Dream Weaver

“He’d have been flat on his ass in the downstairs hallway.”

Meliana ruffled Shannon’s silky ears. “I love it when men do the testosterone thing. Johnny, do you even try putting your clothes together?”

He frowned, glanced down at his jeans, T-shirt and jacket. “What’s wrong with them?”

The brown jacket looked as if he’d slept in it, the red T was torn and frayed at the hem and his jeans were the oldest pair he owned. Meliana hid her amusement. “Nothing, I guess. Kneejerk reaction. I see Shannon swallowed your last hairbrush.”

He moved his lips in a perfunctory smile. “I wasn’t thinking personal aesthetics when I jumped in my truck and raced down here. Is the rose gone?”

“Off to the police lab to be mutilated. Are you limping?”

“Eileen Crawford cleaned today. I tripped over the magazine rack.”

“Which she undoubtedly put back in its proper place. This isn’t a big deal, Johnny.” Meliana was going to repeat that until she believed it. “Some pervert likes roses and underwear. He left one and stole the other. Maybe he just wanted something pretty to wear.”

“Or maybe he’d rather you wore it for him.”

“You’re not going to be nice and let me delude myself for a few hours, are you?”

Instead of answering, he looked around the room. “You painted.”

“Julie and I did.”

“It’s called coconut cream,” Julie told him. “We thought it was more soothing than the scary harvest gold that came with the place and Mel let you keep because you apparently grew up in a time-warp bungalow with parents who still aren’t aware that several decades have passed since the mid-seventies.”

“She means the walls looked dated.” Meliana stopped an excited Shannon from hopping onto the bed. “That’s a white-on-white quilt, handmade by Johnny’s grandmother, Shan. You didn’t have to come all the way to Chicago, Johnny. I’m having the security code changed tomorrow. And I have a dog here most of the time.”

His frown deepened. “Where is Lokie?”

“Visiting my cousin in Joliet.”

He made a disgusted sound. “The kids’ll rip her ears off.”

“If they do, I’ll kick Joey’s butt from here to Honolulu. She’ll be fine. I taught her how and when to bite.”

Julie chuckled. Then she sobered and craned her neck. “Damn. Blackburn’s coming back.”

“With his sidekick Dick?” Meliana teased.

“Dirk.”

“Trying to lighten the mood here, Jules.” Climbing to her feet, she ran her fingers through Johnny’s rumpled hair. “You look like you lost the battle with a wind machine.” When his eyes—rather stunning eyes, she acknowledged—narrowed, she let her hand fall. “I don’t think I mentioned this, and I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not, but white’s my favorite color.”

“Yes, we know that,” Johnny said.

“Lokie’s a Samoyed, also white. I found her tied up on the front porch right after you moved to Blue Lake six months ago. The vet figured she was maybe five months old.”

“I thought you said she was a gift.”

“She was. There was a ribbon around her neck with a card attached to it. It said: ‘A beautiful puppy for a beautiful woman. She’s called Lokelani.’ I thought the Raymonds left her for me when they moved. There were always new dogs popping up over there. But then the roses started coming, and I started to wonder.”

“You think the rose guy gave you a dog?”

She regarded them both, her husband the FBI agent and her friend the cop. “White dog, white rose.” She drew a deep breath. “The white dog already had a name and, FYI, Lokelani just happens to be Hawaiian for ‘heavenly rose.’”

Chapter Two

They had a brief and mildly unpleasant run-in with Chris in the downstairs hallway. Johnny and Chris had been friends of a sort once. Then Johnny had gone undercover for two years and a great many things had changed.

“He was hitting on you at our wedding,” Johnny said as he helped Meliana into his SUV. “And he jumped on the first town house that came up for sale in our complex after we moved in.”

“He likes vaulted ceilings.”

“He likes you.”

“I like him back. But like isn’t love, and I’ve told him that at least a dozen times.”

“Chris Blackburn has the ability to be selectively blind and deaf when it suits his purpose.”

Meliana grinned. “Unlike another person in this vehicle, right? Will Shannon be okay while we’re gone?”

“I gave her food, water and a big plate of soda crackers.”

“You’re corrupting her, Johnny.” Propping her foot up, she retied the lace of her sneaker. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Where, yes. Why, no. Charlie Lightfoot’s a nutcase.”

“Wrong. In actual fact, he solves nutcases.”

