Dream Huntress (A Dreamseeker novel) (Entangled Ignite) (21 page)

She pushed at his chest, shrugging out of his grip. “Then tell me the real reason you’re so hell-bent on staying inside Buck’s. It’s not because of me. It’s not to shut down a drug ring. It’s because of Tara. You think Buck is responsible for her death, and you want revenge.”

“Of course I want revenge. For my sister, for every kid around here who’s died because of the drugs he’s selling. You’re damn straight I want revenge. Every night, I pray to God that Arlo and Warren die slow, painful deaths.
After
suffering long, torturous, jail sentences.

“I always believed the best way to get that revenge was by destroying them slowly, beating them at their own game, working inside the law.” He glared at her. “Until Warren hurt you. Now all I think about is walking into that dirty, damned bar and killing both of them with my bare hands.” He moved to her and held her face so that she had no choice but to listen. “Don’t you dare stand there and say my feelings for you have been a lie, because you damn well know better. I may be guilty of hiding the truth about Tara, but I’ve never lied about loving you.”

Some of the rigid anger rushed from her body on a shuddering exhale. Tears spilled over and down her cheeks. He’d never been so grateful for tears. Tears he could work with. The frigid indifference scared the hell out of him.

“Then why?” she cried. “I told you about my family, about Katy. Trusted you with memories, pain, and secrets I’ve never told anyone. Did you really think I wouldn’t understand? Didn’t you trust me enough to tell me about Tara?”

“It had nothing to do with trust, Jordan. I just couldn’t.” He knew how badly he’d screwed up, but it hurt like hell to even mention Tara. He simply didn’t have the words. Not then. Not now. “Look, it was wrong not to tell you, but you kept saying the investigation was too personal for me. I was afraid you’d push me out of it. Would you have ever let me work this case knowing about Tara?”

“No,” she shot back. “Because you
shouldn’t
be working this case. Are you even trying to bust Arlo and Warren for drugs, or are you looking for your sister’s killer? Because I can tell you, he’s not connected to the Bucks.”

“She was drugged. Had been at a party with drugs, maybe killed by some high dumbass. You know Arlo Buck is making drugs available to every kid in town. I’d say that’s pretty fucking connected.”

The bedroom got quiet, quiet enough for him to hear what she’d said just a moment earlier. Her words, sharp and clear, penetrated the thick fog of guilt.

Confused, he stepped away from her. “How do you know the killer isn’t connected to the Bucks? Do you know who killed my sister?”

…

Jordan shook her head. She could feel Ty’s confusion radiate through the confines of the small bedroom. “I don’t have a name, but I can help you find him.”

“What could you possibly know about Tara’s murder?”

His pained expression pierced her heart like a rusty knife. She knew it all—knew everything about Tara’s murder, more information than she’d ever burden him with. But now there was no choice. If she didn’t tell him enough to bring Tara’s killer to justice, she’d never be able to live with herself. And she suspected Tara would never let her have another peaceful moment, either.

“My dreams…” She tried to push the words out, but they wouldn’t come. Swallowing, she choked back the shards of fear and began again.

“The dreams didn’t start after my family was murdered; they started before. I dreamed about a gunman coming into my house and killing my family. The next night, it happened just the way I dreamed it.”

Twenty years later, she still hadn’t worked out what spirit had been responsible for that god-awful dream, but the direction of her life had done a sharp one-eighty that night. Nothing had been the same since. “It was the first vision I remember playing out in such vivid detail. I’ve had a lot of visions since then.”

Breathing deeper and faster, Ty blinked, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He was trying to make sense of her words, she could tell. From the look on his face, he wasn’t even close to understanding.

She took a deep breath. “I dream, Ty. I dream or have visions or whatever you want to call it. And I saw Tara.” Her voice cracked. “I saw what happened to her.”

Stumbling back, he crashed into the chair behind him. His chest began to heave as if the air had thinned, and he struggled for oxygen. “You were there? You saw Tara get murdered?”

The simple answer was yes, but even to
her
ears that sounded insane. How could she expect him to understand? And yet, she knew he needed this closure.

“What the hell are you saying, Jordan?” Anger began to mix with his confusion.

A thick, greasy fear tumbled in her stomach as she stepped in front of him and sank to her knees. She took his hands. “Tara came to me. In a dream. In several dreams. I think she wants you to know what happened.”

He frowned, his jaw flexing. “And you’re going to tell me? Because you had a dream about her murder?”

She nodded, feeling sick and foolish, but stopping now clearly wasn’t an option. “Tara came home after a graduation party. This boy—man, whatever you choose to call him—he threw rocks at her window, motioned for her to come outside.”

