One
"Oh, my God. He’s a drug dealer."
"I wish." Sydney Vaughn, good girl, country girl, had never taken anything stronger than a pre-menstrual pill. The way she felt right now, she might consider half a Valium. "He’s a security consultant."
"A what?"
"He rigs burglar systems."
Sydney and her best friend, Ellie, watched through the screen door as the black luxury car with tinted windows pulled up the quarter-mile gravel drive. "It’s about time," Ellie said. "I was beginning to think my safety lectures were in vain."
Sydney pushed her hands into the oversized pockets of her purple overalls. "It wasn’t your lectures. It was my aunt. She insisted."
"Vera? The instigator of reason?" Ellie snorted. "I’m shocked."
"I know she tends to raise eyebrows—"
"Syd, your aunt’s a kook."
"Eccentric maybe."
"All right," Ellie conceded, "she’s an eccentric kook."
Sydney would purchase conservative pumps and wear them before admitting it aloud, but there was truth in her friend’s observation. She watched the car roll to a stop. "I never should’ve told Vera about the crank calls." Just saying the words gave Sydney a sick feeling. She shook it off, reminding herself it was someone’s bad idea of a joke. A horny teen. Five creepy calls in two weeks does not a stalker make.
Ellie cocked a thumb toward the stranger. "Considering the result, maybe you should’ve told her sooner. The kook took sensible action. Which is more than I can say for David."
"That’s not fair, Ellie. You know David’s looking into it. He’s watching over me. He drops by twice a day and calls every night. He’s even offered to sleep in the guestroom."
"Good God, Sydney. That’s not sensible. That’s selfish. David wants to get in your pants. Sleeping under the same roof narrows the odds." She rolled her eyes. "You’re so naVve."
"No, I’m not. You’re just overly suspicious. And overreacting." You’re also driving me nuts. Sydney bit her tongue and prayed for patience. After all, Ellie was just doing what she’d done since they were kids. Looking out for Sydney. Although these days her protective tendencies were nearly suffocating. It had taken six months, but Sydney had adjusted to her mother’s death, adjusted to living alone. Ellie hadn’t adjusted at all. She hated the idea of Sydney living by herself, in the middle of nowhere. The calls only heightened her anxiety.
"You call this overreacting?" Ellie’s voice jumped an octave. "I’m not overreacting, Syd. I’m concerned. There’s a difference. These threatening calls—"
"Crank calls. A bored kid, a prankster." She refused to believe otherwise.
"Or a serial killer."
"In Slocum, Indiana? I don’t think so." Sydney returned her attention to the security consultant, who now swung open the door of his conspicuous four-door. "And keep it down, will you? This is embarrassing enough already. An alarm system. No one in this entire county has an alarm system." She tried to look on the bright side. "Maybe he’ll just install a couple of locks and be on his way."
"Maybe you should consider what he has to say."
"Maybe you shouldn’t worry so much. Besides, I have my dogs."
As if on cue, two floppy-eared hounds bounded out from the backyard to lick the man’s hand in shameless bids for attention.
Ellie smirked. "Oh, yeah. You got yourself a real pack of killers there."
A riot of sloppy tongues and rolling eyes, the mutts danced around him. Sydney moved to open the door to call back her beloved traitors, but then stopped and smiled. Maybe a few muddy paw prints on the man’s expensive linen suit would send him packing.
She waited for him to order them down or to shout for her to call off her dogs. Instead, he scratched Lancelot and Guinevere behind the ears and—
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Something about the scene jolted her. Something about him. Something …
A reminiscent tightness twisted in her chest. "Does he look familiar to you, El?"
Ellie squinted. "Let’s see … gold hoop earring. Tailored suit. Expensive leather loafers." She tilted her head. "Nope. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a man in Slocum who dresses quite so … consciously. Looks like he should be on TV." She snapped her fingers. "That’s it. You haven’t been getting much sleep, and we all know Vera’s flair for the dramatic. Maybe he’s one of those infomercial guys." She affected a disembodied salesman voice. "Live alone? Bothered by crazed stalkers in the middle of the night—"
"Cut it out." Sydney chewed her lip as she examined the man’s slicked-back ponytail and neatly trimmed goatee. "That’s not it."
"Well, where’s he from? Maybe you’ve met him before."
The air became too hot, too thick. "Atlantic City," she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.
"Atlantic City? New Jersey?" Ellie dropped her forehead against the doorframe. "I know your aunt lives there, but, geez! She flew him all the way to Indiana to install an alarm system?" She shook her head. "Did I mention your aunt’s a kook?"
"She said he’s the best." Sydney tensed as the man shooed away her dogs and headed for the house. A jittery anticipation knotted her stomach. "I feel dizzy, El."
"He’s good looking, but I’m not exactly woozy."
"I’m serious. I feel nauseous."
