Fear Familiar Bundle (38 page)

"The next victim will be a young woman with shoulder-length brunette hair. She has a soft drawl, maybe Georgia. She's about two inches taller than me. Her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and she likes to laugh."

Beaker looked at her as if she were mad.

"If I have my way, there won't be another murder," Beaker said slowly.

"I hope you have your way," Cassandra answered, not backing down an inch, "but I don't think so. Unless you find the killer, soon, that woman I just described will die."

"The sheriff has no understanding of the power of a dream." Running Stream put three cups on the table and began to pour the hot tea. It had a pungent odor. "I knew he'd react this way."

"What can I do?" Cassandra asked. She and Adam had gone to the Cherokee reservation trading post, but Running Stream had already gone home. They'd tracked her down to her small cottage just over the Tennessee/North Carolina border.

Sitting silently at the table, Adam could hear the desperation in Cassandra's voice. He hoped the Indian woman might have answers, because he had none. He had only a bad feeling that Cassandra had made an enemy of Sheriff Beaker. The touchy lawman did not care to be questioned about his investigative tactics, especially not by a "crazy psychic."

"Listen to your dreams," Running Stream said as she took a seat with them at the old wooden table.

"I hate them," Cassandra said fiercely. "I hate all of this. I don't want it. I don't want to feel responsible for something I can't understand or stop!"

"You must not fight it," Running Stream said softly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it is a gift. Your mother was correct. Among my people, the dreamer is honored."

"I want to work in my garden and write my books," Cassandra said. "A simple life. Not this."

"You have been given a great chance. A human life has been handed to you, Cassandra. You have intelligence and ability. You have been challenged to use them."

"That isn't fair," Adam said quickly. "You make it sound as if it really is up to Cassandra to stop this killer."

The glance that Running Stream turned on Adam was calm and calculating. "You want to protect her, but you cannot. This is for her, Mr. Raleigh. You can help her, but you must not interfere."

Those words chilled Cassandra more than any others she'd heard. The full burden of her responsibility settled on her shoulders.

Adam saw the way she slumped. It had been a bad idea to go to Sheriff Beaker. Coming to visit Running Stream had been an even worse idea.

"I have only my dreams," Cassandra said softly.

"And the earring Bounder told me about," Running Stream said. "You must not give up. This killer has to be stopped."

"And I must do it?"

"Listen to the dream. Yield to it. Remember all of it," Running Stream said. She grasped Cassandra's hand. "Allow Mr. Raleigh to offer you comfort and support. Call on me and Bounder to help you." She smiled. "You aren't alone. And how is that fine black cat?"

"Controlling the household," Adam answered. He was rewarded by a slight smile from Cassandra.

"He and Adam are the nice things that have happened to me. I somehow feel that Familiar was sent to help me, too."

Running Stream laughed. "Talk like that will get you burned at the stake, Cassandra."

"Another visit to Sheriff Beaker with a dream, and he'll probably be glad to oblige with the stakes and firewood."

"Tell him. You must tell him everything. Then ignore the way he reacts to you." Running Stream shrugged. "Your responsibility is to tell. You cannot make him listen."

"That's some comfort," Cassandra said, finishing her tea. "We'd better go. It's getting dark and one of the things I don't want to do is go up that mountain when I can't see."

"Bounder will be watching, in the woods," Running Stream said.

"No!" Cassandra's refusal was sharp. "If someone is out there, lurking about, Bounder could get hurt."

"He can see in the dark," Running Stream said with a smile.

"Promise me he won't try to protect me." Cassandra could already see tragedy building. "It's too dangerous to have him out there. Promise me."

"I will tell him not to," Running Stream said reluctantly.

"Cassandra's right," Adam agreed. "If we see someone around the cabin, we're going to assume it isn't a friend. We'll be safer with that attitude."

"Perhaps," Running Stream said carefully. "The best thing you can do, Cassandra, is to fight to remember the dreams. Each detail. If you are seeing the future, then you can prevent it."

"I'll try. If only I could see the killer instead of the young women. That would be a lot more helpful."

