Nightwalker (15 page)

Because this was no dream. Everything about him was real and solid.

He held her, the aftereffects of his own release still rippling through him, his embrace firm. He was a careful lover, easing the weight of his body from hers, yet never releasing her, never allowing her to think for one moment that she was anything less than precious and coveted. Still gasping for breath, she lay spooned against him, the moonlight playing across their bodies, and the shyness that assailed her so often when she wasn’t on a stage returned. She knew that they would have to move eventually, that there would have to be words. Sex was sex; they had done nothing new, nothing that changed the world, no matter how it had felt at the time. Even so, for her, the night hadn’t been casual, and she could only hope that he hadn’t made love to her only to ease her fears or because of a momentary urge.

He didn’t speak at first, only kissed the nape of her neck as her heart kept thundering. And then at last he whispered, “Shall I stay? I don’t want to leave.”

She wound her fingers through his, where they rested on her abdomen, and was both sorry that she couldn’t see the ebony depths of his eyes, yet glad he couldn’t see her own slightly panicked expression.

“Please,” she managed to say, regretting her own lack of eloquence. She’d sounded as if she were agreeing to sugar in her coffee.

But he didn’t seem put off, because his arms tightened around her, and she felt the brush of his kiss against her nape again.

And in a while, after she had dozed, roused and
moved against him, she felt the force of his body and they once more made love. The first had been a duel of passion and resistance; this was sleepy and slower, yet still possessed of that sensation of desperate and passionate urgency.

She never wanted to move. Never.

With his arms around her, she slept at last.

Even so, she was plagued by dreams.

She was running through the old cemetery again, with its crosses of wood and graves encircled with stones. The wind was light and warm, and at first there was sun but then there wasn’t. Always, though, there were people behind her. Chasing her.

Hunting her.

They were coming to kill her, and so she ran, tripping over the stones, running against the sagebrush that blew at her as if a tempest was coming. Just as she heard the footsteps coming closer and closer, she saw a light ahead of her, and a man framed in that light.

It was Dillon.

As she neared him, the sun came out again and her pursuers vanished, fading to nothing but empty darkness behind her, because in him she found the anger and strength and desire to fight back.

She opened her eyes slowly. It was morning, a soft glow filtering through the drapes.

She wasn’t alone. And for once she was glad of that.

Dillon lay beside her, just holding her, though she saw that he, too, was awake. When she turned to face him, she saw in his eyes the humor, the kindness and the strength she had expected—along with something
more that made her heart leap. There was an intimacy there that made her blood heat, and when he smiled slowly, she felt a little tremor ripple through her as she realized that she wanted him—that look, his touch, everything about him—in her life for much longer than just one night. She had been wary of relationships for so long, like a kid with a chip on her shoulder. She had felt that she needed to defend Timothy from anyone who might pity him or mock her for her devotion to him, but no more. She knew without question that Dillon would understand Timothy’s condition, would honor an elder, and would never expect anything from her but loyalty to the grandfather who had raised her.

“Good morning,” he said softly. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded.

“No nightmares?”

“Only one, but you were there,” she told him gravely.

“Great,” he murmured dryly.

She laughed. “No, you were there in a good way,” she assured him. “I was running away from these people I knew wanted to kill me, but then I saw you.”

“I hoped I rescued you,” he said.

“You did even more.”

“Oh?”

“You gave me strength, and when they knew they couldn’t scare me anymore, they disappeared.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” he told her, then sat up suddenly, frowning. “Fear can be a good thing sometimes, though. Fear can keep you safe.”

“I’ve been afraid of a ghost,” she said softly. “A ghost who
you
said needs help.”

“But someone made Tanner Green into a ghost,” he said. “And someone killed Rudy Yorba. That person is alive, and it’s wise to be afraid of him and what he can do.”

She stared at him, her mind suddenly embracing the true importance of what they had shared, and what had—and hadn’t—been said.

“Indigo,” she told him.

She was startled by his reaction. It was a color, just a color, and when Tanner Green had whispered the word with his dying breath, it hadn’t meant anything to her, hadn’t struck her as anything that could possibly be important.

“What?” he said sharply.

“Indigo. That’s what Tanner Green said right before he died. I’m sorry. I trust you, and I would tell you if he’d said anything more, but that was it. One word. Indigo. Just a color.”

