The Dream Stalker (Gifted Liaisons)

  The Dream Stalker

  by

  Capri Montgomery

  Copyright © 2011 Shunta Montgomery

  All Rights Reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Publisher’s Note:

  The Dream Stalker is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, event or locales is entirely coincidental.

  By Capri Montgomery

  The Dream Stalker (Book 2 Gifted Liaisons Series)

  The McGregor Affair (Book 3 Men of Action Series)

  Dream Walker (Book 1 Gifted Liaisons Series)

  The Geneva Project (Book 2 Men of Action Series)

  The Admiral’s Daughter (Book 1 Men of Action Series)

  Dangerous Obsessions

  Watch Over Me

  Educating Australia

  Maid for Hire

  The Map Trilogy

  Sleeping Inn

  My Brother’s Wife

  The Bride Wore Black

  Murder Unveiled

  The Thirteenth Floor

  The Proposition

  Ride a Cowboy

  And Many Others…

  Coming Soon:

  Keep a lookout for Visions of Murder, book three in the Gifted Liaisons Series.

  Chapter One

  “That’s the fifth one in three weeks,” Harrison rubbed his hand over his five o’clock shadow. He needed to shave. He needed to sleep, and he needed to stop being called out to mysterious deaths. “All five died in their beds, windows locked, doors locked, heart failure. Nothing about this makes sense. Doc says it isn’t natural causes, but he can’t rule it anything else right now. These people were, well hell, scared to death. How can you be scared to death in your sleep?”

  Warren looked over the petite female body. He knew how a person could be scared to death in their sleep. He knew very well that nightmares weren’t harmless. It was possible to die in their dreams and never wake up in real life. He knew, because he knew the power of dreams. What he didn’t know was how, why, these five women had all died within three weeks of each other, with the same pattern of death, and no relevant connection to each other. Outside of being women, they weren’t related. One was a doctor, one a maid, another an accountant, a kindergarten teacher, one a waitress at a local country western bar. It didn’t make sense, not in the way he needed it to. “Five women,” he repeated. “Damn, it’s going to be another long night. I’d better call Daya and let her know I won’t be home for dinner.”

  “Your new bride is going to be pissed.”

  “Not so new,” he stated flatly. They had been married a year now. They hadn’t gone on a honeymoon because he was busy with work and then she was busy with a legal case, then he was busy with work again. There was just no time and there should have been. He should have made time.

  “It’s still new. Wait five years and then she’s not so new anymore.” He laughed. Something seemed strange about laughing over a dead body, but there Harrison was, having a hearty laugh at Warren’s expense.

  Warren mumbled several curses under his breath before calling Daya’s cell. “I’m going to be late tonight,” he said as soon as she answered.

  “Don’t worry about it. This case is demanding my attention too. I’ll be home by eight, but that’s about the earliest. I’ll wait up for you.”

  “Don’t,” he stated flatly. “I don’t think I’ll get in before eleven.”

  “Well in that case I will see you in the morning. Warren,” she paused and he waited for her to continue. “I’m giving closing arguments next week. Do you think we’ll get in our honeymoon before another case comes up for me…or you?”

  He didn’t. Wishful thinking made him want to say yes, but realistic thinking made him say no. “This case is far from over for me. I’m sure you’ll have another one dropped in your lap before I wrap this one.”

  “Ouch,” she winced. “So tell me how you really feel, Warren. Our lack of connection lately has been my fault. I’m always busy.”

  “That’s not what I said. And I can’t do this here. I won’t do this here.” He was only a couple weeks away from finishing his part in testifying at a trial dealing with putting a murderer he had caught behind bars for life. A couple weeks and they could go have their honeymoon. Instead of waiting she took another case, one that kept her busy for months. After that he had work and there was no way he could put it off, not when he didn’t know when her new legal case would wrap.

  “Fine. You’re right. I’ll say something I can’t take back and you’ll say something I won’t forget. I don’t know what’s going on with us lately. It’s like we’re not connected the way we were, back when you were in my dreams every night. I miss that.” She laughed. “Of course I guess it would help if we were both dreaming at the same time. Again, my fault, not yours.”

  “Daya.”

  “I have to go. The judge wants me in chambers.” She disconnected before he could speak again. He knew exactly what judge was hearing her most recent case and he wasn’t happy about it. Her old lover. The man she would have been married to had he decided to take their secret affair public. He didn’t like that at all. The judge wanted her “in chambers.” Just what exactly did he want from her? His mind thought of all the possibilities and none of them set his mind at ease. Daya always wore her prim and proper suits, but they were sexy as hell. Knee length skirts with her long, shapely legs could give any man a hard on. Knowing what she had on underneath the suit stroked a thousand fantasies for him and none of them included helping her keep her clothes on.

