Free Wake to Darkness by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page B

he did. He was seeing it in his mind’s eye the same as I was. A horrible vision of him walking in and finding my body on a floor somewhere, with my eyes gouged out of my head.
    Talk about a nightmare.
    “We need to get you out of town, Rache. Somewhere safe.”
    “I’m not even gonna argue,” I told him.

5
    Sunday, December 17
    B y the time we got back to my house it was almost midnight. Long drive, no snow, thank goodness. I missed my dog.
    Mason got out and, instead of heading for his car, followed me to the front door. I turned around and tried for sarcasm to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over us on the long drive home. “What, you haven’t had enough of me for one day?”
    He tried it right back. “Plenty, but I’m crashing on your couch all the same.”
    It fell flat in both cases. For most of the ride we’d been more morosely silent than his brooding teenage nephew. My brain was wondering why the hell his damned brother refused to die, while his was probably piecing together clues and extrapolating them into some logical explanation for two murder victims who’d both had their organs harvested—his brother’s organs.
    There was only one explanation in my mind. His tweaked-out sibling wanted his body parts back and had figured out a way to take them from beyond the grave. Period. And I was equally sure that meant my eyeballs were probably pretty high on his list. Mason was probably afraid that if he left me alone tonight, he would find me come sunup with two gaping holes in my head. And frankly, I was afraid of that, too.
    “Earth to Rachel? Crashing on the sofa. I know I sounded all confident, but I’m still waiting for you to say that’s okay with you.”
    “Fine, but unnecessary. I have plenty of bedrooms.”
    “I know, but the couch puts me between you and outside.”
    So would the left side of my bed.
    “Suit yourself,” I said, and unlocked the door and went inside. The alarm panel beside the door started flashing red, warning me that it would start screaming bloody murder if I didn’t enter the code, and fast. I keyed it in while Mason looked over my shoulder. “Amy and Misty did what I told them for a change. Armed it.” I’d called home after our visit with the unfortunate Mr. Powell and instructed them to lock up tonight and set the system. I looked over my shoulder at Mason. He wasn’t smiling.
    “Your birthday?” he asked with a nod at the keypad. “Are you shitting me?”
    “How the hell do you know my birthday?”
    “I think it was in one of your books. Or maybe it was in the background check I ran on you when you looked good for the Wraith killings. Or maybe I have an internet connection and a Google search bar like everybody else in the Western hemisphere.”
    He was worried about me. It was kind of sweet. Why did I still want to smack him?
    “I wasn’t aware I was in any particular danger when I set the code.”
    “You’re a minor celebrity. You’re always in danger.”
    “What the fuck do you mean, minor? ”
    He softened up a little. I did, too. Then he opened the panel on the control box and hit a couple of buttons until the screen read “enter code.” The words flashed impatiently at me.
    “I wouldn’t have known how to do that in a million years,” I told him.
    “Pick a new code, Rache. No one’s birthday, not the last four digits of your phone number or your social, and not four sequential numbers. Make them random.”
    “If they’re random, then how the hell am I going to remember them?”
    “By repetition. Same way you memorize any other number.”
    I scowled and entered the last four digits of my editor’s home phone number. He wouldn’t know that, right?
    Right. As evidenced by his nod of approval. He hit another button or two and the thing read “code accepted.” Then the green light went on and the moon returned to its proper orbit around the earth.
    “I’m beat,” I said, turning for the stairs, then stopping as my blood went