“Tell me how you found me, or the woman dies now. What’s more, you’ll get to watch. And then it will be your turn.”
“Owen, wake up.”
Alice’s calm, soothing voice comes to him from outside his dream. All he has to do is follow it back to the surface. But he can’t go. Not yet. He’s so close to finding the memories he lost down here in the Underworld. So damn close…
“Come with me, Owen. I’ll help you look for what you lost.”
He can’t resist the gentle currents of her voice. He rides them back to the surface…
He opened his eyes. Alice, bundled into a hotel robe, was hovering anxiously over the pull-out bed. Sebastian was at the foot of the bed, watching him intently with all four eyes.
“Well, shit,” he muttered.
He shoved the sheet and quilt aside and sat up. Alice took a couple of quick steps back. Belatedly he remembered he was wearing only his T-shirt and briefs.
He grabbed the nearest object—a pillow—and positioned it across his thighs to cover the too-revealing briefs.If you hang out with a Ballantine Method practitioner too long, you pick up the modesty thing.
“Sorry,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “I was dreaming.”
She smiled. “I noticed. I’m in the dream therapy business, remember?”
He groaned. “Was I talking in my sleep?”
She handed him his robe and politely turned away. “You were mumbling a little.”
“Embarrassing.” He tossed the pillow aside, got to his feet, and shrugged into the robe. “Is that what woke you?”
“No, I was already awake.”
Sebastian lost interest in the conversation and hustled over to the balcony window to contemplate the glittering Illusion Town night.
“You can turn around now,” Owen said. “I’m decent.”
“Okay.” Alice sank down on the side of her bed and fixed him with an inviting look. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”
“No,” he said. “I do not want to talk about it.” That sounded sharp. Downright rude. But some subjects were off-limits. “It’s just an old dream that comes back once in a while.”
Not that old. Six months, to be precise.
“When you’re under stress?” she pressed.
“When I’m in the middle of a case.” It haunted him at other times, too, but she already knew way too much about him. Time to do damage control.
“I understand,” she said, evidently oblivious to the fact that he was trying to shut down the conversation. “It’s a stress-related dream. We all have them. I have some techniques for gaining control of recurring nightmares.”
He thought about telling her that he didn’t need to get control of the dream—he needed to know how it ended.
Bad idea.
“Enough about me,” he said evenly. “Let’s talk about you. Why weren’t you sleeping?”
“I can’t stop thinking about what Brooke said. After all these years I find out my mother was widowed and that she was told she had lost a baby and then got married toDunstan Kelbrook, of all people—before she was twenty years old. That’s the last thing I expected. She died so tragically young. It’s just hard to process.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Brooke said, too.” He went to the window and stopped beside Sebastian. “We should allow for the possibility that she lied to us.”
“I don’t think Brooke lied.” Alice hesitated. “Do you?”
“My gut reaction is no. I think she was telling the truth. At least as much as she knows. But there are plenty of very good liars out there, some with a genuine paranormal talent for it.”