  Perhaps that was his problem. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he didn’t care about the “judge” he did. Anytime that man oversaw one of her cases he felt his gut tighten with a very unfamiliar feeling, one he didn’t like, one he couldn’t ignore. A smart man would have been pulling his woman into his arms and making sure she was his. Instead, he had pushed, pulled, ran in the opposite direction. He was busy with work, but it was more than that. They didn’t have that same connection. She hadn’t heard his thoughts since that first time. He was sure she would be able to again soon after that, but it hadn’t happened again. He didn’t know why, but it bothered him. Then, the last few nights they had been home together he had tried to enter her dreams, but he felt blocked. She was blocking him, he thought. Then he realized that his own insecurities may have been the problem. He had never before had a problem walking dreams, covertly or obviously, but now he was having trouble walking hers. He walked an old girlfriend’s just to see if he could…and he could. The problem was them, him and Daya. He needed to fix it. They needed to fix it. Perhaps the honeymoon was needed. Perhaps honesty was needed.

  He hung up the phone and returned his attention to the dead body in front of him. He could work on his connection with Daya later, right now he had to concentrate on work.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Harrison arched an eyebrow. Warren hated when he did that. It was almost as if he were mocking him. Nobody thought his marriage to Daya would last. He was a self professed bachelor, a detective, and she was a lawyer…not just any lawyer, a defense lawyer. She defended while he arrested. A DA would have been more his match, but he had fallen for her, hard, fast, relentless, he wanted her. She was his.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “No
trouble, other than our crazy schedules.” Part of that was truth. He needed time with her, more than just a morning bagel or the occasional passing at lunch. He was married, it was time he remembered that. He would be home before eleven, hands down he was going to make it home while she was awake so they could talk.

  “Work fast partner because I’d like to surprise her with dinner.” He could get takeout. She loved pasta, and he knew of a great Italian restaurant on his way home.

  “Dinner’s not going to help. You know the guys are betting you’ll be divorced…”

  Warren cut him a look that told him if he finished that sentence he’d be the second dead body in the room. Harrison held up his hands in surrender. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along as partners. They had the usual banter that two partners could have. They had each other’s back, and would take a bullet for each other if need be. They were partners, friends, maybe not best friends, but friends. What bothered him was knowing there was a divorce pool going around the office. He wondered what the odds were, but he didn’t ask. The pools were usually accurate…in fact they were always accurate. The moment the bets were in the divorce was just a few signed papers from happening. He knew from experience, but he didn’t want this to be his experience. He didn’t want to lose Daya. He wouldn’t lose her.

  “Where’s the husband?”

  “Kitchen. He came home this morning and found her. He has an airtight alibi. By airtight I mean that literally.” Harrison checked his notes. “Pilot for Delta, and he was in the air all night. Poor bastard. Could you imagine coming home to this?”

  He couldn’t. He didn’t want to have to. Suddenly his desire to be with Daya was intensified ten fold. Whether or not his superiors liked it or not, he was getting home tonight and reconnecting with his wife. “So his flight got in at what time?”

  “Ten this morning, but he didn’t get home until after one. That’s not odd seeing as though he lives two hours from the airport.”

  “What was he doing for the other hour?”

  “Having a drink with his co-pilot in one of the airport bars. It was a rough flight and they took a minute to wind down before going home to their families. Apparently that’s a tradition between the two. Rather than take it home they get a drink, have a few nachos, wait a half hour and drive home. One drink,” he stressed. “He was sure to tell me he wasn’t drunk while he was driving.”

  “No kids?”

  “No. I would say that was a common link, but vic number one had two little ones sleeping in the next room when she died.”

  “Yeah, her husband was in surgery, so another airtight alibi. The other three were single, so we can’t even say it’s a married women problem.”

  “Thank goodness for that. My wife wouldn’t be thrilled,” Harrison added. “I could just imagine saying, honey married women are dying in their sleep. She’d be ready to divorce me.”

  “After twenty years? I doubt it.” Warren shrugged. “She’d be more likely to stay awake.” He stopped in his tracks. That was the only connection. All the women had died in their sleep and to him that meant only one possibility. He was almost certain of it—a dream walker. Not one like him, one who asked permission to walk a dream, or even walked peacefully. There was another dream walker out there who was invading these women’s dreams, and taking their life. He felt it in his bones, knew what he was going to be up against, but he couldn’t say it aloud. Nobody really knew about what he could do, not his partner of six months, not his captain, nobody. He was an Indian working among white men and he had tried his hardest to fit in. He had cut his hair, wore suits and ties and proper attire. He had nearly abandoned his Indian instincts to fit in, but he hadn’t abandoned them entirely and right now the part that he hadn’t ditched was telling him he was facing another dream walker.

  What scared him was that he didn’t know how to stop him. A dream walker could walk a dream from anywhere in the world. All he needed was a reason, a connection to a person. Maybe he saw these women in the grocery store, maybe he stalked them, followed them home, learned their schedule, knew when they would be alone, knew when they would be asleep. He had seen them somewhere, and he had picked them, singled them out and then carried out his murder. He would get away with it too because convincing a judge and jury that a man could walk dreams and kill people while they slept was so far out of the normal everyday occurrence that nobody would believe his Twilight Zone explanation. Hell, maybe he was wrong. He hoped he was wrong. He needed to be wrong because a dream walker couldn’t be stopped until he was dead.

