Sleeping With Fear

Chapter 5

Gordon rubbed a big hand across his bald head and stared at Riley. "Say what?"

"My memory of the last three weeks resembles Swiss cheese. Lots and lots of holes."

"The other part."

"Oh, that. I woke up this afternoon with dried blood all over me."

"Human blood?"

"Dunno yet. Probably hear from Quantico tomorrow."

"And you can't remember how you got blood all over you."

"One of the holes, yeah. And it's really bothering me, especially since we have this tortured and mangled body, which was apparently tortured and mangled in about the right time frame."

"I can see how that'd be a worry," he agreed.

They stared at each other, Gordon leaning back against the side of his boat and Riley sitting on the bench across from him. The boat was tied up at the dock behind the small house Gordon owned on the mainland side of Opal Island; he kept himself busy as well as made extra money taking fishing parties out onto the Atlantic.

"Not that I think for one minute that you're capable of doing that to somebody for no good reason," he said.

Wryly appreciative of the qualifier, she said, "But what if I had a good reason?"

"Out of the war zone?" He shook his head. "Nah. Not your style. You might get pissed and come out swingin', but nothing more, not back here in the world."

"I am an FBI agent," she reminded him.

"Yeah, so you'd shoot somebody. Maybe. If you didn't have another choice. We both know you're capable of that. But torture and decapitation?" Gordon pursed his lips, his broad brown face considering. "You know, I don't see you doing that even in wartime. It takes a certain cruelty, not to mention cold-blooded ruthlessness, and you never had either."

Riley was reassured, if only partly. Gordon knew her, probably, as well as anyone did, and if he said killing someone like that was not in her nature, then he was very likely right. She didn't think she was capable of it either.

But.

"Okay, so if I didn't do that to the guy, then why did I wake up covered in blood?"

"You don't know it was his blood."

"But what if?"

"Could be you tried to help him at some point. Went to try to cut him down before you realized it was too late."

"And then just went home and fell asleep, fully dressed and still covered with blood?"

"No, that doesn't sound likely, does it? Not for you. Not if you were in your right mind, anyway. Something must have happened in between. A shock of some kind, maybe. You sure you didn't get a bump on the head, something like that?"

"No lumps or bruises that I could find. Woke up with a hell of a headache, though. You know what that usually means."

He nodded. "Your version of a hangover, minus the booze. You'd been using the spooky senses."

"Apparently." He'd known about her clairvoyance for years, believed in it utterly because he'd seen again and again what she could do, and had kept her secret.

"But you don't remember what they told you?"

"Nope. If they told me anything."

"Must have been something bad. Bad enough to take away your memory, maybe?"

"I don't know, Gordon. I've seen some pretty lousy things. Horrible, sick things. It never affected my memory before. What could have been so bad, so totally shocking, that I couldn't bear to remember it?"

"Maybe you saw what happened out there in the woods. Hell, maybe you saw somebody conjure up the devil."

"I don't believe in the devil. Not like that, anyway."

"And maybe that's why you don't remember."

Riley considered that, but shook her head. "In addition to some lousy things, I've also seen some incredibly weird things, especially in the last few years. Off-the-chart scary things. I don't believe any occult ritual would actually conjure a flesh-and-blood devil complete with horns and a pitchfork-but I don't know that I'd be all that shocked if it happened right in front of me."

Gordon grinned. "Come to think of it, you'd probably just wonder how they managed to get the guy in the rubber suit so fast."

"Probably. It is mostly smoke and mirrors, you know, the seemingly supernatural occult stuff. Usually."

"So you've told me. Okay. So you saw the murder out there, and something about it caused the amnesia. That's the most likely explanation, right?"

She had to agree. "Yeah, I guess. Which makes it imperative for me to recover those memories ASAP."

"Think the killer might know you saw something?"

"I think I have to assume that until I have proof to the contrary. And finding that proof is not going to be a lot of fun, since I don't have a clue who the killer might be. Worse yet, the spooky senses seem to be out of commission, at least for the moment."

