Page 61 of Midnight Secrets

“Good,” he grunted, and stroked her hair.

She was with Joe, in her bedroom. She was safe. It was like something had been squeezing her, stopping her from breathing. Isabel took in a huge wheezing breath. Another.

“That’s right,” Joe said. “That’s my girl. What were you having?”

“Nightmare,” she gasped. “Not real.”

But it hadfeltreal. The evil, the killing, the man with empty eyes staring at her—it had all felt as real as anything. Her heart was still trip-hammering.

“No, not real,” Joe said. “Here.” She always kept a glass of water on her bedside table. He pressed it into her hand and she sipped. “See if you can get it all down,” he urged and she did.

“Better?” Isabel started shaking her head no, when she stopped. Actually, she did feel better. She nodded.

But his face didn’t clear, it still looked tight.

“You scared me.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Scared the shit out of me, as a matter of fact.”

“You should have seen it from my point of view,” she said and gave a little laugh that might have been hysteria.

“No, thanks.” Joe put pillows behind him, sat up and coaxed her to sit between his legs, her back against his chest. He grunted with satisfaction when his arms went around her. She was surrounded by warm, hard man. Warm, hard, reassuring man. “It was bad enough being beside you. I couldn’t get you to wake up. It sounded like someone was torturing you but you were gagged. And your legs were running, like you wanted to run away.”

This,thiswas the reason she hadn’t slept with anyone since the Massacre. The nightmares. It wouldn’t be any fun at all for a man to sleep with someone who went crazy every night. No wonder she hadn’t had a love life. Too scary, too creepy.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Isabel pushed her hair out of her eyes. She felt washed-out, as if she’d run a thousand miles. Maybe she could convince Joe to go back to his house. And then avoid him until he got the message. It was too humiliating for words being exposed like this. What had she looked like while in the nightmare? Not pretty, that would be her guess. She hadn’t been pretty since the Massacre but in the light of day she could at least put up a front. Or if not a brave front, she could at least put on lipstick. But at night, when having nightmares? The rawest part of her was exposed.

Luckily, she wasn’t facing him. She didn’t know if she could face him right now.

Joe’s arms tightened briefly. “Good God, don’t apologize! I was just terrified that I couldn’t wake you up. What was the nightmare? Do you remember?”

“What it always is, the Massacre,” she said wearily, looking down at her hands. He’d clasped them in his warm fists. Where she touched him—all along her back, along the sides of her thighs, her arms and hands—she was warm.

The rest of her was deathly cold.

“The Massacre? In detail?”

“No. And it’s not really the Massacre itself, I shouldn’t have said that. I have retrograde amnesia and my memory so far is not coming back. I don’t have memories of much of anything beyond Friday afternoon, the day before the Massacre. What I’m dreaming of—what’s in the nightmares—is more like—like a metaphor. A metaphor of the Massacre.”

Joe rested his cheek against the top of her head. Her head was now warm, too. “Tell me,” he said gently. “Tell me everything before you forget it. And do you have these nightmares often?”

“Every night,” she blurted, then covered her mouth. She’d wanted to sayneverbecause only crazy people had constant nightmares. But the truth had simply fallen out of her mouth, like poison her body wanted to expel. “I have them every night. Except last night.” She twisted her head briefly to see if that sparked a smug smile. Fabulous sex that kept the little lady from her nightmares. He could be proud of that.

“I’m glad.” Joe didn’t have a smug smile. He just looked worried. He nudged her with his shoulder. “So, tell me. Is it always the same nightmare?”

Isabel blew out a breath. “This is going to sound weird, possibly cowardly, but I am so terrified when I wake up that my only thought is to get the images out of my head as quickly as possible.”

“That doesn’t sound weird and it sure doesn’t sound cowardly. Do you think you can make an exception now and try to remember instead of trying to forget?”

Now that Joe was with her, now that she was surrounded by him, now that she could feel his steady heartbeat against her back…yes. Having him here made all the difference. Before, all those nights and nights of waking up in terror, cold sweat covering her body, she’d felt absolutely alone. Not just alone in her house butalone. The last human in a dark universe populated by monsters.

“Okay.”

Joe’s hands tightened around hers and she realized her hands had been trembling. It gave her a spurt of warmth and energy. No one had held her hands during the night terrors.

“I can tell you aboutthisnightmare. The one I just had. I’m in a room. A big room, a room I’ve never seen before. It is filled with people dressed up for an occasion and there is the air of a big party in process. The people are laughing, happy. Waiting for something big.”

“That sounds like the ballroom the night of the Massacre. So you do remember it.”

“No.” Isabel frowned, trying to explain what she barely understood. “My memory of the Massacre, if it ever returns, will be different. Because I’m familiar with the Burrard and I knew a lot of the people there to celebrate—” Her voice wobbled. “To celebrate Dad’s intent to run for the presidency. There would be a lot of the party activists I wouldn’t necessarily know but I’d know a lot of people there, if only fleetingly. Dad’s friends, reporters, donors. There wasn’t anyone I recognized in my nightmare. And there was this air?—”

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