Free Killer Dreams by Iris Johansen Page A

came into the house an hour and thirty minutes later.
    Royd nodded. “There was more traffic than I thought at this hour.” He glanced at Sophie. “You look like shit. Go to bed. We’ll talk later.”
    She shook her head. “You weren’t seen?”
    “I wasn’t seen.” He turned to Jock. “You can leave. I’ll stay here and make sure she’s all right.”
    “My job.”
    “Oh, for goodness sake, I’ll watch out for myself,” she said in exasperation. “Both of you get—”
    Michael.
    “Okay, one of you stays. Flip a coin.” She turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be in the guest room down the hall. I don’t want to go back in my bedroom yet.”
    “I’ll set up the monitor while you’re in the shower,” Jock said. “And I’ll listen for the alarm until you’re out of the bathroom.”
    “Thanks.” She shivered as she went down the hall past her bedroom. A haven of comfort and security had been transformed into something ugly in the space of a few violent moments. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to go in that room again with any degree of comfort.
    Don’t think about it. Go to sleep. Maybe then she’d be able to cope when she woke.
    She didn’t go to sleep for another hour. She lay there thinking, trying to get a plan together. She could hear nothing from the other room. Maybe they had both left the house. No, Jock would not have left her….

5
    W ake up.”
    Michael!
    She jerked upright in the bed and swung her feet to the floor. She was half out of the bed when she was pushed back on the pillows.
    “Easy. Nothing’s wrong. I just had to wake you,” Royd said. “I gave you a few hours’ sleep but your son’s due to wake up soon and I didn’t want to scare him by having him face a stranger in the house. You wouldn’t want that.”
    “Oh, no,” she said vaguely as she brushed the hair back from her face. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Five-thirty A . M .
    “No, I wouldn’t want Michael to—” She shook her head to rid it of sleep. “But Michael doesn’t get up until seven.”
    “Good.” He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the nightstand and handed it to her. “Then we have a little time to talk.” He sat down in the armchair near the bed. “Get back in bed and cover up. It’s chilly in here.”
    “I’m not cold.” It was a lie. The jersey nightshirt she was wearing offered little protection and the fact that she was emotionally and physically drained had probably affected her body temperature. “I gather you won the toss.”
    “Jock would never depend on chance. Actually, he wanted to stay with me. But I persuaded him that I was going to talk to you anyway and I needed some time alone.” He grimaced. “Of course I had to assure him I wouldn’t lose my temper and cut your throat.”
    “I can see how he’d worry about that,” she said dryly. “Jock and I have become good friends and you’re a very angry man.” She shrugged wearily. “And that anger is aimed at me. I can understand that.”
    “Excellent. Then we’re on our way to an understanding.” He leaned forward, grabbed a blanket, and threw it over her bare legs. “For God’s sake, cover up. You’ve got goose bumps.”
    “I hoped our discussion wouldn’t last long. What is there to say? I hurt you. I’m sorry. If there were anything I could do to make it up to you, I’d do it.” Her lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “But I can’t let you kill me. I have to think of Michael.”
    He didn’t speak for a moment, studying her face. “My God. And, if there wasn’t Michael, I believe you’d let me do it.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked away from him. “But I did a terrible thing. There has to be some form of restitution I can make.”
    “If you’re telling me the truth, you didn’t know what Sanborne was doing with REM-4.”
    “Did that stop you and Jock and all those other men from being twisted and hurt? Did it save my mother and father? It was my