She stopped. “What now?” she growled, without even turning around.

“Like I said, way too softhearted.”

Charlie stiffened. Then, to the sound of his low laughter behind her, she stalked into the bedroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Alone in the bedroom, Charlie could still hear the TV. It was infuriating to realize that she found the barely audible sounds of whatever game was on comforting. It was even more infuriating to realize that she found the knowledge that Garland was right there in the next room comforting.

You know your life has serious problems when having a serial killer ghost nearby makes you feel safe.

Charlie reflected sourly on the sorry state of her life as she tucked the canister of sea salt safely away in her suitcase.

Then, dropping her robe, shivering a little because the shortie nightgown and matching panties she wore beneath were thin nylon and lace and left a lot of skin available to be chilled by the air-conditioning, she scrambled into bed, clicked off the bedside lamp, and yanked the covers practically all the way over her head.

Within minutes she was asleep.

Sometime after that, Holly came to her.

Not Holly’s ghost, because Holly’s ghost had crossed over and didn’t appear to her anymore. This was a dream, and with the small part of her brain that was still cognizant enough to recognize such things, Charlie knew it was a dream, even as she found herself caught up in it. It featured Holly as she had looked on the day her family had died, the day she had been kidnapped, Holly of the sweet smile and beach-girl tan and long blond hair.

“I love dancing, don’t you?” Holly called over her shoulder to Charlie. Charlie realized that they were both dancing, each swaying around on a dance floor in a man’s arms—close enough so that she could see Holly, hear Holly. And she realized that it was her present-day, thirty-two-year-old self interacting with seventeen-year-old Holly, and it didn’t seem weird to either of them.

In the dream, Charlie answered, “Yes.” She saw that they were on the Sanderling’s dance floor, saw the glittering night sky and flaming tiki torches and other couples crowding close around them, and knew that it was a replay of the evening she had just spent, only with Holly added to the mix. That was fine, there was nothing wrong with that, and Charlie smiled as she watched Holly being happy, Holly enjoying herself, Holly young and carefree and alive—until she noticed what Holly was wearing. It was the poufy pink prom dress that Charlie had only ever seen on Holly’s ghost. Something struck her as being important about that, and she frowned, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Watching Holly, struggling to clear away the foggy-mindedness of the dream for long enough to make the connection, Charlie remembered Bayley Evans. The girl had gone to a dance less than a week before she had been kidnapped. Had Holly gone to a dance in the days before she was kidnapped? Charlie didn’t know. If so, Charlie hadn’t been invited along, although as she had been a newcomer to the school and not a member of the popular crowd, like Holly was, that wouldn’t be surprising.

Frowning in her dream, she glanced back at Holly, only to discover that her friend was being whirled off the floor. Beautiful even in that garish dress, Holly was throwing her head back to laugh up at her partner as he danced her away into the darkness. Frantic suddenly, Charlie tried to call her back, tried to see the face of the man Holly was dancing with, tried to do something to stop what she knew was going to happen next—but there was nothing she could do.

“Holly!” she cried, craning her neck in an attempt to keep the other girl in sight. Her heart pounded, her pulse raced, every muscle in her body strained to go after her friend—but she just couldn’t break away. Helpless, consumed with the need to see into the darkness where Holly had disappeared, she struggled to free herself from the arms holding her even as she cried out again: “Holly!”

But it was so dark beyond the dance floor that she could no longer see Holly.

As she struggled more violently to break free, knowing even as she did it that she was caught up in the terrible futility that was part and parcel of the dream state, the arm around her waist suddenly hardened and tightened, and she was whirled around then caught up abruptly against her partner. The man she was dancing with was an abstract dream figure no more. He was solid and there as he pulled her hard against him. She could feel the unyielding strength of his body, the steely muscularity of the arm around her waist, the warmth and size of his hand gripping hers, with a vividness that had been missing before.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you now. It was only a bad dream.”

Even through her terror for Holly and desperation to stop what she knew she couldn’t stop and the mind-clouding effect of the dream, Charlie would have recognized that distinctive voice in her ear anywhere in the universe. She looked up sharply, and met Garland’s sky blue eyes. His tawny head was bent over hers. His beautifully cut mouth was hard with concern. His broad shoulders blocked much of her view. It was Garland she was dancing with now, Garland whose hand held hers, Garland whose arm was tight around her waist, Garland whose rock-solid body she was pressed against.

And she realized that, in her dream, she was foolishly, ridiculously, but undeniably glad to see him.

Something of what she was feeling must have shown in her eyes, because his expression changed. His eyes narrowed on her face. Some of the tautness around his cheekbones relaxed.

“Now, ain’t this a kick in the head,” he drawled, and gave her what she could only describe as a wolfish smile.

Whatever he meant by that, at the moment she had bigger fish to fry than him.

“My friend—Holly,” she told him in despair, neck twisting as she tried one more time to look into the darkness beyond the dance floor to where Holly had disappeared. “I need to go after her. I need to stop her.”

“You were having a nightmare.” Despite her attempts to get away, Garland held her fast. “I’ve got you safe now. Whatever you saw before wasn’t real.”

Charlie searched the darkness at the edge of the dance floor for a moment longer. It was impenetrable, dredged up from what seemed to be a thousand mental images of the darkest night ever. As she stared into the unnaturally stygian depths she realized that Garland was right: Holly as she had just seen her had been no more than a memory invading her sleep. Holly didn’t need her; Charlie could let her go. As she accepted the truth of that, she almost imperceptibly felt herself start to relax. Idiotic to think of Garland as someone she could depend on, but for now, just for now, she apparently did. Her body softened, and in the process molded itself instinctively to Garland’s wide-shouldered, lean-hipped frame. The instant reaction of her nipples to contact with his hard chest sent a flutter of pleasure scooting along her nerve endings. The pressure of his lower body against hers made her blood begin to heat. Then she realized that she could actually feel him, feel the solid wall of his chest against her breasts with every breath she drew, feel the brush of his jeans against her bare legs with every movement of his powerful thighs, feel the unmistakable maleness of him pressing hard against her abdomen. Feel him just as surely and acutely as if he were a living, breathing man.

Holding her in his arms.

Her body responded with a throbbing awareness that made her catch her breath.

Then the rest of what Garland had said registered.

She looked sharply back up at him. “Are you saying that this is real?”

He smiled at her, not wolfish any longer, but a slow, intimate smile that dazzled her a little. God, he’s handsome.