For 23-year-old Mackenzie Hill, tossing her life down the garbage disposal is easy after a painful incident shatters her life. Her heart is bleeding, and moving to Watcher’s Point is a chance to start anew, only she isn’t prepared for the guy who walks out of her dreams and into the flesh. Literally . . . because she’s been dreaming about this sexy stranger for years.
Mackenzie is even less prepared to face the dark nature of her dreams. They’ve turned disturbingly gruesome, full of blood and murder, and when they begin to coincide with the media’s headlines, she and Aidan realize her visions might be the key to stopping a madman from killing again.
Only Aidan has painful secrets of his own, and perhaps the biggest danger of all is falling for him.
Six grabbed my arm mid-stride and gestured toward Aidan. “Talk to him. It won’t kill you, I promise.”
I wasn’t so sure about that—I’d been trying to talk to him all week, but he’d been tight-lipped. The band went to break, and I kissed my excuse to duck and hide goodbye. Six gave me a final nudge in his direction.
“How’s it going?” I asked, gripping the counter for support. His eyes answered for him. Troubled and drawn, they indicated a sleepless night. Two full shot glasses sat between his hands; three empties had already been pushed aside.
This couldn’t be a good sign.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “No costume tonight?”
“I’m not really in a festive mood.” His eyes traveled the length of my body, and the corner of his mouth crept up in a lopsided smile. “Nice hat,” he said, swaying in his seat, “but Bonnie was blond.”
“I don’t play well with hair dye or wigs. It’s a character flaw.” What had gotten into me? Talking to the opposite sex had never come so easily, especially with a man as attractive as Aidan.
Sexy. Gorgeous. Hmm . . . wonder what’s underneath those clothes?
I swallowed hard. Now who had lascivious eyes? Time to pour cement into my mind’s gutter.
“You’re right. I can’t picture you blond.” He swayed on the barstool again, and I figured he must have hit the bottle before arriving. “Where’s Clyde hiding?”
“Bonnie’s an independent woman. She’s going solo.”
“Maybe you’ll get into less trouble that way.” He downed the remaining two shots without warning. The last hit the counter with a racket. “Can you believe today is my birthday?” The scorn in his tone confused me. Most people didn’t get so bent over a birthday.
I wasn’t sure how to reply. Somehow I guessed “happy birthday” wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I silently waited, hoping he’d shed some light. Even in my dreams—where I learned of things I had no way of explaining to others—he remained a mystery.
“I’ll take another round,” he said, gesturing toward the empties. “Make them doubles.”
I swallowed hard. “You sure? You’ve had a lot already.”
He flashed that crooked smile again, and I wondered if he realized how disarming it was. “You’re worried about me?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Yeah, I am.” Way more than I wanted to admit. Tonight was Halloween, after all.
Christina Jean Michaels was born in Paradise, California, but she has found the true home of her heart in Eugene, Oregon, where she finds plenty of inspiration for storytelling.
When she was young, her mother said she hatedwords. Now she can’t imagine not writing. She became an avid reader whenshe was thirteen and discovered the world of Sweet Valley High. About ayear later she realized she could play God and write about her owncharacters. She has been writingin some form ever since.
She lives with her husband and their four children—three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone’s attention.