“That's a grudging admission if I've ever heard one.” He stood up. “But I'll take it. Beggars can't be choosers. Let's go get that coffee.”

“I don't need coffee.”

“Well, I do. You've put me through hell tonight. I need either a drink or caffeine, and I think I'd better have a clear head.”

She trailed after him out of the library and down the hall. Her bare feet were cold on the marble floor and she realized for the first time that he was also barefoot and dressed in a brown velvet robe. “I woke you up again?”

“Oh, yes. You could say that. All of a sudden I found myself being pulled down to hell and thrown in the fire and brimstone. Then I couldn't wake you up so that we'd both be able to break free.” He opened the door of the kitchen at the end of the hall. “So, since I never want to go through that again, we're going to drink coffee and you're going to tell me what was going on in your head. Okay?”

“Do you think I want to go through—” She met his gaze and nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” He went to the cabinet and took down a canister of coffee. “So sit down at the table and catch your breath while I put the coffee on.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You're not shaking anymore.”

She was still shaking inside. “I'm not usually a coward. It wasn't the—”

“For God's sake, I know what you were going through. I was there. Or at least on the fringe. I thought I'd put up a block so you wouldn't have that nightmare. I guess I'm not as good as I thought I was.”

“Block? Sort of a posthypnotic suggestion? Is that how you do it?”

“Close.” He turned the coffee on before coming and dropping onto the chair opposite her. “But hypnosis subjects have to be willing, and some of mine are fighting tooth and nail. I often have to execute a covert operation to avoid the battle.”

“But you didn't have to do that with me tonight.” It wasn't a question. She shuddered. “Christ, I wanted out of it.”

“Pretty evident. You grabbed and held on.” He studied her expression. “Your nightmares aren't usually that violent. I remember when I first started monitoring you, there was fear and horror, but it wasn't—”

“Because it wasn't the same nightmare.”

He went still. “What?”

“It was Trask.”

“I see.” He got up and went to pour coffee from the steaming carafe. “The fire at your brother's place?”

“No. I think you know what it was about.”

“You mentioned Cam.” He brought the cups back and sat down again. “You said . . . so sad . . . and then something about not being able to smell.”

She closed her eyes as the memory washed over her. “Not me. It was him. Trask couldn't smell your brother's burning flesh. He was too far away. He could see the burning limousine, but he couldn't smell it. He was in a rage as he thought about it, remembered it.” She opened her eyes. “He's still in a rage.”

“Still?”

“He was staring at this house and wondering how he could let the child loose on it. But he knew your brother had put in protective jamming devices to stall out Firestorm. It was the frustration that triggered his anger.”

He was silent a moment. “You're not talking about a nightmare.”

“It was enough of a nightmare for me. One minute I was sleeping and the next I was there with him, feeling what he was feeling.” Her hand was shaking as she lifted the cup to her mouth. “No, it wasn't a nightmare. He was here tonight. He was standing in the trees beside the front gate.”

“Shit!”

She shook her head as he half rose from his chair. “He's gone now.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

She glared at him. “I wasn't in any shape to send out an alarm. If you'll remember, I could barely function. And I knew he wasn't there anymore after I did wake up.”

He smothered a curse and then said with an effort, “Sorry. I just hate the idea he was that close and slipped away.”

“Didn't you think he'd follow us?”

“Hell, yes, and George arranged to have security patrolling the grounds. How the devil did he get anywhere near the gate? The son of a bitch is like a ghost.”

“He's no ghost, he's a monster. You were right about that.” She wrapped her cold hands around her cup. “And I think we'd better go over the names of potential victims on his hit list.”

“Now?”

She nodded. “He's angry after remembering his lack of satisfaction with your brother's death. He's hungry to experience the full range of the senses.” She moistened her lips. “His child needs a good kill.”

“How soon?”

“I don't know. I think . . . sometime tonight. He was thinking . . . before the night is over.” She glanced at the clock. “But we may have a little time. He'd like it to be right away, but he has to wait for the setup.”

“What setup?”

She shook her head helplessly.

“And you don't know who it will be?”

She shook her head. “He just thinks of him as the target. Everyone's a target. He doesn't think of them as people. Just fuel for Firestorm.”

“You didn't catch anything else?”

She thought about it. “Water. There was an impression of water. Very vague.”

“Lake? Ocean? Creek?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Dammit, I don't know. It's like being a sponge. I'm not like you. I haven't got any control. I can't make him think in specifics.”

“I know. I know.” He set his cup down on the table and rose to his feet. “So let's go to the library and we'll go over pictures and dossiers and see what we come up with. Maybe you absorbed more than you think you did.”

“I hope so.” She got to her feet. She could feel the tension and restless energy he was emitting, and she didn't want to deal with it yet. She needed a little time alone to pull herself together. “I'm going upstairs to get dressed. I'll meet you in the library in fifteen minutes.”

He frowned. “Do you have to— Good idea.” He glanced down at his robe. “I'll do the same. Come on.” He was ushering her out into the hall toward the steps. “Thirty minutes. Take a quick shower. It may be a long night.”

“To look through the dossiers?”

“And maybe to go to sites that look promising.”

She should have known he'd want to go after Trask full steam ahead. Well, so did she. The thought of the urgency of Trask's threat was scaring the hell out of her. She just needed a little time to recover before she came in contact with him again.

“Okay?” He was studying her expression.

“Of course.” She started up the stairs. “I'm fine now.”

“No, you're not. You're scared.” His eyes were narrowed on her face. “And I just remembered a little bit of that nightmare. You were being dragged into the fire. Not Cam. It was your flesh that was burning.”

She nodded.

“Dammit, talk to me.”

“What is there to say? What did you expect?” She didn't look at him. “I was an automatic target when he thought I was going to help you. But it got personal when his precious ‘child' failed to kill me. He wants me very badly.” Her lips twisted as she glanced at him. “Maybe more than he wants you, Silver. He's having fantasies about how I'll look, how I'll smell as he burns me to ashes.”

“Jesus.”

“But it's not going to happen.”

“You're damn right it's not. I won't let it.”

“Yeah, sure.” She smiled mirthlessly. “I'd rather rely on myself, thank you. We've already established where your priorities lie.” She opened the door of her room. “Thirty minutes, Silver.”

Silver muttered a curse as he watched the door shut behind her. Why did he feel this sense of outrage and frustration? She was right. He had his priorities and he'd already decided that he had to use her. She was the key to Trask. Tonight had proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt. She had made contact with Trask during a period when there was no immediate danger of fire. According to her, it was the first time that had happened for her with any subject. She was getting closer and more knowledgeable about him with every encounter.