“By picking up psychic vibes from objects, then translating them into emotions and, occasionally, physical traits.”

“Hey, it’s highly unlikely the cops will get anywhere with this. There were no prints and no help forthcoming from Mrs. Feldman or anyone else. I want to know who stole my lingerie and why, beyond the obvious, the color white seems to be significant. I know.” She cut off his protest. “White denotes purity, innocence, virtue.”

“Virginity.”

“Uh-huh, well, he missed the boat on that one years ago. And I was never pure, innocent or especially virtuous.”

“You were a navy brat.”

“Base life had its moments, Grand. My mom made captain before she turned thirty-five. I thought it was pretty cool growing up with a parent who flew jets and got to order a lot of other people around.”

“You’re a chip off the old navy block, Mel.”

“Did you know she’s a commander now?”

“Does she know you’re a top-notch surgeon?”

“A noble and worthy profession, but not the one she wanted for me. Unfortunately, I’m not as fond of flying or of the navy as my mother is.”

“How’s your nui kaikunane, Maleko?”

“Very good,” she congratulated. “My big brother Mark’s fine. He’s doing some kind of undercover work in Honolulu. Last time I saw him he looked like a cross between a Gypsy and a pirate. Big gold earring, long hair, slick clothes.”

“Is your mom okay with that?”

“She wasn’t especially happy when he left the navy after only four years, but he’s a great cop.”

“He has the right instincts. My division leader says any time Mark wants a job, it’s there for him.”

“He’d appreciate that. Turn left here.”

“I remember where Lightfoot lives, Mel. My brain didn’t burn out totally on that assignment.”

But more damage had been done than could be easily repaired, Meliana thought with a pang. She changed the subject. “Charlie’s become a fixture on the South Side scene. He broke up with a woman last year because she wanted him to move away from there. He loves his apartment.”

“And his Deadhead music and his incense. He tried to analyze Mark’s captain’s dreams at our wedding, Mel. He’s lucky the guy was so drunk he didn’t give a damn.”

“You’re such a stickler. Charlie’s brilliant. Okay, maybe he did a few too many psychedelic drugs in the early seventies, but you like harvest gold and avocado green.”

“I grew up with them.”

“I grew up with a father who embezzled money from a pineapple factory, but I manage to keep my fingers out of the hospital funding pot. Honest to God, Johnny, you’re so by-the-book in some ways and so fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants in others. It’s like there’s two people living inside your head.”

“One head, Mel, two sides to my brain.” He turned on the radio.

Meliana studied her husband’s profile. He was gorgeous, always had been, through good times and bad. His hair, somewhere between brown and dark blond, was unkempt and far too long to be considered FBI standard. He had an incredible face, all lines, planes and angles, a devastating mouth and eyes the color of smoked charcoal. Friends used to tease them that if their kids didn’t have some form of gray eyes, it would be absolute proof that Meliana had been unfaithful.

Never could have happened, she reflected on a wistful note. She’d loved Johnny Grand with everything she had inside her—and that had been a considerable amount. Johnny said Chris had been hitting on her at their wedding. She believed him, but hadn’t noticed. She still didn’t, even in retrospect. All she remembered about that day was being deliriously happy and grateful that her father, on parole after having served six years of his ten-year sentence, had been permitted to attend.

“Summer’s heading south,” Johnny commented over the rain and music. “There was a bite in the air at Blue Lake, and a lot of the birds are gone.”

She continued to study him. “Do you get bored up there?”

“Sometimes. Then I remind myself that being there’s essential to my mental rehab, and I replace a shingle or two.”

“Does it work?”

“As rehab?” He moved a shoulder. “You tell me. Do I seem less stressed than before?”

“At the moment, yes. But not when you flew into the bedroom earlier. I’m not going to get paranoid about what happened, Johnny. I’ll talk to Charlie, get Lokie back, change my alarm code and leave the rest to Julie.”

“What about the card that came on Lokie’s collar?”

“I have it somewhere. I’ll dig it out. Turn here.”

She indicated a narrow street that read more like a downtown alley. Rusty fire-escape ladders hung from dilapidated brick and concrete buildings. Many of the windows were blacked out and the darkness and rain only reinforced the sinister atmosphere.

“It’s great here,” Meliana remarked. “Like Al Capone meets West Side Story.”

“In Dracula’s dungeon.”

“This is an old part of the city. You should see Los Angeles after sunset.”

