She bit, chewed, swallowed, taking her time. Delaying her answer. “It was so traumatic before that I think my mind’s kind of...taken over.”
“In what way?”
“Every time I start to dream, I wake up. I have the same startle response you have when you dream you’re falling, you know what I mean?”
He did. “So is it any time you dream at all, or only when it’s one of those...psychic connection dreams?”
“How the hell would I know? The dreams never play out.”
“No dreams ever play out?”
She averted her eyes, and her cheeks turned cherry-red. “Well, sure. Some do.”
Was it crazy for him to hope that blush was because those dreams were about him? And that they were sexy as hell? Like the ones he’d been having about her since he’d seen her last?
“But I can say for sure that I haven’t had any dreams about any harm being done to any people. Besides, you said this was a missing person, not a murder victim, right?”
“Right. It’s a missing person. But...”
“But what?”
“According to the family, this isn’t someone who would just up and vanish. Housewife. Soccer mom. PTA, all that. You know?” He got an idea and ran with it before his brain told him not to. “It would be like if your sister Sandra suddenly just up and vanished. You wouldn’t think she did it voluntarily, right?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Not like when my transient addict brother up and vanished and I assumed he’d just turn up after a while, like he always did. Until he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. That was a bad— I’m sorry, Rachel.” He covered her hand with his.
She nodded, then twisted her arm to look at her watch. “I have to go.”
“How are you getting back?” he asked.
“Alone, Mason. I’m getting back alone.” She pushed the final chip into her mouth and left half the sandwich on her plate, along with the entire pickle. “Thanks for lunch. I hope things get better for your family soon.”
He nodded. “Thanks. Merry Christmas, Rache.”
“Merry Christmas, Mason.”
2
Friday, December 15
I would never get tired of seeing my home. Not just because I hadn’t been able to see it until this past August, but because it was so freaking beautiful. All steep peaks and those half-round clay shingles on the roof like broken flowerpots. It was partly rich maple wood planks and partly cobblestone, and it always reminded me of a fairy-tale cottage. Only bigger. Way bigger. It sat near the dead end of a long dirt road that bordered the Whitney Point Reservoir, which really looked more like a great big lake. The road and my wrought iron fence were the only things between my place and the shore. There were woods all around me and the giant meadow where the house sat, rising up above the rest like a jewel on top of a crown.
The driveway was gated, because, let’s face it, I’m kind of a big deal. But the gates were open, as they usually were, and I drove right on through and up to the attached garage where my precious T-Bird was parked for the winter, with my niece’s first car parked beside it. She’d still had school this past week, so she’d needed her car to drive back and forth. My winter ride was a Subaru XV Crosstrek, brand-new in tangerine-orange, all-wheel drive with all the extras, and tougher than nails. The thing was more sure-footed in the snow and ice of the rural southern tier of New York State than a mountain goat. I loved it. Not as much as my collectible T-Bird, but it was close. I think Myrtle liked it even better than the yellow ’Bird. Heated leather. She liked her ass warm.
Everything had been brown and barren when I’d left to hit the talk show circuit, but now there was a fluffy blanket of snow on everything. I’d never had eyesight in the winter before. Not since I was twelve, anyway. My fairy-tale cottage looked more like Santa’s workshop now, and the sight of snow clinging to the branches of the towering pines had me gaping like an air-starved trout. And I’d thought fall was gorgeous.
Damn, I love where I live.
I parked outside the garage instead of taking the time to drive in. I wanted to walk in the snow and gawk at my view some more. But as soon as I was out and inhaling my first icy, pine-scented breath, the front door opened, and Myrtle came running right down the steps and along the curving stone path to my feet, where she wiggled against my legs. My gorgeous niece Misty stood in the doorway, shaking her head but grinning.
You couldn’t not love a blind bulldog.
I crouched down and rubbed Myrt’s ears, kissed her face. “Hey, little boodog. Did you miss me?”
“Snarf,” she replied. Which meant, only if you brought me something edible.
Fortunately, I had. “Come on inside and I’ll give you a treat.”
She followed me in, trotting along all on her own. She’d become completely confident in finding her way around her home base. As long as I didn’t leave things out of place, you’d never know she was blind. Away from home she was a lot more dependent, but here, she ruled.
“How was the trip?” Misty asked, moving her tall and impossibly thin frame aside to let Myrtle and me come in. Like there wasn’t already room.
“It was great, but I’m glad to get home.” I gave her a hug. “I brought you something, too, to thank you for taking care of Myrt.”
“It was fun. We watched all your appearances. You really kicked ass, Aunt Rache.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” I frowned and sniffed. “What smells so good?”
“Amy’s making you a welcome-home dinner. Pulled pork or something with an equally pornographic name.”
“Ooooh.” I don’t know if I said that, or my stomach did. Amy worked for me, but she was not my cook or housekeeper, so this was above and beyond the call of duty. I didn’t even have a cook or housekeeper and didn’t want one. I liked my space, didn’t like other people poking around in my stuff. I shucked my boots and coat, leaving them where they fell, and headed for the sofa to collapse. “God, it’s good to be home.”
When my short, slightly round assistant and right-hand woman finally emerged from the kitchen to tell us dinner was served, I didn’t want to get up.
“Amy, if we can eat in here I’ll give you a Christmas bonus.”
She grinned, dark red lipstick making her teeth look whiter, thick black eyeliner making her skin look paler. She dressed like an aspiring Addams Family member. “You always give me a Christmas bonus.”
“Then I’ll give you a bigger one. Please?”
She shrugged. “It’s your house.”
“It is, isn’t it? Then I decree we eat in front of the TV like a bunch of real rednecks.”
“I’m gonna bring everything in, then,” Amy said. “You clear off the coffee table.”
I saluted her and cleared off the magazines, books and catalogs with a sweep of my arm. “Done.”
“God help us all,” Amy muttered.
“Give me your keys, Aunt Rache. I’ll go get your luggage for you.”
“You are definitely the good twin. I don’t care what your mother says.” I nodded at my coat, lying like a red puddle by the front door. “They’re in the pocket.”
A few minutes later we ate. My luggage was in my room, my coat