"No shit?"

Riley shook her head. "No shit. I should have been able to tap into something at the crime scene; that sort of situation, with everybody tense and upset, is always where I'm strongest. Or always have been. This time, nothing. Not a damn thing, even when I touched those rocks."

"So you're hunting a killer in the dark."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Gordon brooded. "A killer who might know, or at least believe, that you saw something out there. But if he does know you saw something, or even suspects you did, why let you run around loose? I mean, he's killed pretty brutally already. Why let you live?"

"I don't know. Unless he had damn good reason to be sure I wouldn't be a threat."

"Like, maybe, he knew you wouldn't remember whatever it was that you'd seen?"

"How could he know that? Amnesia isn't something you can deliberately cause, at least not as far as I know. And the SCU has studied this sort of thing, for years now. Traumatic injuries, especially head injuries, have all sorts of consequences, but amnesia other than very short-term isn't especially high on the list. Besides which-no bumps or bruises, let alone anything severe enough to be termed a head injury."

"Very short-term amnesia?"

"It's fairly common after a traumatic injury to not remember the events immediately before it occurred. But that almost always means a gap of hours, not days-and almost never weeks."

"Okay." Gordon brooded some more. "Long shot, maybe, but what about another psychic?"

Riley winced. "Christ, I hope not."

"But it's possible another psychic could be affecting you?"

"Just about anything is possible, you know that as well as I do. Another psychic might have picked up on the amnesia, or even known about it in advance. Hell, maybe caused it. Or at the very least be taking advantage of it." She drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I can tell you this much. If there is another psychic in this, he or she has the upper hand, at least until the fog in my head clears and I can use my own abilities."

If I can. If I can.

"Don't much like the sound of that, babe," Gordon offered.

"No. Me either." It was Riley's turn to brood. "Leah said you two thought I had been unusually secretive lately." The deputy had dropped Riley off and then returned to the sheriff's department, since she was on duty for another hour.

"Well, more than I liked. It was me brought you down here, after all. I been feeling responsible."

"Don't."

He rolled his eyes, a characteristic gesture Leah had probably picked up from him. "Yeah, yeah."

"I mean it. And, by the way, I haven't told Leah about the memory loss. I trust her, it's just…"

"I know what it's just," he responded. And he did know. Fellow soldiers understood the need to guard vulnerabilities in a way few civilians ever could. "I'll keep the secret if you want, but I think she can probably help. 'Specially if-"

Riley eyed him, seeing in that suddenly impassive face a lot more than most would have seen. "Especially if I don't remember my obviously hot social life these last weeks," she finished.

"So you don't, huh?"

"Not much of it, no. I gather I dated Jake Ballard, at least for a while. And that I'm currently involved with Ash. Ash what, by the way? I haven't heard his surname used." The very question struck her as almost comical.

Almost.

Gordon's brows climbed into his nonexistent hairline. " Prescott. Ash Prescott. District Attorney for Hazard County."

"Jesus. What was I thinking?"

"One of the things you didn't share," Gordon informed her politely. "Mind you, I wasn't surprised when Jake talked you into going out with him. He's got the knack. Far as I could tell, though, it was just a couple dates-and then you met Ash. You and him surprised me."

"Why? Because of me, or because of him?"

Gordon gave the question serious consideration. "Well, it's not what I'd call normal for you to bed down with a man you've known no more than a few days."

Riley winced. "That fast? Christ. We weren't subtle about it, I gather."

"Subtle?" He laughed. "In case you didn't see it today, the man usually drives a Hummer, Riley. A bright yellow one. Pretty damn obvious parked outside your place overnight. And people on this island do love to talk."

"Great." She sighed, debated briefly, and decided not to ask Gordon if he was privy to any more particulars of the intimate nature of her relationship with Ash Prescott; that was something she'd need to find out for herself. Instead, she said, "But he surprised you?"

"Gettin' involved with you so fast? Yep."

"Why?"

