Gatekeeper (2 page)

Her hand crept between them, down…down to where his cock strained against her stomach. Boldly, she took it in her hand, running her fingers along the pulsating length, down to where his testicles were drawn tight with desire.

His kisses had moved to her ear and the ragged breath of approval he let out when she explored his cock and balls sent wild electricity through Jillian’s body.

She shifted restlessly against this tense, taut stranger.
Please…

He swelled in her hand and she guided him toward her pussy, arching and spreading for him. When his cock brushed her distended clit, she thought she would come.
Please! I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me.

A groan tore from his throat and his hand slid under her thigh and suddenly he was lifting her up and onto his cock.

Jillian cried out as it filled her. She wrapped her legs around his and he held her, his strong arms pumping her body up and down on his thrusting phallus. This
had
to be a dream. She felt as if there were no gravity to weigh her down. She felt as if she were floating in his arms.

Jillian clung, her nails digging into the back of his broad shoulders. Her body trembled. Blood surged through her veins and she ground her pussy against him, furiously searching for release.

It was so
good
. All coherent thought fled. Every ounce of her being was concentrated on what was happening inside her cunt.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, his fingertips dangerously close to her anus. She squeezed with her legs, shifting so his finger grazed her there. She wanted him everywhere, all at once, encompassing her being—completing her.

He complied. The tip of his finger pushed its way into her tight rosette and Jillian whimpered. She buried her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the heady scent of male perspiration and the woody redolence of a campfire. She wriggled and his finger slid in farther and that, mingled with his thrusting cock, was all it took to send her spiraling helplessly over the edge.

Come with me, come with me…

Her teeth grazed his shoulder as she convulsed, her juices coating his cock and finger, mindlessly spinning in a perfect, endless orgasm…

The suddenly she was cold and alone in the darkness. She groped for her phantom lover but he was nowhere to be found.

Panic surged.

Chills swept up her spine.

Jillian couldn’t move. Dark, shadowy figures with eyes glowing red hovered above her. She gasped, trying to draw in enough breath to scream. The entities circled like sharks, emanating every foul emotion known to man. Hate, greed, jealousy, fear—evil.

Paralyzed with terror, she could only watch and await their attack, certain they were going to drag her off to whatever hell they’d escaped from.

We’re coming for you, Jillian.
Unearthly voices taunted her. And then they dove at her—

A scream tore from her throat and Jillian found herself sitting bolt upright in her bed. Her gaze scanned the room. The ceiling fan swirled slowly overhead. A comforting blue glow radiated from the television she left on every night. Her cat, Sirius, was curled up at her feet, staring indignantly. She blew out a sharp breath and burrowed her fingers into the thick, dark hair at her temples. “A nightmare. Only a nightmare.”

She rarely dreamed. But when she did, it always ended with
the
nightmare, about
those
ghosts.

She’d had it again. A tremor swept up her spine and she shook off the awful memory of the ghosts that had terrorized her childhood. She’d tried to forget the eerie memories. Why now? Why after all these years was she having this nightmare again?

Because something bad is about to happen.

A shudder swept up her spine as she recalled the terror-filled nights of her childhood when those things, those beings, haunted her, hovering like vultures over her bed while she cowered under the covers.

But the bad ones, the scary ones, hardly left the imprint on her childhood that the sight of her mother’s ghost had. No, that one had left a raw, gaping wound in her soul.

A chill raised gooseflesh on her arms as she recalled her dream lover. Jillian’s gaze swept the room. Was someone with her now? God, she hoped not. She shook with horror at the thought of seeing a ghost again. But nothing moved. No smoky image swirled into view. She was just shaken by the nightmare. Shaken and trembling and wet between the legs. That was all.

She reached for her bottle of water and took a long drink. Images from the nightmare part of her dream assailed her and she shook her head as if she could shake the memory of it away. She hadn’t seen a ghost in fifteen years. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She said the words aloud as if that gave them more meaning and then took a deep, cleansing breath. Her heart rate had almost returned to normal.

Sirius’ green-eyed gaze softened as if he were certain Jillian was now all right. He restored his round black head to his big coiled paws and, as if to show he harbored no resentment, purred when she gave him an affectionate scratch between the ears.

Sleep was out of the question after that combination dream-nightmare, so she fished around in her white Ralph Lauren sheets until she found the remote concealed under a pillow. But before she could change the channel from an infomercial to a TV Land rerun, the phone rang.

* * * * *

Jillian had never seen Nashville so dead. She’d only passed two cars since turning onto Harding Place, which connected with the turnoff to Shy’s Hill. She took a deep breath. That was where her sister’s abandoned Volkswagen van had been found.

The foreboding dream of the ghosts crept back into her thoughts. Jillian’s well-manicured nails dug into the leather-covered steering wheel. “No,” she said aloud. No. The dream didn’t have anything to do with this. She wasn’t going to lose Amy the way she’d lost her mother. “Amy’s fine. We’re going to find her. She’ll be fine.”

But apprehension gnawed at her insides and unwelcome memories of her mother’s funeral surfaced. Jillian struck the steering wheel and blocked the memory as she passed the cozy homes of some of Nashville’s most well-to-do citizens. Lights warmed a few windows but most people were still snoozing in their beds at this time of morning. She squinted against the dawn sky which was layered with muted shades of lavender and pink.