He rose, lean muscle and sinew, his back to her, tall and straight in the early-morning light.

“It’s more than a color,” he said tightly, his back still toward her.

“Oh?”

“It’s a place. Indigo, Nevada.”

“I’ve never heard of it. What kind of a place?”

He turned to face her, his dark eyes grim and worried. “A ghost town.”

D
illon was preparing coffee when Ringo made his first appearance of the day.

Death, apparently, didn’t quell a man’s sense of humor.

“You look like hell, my friend, and here I was, thinking
I
was the dead man.”

“Funny. Now sit down, will you? I’m pretty sure she hears your spurs. And you sure as hell better not have been hanging around here last night.”

“I’m deeply wounded!” Ringo protested. “And I was
not
hanging around,” he added indignantly. “But aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“I was trying to get her accustomed to the ghosts already haunting her. I thought she needed to get a handle on that before realizing that sometimes someone might be…
gifted
…with an unearthly presence for quite some time.”

“Hey, I’m fun and I’m helpful. It’s thanks to me that her grandfather is a happy man in that hoity-toity place he likes. I’m anxious to get to know the lady.”

“Just don’t freak her out when the time comes, okay, Ringo?”

“Stop panicking.” Ringo was quiet for a moment. “You took this job with that creep Emil Landon because of me.”

“Adam asked, too—though there didn’t seem to be a supernatural angle at the time, but I guess he knew something somehow—so…” Dillon trailed off with a shrug. “Get out of here for now, though, huh?”

“Hey, that was my room you guys were hogging last night.”

“I gave you my room, so quit complaining.”

Ringo laughed. “Hey, doesn’t much matter to me. Anything is better than being out in the cold. Oh, wait. I don’t feel the cold. Still, it’s a nice feeling, being in the house and all. Even the damn dog finally likes me.”

“Clancy is a good old girl,” Dillon said. She was standing next to him and he scratched her ears. “Ringo, listen, I’m going with Jessy to have breakfast with her grandfather. Then you and I are going to take a drive.”

“Where?”

“Out to Indigo,” Dillon said.

“Indigo?” Ringo said, stunned and anything but pleased. “But that’s where—”

“It’s where you died. Yeah, I know. And where you hooked yourself with my ancestors. I know that, too. It’s also the word that Tanner Green whispered to Jessy before he died.”

“Hell and damnation. You’re serious?” Ringo demanded.

“Dead serious.”

“Excuse me?” Ringo said irritably.

“Bad choice of words. Sorry.”

“What are we looking for?” Ringo asked.

“I don’t know. But why the hell would a dying man say ‘Indigo’ unless he had a damn good reason?” He frowned. “When you wanted me to take the Emil Landon assignment, did you know anything about this?” Dillon asked him.

Ringo shook his head with what looked like honesty. “Like I told you then, even for Vegas, that guy is one strange player. I figured there had to be something going on, and the job paid big bucks. I figured it would get you in good with the cops to save one of the local money men.” Ringo shrugged. “Okay, I’m outta here right. I’m going to see if I can find out where Tanner Green hangs out when he’s not haunting Jessy. And I’ll see if I can find Rudy Yorba, too. Maybe I’ll even do some spying on Emil Landon.”

“You do that. The spying part could be useful. I’ll be heading to Indigo about one.”

“Doesn’t Jessy have to be at work by noon?” Ringo asked him.

“Yeah, I want to run by the morgue after I drop her off. You can meet me there.”

“The morgue?” Ringo said with distaste.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re squeamish.”

“I’ll be waiting outside. Just don’t hang around in
there too long. You never know what you might pick up. Or who,” Ringo warned.

“I’ll, uh, be careful,” Dillon promised.

“Aren’t you worried about leaving Jessy alone? I thought she wanted you around, even when she was working,” Ringo said.

“She’s going to be all right. She isn’t terrified of seeing Tanner Green anymore. She knows now that she’s…sane,” Dillon said.

Ringo nodded, and with a little jingle of spurs, he was gone.

A few minutes later Jessy made her appearance. She had showered but had been forced to put on her outfit from the night before.