"Hard to say, exactly. He's not a man to let much show, but I wouldn't have said he was all that susceptible to a pretty woman, 'specially living in a beach community with plenty of flesh on parade most of the time. I mean, you're a fox, any man with eyes can see that, and hot as hell when you put your mind to it, but I doubt that was it."

Riley ignored the blunt assessment of her charms, which she had heard before from Gordon and other army buddies, to ask, "Did I do that? Put my mind to it?" She had to ask, in light of all the sexy underwear she'd discovered among her clothing.

"I saw you a few times dressed up a bit more than usual, but like I said, I don't think it was looks that got to him. And I'd say he was the one went after what he wanted. Didn't need any encouragement at all, far as I could tell. And he has the rep for gettin' what he wants. Still, I've only lived here a couple years, but I can't remember Ash ever gettin' involved with a summer visitor before. So visibly, anyway."

"Maybe he was in the mood for a fling."

Gordon shook his head. "If you was to ask me, I'd say he wasn't the type for a fling. Neither are you, if I have to remind you."

"Well, apparently that's what I'm doing," she muttered.

"Flinging. With a man whose last name I couldn't remember." Gordon pursed his lips in another characteristic gesture. "You didn't remember him or Jake, huh?"

"No. At least…I had a flash of memory after Ash joined us at the crime scene. But do I remember meeting him or Jake? Dating them? No. There are faces in my mind, but neither of theirs showed up until they did."

"And you don't remember anything you might have found out investigating the situation here?"

"I don't remember the situation. Or, at least, I'm having to piece together what I do-did-know."

"That is definitely not good."

"Tell me about it." She sighed, then straightened and added, "And I mean that, Gordon. Tell me about it all. Everything, starting with why you called me down here, what's been happening here, and what I've told you since I got here."

"Filling in the pieces. Hoping something will wake up your memory?"

"I'm counting on it. Because Bishop will expect a report every day-and if I can't convince him I've got a grip on things here, he'll pull me by Friday. Maybe sooner, considering there's been a murder now."

With another sigh, Riley added, "Besides all that, apparently I have another date with Ash in about two hours. Dinner. It would be nice if I could remember what we've talked about so far, so I don't repeat myself. Also nice if I could remember why I started sleeping with the man, since from the little I do remember, I doubt he'll be content with a good-night kiss at the door."

"I gather you don't want to either confide in him or raise his suspicions by suddenly goin' coy?"

"No to the first because…because I don't know where he fits in all this, not yet. As for the other part, playing coy wouldn't exactly be in character for me, now, would it? Unless-I wasn't being somebody else here, was I, Gordon?"

"No, you didn't see the need. Just being yourself and on vacation, picking this place to visit an old army buddy, seemed to be the best choice. You were here openly, an FBI agent, so why dress it up and make it look more fancy than it was?"

"Makes sense. Keep it simple whenever possible."

"Which is what you did. No, babe, you were just being you, and playing coy is definitely not your style."

She nodded. "So I get to feel my way-you should pardon the pun-through a relationship I don't remember starting."

Gordon eyed her. "And?"

He knew her too well. "And I can't rely on any of my senses. Any of them, not just the spooky ones. Everything's gone…distant and blurry. For the first time in my life, I don't have any kind of an edge. And it's scaring the hell out of me."

Given her druthers, it certainly wouldn't have been Riley's choice to keep a dinner date with Ash that evening. She had suggested that helping investigate a grisly murder should probably take precedence over her social life, but as Ash had calmly reminded her, there wasn't a lot she could do until the body was autopsied and forensic evidence tested-neither of which was a specialty of hers.

Jake had suggested they brainstorm at the sheriff's department, but Riley had been forced reluctantly to agree with Ash that endlessly speculating wouldn't be very productive without facts and evidence in hand.

Best to get a fresh start early tomorrow.

Which meant, of course, that she had to get through tonight, feeling her way semiblindly through the nuances of a relationship that had been one of lovers, apparently, for the better part of two weeks.