Running Stream touched her heart. "No, Cassandra, do not wish for that."

"Why not?" Adam asked. "It would make things a lot easier to look for the killer."

"Simpler, perhaps. But if Cassandra sees the killer in her dream, then she will be the next victim. She will be dreaming her own future death."

A
DAM HELD OUT HIS HAND
to stop Cassandra on the porch. "The television's on," he said softly. "We didn't leave it on."

"This way." Cassandra signaled him around to the side of the house. Hugging the log exterior, they moved silently, looking in each window as they passed. When they were finally at the den window, they saw the bluish blur of the television screen. The room appeared to be undisturbed. Familiar sat on the back of the sofa staring at the screen.

"He can turn it on," Adam reminded her.

"We did leave him alone. Maybe he got lonely."

"There's something very weird about that cat, Cassandra."

Her soft chuckle was delighted. "You step into the life of a woman who has prophetic dreams, is involved in serial killings, and you find it strange that a cat can turn on a television?"

"It's a matter of degree," Adam said. In the dusk, crouched at the window of her home, Cassandra had never looked more appealing. Before he had time to reconsider, Adam grasped her shoulders and kissed her. She responded with a tentative warmth that made him draw her closer.

The kiss wasn't unexpected. She'd thought about it for several days, since she'd first felt that curl of feeling for Adam. She'd wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Wondered and wanted. The sensation was more than she'd expected. She found herself opening her mouth, inviting him to kiss deeper. His hands moved along her arms, down her back, pulling her against him. She yielded. The feel of his body was pleasurable, exciting. She was alive with sensation.

W
ELL
,
WELL
. Miss Locks and Lancelot must be pretending they're at the drive-in movies. They're standing at the window staring in at the television. Uh-oh, they're not staring at the TV anymore. They're smooching! I knew it would come to this. I have to admit, too, that I'm glad. Goldilocks ain't the type of dame to stay up here on a mountain all alone. What a waste of nature's bounty, if you'll pardon the pun! Now Lancelot can help look out for her. He's going to stay for the duration, I do believe. That's good, cause I don't like what's been happening up here on this mountain.

Our uninvited visitor has got my hackles standing. Everyone thinks he dropped that earring accidentally. I think it was deliberate. I saw him standing there, his hands hanging at his side. The fingers on his right hand went slack. Mixed in with the rain, the earring hit the ground. Very subtle. Very deliberate. He was leaving a mark, a sign that he'd be back.

And he will.

And we'll be waiting, Lancelot and me.

I don't know for certain who that guy was. Too bad we couldn't get a better look at him. Maybe I couldn't see who he was, but I know what he was. A killer. He's different from my old enemy Cal Vrenner. It's a difference of degree. This guy's worse. Cal kills for profit, to benefit himself. This guy, he kills for the pleasure of the kill. It's enough to tingle a cat's tail just thinking about it.

I don't know what he was doing up here on the mountain, but I know it doesn't bode well for Cassandra. Looking and watching. Dropping little clues. Why? That's the sixty-four-million-dollar question that everyone is asking. Why?

I'm just glad that Lancelot has been smitten and is hanging around. Now that Miss Locks has some help, I could use a little myself. There hasn't been a word on the news about Eleanor. My leg is getting stronger and stronger. It's almost time for me to leave, but I don't know where to go.

I'm afraid to leave here. Once I'm on the road, there's no guarantee that I can get any news. It's a quandary. I've thought of calling Eleanor's friends. It's not a simple matter— getting Ma Bell to make the connection. Reach out and meow at someone just isn't effective. I hardly think even the most talented information assistant would be able to give me Magdalena's number.

While Lancelot and Goldilocks were gone, I did call Dr. Doolittle's office. Drat! Lucille answered. I did my best to talk to her— what a waste. After twenty years of working for a vet, you'd think she'd pick up the rudiments of a few feline vocabulary words. Nope! No capacity whatsoever for languages. She squawked and snorted and then hung up.