Jordan closed her eyes, took in as much air as her lungs would allow, and let the vision take over. “She went outside to her swing. To talk to him. He gave her a beer laced with something. He didn’t intend to kill her, but I don’t think he gave her enough of the drug, because she came around and fought him. It got out of hand, and he got scared, strangled her.” Jordan opened her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ty.”

Ty jerked his hands from hers. Rising slowly, he moved away from her. “This is crazy.
You’re crazy
.” He turned on her. “What the hell would make you think it’s okay to make up something about my sister’s murder?”

“I would never,
never
lie about Tara. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I saw what happened to her.” Desperate and wanting so badly for him to understand, she stood and went to him again, curling her fingers in his shirt. “You have to believe me.”

“The hell I do.”

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands away. “Enough. Just stop. Cut the crap, Jordan.
Fuck
.” He stepped back, rubbing his temples. “Is it the medicine? The head injury? Help me out here. Give me some reason for this to make sense. I want just a tiny bit of hope that the woman I love is not completely insane.”

And there it was.

His words arrowed through her. If possible, she’d underestimated the pain that ricocheted through her body.

He turned his back, propped his arms against the dresser.

Maybe he was processing, trying to understand. Maybe…

With a violent slash of his hand, he cleared the dresser of everything on it. Even the small flat-screen TV dropped to the floor with a crash.

Jordan jumped, realizing he wasn’t processing or understanding at all. Sensing his fury and his need for space, she eased back. But he swung around and came at her. “Don’t screw with me, Jordan. This is a deal-breaker. You need to start again, with the truth this time.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’ve gotten a hold of her files,” he accused. “You and your FBI pal read the police reports.”

“What?” She shook her head. “No, I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me? By telling me you’re what, a psychic or something? By making up crazy details about something as painful as my sister’s murder? That’s supposed to help me? Because I think a real psychic would have told me all this before my sister was killed, been able to prevent it. Now
that
would have helped me.”

“Really?” She fired back. Twenty years of living with that precise guilt shredded her composure. “Because it didn’t help Katy. It didn’t help my mom or dad. I
did
see what happened to them. I
tried
to tell my mom. She thought I was as crazy as you do.”

Fury, brilliant and blinding, flashed through her. “You want the truth? I have visions. I dream. All the time. All the fucking time. But especially when I’m undercover. I don’t know why, and I hate it. The dreams aren’t just about my family; they’re about the cases I work, too.

“I wake up sick and screaming. If there was
anything
I could do to stop it, stop them, I would. I’ve tried drugs, doctors, alcohol, you name it, and still they’re here,” she said, jabbing a finger against her head. “So, yes, if that makes me insane, I am. But I can’t change it.”

The throbbing in her chest suddenly roared back, and she had to fight for even the shallowest breath. Everything hurt, and she couldn’t tell if the pain was from the broken ribs or just from being broken.

Ty stood silent for several long moments, then shook his head but wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “When I left Buck’s tonight, I told Big Tom to take over for a while, that I was taking a break to grab a bite and run an errand. But we’re so close to breaking this case open, I need to go back and finish the night.”

In his voice, she heard the mixed tones of anger and suspicion. His beautiful eyes, eyes that had never held anything but warmth and seduction toward her, were now filled with resentment and contempt.

She nodded. “Yeah, you should.”

He stepped toward her, started to touch her cheek as he so often did, but then he dropped his hand to his side. The rejection in that one simple movement spoke volumes. The man who couldn’t keep his hands off of her just a few hours before now couldn’t stand to touch her.

“Maybe this is more than I can deal with right now; just give me some time. I need to get back to Buck’s. We’ll talk later tonight when I get home.”

No
, w
e won’t
. Because she knew she wouldn’t be there, but she nodded anyway.

He went out the door and stepped down the porch stairs.

She followed him out into the cold night air, needing to be absolutely sure where she stood. “You don’t believe me.” It was more statement that question, so that’s how she phrased it.

He turned toward her, but still didn’t look her in the eye. “I’m not sure why you told me all this.” He shrugged. “I already knew she was drugged. I knew she was strangled.” This time he did look at her. “Anyone who poked into her files would know that, too.”

“So that’s it? You think I abused my FBI connections to get information about Tara’s murder and then made up a fake dream? Why would I do that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he muttered. “If you’re so damn psychic, how about a name or description?”

“I don’t know his name.” She went down the stairs, too, and stood on the last step so they were eye to eye. “But you’re looking for a young man who played football in high school and had a jacket, like a letterman jacket with the year sewn on the sleeve. I think he graduated last year and that his school colors were maroon and gold. I’m also thinking he drove a white car.”

Determined to end this with some dignity intact and the last word, she blinked away her tears and watched a stunned Tyler McGee try to assimilate the facts she’d just thrown at him.

