Was the dream a vision or was it simply a nightmare? It was too real, too crisp and vivid to be a dream. Dreams didn’t usually make sense and were jumbled images randomly thrown together.
She went still for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. She didn’t recognize where the shooting took place. It definitely wasn’t here or anywhere she was familiar with.
It should be easy enough to avoid, if indeed it was a prophetic vision. She never left the house. She was too afraid to go out, either with someone or alone. Especially alone.
What had her life become? Who had she become? She no longer recognized the girl in the mirror. She was dull and lifeless. Scared and timid. A far cry from the woman she’d been a year ago before she’d gone to hell.
How did Ramie do it? How could she bear to endure that over and over? Tori flinched at how angry and rude she’d been with Ramie. The idea that someone had seen her shame was more than she could bear, though. Great injustice had been wrought against Ramie St. Claire, but Tori couldn’t find the empathy to soften against this fragile woman.
She stood in the bathroom a long moment before finally going back into her bedroom. She crawled under the covers, pulling them to her chin. She lay there shaking, her stomach churning endlessly.
An hour later, she gave up. A trip to the kitchen would be a welcome—and necessary—nightly patrol. One she didn’t confide in her brothers. But between the times they or their men scouted the house, inside and out, Tori had her own route she followed, moving her markers so that she would notice a difference if someone touched them. Her brothers would think she was crazy, clinically insane if they knew how obsessed she was with the fear of someone coming into her home and taking her again. She hid a lot from her brothers. This was just another thing in a long list they didn’t need to know about because they’d only worry more than they already did.
Sleep wouldn’t happen tonight. Just like so many other nights in the past year, she’d be awake, staring up at the ceiling and trying to shut the door on things she’d rather forget.
At least if she had food and coffee, then the middle-of-the-night munchy run wasn’t all that strange.
As much as she wanted to put her past behind her and cower in the corner of her choosing, she hated being alone. She just didn’t want people always psychoanalyzing her. Always knowing what she needed or wanted. They had no idea.
She just wanted to be normal and focus on what all young women focused on. Their first job out of college. The knowledge that they’re ready to take on the world, live in their own apartments, make their own choices.
Except Tori, who, at twenty-three, was focused on none of those things. Not that she didn’t give them a passing thought every once in a while.
TWENTY-ONE
RAMIE lazily opened her eyes and sighed, stretching like a cat next to Caleb’s body. Her mind was refreshingly blank. No fragments of violence and death. Just blissful calm. Maybe she had Caleb to thank for that. She’d told him to make her forget, but she hadn’t really believed anyone could ease her torment.
“Morning,” Caleb murmured as he pressed his lips to her forehead.
His arm tightened around her, pulling her into his side. She slid her hand over his taut abdomen and up the hard planes of his chest until her palm rested over his heart. The thud of his pulse against her skin was reassuring.
“Good morning,” she returned.
“I have to leave for a few hours,” he said, an apology in his voice. “There are things I need to take care of. I have a meeting with my attorney to sign several business documents. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t put your life on hold for me,” she said firmly. “And don’t jeopardize your business by babysitting me twenty-four/seven.”
“Hate to break it to you, baby, but my life is already on hold for you.”
Even as she felt dismay over his statement, warmth spread through her veins at the conviction in his voice. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to daydream and ponder the what-ifs. She knew it was stupid—and dangerous—to pin her hopes on a normal life. Her life would never be normal. But it didn’t make her want it any less.
“I’ll work with the sketch artist while you’re gone,” Ramie said in a low voice.
It was ridiculous to fear putting his face down on paper, but it terrified her nonetheless.
Caleb squeezed her to him. “If you want to wait for me to get back I’ll stay with you while you talk to the sketch artist.”
She shook her head. “No. It needs to be done as soon as possible. It should have already been done. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so hysterical we could have saved his last victim.”
“Stop,” Caleb said in a terse voice. “Don’t go there again, Ramie. You are not to blame and I won’t have you thinking it much less saying it.”