Passionate lovers, if her physical reaction to Ash and her single flash of memory were anything to go by.

As she got ready for Ash to pick her up just before eight, Riley wasn't all that worried about her ability to behave as he would expect her to during the date. That was the easy part, at least for her. She'd always been able to fit herself into any situation, to look and act as though she belonged no matter what was going on inside.

In this case, what was going on inside was more at odds than usual with her composed exterior.

Butterflies.

Big butterflies. With claws.

The entire situation made her profoundly uneasy, because it really wasn't in character for her to get personally involved with anyone in the course of an investigation, far less tumble into bed with a man when she hadn't had time, surely, to judge his character.

"Just tell me he isn't evil, Gordon."

"He's a prosecutor, Riley, in a small Southern beach community. How evil could he be?"

"Oh, man, don't ask that question. The worst serial killers I've ever known operated out of small towns."

"Maybe so, but I doubt Ash is a serial killer. Mind you, I'm not sayin' the man doesn't have a few rough edges. And talk is, he raised some hell as a kid. But he's respected around here, I know that much."

"The last serial killer I knew was respected. Before everybody found out what was in his basement."

"You been around way too many serial killers, babe."

Probably true, that.

In any case, what Riley had admitted to Gordon was also true. She was scared. Despite the cool and confident exterior she was adept at showing, there was a very large part of her that wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, hoping to wake and find all this just a nightmare. Or to run back to Quantico, her safe haven.

Not that she could do either, of course.

Nope, not Riley Crane, sensible, rational, trustworthy professional that she was. She'd stay and see it through, finish the job she'd started, soldier on-and all the other clichés. Because it simply wasn't in her nature to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

No matter how bad things got.

So when the doorbell rang just after seven-thirty, she drew a deep breath and went to greet Ash with a smile and total serenity.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he responded. And wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet to kiss her. Right there in the open doorway, for God and all of Opal Island to see.

So much for privacy. So much for serenity.

Riley suspected that all her bones were melting. She also suspected that she didn't much care.

When he raised his head at last and lowered her back to her feet, Ash said a bit roughly, "I've been wanting to do that all day. Just for the record, you seem to have become a habit with me. I didn't sleep at all last night after you kicked me out."

I kicked you out? Why on earth would I do that?

"I didn't kick you out," she murmured, reasonably sure she wouldn't have.

"Maybe not literally, but the result was the same. Instead of spending the night in a warm bed with a warm woman, I ended up alone with whiskey and an old movie. I thought we'd gotten beyond that, Riley."

She took a chance. "Beyond what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. If all I wanted was a dinner companion and an hour of sex afterward, there are willing women in my life a lot less complicated than you are." The statement was utterly matter-of-fact and without conceit.

Hmmm. Wonder which complications he's referring to? Wonder who those other women are? And maybe I'm not a fling?

She didn't know how she felt about that. Hell, she didn't know how she felt about any of this.

Ash went on, "Look, I respect this need of yours for space and time to yourself. I get that, I really do. We both know I'm a prickly bastard and pretty much a loner myself. All I'm saying is the next time you decide you want to sleep alone, a little more warning would be appreciated."

I must have had someplace else I needed to be later last night. Note to self: obviously something last-minute, or else I would have headed Ash off long before bedtime. Wonder what it was? Did I know there was someone in danger? That something bad was going to happen? And if I did…

Why didn't I confide in you about it, lover?

"Sorry. And noted, for future reference," Riley said, wondering when her own arms had wound themselves around his neck. Since they were already there, she didn't bother to remove them. "I missed you too, by the way."

"I'm glad to hear it." He kissed her again, briefly but with just as much intensity. "We could skip dinner."

"Not unless you prefer your women nearly comatose," she said, feeling on safe ground here. "I'm starving."

He laughed. "Then we definitely need to get you fed, and I'm not in the mood to cook tonight. Ready to go?"

Guess that explains my well-stocked kitchen. He's been cooking here.

She didn't know how she felt about that either.

"I'm ready," she said.