“You should have his DNA from her body. You’ll be able to narrow it down and connect the boy with the evidence based on what I’ve just told you.”

She turned and headed back inside while her chest heaved and struggled against injury and shock and the sick, sick feeling of knowing that she’d seen Ty for the last time.

Chapter Nineteen

Jordan had no intention of discussing why she was leaving, but wanted to be long gone by the time Ty made it home from Buck’s. She needed a ride. Bahan was still in charge, and after the angry dressing down she’d gotten from him while still in the hospital, she didn’t dare make another move without informing him.

When Bahan made it to McGee’s house, she had a few personal things in a grocery bag and was sitting on the front step.

“Jordan, it’s freezing out here. Why didn’t you wait inside? I would have been here sooner but…”

He stopped talking when she refused to meet his eyes.

“Jordan?” he said again.

If she looked at him or spoke, she was afraid of what might happen. Bahan was plenty smart enough to put two and two together just by looking at her.

“Well, shit.” He sat next to her, put an arm around her shoulder. “What happened?”

She broke, fucking cried in front of another cop. Now she wanted to shoot herself for that fact alone. But Bahan wouldn’t push. He’d be as happy to pretend it wasn’t happening as she was. That’s why they got along so well, both of them too dysfunctional to admit to any real emotion.

Finally he said one simple word. “McGee?”

She nodded.

“Is it over?”

She nodded again.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

The fact that he was kind enough to offer when she was certain he’d prefer for the earth to open up and swallow him whole almost made her grin. “What do you think?” she finally muttered.

“All right. Then let’s get out of here.”

They were almost back to St. Louis before she dared to speak. “He’s going to keep going inside Buck’s. He’ll need you and the team. You guys can finish this off together. He’ll outsmart Buck. Promise me you’ll be there when he does.”

“Or I could just let one of the Bucks put a bullet in him for hurting you,” he said.

Jordan knew it was a joke, but her chin quivered. Warren Buck was a drunk and a hothead. The very real possibility that he just might put a bullet hole in Ty before this was over made tears streak down her face again.

“Come on, Jordan, I’m just kidding. He’s the only one we have on the inside now. I’ve been working with him. I’ll keep helping the bastard. I’ll even keep you in the loop if you want.”

“No, I’m done. Way done with this case.” She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Can you take me to storage to get my car?”

Bahan glanced at her, hesitated a moment before he spoke. “You’re not going to like this, but…You can’t go home, use your bank accounts, or drive your car until we break this case open. We’re gambling on the fact the Bucks had no idea you were a cop. But we’ve learned the hard way to never underestimate these drug assholes. People think you’re dead, so you’re going to stay dead.”

“I wasn’t planning to go home anyway.” She didn’t think Ty would come after her given the way they’d left things, but there was no sense in taking a chance. She’d never survive coming face-to-face with him. Seeing the angry disappointment in his eyes once had been quite enough. “I’m going to need some money and a vehicle then. You have my word I’ll lay low.”

“You’ll stay with me. Stop.” He cut her off when she started to object. “I’m barely there anyway. I’m lucky if I get to come home long enough to shower and grab a few hours’ sleep. You’ll have the run of the place. I don’t have a TV in the guest bedroom, but you can share mine.” He winked.

She managed a faint smile. “Your TV or your room?”

“Either. Both.”

She rolled her eyes at him without crying, and that, she supposed, was progress.

…

Ty returned to Buck’s and finished out the night. Barely. Physically, he’d been there. Mentally, he’d checked out the moment Jordan had told him about her dreams. Being forced to return to the nightclub for a few hours had given him time to think. But now he needed answers. He needed to understand exactly what Jordan meant when she said she had visions. And why she’d been having them about Tara.

It was almost two a.m. when he pulled in front of his parent’s house again. All the lights were out, but he doubted Jordan was asleep. She seemed to sleep less than any human he’d ever known, now he was starting to have an inkling why.

As soon as he unlocked the door, he noticed she hadn’t reset the alarm. They’d talked about this, about how important it was. Usually, she left a lamp on for him. Tonight, the place was black. The farther he walked, the more real the dread became. “Tell me you wouldn’t do this, baby. Tell me you didn’t leave.”

He hit the stairs two at a time, searched every room, and looked for a note. He checked his texts, then his voicemail. But he already knew, probably should have known the moment he’d walked away from her.

Jordan was gone.

If you didn’t count the boulder sitting on his chest, she’d left no sign that she’d been anywhere inside the house. The couple items she’d worn, her handbag, the few toiletries he’d bought for her—all of it—gone. He dialed her and got her voicemail, probably her way of saying that she wasn’t speaking to him.

