Free Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) by Su Williams

she smiled again and glanced over my shoulder into the house. I wondered if she came prepared with a battering ram to ‘check on me’ if I hadn’t answered the door. The silence stretched and she shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “Could I come in? I wanted to talk to you, if I could.”
                  “Um. Sure.” I opened the door and gestured her in with the stun gun. Her eyebrow quirked. “Uh, yeah…I…uh…” I babbled and gingerly placed it on the shelf by the door.
                  “Don’t sweat it. I understand. Just be careful you don’t zap yourself.” One corner of her mouth ticked up in a lopsided smile.
                  We sat on the couch and talked about the weather and road conditions. I imagined her with her long dark hair down, out of its tight regulation bun, and in jeans and a t-shirt. I guessed she must not be a whole lot older than me.
                  “You look really good. You’re healing very quickly,” she said after scrutinizing my face a few moments.
                  “Thanks. I’m a little surprised myself.”
                  “I wanted you to know about the assault crisis programs available in town,” she said. “It might help you a lot to get involved in one.”
                  I scowled as I contemplated standing in front of people telling them my story. Yeah…No. I distracted myself from the thought, marveled at how easily she slid between her business and casual personas. It was as though being a cop was an innate part of her, something she was predestined to be. I still didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. ‘Rich heiress’ had kind of been dropped in my lap.
                  “So, did you get—him, yet?” I asked, hopeful.
                  “Not yet, but we’ve got some solid leads. I have some pictures if you think you can ID him. If you’re feeling up to it. It would really help.”
                  I nodded and she reached into her breast pocket and withdrew four pictures, mug shots. I listened to the sliding shush of each picture, and the snap , like a card from a deck, as she placed them in a neat row on the couch cushion between us. I kept my eyes locked on her face, afraid to look. Pathetic! Letting a stupid picture scare you. “Is he there?” I nodded toward the row of pictures, my green eyes still locked on the tranquil blue safety of hers.
                  “We think so.” She held my gaze, her face calm and encouraging. “We just need your ID to go pick him up.”
                  I let my eyes drift to the front of her uniform, with all the cop paraphernalia hanging on her, and realized she wore a bulletproof vest. “Does that thing get hot?” I nodded toward her vest.
                  “You get use to it. They’re a lot lighter than they use to be. Advances in technology and all.” She smiled encouragement, patient with my reticence.
                  I nodded again and drew in a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I turned my face to the pictures. I let out the breath and opened my eyes slowly. After scanning the first two pictures, I knew immediately that neither of these two was the man who attacked me.
                  My eyes locked on the third. I didn’t even bother to glance at the fourth.
                  My heart crashed to a halt, then rebooted and banged wildly in my chest as if trying to escape from him again.
                  “This one,” I rasped through the constricting knot in my throat. I placed my finger below the third picture. I couldn’t even touch the image of him.
                  “You’re sure?” she encouraged.
                  “Absolutely,” I breathed, and restrained the whimper that fought for control of my voice. I focused on breathing normally. Deep breath through