“I have.”

And New York and Miami and Cartagena and Mexico City. “I’ll call ahead.” She punched her colleague’s number on her cell. “Heads up, Lightfoot,” she warned. “We’re here.” She slid her gaze to Johnny. “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him.”

Johnny stared straight ahead. “I don’t want to know.”

“He says for you not to use the bathroom, and no matter how suspicious the tea smells, it’s only a Chinese herb blend.”

“You believe that?”

“I’m due in the O.R. at 11:00 a.m. I need to believe.”

Johnny, who’d had more than a few strange conversations with Charlie Lightfoot since the separation, cast dubious eyes over the ravaged balcony railings. “Babe, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“THIS IS PRETTY.” Charlie held Meliana’s black slip up by the straps and grinned like a fool. “Where’d you get it?”

“New York City.” Meliana sat cross-legged on his sofa—at least, Johnny assumed there was a sofa under the massive Native American blanket. “Do you feel anything, Charlie?” Her eyes sparkled. “Other than hot and bothered?”

“That’s top of the list, Mel.” He ran a ringed hand over the silky fabric. “I see you at a swanky cocktail party. Nope, sorry, wedding reception.”

Johnny frowned. “Who got married?”

“One of the surgical nurses, last July. That slip’s been washed half a dozen times since then. How long do vibes linger?”

Charlie drank his tea laced with God knew what and winked at them. “Depends on the strength of the memory. Did you have fun?”

“No.”

“Ah, well, bad’s as weighty as good.” Eyes closed, he fingered the lace trim. “Relax, Johnny,” he advised. “This isn’t black magic. It’s just a little tap I sometimes have into a part of the brain most of us don’t use.”

What could he say to that? Johnny watched Meliana sip her tea while she in turn watched Charlie psychoanalyze her slip.

To be truthful, he didn’t dislike Charlie Lightfoot. He just felt a little edgy around the guy. But then, he felt edgy around most people these days. Thus his requested leave from active duty and a solo retreat to Blue Lake.

Charlie pressed three fingers to the headband he habitually wore. If he started humming, Johnny thought he’d have to leave the room. He might have to get out anyway. The air in the cramped apartment was ripe with the smells of simmering herbs, strawberry incense and two grizzled old terriers.

Charlie sat barefoot on a faded Persian carpet, across from Meliana. He wore a cotton T-shirt with a peace symbol on the chest, worn jeans and three earrings in his left lobe. His hair was as long as Johnny’s, although there wasn’t quite as much of it, and it was much darker—almost the same color as Meliana’s, in fact.

Different heritage, though. Johnny drank the beer Charlie had given him and slid his gaze to his wife. Charlie Lightfoot was half Blackfoot, half French. Meliana was one quarter Hawaiian on her mother’s side and 100 percent drop-dead gorgeous. Johnny had fantasized about her hair while he’d been undercover. It was very nearly black, extremely thick and just the slightest bit wavy. It skimmed her collarbone these days, though when he’d met her five and half years ago it had actually been several inches longer.

“Calhoun,” Charlie said clearly.

“That was the groom’s name.” Reaching out, Meliana gave the slip a tug. “Forget weddings.”

“Maybe you need to be in it for the vibe thing to work,” Johnny suggested.

“Always a possibility.” Charlie stared unblinking at the fabric. Johnny had no idea how he did it. His head was throbbing, and his eyes stung from the herbs and incense. And Jethro Tull on scratchy vinyl in the background wasn’t helping.

He massaged his temples. “Do you need the rose?”

“Could be.” Charlie bunched the slip and breathed in. “Sounds lunatic, I know, but this really does work sometimes. Tell me about the other roses, Mel.”

Johnny moved his lips into a smile. “Yes, tell both of us.”

She set her cup aside. “They appeared in different places each time. I found the first one four weeks ago on the driver’s seat of my car. The second showed up ten days later on my desk at the hospital. The third was in my locker, which wasn’t locked—yes, I know, Johnny, not smart—and the fourth found its way into my lab coat pocket. He must have slipped it to me while I was making my rounds. It could happen,” she said with a shrug. “You bump into people all the time in hospital corridors.”

“Nurses, orderlies, patients?” Charlie assumed.

“Other doctors, maintenance workers, visitors.” Meliana sighed. “Sorry. Unless I’m in the O.R., I interact with a lot of people on a daily basis.”