She could have worn cardboard for all Dillon cared. The woman was beautiful. With makeup or without. Whatever made her magic was in the way she spoke, in her eyes, in the way she moved, in the sound of her laughter. In her soul. He saw beautiful women all the time, but what made Jessy unique went beyond looks. The phrase was so overused that it had become a joke, but she really
was
beautiful inside and out.

“Ooh, coffee,” she said, looking around the room. She was still wary, but she had lost the panic he had seen in her eyes when she had spotted Tanner Green—and then Rudy Yorba—in the café yesterday. “There’s no one here, is there?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “No.”

She jumped up on one of the bar stools at the counter. “Good.” She hesitated. “How do you know when…when someone is around?”

“You just…see them,” he told her. “And it’s unusual to be hounded the way you’ve been, but for some reason Tanner Green’s desperate, and he’s decided that he trusts you. Soon we’ve actually got to try to talk to him. But for right now, we’ll have coffee, get your car and drop it off at your place, and then we’ll go have breakfast with your grandfather, and afterward I’ll drop you at the casino.”

“How will I get home?” she asked.

“Not alone,” he said firmly. “Stay with other people—or call Sandra. Hang with her.”

“I need to change,” she said, indicating her outfit.

“There’s plenty of time,” he assured her.

They had coffee, he fed Clancy, and then they left. He opted to wait in the living room at her house, afraid that neither one of them would be able to resist temptation if he went into the bedroom while she changed, and they didn’t have that kind of time.

At the home, she directed him straight to Timothy’s building.

Timothy was waiting for them in the breakfast room, sipping coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast as he read the paper.

“Good morning,” Jessy said, dipping down to plant a kiss on his head before taking the chair next to him and gesturing toward Dillon. “I’ve brought a friend to meet you.”

Timothy stared at Dillon with interest, smiling slowly and reaching out a hand.

“I knew you would be coming to see me.”

“This is Dillon, Timothy. You’re meeting him for the first time,” Jessy explained.

“Oh. Well, sit down and join us. The buffet here is simple but good,” Timothy said politely.

Jessy had gotten her incredible blue eyes from Timothy, Dillon thought, though the older man’s were fading a bit now. His Indian heritage was visible in his angled cheekbones, he still sported a full head of white hair, and his posture was ramrod straight.

“Thank you,” Dillon told him, surprised at the strength of the old man’s grip.

“I’ll get us some coffee,” Jessy said to Dillon. “What else would you like? Toast? Croissant? Bagel?”

“Toast, thanks,” Dillon said.

Timothy hadn’t taken his eyes off Dillon. “Ute?” he asked. “Sioux? No, you’re Paiute, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Dillon agreed.

Jessy returned to the table balancing plates of buttered whole wheat toast and packets of jelly on one arm, and carefully holding two coffee mugs by their handles in the other hand. Dillon rose quickly and took one, thanking her.

Timothy was still eyeing him, now with what seemed to be approval, Dillon thought. Good. It was important for this man to like him.

“It was a Paiute shaman, Wovoka, who first spoke of the ghost dancers. He founded the movement,” Timothy said.

It was apparent from the look on her face that Jessy was unhappy with her grandfather’s preoccupation with the ghost dancers, and her words only confirmed that impression. “Timothy, I know you want me to be proud of your father’s people, and I am, but—”

“She doesn’t like it that I see the dancers,” Timothy explained to Dillon.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so pleased to see them, as if you think they mean something good. Think about it.” She turned to Dillon as if asking for support. “I suppose you know all about them. How they danced themselves into a frenzy and made people believe they could wear special shirts that would protect them from bullets. Wovoka said that he saw his dead ancestors, and that they told him they could wipe the white man from the land. And you know what came of that? Sitting Bull’s death and the massacre at Wounded Knee.” She looked pleadingly at Timothy again. “The ghost dancers were a resistance movement—a
failed
resistance movement—and it was a long time…ago.”

“Time means nothing,” Timothy said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re missing the point, my dearest granddaughter.” He nodded at Dillon, as if convinced that he understood. “What was important was that the western tribes learned to speak to those who had gone before. A new tradition was begun. The Ghost Dance was a gift. In any society there are those who believe and those who don’t. To this day, our people do the Ghost Dance.”

“For tourist dollars,” Jessy said.

Timothy laughed. “But it’s all right to dress up like a pirate for those same tourist dollars?”

Jessy flushed. “It’s just a show.”