So he texted her:

I’m sorry. Let me know you’re safe. Call me.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Damn it.
How could she just leave? He stood paralyzed in his old bedroom at his parents’ house. His mother seriously needed to learn to move forward. Trophies and sports equipment still lined the walls as if he’d been away at camp instead of on his own for nearly a decade. His high school and college diplomas that she kept in frames on his dresser were now in a heap next to the broken TV on the floor.

He picked them up, and his chest tightened another notch as his thoughts turned to Tara. His little sister would never reach such basic milestones. She’d been robbed of growing up. Not by an accident. Not by an illness. But if Jordan was correct, by a selfish, little bastard who hadn’t even gotten his hand slapped for killing her. His family’s lives had been turned to shit. But the guy who killed Tara might very well be partying or pledging a fraternity at college right now.

The urge to hurt someone—anyone—broke loose inside him. He slung the high school diploma against the wall first, then winged the college one quickly in its wake.

How many hours had he spent trying to get answers, or at least some closure? He was no closer now than he had been six months ago, but the one person who’d stepped up with possible information, he’d pushed away.

He stomped down the stairs and grabbed a legal pad out of his parents den, purposely avoiding the sight of all the family pictures. No wonder his mom and dad spent the winter in Florida. Everything in the house was a reminder of Tara. It was a damn miracle his parents were still sane.

He moved to the kitchen, tossed the note pad on the table, and grabbed a pen. What he was about to do made no sense. But he sat, closed his eyes, and concentrated on Jordan’s exact words.

A kid that played football
, he scribbled.
Maroon and gold colors.

Maroon and gold were North Cooper colors. The football connection made sense. North Cooper always had a good football team. They’d won the playoffs more often than not.

Could Jordan have really seen that information somehow? Even if she was right, they’d have a hard time arresting someone based on a dream. Still, it was a lead he didn’t have before.

All of Tara’s friends were interviewed about her murder, and they all claimed she’d left the party alone. It made sense—Tara wasn’t the kind of girl to leave with a guy she didn’t know. The other theory was that she had returned home but made plans to sneak out and meet up with a guy. A guy she hadn’t mentioned, even to her closest girlfriends. Ty had never bought it.

If Tara didn’t leave the party with someone, and she hadn’t made a middle of the night date…

Jordan’s story makes more sense than any other theory ever has.

If there had been a guy at the party, and he’d followed Tara home and then threw rocks at her window. Yeah, he could see her going outside to talk to him.

He rubbed the wetness away from his eyes. God, he was tired. And not the kind of tired that could be solved with a good night’s sleep. Part of him wanted to drop his head on the table and cry like a baby. Another part wanted to load every gun in his arsenal and blast anyone stupid enough to cross him.

He looked down at the note pad, picked up the pen, and wrote:
Senior. White car.

Had he missed anything Jordan had mentioned? He looked at the list again.

A kid that played football

Maroon and gold colors. North Cooper

Senior

White car

No fucking way.

After all the walls he’d banged his head against for six months, there was no way it could be this easy. Only a handful of guys would fit that exact criteria. Guilt settled in nicely with all his other whirling emotions. It was going to be Jordan’s information that finally pointed him toward a finish line he’d never been able to find on his own.

He picked up his phone, debated, and set it down again. Should he call his buddy from the Cooper Police Department? Ty had known Officer Benjamin Blake since he’d been labeled Benji B. back in kindergarten. Blake was the investigating officer of Tara’s case. He’d been thorough, tolerant, and compassionate to Ty and his family. And probably because they’d grown up together, Blake had shared a lot more information than he’d been obligated to, but how willing he’d be to hand over an actual list of names, Ty wasn’t sure.

He picked up the phone to dial Blake, but desperation had him texting Jordan again:

Are you okay? Please call me!

Christ, he wished she were here, wished to God he could hear her voice, talk to her, and ask her questions. “Stubborn-ass woman,” he muttered, dialing her number for what felt like the hundredth time.

“This is Jordan. Leave a message at the tone, and I’ll call you.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered to himself. He’d screwed up in a big way, which sucked, because the only thing he did know
with absolute clarity was that he wanted Jordan back. With dreams. Without dreams. Right now, he didn’t care. Even if she claimed to be the black witch of death, he was pretty certain he’d take his chances.

His Longdale cop shop was less than ten minutes from where he sat. Thirty minutes inside and a few key strokes later, he’d have the names of all the senior boys at North Cooper who had a white vehicle registered to their families. The temptation to head there was powerful, but Buck had eyes everywhere, maybe even inside Ty’s own precinct.

Blake was still the safest way to get the information he needed. He grabbed the pad of paper, his phone, and his coat. He was heading to St. Louis to find Jordan, but on the way, he was going to bargain with his buddy Blake.