“Honey,” Darien said, his tone firm. “I already told you I can’t make it. But as soon as this trial winds down—”

“Fine. Can you fax me the letter?” I wrenched my car door open and plopped down sideways, legs out. “I’d like to review it before I leave for the realtors seminar.”

Static crackled for a few seconds, and when he spoke, I could feel his reluctance. “I’ll send it tonight. But I can’t concentrate if I’m worrying about you. Stay away from Dawson.”

That was so far from okay, it wasn’t funny. “But Darien—”

“No buts. Promise me.”

If I told him I planned to track Trace down as soon as I got back, he’d worry. So what else could I do but lie?

TRACE

____________________________

The dream began as it always did.

From a bona fide memory.

I was in Lilith’s room. A canopy bed smothered with pillows centered the white marble floor. Mirrors adorned the walls and porcelain sculptures crowded the shelves. It was like stepping into a cloud. “Come Live With Me,” a sixties song she liked to play, hummed in the background. The sound led me to her boudoir.

She was sitting at a vanity table, dragging a brush through her glossy black hair. A glass, a crystal carafe of wine, and a vase spilling over with purple calla lilies were among the many perfume bottles before her. From her glazed eyes, she was obviously pickled. Even so, she still rated a ten.

The sheer black negligee she wore left nothing to the imagination. At forty-one, the ex-beauty queen gave women half her age a run for their money. God had blessed her with flawless skin, a long, graceful neck, tilted eyes like wet jade, and a body that could breathe life into a dead man.

Lilith glanced at me through the mirror when I filled the doorway. She tossed her brush to the side and poured herself another generous drink. The woman had barely drained her glass before she’d tipped the carafe again.

“What can I do for you, Mister Dawson?”

“Um, Cook said you wanted to see me before I left.”

She stared back at me for an awkward eternity, then… “You ever been in love?”

I raised both brows in surprise. “Ah, no, ma’am.”

“Good for you. People toss the word around so much, they cheapen the sentiment.” The golden wine licked the rim after she set her glass aside with the grace of a toddler. She frowned into the mirror. “God, I hate getting old.”

I shifted from one foot to the other. This was getting awkward. “Um, ma’am, can you, ah—can you tell me what you needed? Cholly’s going away party is tonight and—” My eyes widened when she cupped her breasts.

“Gravity wasn’t a problem,” she said this to the left one as she weighed and squeezed it. “A little lift-tuck and voila! Boobs you can bounce a quarter off.” She grabbed her glass. “It’s the things you don’t expect that get you. Some call it a mid-life crisis, but I call it death.” She burst out laughing, yet her eyes stayed haunted. “Did you know I’m eligible for the Silver Star Plan?” She seemed surprised by my bewildered expression. “Surely you’ve seen that tacky Life Trust insurance commercial? The one with the old couple walking into the sunset with their stupid dog?”

I gave my head a faint shake.

“The annoying thing comes on at 2 a.m. every damn night. Like this is something I want to think about before I go to bed.” She rolled her eyes. “They’ve lumped me in with the mummies. I’m in the forty to eighty-five range. That’s the Silver Star Plan.” She studied her reflection. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”

I frowned, scratched my neck. “Um. Yes, ma’am.”

Satisfaction softened her steely expression. “I feel the same as I did at twenty. My dreams haven’t changed.” She met my gaze in the mirror. “Neither have my desires.” She swiveled around to face me. “This is why I called you up here.”

My throat got tight. “Um, I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple. You see, the man I love doesn’t want me. But I’m hoping you can make me forget about him.” She smirked. “Well, at least for a couple of hours.”

Fear burned across my chest. When the lady of the house got liquored up, a new woman emerged. My gut twisted once she rose and advanced.

“I’ve always wondered about you.” She inched closer. “You don’t mind if I call you Trace, do you?”

I started backing away, darting a glance over my shoulder every other step.

“I watch you sometimes.” A strap on her gown slipped down. “Riding your bike, working on the cars. In the garden….”

My butt hit a wall.

“Needless to say, you turn me on.” She sidled up to me, cupped my cock and squeezed. “Mmm. So the rumors are true. You’re hung like a bull.”

Took all of fifteen seconds before I was spike hard. If she didn’t stop, I feared I’d go off like a firecracker.

Lilith licked her lips. “I hear you perform at The Playroom for Ladies Night every week. My friend says you’ve got this prisoner/bondage shtick going on.” She smiled and ran a fingertip along my erection. “Handcuffs and shackles? Really? I never figured you for the kinky sort.”

Breath rasping, all I could do was stare at her.

“What does Dottie think about her son dancing around half naked for a bunch of horny women? Why, you’re not even old enough to drink.” She smiled. “Such a baaad boy.”

“Ma’am, I really need to—”

“Shhh.” She rubbed my stiff cock again, squeezed it hard, giving it a torturous stroking. “Here’s an idea. Since you did such a great job teaching Shannon that dance routine, how about a more intimate lesson for me—between the sheets?”

She tugged my face down to hers and invaded my mouth. Mass confusion trapped me in limbo for a few seconds, but then my brain started working again. Lust should’ve roared to life. Class distinctions should’ve dissolved, but all I could think about was escape. She sickened me. I shoved her back, wiped my lips on my sleeve. That’s when the dream became a familiar nightmare.

Lilith started chanting my name, her voice growing demonically deeper by the second. Blood trickled from her mouth. After the trickle, came a stream, then a flood. Her face turned skeletal and the skin shriveled like a prune.

Everything melted around me. The walls. The floor. Even Lilith.

In the next instant, I was home, in the basement, standing over her pale corpse. I had a garden spade in my hand. Blood on my clothes. Brains were strewn across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The place looked like a slaughterhouse.

I hit my knees and choked on a stream of bile. The air was alive with death and sorrow. Carnival music poured from the walls. A naked bulb suspended from a wire in the cobwebbed ceiling, swung pendulously, lashing the room with piss-yellow light.

Lilith became Nyle Weathers, then Nyle morphed into Daddy, but half his head was gone. His brains spilled on the dirty concrete like scrambled eggs. The eyes in his bloated face, or what was left of it, stared off into the great beyond. As Daddy’s head angled my way, his irises went from blue to white. Chapped lips cracked and bled into a toothless smile.

Hey, ya little shit. Do ya miss me?

I bolted upright. My pulse beat like a jackhammer as I dragged a hand down my face and kicked the damp tangle of sheets off the bed. The dream ended just as it had before—with me trapped in the basement. Now here I sat, smelling my own fear. The fog of another hellish night clung to me like stink on a dog.

Desperate for something to ground me in reality, I squinted into the shadows. One by one, objects emerged. Mama’s cuckoo clock. A closet. Cole’s drawing easel. The sight should’ve filled me with relief, but this particular nightmare had staying power. No way was I venturing into that basement to replace the fuse. A floor lamp and an extension cord would have to do.