“And to some the Ghost Dance is just a show. But to others it’s as real now as it was in Wovoka’s day. I only wish that you would see, that you would understand. That you would
believe
.”

Jessy hesitated. “Timothy, you see a different world than I do.”

Timothy shook his head and addressed Dillon again. “The dancers in the wall told me that you would come. That you’re here because Jessy is in danger.”

“Timothy…” Jessy protested.

But Timothy was looking at Dillon, who smiled slowly. Timothy
had
known. Whether he had a sixth sense that informed him of danger or really
had
spoken to men in the walls, somehow he had known, and he seemed as sane a man as any as he spoke to. “She will find her strength, but she will need you, too.”

Suddenly he looked away, frowning, as if distracted.

After a moment he looked up at Jessy. “Granddaughter, will you get me more coffee?”

She cast a speaking glance at Dillon, but she took Timothy’s mug and headed for the buffet.

As soon as she left the table, Timothy turned to Dillon. He was more than distracted. He was upset. “They know. They know she was there.”

“Who? Who knows she was there?” Dillon asked him.

“I don’t know their names. I don’t know what they look like. But Billie Tiger just spoke to me. He was here with Wovoka, then lost his life at Wounded Knee.”

Dillon hesitated, worried that Timothy had lost touch with reality after all.

Then the old man’s hand fell over Dillon’s, and his grip was steely. “They know that she can see spirits, and they will come after her. You are her guardian now. You must take care of her.”

Jessy heard the last as she approached the table, and she tossed her hair behind her shoulder as a cross look rose to her face. She sat down and took Timothy’s hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Timothy, no one has to look out for me. I’m always careful.”

Timothy shook his head. “They are assembling. And once they are all together, they will recreate what happened long ago.”

“Timothy, here’s your coffee,” Jessy said.

The look in her eyes was distressed, and Dillon knew she was worried that Timothy’s mind was going. He wasn’t so sure.

He offered her a small smile, hoping she would realize he was telling her not to worry.

“Timothy,
who
is assembling?” Dillon asked.

“I don’t know who they are, but Billie Tiger said they were there before the Ghost Dance. The civil war was over, and the white men were looking to the West, to the territories. Many were desperate. Others were getting rich on the backs of others.”

Jessy touched his cheek soothingly. “It’s all right, Timothy. The world hasn’t exactly been fixed, but it’s a whole lot better. And a lot of people say the Indian casinos are the tribes’ way of getting revenge on the white men.”

Timothy shook his head to dismiss her words, then stared at his coffee. “There’s no cream,” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” Jessy said, and got up again.

“Timothy, you were saying?” Dillon prompted as soon as she was gone.

Timothy stared at him blankly. “I said there was no cream.”

“No, before that. What were you saying about the ghost dancers and Billie Tiger and things happening again?”

“Oh, the ghost dancers. Sometimes they’re in the walls. Sometimes, if you look hard, you can see them in the sky. I really need cream in my coffee,” he said, sighing.

Dillon sat back. Whatever Timothy might have had to say, it was lost now, and it was impossible to tell whether he really had some kind of an occult connection or if disease was destroying his mind.

Jessy returned and Timothy smiled broadly as he poured the cream into his coffee, then waved to an attractive older woman across the room. She joined them, and he introduced her as Mrs. Teasdale. The conversation was light and casual after that. Apparently Jessy had promised to take the older couple on an outing, and Mrs. Teasdale was glad—she simply did not go out alone, not even to the mall, not with “the way things are these days.”

A little while later Jessy said that they needed to leave so she could get to the casino and start getting ready to go onstage. She was silent in the car, and when he glanced her way, she flashed him a troubled smile, then turned away to look out the window.

“He wasn’t well today,” she said sadly, still looking out at the scenery.

“Actually, I thought he seemed pretty lucid. Believe me, I’ve seen a lot worse.”

She turned and met his eyes. “I’m sorry. Do you have relatives who…are elderly?”

“Not really. I’ve just been around,” he told her. “I’ve
dealt with the elderly in my investigations,” he explained. He decided this wasn’t the time to tell her that sometimes, when people thought the elderly were crazy, they were just closer to the door that separated one world from the next.

“He’s okay,” he told her, reaching out to pat her knee. “Honestly.”