“I caught the news a few minutes ago,” he said, meeting her eyes once more. “It’s supposed to rain tonight.”
Adeline clenched her jaw. Banished the too-familiar anxiety that climbed into her throat. “I’ll be fine.”
She gave him her back and headed for the hall bath. The dreams didn’t come every time it rained.
In fact, until the other night she hadn’t had that damned dream in a couple of months.
So what if she did tonight? It was just a dream.
24
Sunday, December 26; 12:05 a.m.
Wyatt jerked awake.
He flopped onto his back and listened. Nothing but the rain beating against the roof.
Catching the time on the clock, he frowned. He couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour. Addy had taken her shower and closed herself up in the guest room. The light hadn’t gone out for another thirty minutes or so.
He’d finally given up his vigil and hit the sack. Sleep had dragged him under in record time. Exhaustion would do that to a guy.
He frowned. Sat up. Listened hard. A muffled sound brushed his senses a second time. Somebody talking?
What the hell?
He kicked the cover back and got up, grabbing his service revolver from the bedside table as he went. Keeping his movements as quiet as possible, he eased to the door. Addy’s light was out. The light in the hall bath cut a dim path across the door to her room. A constant tick-tock whispered from the old clock hanging on the living room wall. Otherwise the house was quiet.
Maybe he’d heard the neighbor’s cat yowling.
There it was again.
Definitely not a cat. Someone talking—no, not talking. Shouting.
He covered the distance between his room and hers in three long strides and threw open the door. The light filtering from the hall settled over the tousled sheets of her empty bed.
“Dammit!”
As he raced through the house he thought of all the things he should have done to prevent this. Like cuffing her to the bed. Or to him.
The front door stood wide open.
Resisting the impulse to burst out the door into an unknown situation, he moved to the window, drew the curtain back just enough to take a covert look outside.
“What the hell?”
Addy stood in the middle of the yard, her arms hanging at her sides, her weapon in her right hand. She was alone. No unfamiliar vehicles on the street.
He let the curtain drop and stormed to the door. What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she get that standing out there in the dark all alone was a bad, bad idea?
As he burst into the pouring rain, she lifted her face to the dark sky. “This,” she shouted, “is bullshit. It’s just rain.” The last was scarcely a whisper.
“Addy.”
She whirled toward him, the weapon in her hand, thankfully, remaining pointed at the ground. In hindsight, he should have approached this a little differently.
“What’re you doing?” The jersey he’d given her last night to sleep in was sopping wet and plastered to her body, hung practically to her knees. Her long hair was soaked.
Her lips trembled, she flattened them to stifle the reaction. She jutted out that stubborn jaw and hiked her chin. “Making a point.”