She turned over and pulled the pillow around her ears, trying to shut out the aching sound, but even the muffled notes had the power to hurt her. She didn't want to hear them, didn't want to listen to his pain and grief.
She wondered if Dinah had known how lucky she was. Had she reveled in Kane's love, or had it been a burden to her because she had known they would have no future together? The scenes Faith had witnessed between them, those dreams and flashes of knowledge, had been playful and sexy and filled with intimacy, but had they been filled with love? She didn't know.
Couldn't know.
And couldn't ask, not now ...
The beach was wonderfully peaceful and soothing, as it always was. It fed her soul. The waves were like music, or what Dinah imagined music must sound like to people who enjoyed it, rhythmic, like a pulse, and altogether pleasant.
The sand was warm beneath her bare feet, damp at first, then wet as the waves lapped around her. She walked and walked.
There was a man up ahead, a familiar figure, and she smiled when she saw him. If she walked a bit faster, she could catch up to him.
But no matter how fast she walked, he remained the same distance ahead of her. She began to run. Her heart pounded and her breath came raggedly, and still he was distant and out of her reach.
Beyond her ability to touch.
She finally stopped running and paused to catch her breath, and when she did she was puzzled to find that the beach was gone. She could still hear the waves, the rhythmic pulsing that was so soothing, but now she was at the construction site where Kane's building was going up. Only it wasn't quite right somehow.
She walked around the steel skeleton to the back, and frowned because on this side it was a solid office building, windows gleaming in the sunlight. That was very odd, she thought. Only half a building. Why would Kane build half a building?
"He must have a reason," she said aloud.
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she was in her apartment, and she walked through it curiously, looking at familiar things, touching them.
But everything was curiously insubstantial, and she was puzzled again.
"You're dead," Faith told her.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You are."
Dinah shook her head and continued through the apartment, searching now, her expression determined. "I'll find it, and then everything will be all right again," she said.
"But you're dead," Faith insisted, miserable. "It's too late, because you're dead."
"When I find it, I won't be dead anymore," Dinah explained reasonably.
"How do you know that?"
"I just know, that's all. Why are you here?"
"I tried to reach you," Faith explained, following her. "I tried and tried. But it was so dark, and all I could hear was the water."
"You're reaching me now."
"Yes, but I think it's because you're dead."
"How you do harp on that," Dinah said, shaking her head.
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's the truth. What is it you're looking for, anyway?"
"The Macguffin, I think somebody called it."
"That's what we're looking for."
"Yes, I know. But you're looking in the wrong place."
"Then tell me where to look."
Dinah made a sound of exasperation. "If I did, it wouldn't be a treasure hunt, now would it?"
"I guess not. But..."
They were in the bedroom, and Dinah turned to her suddenly. "Faith, you have to wake up."
"But I want to talk to you."
"Listen to me. You have to wake up."
"But.."
"Faith, someone's trying to get in your window."
CHAPTER 10
Faith opened her eyes and was instantly wide awake.
The music from the living room had ceased, and the apartment was filled with a predawn quiet that was peculiarly heavy.
Almost still. Almost, but not quite, silent.
Something was scratching at one of the bedroom windows.
Someone.
Feeling her heart thudding against her ribs, Faith turned her head slowly on the pillow and stared across the room. She could make out the dark square of the window against the pale walls, but the drapes made it impossible for her to see anything else.
We're on the fifth floor, and there's no balcony. A sudden, distinct click from the window made her stop worrying about how someone could be out there.
Obviously, someone was. And it was unlikely to be a friendly visit. Moving as quietly as possible, Faith pushed back the covers and slid from the bed. She worked her way cautiously across the room, her eyes fixed on the window, terrified she'd see the drapes move and a blackgloved hand reach in. She eased open the door and slipped through, leaving it ajar. Only then did she watch where she was going as she hurried to the living room.
The room was dark except for the low fire burning in the gas fireplace, but Kane was still awake. He sat in a chair, stumped, his unseeing gaze fixed on the flames, and Faith had to say his name twice before he stirred and looked at her.
"What is it?" he asked, terribly polite. He didn't seem at all surprised to see her standing there shivering in a sheer green nightgown.
"Kane..."
"You should go back to bed. It's late."
She glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom, wondering only then why she hadn't knocked on Bishop's door and awakened the agent, who probably had a gun. And who was not locked away in some private hell of grief, unreachable and untouchable. Keeping her voice low, she said, "Someone's trying to get in my window."
Strange how calm she sounded,when her every sense seemed to be quivering in alarm.
"You were dreaming," he said.
I certainly was.
But Faith wasn't about to tell him about that.
"Kane, someone is trying to get in. I swear to you, I didn't dream this. I didn't imagine it. Some one is outside the window trying to get in. I could hear him."
Kane rose and moved unhurriedly toward the hallway. He had, either deliberately or unconsciously, chosen the route that would take him past her at the greatest possible distance, but Faith told herself that didn't matter. Not now. Not until she could think about it.
"Be careful," she urged.
He paused and looked back at her with lifeless eyes. "There's no one out there, Faith. There are two security guards posted front and back of the building. And we're on the fifth floor."
Steadily, she said, "Someone is out there. Please be careful."
This time she made no attempt to lower her voice, even raised it. She hoped she woke Bishop, hoped the intruder had his head inside the window and heard her. She was far less concerned with catching whoever it was than in making sure Kane didn't walk uncaringly into a bullet.
He shook his head and took a step into the hallway. The force of the explosion knocked him back into the living room; he landed almost at her feet.
"The only real point in the bomb's favor is that the blast was contained pretty much in the bedroom."
Detective Nolan, in charge of the bomb squad, continued to describe the explosion.
"Not much fire to speak of and actually very little structural damage. In fact, even though it blew the hall door almost into the living-room. It didn't even breach the closet door. Your bed's only a memory though, I'm afraid."
Richardson, who had arrived with Nolan, didn't wait for Kane to respond.
"So it was a focused blast?" He was bright-eyed despite the early hour, and only the colorful hem of pajama hot-toms visible under his pants indicated he'd been pulled from his own bed by Kane's phone call.