“No surprise there. Hey, can we put this on hold for a few minutes? I need the bathroom, and mine’s out of commission. Lucky for me, I’ve got an obliging neighbor downstairs.”

Johnny’s head was beginning to buzz. It was a bad sign. He blocked the images that wanted to creep in and focused on Meliana.

She wore jeans tonight, faded blue with a leaf embroidered on the hem of her flared left leg. Her T-shirt was pale yellow and short. Though he hadn’t gotten a good look at it yet, he could envision the tiny gold ring she wore in her navel.

She’d had it pierced on their honeymoon. He’d had his left earlobe done. The rings had been engraved with the same design as their wedding bands.

God, it felt like years ago that they’d been lounging on that beach in Papeete. They’d eaten dinner at an outdoor restaurant, watched Polynesian dancers, then returned to their cabana where it had been his turn to watch her do a hula just for him.

She’d been good, damned good.

He rolled the cold bottle of beer across his forehead and decided it might be wise to block that memory, as well. They were separated now, a nightmarish fallout from his last assignment. He’d changed, he knew it, and so did Meliana. He’d been coiled up inside when he’d returned, prone to fits of inexplicable rage. He’d feared becoming violent. He’d feared hurting Meliana.

The nightmare was over, yet, oddly, much of what had happened in the two-year interim was still available to him only in fuzzy snippets.

What the hell, he wondered in exasperation, had he been thinking, accepting a two-year undercover stint on the street?

He swore, then looked around as two pairs of eyes landed on him. Charlie had returned without him noticing it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m bummed about the flowers.” Not a total lie. “Come on, Lightfoot, what sort of guy does stuff like this?”

Charlie resumed his modified lotus position. “Your basic pervert’ll indulge himself from time to time, but it isn’t always that drastic a scenario. Could be someone who’s lonely, a teenager with a crush. The lingerie, though, that goes deeper. Now we’re probably talking obsession, deviant thoughts.”

“How deviant?”

“I can’t…” He halted, raised his head. He had Meliana’s slip in his hands again. “Razor blade,” he said. “I see a flat razor blade being used to slice off the thorns.”

Meliana glanced at Johnny. “The thorns were removed from all the roses.”

“Who’s using the blade?” Johnny wanted to know.

“I don’t know, but he’s doing it on an old plank board, like barn wood.”

Johnny’s lashes lowered in suspicion. “Are you sure you’ve only got herbs boiling in those pots?”

Charlie laughed. “Positive. And they’re the kind you can consume without seeing pink elephants. I’m blank now, Mel. I think that’s it for tonight.”

“I’m impressed.” She braved one of the cookies he’d set out, and with it between her teeth reached for her slip. “Grateful, too.” She took a bite. “I know you get tired of the quack stigma. These are good, by the way.”

“Demerara sugar’s the secret. You can unwind now, Johnny,” he said without looking over. “Black magic’s done.”

Johnny tipped back his beer to finish it. “Chris Blackburn uses a flat-blade razor to shave.”

“So does your father,” Meliana pointed out.

“My father lives in Indianapolis.”

“Chris didn’t steal my lingerie, Johnny.”

“He knows your alarm code.”

“He’s FBI.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t twisted.”

The look she sent him told him clearly what her thoughts on that subject were.

A delighted Charlie shifted his gaze from one to the other. “Really cool, guys. Don’t keep anything bottled up inside.”

“Yeah, well, that’s only one bottle opened.” Johnny pushed out of his chair. “We have several more.”

“And apparently the number’s growing.” Standing, Meliana kissed Charlie’s cheek. “Thanks for the magic. Are you at the hospital tomorrow?”

“Day after. I’m holding a clinic on suppressed aggression, if anyone here’s interested.”

Johnny ignored the remark and located his keys. “You should let him touch Lokie while you’re at it.”

Charlie adjusted his headband. “Your dog? Why?”

“He was a gift,” Meliana explained. “Possibly from the rose guy.”

“A live gift, huh?” Charlie’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I like that.”

“Like it or not, she’s mine, and I’m keeping her. Thanks again.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Johnny echoed.

Charlie caught his arm as he started to follow Meliana out. “Keep an eye on her, man. I don’t like some of those last vibes I got.”

Better and better, Johnny thought.

He took the rickety stairs to the front door. If you could call it a door. It looked more like a piece of dented metal with a faulty latch. It was a miracle the guy lived to hold clinics.

