The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(53)
Those tracks in the snow pulled her onward, her hand clutched so tightly around the handle of the big knife that it seemed the skin would peel away from her knuckles at any moment. She felt like screaming after the Rag Man: Who are you? What do you want from me? Stay the hell away from my family!
“I know what you are.”
The voice behind her was so close she could feel the hot breath puff against the back of her neck, could smell the rot in those decaying teeth. Suddenly all the anger and strength leached out of her body, replaced by an icy terror that left her frozen in place, unable to move. Unable even to turn her face to look into those vacant eye sockets.
“I know what you are becoming.”
Heather tried to scream, but somehow could not manage to get the sound out of her throat. Only when she heard the soft thud of something heavy hitting the snow at her feet did she realize she’d dropped the butcher knife.
“Becoming…”
The feel of the hand on her shoulder was more than she could bear, rousing her to twist and lurch away.
“…going to becoming?”
The weight of the blanket dragged her down, and she lifted her head, struggling toward the light.
“Heather, wake up. Are you going to be coming down to breakfast?”
Heather sat straight up in bed and found herself staring into her father’s face.
“Wow. That must have been some dream you were having. It’s after eight o’clock.”
Heather suddenly remembered that she could breathe. The shock of transition from the vivid dream to wakefulness left her dazed.
“Heather?”
“Sorry, Dad,” Heather said, wiping at her face with both hands. “I must have really been out. What was it you were asking me?”
He laughed. “Maybe I should let you go back to sleep. The Smythes are going to be here in forty-five minutes for brunch.”
“Oh. Thanks. I definitely want to shower and get cleaned up first.”
“Okay. We’ll see you in a few minutes then.”
As the door closed, Heather sank back into bed, amazed that her father hadn’t heard the pounding in her head. She had never been subject to migraines, but this one was a real skull cracker of a headache. If she hadn’t just told her dad that she was going to come down for breakfast, she would have taken a couple of aspirins and crawled back into bed. Recalling the dream, Heather decided she didn’t really want to sleep again anyway.
By the time she had drained the hot water heater and stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom, Heather was feeling a little better. The headache was still there, but the rest of her seemed to be ready to greet the land of the wakeful. She glanced up at the mirror, half expecting to see finger-printed words in the condensation. No words. Thank the Lord.
Heather was several minutes late getting downstairs, but she had still somehow managed to beat the Smythes. That surprised her, considering the Smythe family’s notorious punctuality.
“Hi, sleepy head,” her mother said as she pulled a pan of hot biscuits from the oven and applied butter.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her father looked up from his paper. “Glad to see you looking perkier. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that deep into the land of nod.”
“It’s their exhausting study schedule this week,” said her mother as she set a large red-and-yellow plate in the middle of the table, biscuits piled high atop it. “It’s too much, coming right out of the holidays. I’ve a good mind to complain to the principal.”
“Mom, please don’t,” said Heather quickly.
Her mother snorted. “It was just a thought.”
Just then the door opened, and the Smythes poured in to happy greetings all around.
“Sorry we’re late,” Fred Smythe began. “We had a tough time getting these two kids roused this morning. You would have thought they were dead.”
Heather’s head popped up. Sure enough, both Mark and Jennifer looked like they needed to go directly back to bed.
As the parents chattered in the background, Mark leaned over to whisper in Heather’s ear. “It’s the weirdest thing. Both Doc and I had exactly the same dream last night.”
A cold shiver crept up Heather’s spine. “The same dream?”
Jennifer nodded. “Exactly the same. It was all about you chasing a weird man into the woods with a knife.”
Mark leaned closer. “Yeah. Really creepy.”
A loud clatter caused everyone to look around at Heather, who stood by the table staring down at the butcher knife she had just dropped on the kitchen floor.
Chapter 36
Jack Gregory stepped down from the small private jet, carrying his two small black bags. Glancing back, he saw the lithe, muscular form of Janet Price exit the aircraft carrying a slightly larger, soft-leather duffel.
Without waiting for Harold Stevens, Jack made his way over to the Executive Aviation office, the late-afternoon Albuquerque sun providing plenty of light but little heat on this cold January day. By the time he had retrieved the keys to the two cars that awaited their arrival and had made arrangements for the refueling and the parking of the jet, Harold Stevens had joined Janet in the waiting area.
Jack tossed him a set of keys and then stepped outside to find his own car, a bloodred Audi Quattro. Popping open the spacious trunk, he lifted his and Janet’s bags inside. As he opened the driver’s-side door and slid into the leather seat, Janet distracted him by gliding into the passenger seat, her legs as shapely and defined as a professional dancer’s, the little black skirt not quite reaching her knees.