Page 46 of When She Dreams

It was impossible to focus on her breathing becausesomeone was rapping on the door of her room.

That was not right. There was no reason why anyone would be knocking at this hour. Another burst of panic shot through her. Sam would know what to do. He was right next door.

She leaped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried to the connecting door. She made a fist and prepared to rap sharply. She paused when she heard another soft knock and realized it was coming from the other side of the door.

Dazed with relief, she unlocked the door and opened it. For a fewseconds she simply stared at Sam, trying to come up with an explanation for the fact that he was wearing the shoes, trousers, and white dress shirt he’d had on earlier. But she could not concentrate on the problem of why he was dressed because she was distracted by the acid energy of anxiety still coursing through her veins.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Can’t... can’t talk now,” she said. “Give me a minute.”

“Hang on.”

He disappeared. She didn’t try to understand why. She started to pace the room, struggling to rid herself of the poison created by the anxiety attack.

“Breathe,” she muttered. “Just breathe. You know how to do this. It was just a nightmare.”

Sam reappeared. He had a glass in his hand. It was filled with an amber liquid. “Here you go. Good for what ails you.”

She didn’t argue. She grabbed the glass and downed a healthy swallow of the whiskey. Too much, too fast. But the burn shattered the spell that had gripped her senses. She coughed and took a deep breath. The nerve-rattling energy began to dissipate. She resumed pacing. Drank some more whiskey. Took another breath.

Gradually she regained control. She realized Sam was still there, watching her from the doorway between the two rooms. She groaned. Now he really would conclude that she was not entirely balanced.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yep. Just great.”

Sam smiled but he did not comment.

At least he wasn’t looking at her as if he was afraid she was hysterical. That helped settle her rattled nerves as nothing else could have done.

“Sorry you had to witness that,” she said.

“Bad dream?”

“My fault. I lost control of it. Got the feeling I couldn’t escape. It happens from time to time. I told you, I’m good, but I’m not perfect.”

“And this is why you’ve never married,” he said. “You’re afraid a husband would witness you waking up in an anxiety attack and conclude you were unstable.”

She glared at him. “Yes, not that it matters. What are you doing here?”

“I went to Beverly Nevins’s room a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, right. The mildly illegal job. Well?”

“Someone else got there first.”

“Really?” She frowned, trying to make sense of that news. “A burglar?”

“Didn’t look like the work of a professional. I don’t think whoever it was had any success.”

She discovered she could concentrate now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I found something interesting.”

He held up a gold bracelet. A charm in the shape of a crescent moon dangled from it.

Maggie stared at it, a fresh tide of anxiety igniting her nerves and her senses.

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