When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(37)

She knows she is dreaming, but she has lost control of the script. She reminds herself that she has the ability to yank herself out of a nightmare. She must get through the door.

She becomes aware of a muffled rapping. Someone is knocking on the door of her dream . . .

She wrenched herself out of the nightmare and sat up on the edge of the bed. She was breathing hard, and her heart was pounding. She was in the middle of a full-blown anxiety attack. It wasn’t the first time.

“Breathe,” she whispered.

It was impossible to focus on her breathing because someone was rapping on the door of her room.

That was not right. There was no reason why anyone would be knocking at this hour. Another burst of panic shot through her. Sam would know what to do. He was right next door.

She leaped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried to the connecting door. She made a fist and prepared to rap sharply. She paused when she heard another soft knock and realized it was coming from the other side of the door.

Dazed with relief, she unlocked the door and opened it. For a few seconds she simply stared at Sam, trying to come up with an explanation for the fact that he was wearing the shoes, trousers, and white dress shirt he’d had on earlier. But she could not concentrate on the problem of why he was dressed because she was distracted by the acid energy of anxiety still coursing through her veins.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Can’t . . . can’t talk now,” she said. “Give me a minute.”

“Hang on.”

He disappeared. She didn’t try to understand why. She started to pace the room, struggling to rid herself of the poison created by the anxiety attack.

“Breathe,” she muttered. “Just breathe. You know how to do this. It was just a nightmare.”

Sam reappeared. He had a glass in his hand. It was filled with an amber liquid. “Here you go. Good for what ails you.”

She didn’t argue. She grabbed the glass and downed a healthy swallow of the whiskey. Too much, too fast. But the burn shattered the spell that had gripped her senses. She coughed and took a deep breath. The nerve-rattling energy began to dissipate. She resumed pacing. Drank some more whiskey. Took another breath.

Gradually she regained control. She realized Sam was still there, watching her from the doorway between the two rooms. She groaned. Now he really would conclude that she was not entirely balanced.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yep. Just great.”

Sam smiled but he did not comment.

At least he wasn’t looking at her as if he was afraid she was hysterical. That helped settle her rattled nerves as nothing else could have done.

“Sorry you had to witness that,” she said.

“Bad dream?”

“My fault. I lost control of it. Got the feeling I couldn’t escape. It happens from time to time. I told you, I’m good, but I’m not perfect.”

“And this is why you’ve never married,” he said. “You’re afraid a husband would witness you waking up in an anxiety attack and conclude you were unstable.”

She glared at him. “Yes, not that it matters. What are you doing here?”

“I went to Beverly Nevins’s room a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, right. The mildly illegal job. Well?”

“Someone else got there first.”

“Really?” She frowned, trying to make sense of that news. “A burglar?”

“Didn’t look like the work of a professional. I don’t think whoever it was had any success.”

She discovered she could concentrate now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I found something interesting.”

He held up a gold bracelet. A charm in the shape of a crescent moon dangled from it.

Maggie stared at it, a fresh tide of anxiety igniting her nerves and her senses.

“Damn,” she whispered. “This is not good.”

Sam watched her closely. “Recognize it?”

“I told you I advised Lillian Dewhurst to get rid of an object that was casting a bad shadow. I worried it was disturbing her dreams.”

“I remember,” Sam said.

“It was a bracelet that was identical to the one you’re holding.”





Chapter 19




There were initials on the back of the crescent moon on Lillian’s bracelet,” Maggie said. “ATS. Lillian said they stood for Astral Travelers Society. It was the name of a group she and some of her friends joined a few years ago. They were all interested in dream analysis.”

She and Sam were sitting across from each other at the table in her room. She had turned on a floor lamp, hoping some strong light would make the situation feel less intimate. She had been wrong. She was in her nightgown and robe and she was alone with Sam in a hotel room at three thirty in the morning.

There was no escaping the sense of intimacy—at least, she could not ignore it. Sam, however, was focused solely on the bracelet sitting on the table. Maggie tried to concentrate on it, too.

She wasn’t sensing the same sort of shadow energy she had picked up from Lillian’s bracelet. The bracelet Sam had found looked somehow ominous, but the primary sensation emanating from it felt more like melancholia.

“The initials ATS are on the moon on this bracelet, too,” Sam said. He examined the inside of the band. “But there’s an additional inscription. To EN, the woman of my dreams. It’s signed Dream Master.”