“I’ll trail you,” she told him.
And she did. They went from window to window—and there were plenty of them. They double-checked the doors. They walked up to the attic, too, at Danni’s insistence. Nothing had changed since they’d dragged the zombie-nun animatronic down. Boxes remained piled up here and there and everywhere, masks and mannequin heads were all in place.
“You okay?” Quinn asked her.
“Yeah. We’re still sleeping with Smith and Wesson,” Danni said.
She headed into the bedroom. It was nice—charming really. There were wicker chairs with flowery cushions by the window; the upholstery matched the bedspread. The décor was all light and airy—tropical and pleasant. She pulled off the covers and crawled between the sheets, then realized that Quinn was still at the computer.
Sticking her head out the door and seeing him there, she stripped off the T-shirt nightgown and wrapped a leg around the door before calling to him. “Hey!”
“Yeah?”
He didn’t look up.
Shaking her head, Danni walked out of the room naked and came and stood by the computer.
“Mr. Quinn.”
He looked up at last, brow still slightly creased with a frown. Then he saw her and looked puzzled for a minute.
He laughed, rose, and literally swept her off her feet, smiling down at her. “Wow. Sorry. And, hey…well, wow!”
In the bedroom, he laid her down on the bed, turned out the lights and quickly stripped.
Mr. Smith and Wesson was set on the wicker bedside table. Then he crawled in beside her.
The drapes were closed, but their fabric was light, allowing for just a hint of soft golden light to seep in from the moon above and the street; Danni gazed at him as he came toward her, the breadth of his shoulders, bronze in the mystic glow, his face, his form, and the touch of his eyes. He had a way of just looking at her that was arousing, as if she were the most erotic creature in the world. She reached out for him and their mouths joined in a kiss that quickly became passionate; she felt the heat of flesh against flesh, limbs entwined, and gave herself over completely to the wonder of being with him.
They kissed and touched and teased one another, hot liquid kissed here, there and everywhere that were almost ridiculously arousing. She felt transported, as if it didn’t matter where in the world they might be, what might be happening in the world beyond the heart around them, as if they were simply together in a sea of wonder. Desire soared and climbed and she felt his kisses on her belly and thighs and tasted the clean salty skin of his shoulders and beyond and then they were one, and when they climaxed, the world seemed to burst into fire-lit sky of stars.
Then she lay beside him and there was wonder in just that, in being together, holding together…one against the world. They didn’t speak. And soon enough, she drifted to sleep.
It was more than natural that she dreamed.
She knew in her dream that she was dreaming, and it was all right. She’d been known to rise in the middle of the night and walk down to her studio at the house and shop on Royal Street to sketch what was in her mind—often sketches that helped them or pointed them toward a clue, probably something they hadn’t seen or realized in their conscious minds. It was a bit awkward for her, since Billie—her father’s assistant and now hers, and Bo Ray—a new addition to the shop and team—lived in their own apartments up in the Royal Street attic. But Quinn had the ability to awaken every time she moved and he always followed her immediately, so, as of so far…it had been okay.
This time there was no one but them in the house. But she didn’t rise to draw. She just dreamed, seeing an army of zombie-nun creatures walking down Duval Street. People screaming; the zombie-nuns killing with their sharp skeletal fingers, and then ripping and biting at their victims as they dragged them out of the bars on Duval.
She was running in her dream, hand in hand with Quinn, running down the street. He would stop and turn to shoot at a creature that was almost upon them.
They were nearing Front Street where they turned off and went rushing toward Mallory Square, along with a thousand others. She shouted at the street performers there—a man who worked with an army of trained cats, another who swallowed fire while riding a unicycle….
With horror she saw that the fire-eater was totally unaware.
She screamed, trying to warn him….
And she woke herself up abruptly.
It was morning; sun was streaming softly through the thin materials of the drapes. She reached instinctively across the sheets for Quinn, but he wasn’t there. She sat up, and a real scream ripped from her throat.
There was a zombie-nun at the foot of the bed, its sharp, skeletal fingers reaching out for her.
Chapter 5