Leaning forward, she strained to read the upcoming street sign. Benton Smith Road. That was it. That was the street name she had scrawled on the back of a receipt. Her heart fluttered fast in her chest and despite the fact no one was behind her for more than a mile, Jillian flipped on her blinker and wheeled her silver sports car up the steep hill. Already several police cars were parked at the halfway mark just at the foot of the Civil War historic site. Amy’s rattletrap VW sat with the wheels turned toward the curb so it wouldn’t roll down the hill if it accidentally shifted out of gear.

Jillian’s stomach tightened into a knot. When she’d gotten the phone call she’d hoped it would all be a mistake, that it really wasn’t Amy’s van. But it was.
Typical Amy.
Jillian fought down the wave of anger welling inside her. How could Amy have been so careless? Why was she always so trusting? Why was she forever offering help to anyone who gave her a sob story?

Jillian parked and got out of her car. She shivered against the early November chill and huddled inside her ice blue Chanel cashmere sweater. She drew the collar up to warm her ears which were exposed due to her severely pulled back ponytail.

What on earth was Amy doing at a Civil War site, of all places?

“Ms. Drew, Captain Carter wants to see you at the top of the hill,” one of the other officers called.

Jillian swallowed and started the ascent to the top of Shy’s Hill. Here and there, a piece of old railway tie served as a stair but they were laid unevenly and some were rotted. It was difficult to see in the dim morning light and the steep trail was made even more treacherous by her tan Manolo Blahnik crocodile pumps, but she always wore them when she was afraid, as if they could give her confidence—and right now, she needed all the self-assurance she could muster. With every step, Jillian felt more and more dread. Something had happened to her sister. Something terrible.

She dismissed the premonition. And she tried in vain to shake off the anger toward her sister for putting herself in such a precarious position.

Jillian stopped in her tracks when she saw a throng of officers from the Metro Nashville homicide department already combing the area for evidence. She fought the rising wave of panic.
This is just procedure. It doesn’t necessarily mean Amy is dead.
Her breaths were short and shallow.

Bright yellow police tape had already been strung around the perimeter. “This is a typical crime scene,” she said aloud to dispel her raw nerves. She’d worked with these people for three years on an as-needed basis doing criminal profiling. She’d seen crime scenes just like this one countless times. But this time she could not deny it was different. This time, it was her own sister.

Jillian’s knees went weak. What if they found a body? What if they found
Amy’s body
?

What if they didn’t?

She fought down a surge of panic and crossed the rocky summit toward the spot where Theo Carter kneeled on the ground. One of the police photographers was walking away from the scene. Jillian avoided eye contact with him. Her stomach clenched.

Squirrels and birds rummaged in the brush for breakfast, heedless of the fact a crime had been committed here.

“Theo?”

He turned. His mocha-colored face contorted into a grimace as he pushed himself up to his full height of six foot seven. Before joining the department, he’d been a linebacker for the Tennessee Titans when a knee injury cut his football career short. Something dismal darkened his brown eyes.

The contents of the rainbow-colored hemp bag Amy usually carried lay scattered in the gravel at his feet. Jillian tore her gaze away from it. Theo’s sympathetic stare was hardly more comforting.

Dammit, Amy.
“Where’s my sister?” Her voice trembled.

Theo pursed his lips and a big hand descended on Jillian’s shoulder. “We don’t know. It looks like an abduction.”

“An abduction?” Who would want to abduct Amy? Rape cut a dark and ugly path through Jillian’s thoughts. Underneath all the beaded headscarves and gauzy broomstick skirts, Amy was a beautiful woman. And although Jillian knew beauty didn’t have anything to do with rape, she couldn’t shake the idea from her mind.

Theo did not look hopeful. He stepped back and shined a flashlight on the ground. “Obviously there was a struggle but it took place near the stairs.” He pointed to where several officers were kneeling and collecting evidence from the ground. His serious expression told her there was more. “We found blood which has already been sent to the crime lab for a DNA check.” Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “And Jillian, this is a difficult thing to tell you but—we’re treating this as a potential homicide.”

Her heart lurched. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
Amy dead?
Her hands started to shake. She was about to lose control.
No, not here. Not here.
She forced the thought from her mind. The blood could be anyone’s. It might not be Amy’s.

But a gut suspicion told her it was. She knelt next to the eviscerated purse. Tic Tacs. A deck of Tarot cards in a blue velvet bag. A cell phone. A pair of purple dollar store reading glasses. But those things were not what twisted Jillian’s insides into hopeless mush.

Amy’s change purse was filled with money. Debit and credit cards were tucked haphazardly into the side pockets of her wallet. The nearly empty checkbook had not been touched.

This was no mugging.

It would be so much easier to figure out if it were.

But was it premeditated? Did the offender know Amy? Jillian quickly ruled out kidnapping for ransom. Amy did psychic readings for a living and to Jillian’s knowledge, didn’t even have a savings account much less investments or anything of great monetary value.

The doleful coo of a mourning dove broke the quiet.

Theo scratched his bald head. “What do you think she was doing up here?”

Jillian shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a couple days. And besides, she usually doesn’t tell me what she’s up to. We have a rule never to discuss her…extrasensory perceptions.”

She stood. “How long has the van been parked there? Someone must have reported it.”

“You’re quite perceptive yourself,” Theo said. “The fellow who lives across the street thought some hippies were up here smoking weed and called it in. Apparently she showed up here around dusk yesterday evening.”

Jillian blew out a breath. “Amy and that damn van. She really had a great time playing up the whole psychic persona thing.”
Oh God.
She’d said
had
.
Think positive. We’re going to find her
. “Did your caller say anything about seeing another vehicle?”

Theo shook his head.

“Of course there was no answer at her house.” It was more of a hopeful question than a statement.