Ellie’s maternal instincts kicked in. She pressed the back of her hand to Sydney’s cheek. "You don’t feel warm. Though you are a little pale. And you’ve still got those godforsaken circles under your eyes."
"I can’t help it if I can’t sleep."
"I wish you’d talk to someone about that damned dream."
"I do. You."
Ellie frowned. "Listen, even though I’m anxious for this guy to hook up his security gizmos, maybe we should tell him to come back later. When you’re feeling better. I can camp out with a shotgun on your porch while you catch a nap."
"No!" The sharp command startled Sydney as much as it did Ellie. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "We don’t want to be rude."
Ellie narrowed her eyes, forcing Sydney to squirm. The dream was getting to her. She knew it. Ellie knew it. And there was nothing Sydney could do about it. She’d been dreaming about the maiden and the knight since childhood. Every time the same dream. The same fuzzy scene in the woods. The same voices hushed and garbled as though coming through a tin can with string.
The same dream that, two weeks ago, had suddenly flashed in her mind with the clarity and sound of a big-budget film. Worse, the emotions cut through her as if they were her own. Frustration and fear so real that she’d awakened sobbing. Since then, the haunting vision returned nightly, unbidden, unwanted, and leaving her bereft and grieving for something which remained a mystery. If she could just get some sleep, maybe her life would return to normal.
Thankfully, Ellie’s eyes lit with delight. "Ohhh, I get it. Dizzy. Nauseous. You’re sick, all right. Lovesick."
"Oh, please." Sydney looked through the screen. The man had paused at the edge of the sidewalk. He seemed to be sizing up the house, though she couldn’t tell for sure as the late-afternoon sun glinted off his mirrored, oval sunglasses. Despite Ellie’s mocking, Sydney smoothed wayward curls from her face. It wasn’t like her to be concerned with her appearance, but then she hadn’t exactly been herself lately. Feeling like a dandelion in a garden of roses, she asked, "How do I look?"
Ellie quirked a brow. "You look like yourself."
Sydney batted her hands. "Yes, yes. But aside from that, do I look pretty much … normal?"
Ellie hooted. "I guess that depends on your definition of normal. If it includes wearing purple overalls, purple combat boots, and a miniature sword on your necklace, then, yeah. You look normal."
"Somehow that didn’t make me feel better." Self-conscious, she tugged at a long curl, then twirled it around her finger. "Do I look that … out there?"
"You look …" Being a true friend, Ellie faltered for the appropriate word. "… different. Then again, you are different." With a quick wave of her hand, she indicated the gargoyles and medieval swords adorning Sydney’s living-room walls. "Excuse me. Eccentric."
Rickety porch steps creaked, causing the women to squeeze back into the doorframe.
"Good evening, ladies. I’m looking for Sydney Vaughn."
The deep, resonant voice shot Sydney’s heart into her throat. She knew this man. But from where? Where?
Ellie elbowed her, then answered, "You’ve come to the right place."
He peered through the screen at Ellie. "I’m Baldwin D. Lacey. A friend of Vera Drake’s."
Sydney could only stare as something incredible yet indiscernible tugged at her core.
"Baldwin D. Lacey," Ellie said. "Hell of a fancy name."
"So I’ve been told." His mouth quirked. "Call me Winn."
"Soooo, Winn," Ellie crooned, "have any trouble finding us? It’s easy to get lost on these old country roads. Being from Atlantic City, you’re probably used to bright lights and smooth pavement."
"I’m also used to less humidity. Mind if I come in?"
Ellie hesitated. "Got any identification?" She winked at Sydney. "For all we know, you could be a serial killer."
"I’m impressed. Vera said you trust too easily. But I assure you. You couldn’t be in safer hands." He pressed the photo ID up to the screen and grinned. "Trust me."
Sydney’s mind flashed white. Her thoughts drew into a violent tailspin. His words triggered remnants of the dream.
Her heart pounded.
Her breath caught. She leaned against the screen door for support.
It couldn’t be.
Then Ellie flung the door open wide.
Sydney flew forward with it and slammed hard against Baldwin’s chest.
He caught her, his arms around her in an instant.
His touch sparked her every nerve ending to life. She’d been here before. In his arms.
Shaken to the darkest reaches of her soul, she pleaded, "Let me go."
"She speaks."
Amused. He was amused. Sydney wanted to die. He didn’t feel it. Not a flicker of recognition. No connection.
To break the bond he didn’t feel, she pushed against his shoulders. Broad shoulders. An image of the knight stuck in her mind.
Impossible.
She reached up with trembling fingers and relieved Baldwin D. Lacey of his very modern sunglasses.
She met and held his curious gaze for what seemed a lifetime.
Several lifetimes.
She knew his face as well as she knew her own.
"Baldric," she whispered, then fainted dead away in the arms of the knight of her dreams.
Copyright 2002 by ImaJinn Books