I'll try again at another time. Eventually Dr. D. will have to answer. Until then, I've got the television remote in one paw and one ear cocked for trouble on this front.

Now that the two adult delinquents have stopped making out, they'll be heading inside. Good. I'm ready for a little evening snack before dinner. I hope Cassandra stopped by the store and got a supply of sardines. This country life has reawakened some odd hankerings.

T
HE KISS
left Cassandra breathless, her mind fogged by the surge of sensations. Only her tight grip on Adam's shoulders kept her standing as he gradually lessened his hold on her.

There was a look of wonder in his eyes as he stared down at her. "Running Stream implied you were a witch. I believe it." He smiled. "You just put a mojo on me, I think."

The lighthearted remark gave Cassandra the time she needed to compose her own emotions. Her blood coursed, and she heard her own pulse. Slowly, it subsided.

There were things she wanted to tell Adam. She wanted him to know that she was afraid of her dreams, of what she saw. But that when he was with her, she was less afraid. He was a visitor, though, and to burden him with such a confession would be unfair. He had his own business, his own concerns. And he would have to leave soon, especially when she could not do the one thing he requested of her.

She dropped her gaze from his and turned away. "Let's go see what that crazy cat is up to," she said carefully.

Adam had watched the play of emotions in her eyes. He'd seen the tenderness, the yielding, and then the closing, all in the span of a few seconds. For an instant she'd been his completely. For whatever reasons, she'd shut off those feelings. He didn't know why, but he intended to find out.

He followed her into the house, half intending to ask her then. But her nervous behavior made him desist. Cassandra McBeth was a very complex woman. It would be better to let her come forth with what was troubling her.

Not to anyone's surprise, the television was silent when they entered the den. Familiar had given up his perch on the arm of the sofa and had curled up on a cushion for a nap.

"It's almost as if he were watching for something specific," Cassandra said.

"Is it time for that talk show guy?" Adam picked up the controls.

"Adam!" Cassandra was appalled. "Surely you aren't going to watch Martin West. He's a waste of time."

"Only because he's having some FDA experts talk about false advertising. This is one of the issues I've been fighting with the FDA about. Some of those packagers put anything on their labels. They make all sorts of claims that aren't true. If they would force the companies to be accountable, then consumers would be able to know when they're buying healthy products and when they aren't."

Cassandra picked up the remote control and flipped it through the air to Adam. "Enjoy. I'm going up to my study to work on my book for a while. I can't take Martin West."

Adam grinned as he punched the on button. He turned the volume down and stretched out on the sofa beside Familiar. It had been a long, long day with a lot of emotions.

The show made several points which impressed Adam. One federal food inspector infuriated Adam. The man, Harry Robbins, claimed that all "health food companies" were public rip-offs.

Before Adam knew what he was doing, he had the telephone in hand and the number of the show dialed.

"Go ahead, caller," Martin West's practiced voice said.

"As owner of a natural food company, I'd like to say that some companies take it very seriously when we advertise our products as healthy. In contrast to what Mr. Robbins implied, my company is accurate in labeling and conscientious in production of our natural cereal products."

"Whoa, if it isn't Yul Gibbons with a bite!" Martin West said with a laugh. "What is your product?"

"Good Stuff Cereal." Adam felt slightly foolish.

"You're one of the good guys, right?"

"Right," Adam said, feeling even dumber. What was he doing calling in to a television show?

"Well, there must be some companies who take their products seriously. It's good to know that you're one of them."

Adam heard the disconnect, and he watched on the television screen as Martin West went back to his panel of experts. Harry Robbins was commenting in a nasty tone how companies were more concerned with the bottom line than with what sediments and preservatives gathered in the bottom of a cereal box. Adam put the receiver back in the cradle. How had he ever gotten caught up in such a ridiculous confrontation?

He clicked off the set. On his way to the kitchen he paused by the stairs to the loft. He could hear Cassandra's fingers pounding furiously on her computer keyboard. She was working on her tenth Nature's Bounty book. A smile touched his features as he decided to surprise her with a light dinner.