She'd worry about the nightmares later.

I brought you a steak, salad, and a lemon pudding,” George said when she opened the door to his knock. “Substantial but not overpowering.” He entered the room and set the tray down on the desk against the wall. “But I suggest you eat it, since you didn't touch a bite of the sandwiches I brought with the tea.”

“I wasn't hungry.” Good Lord, she was actually feeling guilty. This was ridiculous. “Where's Sam?”

“I left him in the kitchen playing with the cook's son. He seemed to be enjoying himself.” He poured coffee into a cup. “He's very good with children.”

“Yes, he visits the pediatrics ward at the hospital every week. The kids love him.”

“Well, he certainly isn't going to intimidate them with his power and coordination. He almost knocked me down when I was filling his water bowl.”

“He's a little clumsy.”

“And he dripped water all over the kitchen.”

“And a little messy.” She stuck out her chin. “If you don't like it, bring him up to me.”

“I don't mind him. And the cook is already enamored with the beast.” He smiled. “He's just a surprise. Brad told me that he's an arson dog.”

“You don't call Silver by his surname. Doesn't that strike you as improper too?”

“Certainly. But he won the match, so I gave in gracefully.”

“Match?”

“Karate. He became annoyed with my politeness and told me to stop. When I expressed my displeasure, he told me that if I could put him down two out of three times, he'd drop the matter.” He shook his head. “I only managed to put him down once. But I'm already preparing for the next encounter.”

“He said you were a black belt.”

He flinched. “Must you remind me of my humiliation? Yes, I should have been able to put him down. He took me by surprise. Mr. Cam told me Brad worked at a university think tank. Something to do with hydrostatics. Whatever that is.” He grimaced. “He didn't learn those moves in college. He's a street fighter and a good one, and he's not above fighting dirty if it means that he'll come out on top.”

“He told me he'd batted around the world and was something of a black sheep.”

“He's certainly not like Mr. Cam.” He held out the chair for her. “Mr. Cam would never have objected to me doing the right thing. He always allowed people to set their own code and live by it.”

“Even his brother?”

He shook his head. “There was too much love there. It's hard to see someone wandering down a path that you think may lead to disaster.”

“A think tank is disaster?”

“I don't know. All I can say is that Mr. Cam was always worried about Brad.”

She smiled. “You say that name as if it's bitter on your tongue.”

“Oh, it is.” He moved toward the door. “But soon I'll be ready to make sure I no longer have to say it. Until then, there's always ‘sir.' I never agreed to stop substituting ‘sir.'” He opened the door. “I'll be back in forty-five minutes for the tray. I do hope you'll eat. It must take a lot of energy to handle that Lab.”

“He keeps me on my toes. You can bring him with you when you come.”

“I was planning on it. The cook may be fond of your Sam, but I'll bet she's not going to appreciate what he's going to do to her kitchen.”

Kerry found herself smiling as the door closed behind him. George was a very strange individual, but she liked him. There were enough conventional people in the world, dammit. It was refreshing to run into someone who walked his own path and set his own rules.

Like Brad Silver.

The thought jumped into her mind but she immediately rejected it. Silver might walk his own path and certainly set his own rules, but there was nothing refreshing or likable about the path he'd chosen.

Or that had chosen him. He'd really had no more choice than Kerry, and his experience had been even more traumatic. He'd had to live with episodes every day, not just spasmodically. Could she really blame him for trying to find a way to survive?

Jesus, she was softening toward him.

The realization sent a ripple of shock through her. That mustn't happen. She could find a way to coexist, but she mustn't let herself feel sympathy. He was too powerful, and it wasn't a power she could trust.

But George was no threat. His strangeness was odd and amusing, not dangerous. She sat down at the desk and lifted the silver-domed lid. The steak did look good. And she was sure she'd hear from George if she didn't eat some of it.

Besides, maybe the food would make her lethargic. She wanted to give herself every chance to sleep deeply tonight.

Deeply and, pray God, with no dreams.

6

Burning flesh. Burning flesh.

Pull away. Pull away.

She couldn't do it. He was dragging her into the fire.

She screamed!

“Wake up.” She was being shaken. “For God's sake, wake up.”

Silver.

Burning . . . smell of . . . burning flesh . . .

“No! You're not going back. Open your eyes. Now!”

Her lids flipped open to see Silver's face, tense, demanding, only a foot from her own.

He let his breath out in a relieved sigh. “That's better. Now, keep them open. No more burning.” He pulled her out of bed. “We're going to go downstairs and have a cup of coffee. Where's your robe?” He spotted it on the bed and draped it around her. “Come on. Walk slowly and talk to me. What did George bring you for dinner?”

She tried to think through the heavy rolls of smoke surrounding her. “Salad.”

“What else?”

“Meat.”

He was leading her down the stairs. “What kind of meat?”

What difference did it make? Smoke. Burning.

“It matters. Think.”

His voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the smoke like a sword. “Steak.”

“Good. Now, where are you?”

Easier now. The smoke was clearing. “Stairs. Your brother's house. No, it's your house now, isn't it?”

“That's right.”

“So sad. Your brother . . . the fire.” She bent double as a sudden pain wrenched through her. “Can't smell. Hate it that I can't smell. Too far.”

“Christ.” He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way down the stairs. “I can't stand this. I'm coming in. Just for a minute. In and out, I promise.”

Pain fading. Smoke fading.

They were in the library and he was dropping into a big leather easy chair in front of the fireplace, cradling her on his lap as if she were a small child. “You're awake. Nothing can hurt you. Pretty soon you're going to realize that. I'm going to sit here, and when you feel like getting up and going to the kitchen for that coffee, you tell me.”

No smoke. No pain.

Warmth. Strength. The smell of a spice. Aftershave lotion.

“It's okay.” He was stroking her hair. “Just relax. Nothing's going to happen. Come back to me. You want to do that, don't you?”

She nodded drowsily. She could hear the beating of his heart beneath her ear.

“Now release everything else. No smoke. No pain. It's gone. I'm coming out.”

Strange. Empty. Peaceful.

Awake.

Good God!

She sat upright on his lap. “Shit!” She jumped to her feet.

“Not the warmest response I've ever had to a helping hand.” He steadied her. “Are you okay?”

“No, you did it again, dammit.”

He frowned. “Guilty. But I couldn't— You were hurting. What the hell else could I do?”

“What any normal man would do.”

“It didn't work. I couldn't take— It wasn't that bad. Hell, I told you I was going to do it. And you were damn glad that I was there inside. So don't give me any bullshit.”

“But I didn't want you to—” She broke off and drew a deep breath. Stop lying to him and herself. He was right. She would have been grateful for any way to stop that hideous pain. She had welcomed him. “Okay. It wasn't entirely your fault.”