The rain had stopped. He caught up with Meliana in the parking lot. “I wasn’t looking for a fight, Mel. I just have trouble believing in psychic power.”

“Uh-huh…” She was standing dead still.

His brows came together as he regarded her. “Problem?”

“I’d say so.” Taking his wrist, she turned him so he was facing his SUV. There, written in bold white block letters across the front windshield were the words LEAVE HER ALONE!

HER 11:00 A.M. OPERATION was postponed, first by a gunshot wound, then by an acute appendix in an overtaxed E.R. Meliana didn’t mind the extra work. It kept her from thinking about roses, underwear and warnings written on the windshield of an SUV.

What if this wasn’t a harmless crush? The question whispered repeatedly in her head. It had already followed her into her dreams and haunted her through an early-morning breakfast.

Johnny had been adamant. He intended to spend the night in Chicago. Meliana had told him he could stay with her, but he’d negated the idea before she’d even gotten the words out.

It stung a little, but she understood his reasons well enough not to argue. There’d been a suppressed sort of violence about him when he’d finished his assignment, one that neither Meliana nor Johnny had been able to deal with.

After their visit to Charlie, Johnny had left Shannon with her and gone next door to sleep at Andy McRae’s house.

In his prime, Andy had managed a large garden shop in the city. Now a nimble eighty-two, he was paid by the people in Meliana’s complex to maintain the grounds. He loved his current job and did it very well. He was short and paunchy, had knobby knees and wore soda-bottle glasses. Meliana loved him. His fuzzy white hair and sweet grin reminded her of a handmade teddy bear she’d had as a child.

Johnny had told her to scream if she saw or heard anything suspicious. That included Chris Blackburn, should he happen to show up unannounced.

Times changed, Meliana reflected as she took a final stitch to close the appendix patient’s incision. One day Johnny and Chris had been allies, the next enemies.

“That’s it, Nick,” she said to the nurse beside her. “This guy’s lucky. Ten more minutes and that appendix would have ruptured.”

“Luckier than he knows,” Nick Hohlman replied. “Ten minutes sooner, and Welcher would have been the one to cut him open.”

“Welcher’s strictly day surgery, isn’t he?”

“In a perfect world, yes, but we’ve got two residents off sick, and two other surgeons on vacation.”

Meliana watched her patient’s breathing as the mask was removed. “Who scheduled that?”

“One’s on emergency leave. Dead grandmother, I think. The E.R.’s been backlogged for days. How about some coffee when we’re finished?”

She checked the monitors. “Looks good from here.” She thanked her assist and the rest of the team. “I love it when an operation goes well.”

“You love that Nick remembered to bring your Ella Fitzgerald disk down.” One of the other nurses wheeled the instrument tray aside. She grinned under her mask. “Not that I’m complaining. I had two surgeries with Dr. Bergen yesterday. He likes opera. If we hadn’t been so understaffed, I’d have developed a stomach bug and gone home to my squabbling kids.”

Nick retrieved the disk while Meliana made one last check of the patient. “This guy won’t be in recovery long,” she predicted. “He looks like a fitness freak to me.”

“If he gets a look at you,” Nick predicted, “he’ll rip his stitches out so you have to do it again.”

“You men are so superficial.” She removed her gloves and followed the gurney through the swinging door. “I never fell in love with any of the doctors I knew growing up, and two of them were incredibly hot. My mom’s chiropractor looked like a soap star.”

Nick preened. “I’ve been told I could model.”

“I have some charts to update, Nick. Let’s do the coffee thing later, okay?”

“No problem.”

He pulled off his cap. White-blond hair spiked up as if by magic. He was what Julie would call a pretty boy. At twenty-eight, he had more peach fuzz on his face than whiskers. His eyes were lake-blue, his features verging on soft, his spiky hair, minus a serious amount of gel, baby fine.

“Mel?”

She turned at the sound of her name, spotted Johnny and felt her amusement kindle. He still had clothes at their town house. He’d dug out fresh jeans and a blue T-shirt that was faded almost to white. His sneakers actually matched today, though she had no idea how he’d managed that.

“I see you found a hairbrush,” she said by way of a greeting. “Johnny, have you met Nick? He’s one of our best surgical nurses.”

“Best nurse works with best doctor. I’m here until seven tonight if you change your mind about that coffee. Nice to meet you, Mr. Maynard.”