  “I have to check on something,” he stated in a tone that told Harrison he needed to check alone. “Wrap this up and I’ll meet you back at the precinct by four.”

  “Sure.” He looked hesitant, but he didn’t question him. For that Warren was thankful. He hadn’t lied to his partner yet, and he didn’t want to start now.

  He needed to see White Eagle. He was his family, his mentor, the man who had told him walking dreams without permission was wrong. He would know what to do. He could tell him if he was wrong, and if he wasn’t wrong then he could tell him how to combat this killer.

  Warren’s training had stopped years ago, not because of some law, but because he had left his heritage behind. He knew how to walk dreams, knew the Indian medicines, but the legacy was slowly fading and that was his fault. If he were up against a dream walker then he was going to be severely outsmarted because the man would have probably been steadfast in his training, in his emersion into his tribal culture. White Eagle would know what to do, he had to believe that.

  He drove forty minutes to White Eagle’s ranch that was nestled on two hundred acres just shy of the reservation. As if he knew Warren would be coming to see him, White Eagle stood on his porch watching the long drive and nodding when he saw the truck slow to a stop in front of him.

  “I knew you would come, Split Feather; the spirits told me.”

  “It’s Warren,” he corrected him. He no longer went by his Indian name; he hadn’t in years.

  “You come about the murders.”

  “They haven’t been ruled homicides.”

  “But you and I both know they are. It is all over the news Split Feather. Deaths like that have only one explanation.”

  “A dream walker,” he nodded. “I suspected.”

  “But you were wrong,” he motioned for Warren to sit on the wooden swing, so he did.

  “But you just said…”

  “No, this is not the work of a regular dream walker. This is a much stronger force, one you are not ready to face. This is the work of a dream stalker. One who has mastered his craft and moved beyond walking a dream, to something more…”

  “I don’t see a difference other than he’s not one of the good guys.”

  “A dream stalker need not sleep to walk a dream. He can be awake and walk a dream without complication. All he needs is a quiet place, some place without distraction, some place where he can connect without threat of interruption.”

  “Sinister,” he added. “How do I stop him?”

  White Eagle shook his head. “You cannot. You are not yet ready. Besides, you do not know who he is. Nor do I. Not every Indian can walk a dream, but walking a dream is not limited to a tribe or location. Your dream stalker can be Apache, Navaho, Chippewa, or any other tribe. He can be Cherokee, like you. He can be here, or there, or nowhere at all.”

  “Then how the hell can I stop him? And don’t tell me I’m not ready yet. He can’t keep killing. He has to be stopped. He can walk strangers’ dreams and kill them and I can’t even walk my wife’s…” He let his thoughts trail off. This wasn’t about his relationship with Daya, this was about a murderer, one he couldn’t stop, one he couldn’t expose.

  “You must first conquer your own demons, embrace your past, your future.”

  “Just tell me how to stop him.” He was getting agitated. He hated riddles; just give him the facts, nothing more, nothing less.

  “You will never be ready Sp
lit Feather, because he has the advantage you do not possess. He does not split himself between two worlds. He has mastered, while you have abandoned the ways of your people. Even if you were to face him now, you would fail.”

  “Then you teach me how to beat him. Or better yet, why don’t you stop him?”

  “I cannot teach you what your heart is not willing to learn. I cannot stop what is stronger than I am. I am old Split Feather. I have not much time in this world. I do not possess the strength to walk dreams the way I used to, let alone stop a dream stalker.”

  “Then who has those skills? Who should I talk to?”

  “Nobody I know possesses the skills you need. I had hoped you would be the master of dream walking, but you were not. Besides you, I know not another dream walker who will rise to the challenge.”

  Warren stood sharply and cursed a thousand curses. “Then help me. I’m begging you for your help. Is that what you want?”

  “No. it is not what I want.”

  “Help me?”

  “You are not yet ready. Go face your demons, Split Feather, and then return. Only then can we start.”

  Warren heard his unspoken words, saw his body language as he walked away from him, ending their conversation. Warren had been a disappointment to his people. He was living as a white man would live, turning his back on his people, his heritage, and now he was paying for it. Even if he could find this dream stalker, this Indian who had mastered the craft of walking dreams and escalated into murder, he wouldn’t be able to stop him.

  He didn’t bother to ask White Eagle what demons he needed to face because he knew what they were. He couldn’t walk Daya’s dreams because he had broken the connection. He had broken the connection because he was afraid, afraid of what he might see there. His insecurities, his jealousy, his fear that he was a bad husband, inadequate in some way, had broken their connection. His inability to admit his fears to himself, to her, had kept them apart and each day, the more he tried to fight it, the farther he felt himself drifting away from her.