bed.
As the bed gave and she was jostled, Amy started to rise from a dreamless oblivion. A rough, masculine leg touched hers. Subconscious panic formed from nothing, swirling to life as quickly as a thunderstorm.
Dark water surrounded her again, and for an instant she couldn't breathe.
This time she knew she was drowning. Then the hand lightly grazed her thigh.
It was just the movement of the water around her that had caused his hand and leg to brush against hers, she told herself. He wasn't alive. She mustn't panic. She was committed to this now. There was no choice but to go through with it.
But the panic swamped her completely when she felt the masculine foot snag hers. Amy surfaced from the depths of sleep, flailing wildly at the big hands and heavy legs that were seeking to clutch her and drown her. There was no scream on her lips this time. She didn't dare open her mouth. The water would rush in and steal what was left of her air supply. Desperately she fought to free herself, struggling violently against the restraining hold.
"Amy!"
She heard Jed's voice calling her, but there was no release. She was being pinned more tightly than ever.
Her arms were trapped at her sides, her legs were locked beneath the weight of a man's thigh. She couldn't move.
"Amy, stop it. For God's sake, wake up. Open your eyes. Look at me. Look at me!"
The harsh command penetrated her mindless panic, calling her back to reality. Amy drew a deep breath.
No water rushed into her lungs. She was in bed. Her bed. It was Jed's voice she heard. Her eyes snapped open.
His face was fierce and unrelenting in the shadows. It was the face of a man who could make her believe in hell, Amy thought. Or perhaps it was the face of a man who would walk through hell to save her.
Her breathing slowed to normal. She closed her eyes and opened them again. "I'm sorry, Jed. I warned you I'm a restless sleeper."
His grip eased. "So you said. Are you all right now?"
"I'm fine."
"Uh huh." He sounded distinctly skeptical. "I think I'm going to get you a medicinal glass of brandy. I'll be right back."
"It's all right, Jed, I don't need anything." But her protest was weak and she knew it. She most definitely needed something. The panic attacks were getting worse, just like the nightmares. Jed didn't bother to respond to her mild denial. He left and she soon heard him opening a cupboard in the kitchen. When he reappeared in the bedroom a few minutes later he was holding a hefty dose of brandy in one hand. She sat up, hugging her knees under the quilt.
"I can't afford to drink that much," she said as she accepted the glass. "Do you know what this stuff costs? I have to save it for special occasions."
"This is a medical emergency. Don't worry, I'll buy you a new bottle." Jed's face hadn't relaxed. The intent look in his eyes was unnerving.
"Well, I guess it is an emergency," she agreed, sipping at the brandy. There was a long moment of silence in the bedroom.
"How long has it been like this, Amy?"
She didn't pretend not to understand. Instead she gave a small shrug. "A few months."
"How many months, Amy?"
She sighed. "About eight or so."
"Maybe your Dad's right. Maybe the pressure of your writing is getting to you."
"Maybe."
"You don't want to admit that, do you?"
"Nope. It's embarrassing. I've got one brother who can handle the pressure of politics, another who can handle the pressure of high tech corporate business and a sister who can deal with life and death. Heck, no, I don't want to admit that I'm coming apart just because I've had a couple of books published and want to write more."
"Everyone has his or her own internal limits. You have to learn to respect those limits if you're going to survive."
"I didn't know you were an amateur psychologist," she muttered, taking another sip.
"I'm not. I'm an engineer, remember? That means I know something about stress. Buildings and people can only take so much."
Amy considered that. "I'm sure you're