat, remember?"

He picked up the ball and began a lazy dribble away from the net as she came nearer to guard him. Then in a burst of speed he spun backward, pivoted to face the basket and executed a perfect jump shot from a foot beyond the line.

In no time at all, they were both damp with sweat beneath the July sun. Joey's once-neat ponytail dripped straggles that stuck to her face no matter how often she swept them away. Ash swiped a hand across his forehead. His dark hair curled wildly and his face was alive with color. The sleeveless, collarless sweatshirt he wore had dark spots in the center of his chest and back.

"What do you say we take a break?" Joey tossed the ball into Ash's chest. He caught it with a quick, reflexive move.

"Admitting defeat, are you?" He smiled as he said it.

"Not on your life. I just don't want to have to carry you back to the car."

"Fat chance. You're just afraid
I'll
end up carrying
you
to the car."

"Ha!" She put her hands on her hips in a taunting gesture. "You're so wiped out you couldn't if you had to!"

"Lady, you just made a tactical error." He dropped the ball and lunged forward, scooping her up so fast she didn't have time to dodge him. She struggled, but she was laughing so hard it weakened her. He held her tight to his chest, one strong arm under her knees, the other just beneath her shoulders.

"What about the ball?"

"Oh." He bent over it, letting her pick it up, then straightened and strode off toward the car. He picked up speed, nearly running over the sidewalk.