The Doctor + Four. Jacqueline Diamond
queen-size bed awaited in a room exploding with vivid hues. Although the sky through the window remained blue-black, Barry imagined he could detect the dawn of a new day.
Perhaps he should postpone his flight to give them another few hours together, he reflected as they slid beneath the covers. They had a lot to talk about.
He couldn’t seem to keep his lids open, though. Utterly at peace for the first time in years, Barry curved around Sonya and fell asleep.
EVEN AFTER SHE OPENED HER LIDS, she wasn’t certain she’d been dreaming. It had seemed so real: the scream of metal, then searing pain. As she lay helpless on the pavement, Duke had loomed above, knife in hand. Two traumas merged into one terrifying scene.
Emerging from the nightmare, Sonya didn’t recognize her surroundings. Only gradually did she begin to make sense of the familiar outlines of her bedroom, eerie in the moon glow through the window.
A noise from the hallway alarmed her. Struggling to move, Sonya made the horrifying discovery that her muscles had locked in place.
Her brain recognized that she must be suffering a form of sleep paralysis, which had happened a few times before. In minutes, it would vanish.
She heard the whisper of footsteps across the carpet. Dear Lord, let this be a dream. But it didn’t feel like one.
Abruptly, a male shape reared above her. Battling the paralysis, Sonya groped for the bedside phone. The receiver clattered off its base and fell.
The bed dipped as the man sat. “Sonya?”
She thought she’d heard that voice before. “Who…?” Couldn’t finish.
“It’s me, Barry.” In the semidarkness, his silhouette loomed.
Duke, cursing as he stabbed at her. “Don’t…” Terror made the word stick in her throat.
“Bad dream?” His palm smoothed her forehead. Reassuring. Gentle. Yet her subconscious flashed a red alert.
This was Barry, not Duke, Sonya told herself. The man who’d come to her aid last night, and made love to her. Why was she still so frightened, as if her subconscious was trying to send a warning?
A fact surfaced. “You said…ex-con.”
He answered warily. “That’s right.”
“What…for?” She still found it hard to talk. Impossible to stir. She was almost as helpless as in her dream.
“You mean what did they convict me of?” Barry asked tightly. “Murder.”
Murder.
Who had he killed—a girlfriend? Despite his easygoing veneer, she’d seen the violence with which he’d attacked Duke. If Barry lost his temper, she could imagine his powerful hands throttling whoever infuriated him. Perhaps regretting it afterward, too late.
“Manslaughter, to be specific,” he went on. “I didn’t do it, but everyone says that, don’t they?”
He seemed to expect a reply. Perhaps absolution. Did he take all women for fools?
She’d had sex with the man. Yet what did she really know of him? He might have lied about being a reporter and invented the appealing tale of a sister and a family home.
Last night, Sonya had been too overwhelmed by events to think clearly. What a vulnerable position she’d put herself in, bringing a convicted killer into her home.
“Please leave.” Her voice trembled.
“What?”
“Get out!”
“You’re having a delayed reaction to what happened yesterday,” he said. “Sonya, you don’t mean this.”
She’d asked him to leave. And he’d refused.
Shaking off the sleep-drugged sensation at last, she tumbled out of bed and gripped her robe. Stiff-legged and awkward, she pulled it on as she ran. Smacked the edge of the door frame, ignored the painful ache in her hip and kept going.
“Hey! Wait!” Barry’s shout followed her down the stairs. Sonya staggered into the living room, snagged her purse and fled to the front porch.
She groped inside the bag. Where was her cell? Not in its accustomed slot. Had he swiped it while she’d slept?
At last she found it at the bottom. About to dial the police, she tried to phrase the complaint in her mind. Officer, I’ve been…
Foolish. Indiscreet. Stupid. She had no doubt Barry posed a threat, yet she could form no convincing accusation.
From inside the condo sounded masculine footsteps. Murder. How could she have put herself at his mercy?
Maybe she should keep running and scream until some neighbor offered aid. But as the cool morning air blew off the remnants of her dream state, the scent of jasmine drifted to Sonya. Along an adjacent boulevard, early morning traffic murmured. The world had become normal again. The sense of peril muted into uneasiness.
She should have expected a reaction like this. Violence and danger left their mark on the subconscious. She’d managed to suppress the trauma for a few hours, but it had breached her defenses in sleep.
Barry emerged, his clothes hanging in disarray as he regarded her grumpily. She skittered off the porch and drew the robe tighter. Gravel dug into her bare feet.
“What do you think I’m going to do, bite you?” he growled. “Come inside before you catch cold.” He noticed the phone. “Did you call the cops?”
She shook her head. Still shaken. Still not in full control.
He appeared to be listening. For a siren? Nothing stirred but a cat, yowling a few doors off. “Well, thanks for that, anyway,” he muttered. “Goodbye then.”
“You’re leaving?” She hadn’t expected him to acquiesce so readily.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
A moment ago she’d wanted nothing else. Now she began to fear she’d overreacted. Still, best to let him go. “Have…have a safe flight.” The mundane civility sounded absurd in her own ears.
“Just a minute. I left my camera in the kitchen.” He disappeared but returned quickly, holding the device in one hand. “Care to search me to make sure I didn’t steal anything?”
“I…I trust you.”
“We both know that isn’t true.” He regarded her with a mixture of anger and disappointment, then stalked away. Despite the breeze, Sonya stood observing until he rounded a corner and vanished from sight.
He hadn’t raged at her or shouted insults. He’d behaved quite decently, considering the circumstances. Had she misjudged him? She certainly had a poor history of gauging men’s characters.
Inside, her clothes still littered the carpet from last night, and the room carried the subtle tang of a man’s body along with leftover cooking odors. How long before the condo became entirely hers once more?
The whole situation struck Sonya as bizarre and inexplicable. She didn’t do things like this. Jump into bed with a stranger. Panic beyond reason.
No use trying to sleep in this agitated state. Instead, she went to the kitchen to brew coffee. Two pans sat soaking in the sink where Barry had left them.
They’d had fun cooking together and their lovemaking had been spectacular. If she hadn’t suffered that nightmare, maybe…No. This relationship had never had a future.
A convicted murderer. Just her luck.
As she fixed the coffee, one fact became clear: she’d drifted for too long since the engagement had ended. Unfulfilled urges had made her susceptible.
Well, her parents had taught her to learn from mistakes. At thirty-three, maybe she’d