Page 1 of I Dream of Danger (Ghost Ops #2)

Chapter One

Burial of Judge Oren Thomason

St. Mary’s Cemetery

Lawrence, Kansas

January 10

He came.

She knew he’d come. Somehow she’d known.

She dreamed of him last night. She often dreamt of him, dreams so vivid she woke with tears on her face, aching for him.

Elle Thomason rose from where she’d thrown dirt onto her father’s coffin before the two undertaker’s assistants covered it with earth and he would finally, finally be at peace, and that was when she saw him.

He was outlined against the chilly winter sun on the small hill where the chapel stood. He was only a dark figure against the dying sun, but she would recognize him anywhere, any time.

Nick Ross. The boy she’d loved so much, now clearly a man. The dark outline against the pale winter sun was tall and broad-shouldered, with the heavy muscles of a strong man. He’d been lean as a boy, like a young panther. Now he was a lion.

He saw her. He didn’t wave to her or nod. Neither did she. She simply watched as he walked down the small hill toward her, eyeing him hungrily. She’d waited five long years for this moment.

In all the dead years, the years of caring for her father as his mind died long before his body, she’d longed for this moment.

As everything else fell from her life, as she lost everything, as her life was taken over by daily care of a man who no longer controlled anything about himself, the only thing left to her was her imagination. And in her mind, she went wild.

In her mind, she and Nick were together.

Her favorite daydream was meeting him in some sophisticated city. New York, Chicago, San Francisco. Even better, London or Paris. Of course, she was sophisticated herself. She’d had a number of love affairs that had taught her a lot. She was well-groomed, successful, utterly in control.

Turning around in an expensive restaurant, there he’d be.

In her fantasies she could figure out what she was—poised and successful and happy. But she could never figure out what Nick was. What he’d become. She only knew he’d be handsome and he’d love her. She couldn’t get beyond that point. That he still loved her, after all these years.

She’d ask why he’d disappeared so suddenly.

It was still unfathomable to her. One night she’d gone to bed teasing him that he’d grow up to be Commander Adama of Battlestar Galactica and the next morning he was gone.

Completely disappeared. His things were in his room.

The only articles missing were two pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, a winter jacket and his gym bag.

She’d been frantic. She wanted to call the cops, report him missing but her father had gently taken the phone from her hand. He never answered her questions and soon, very soon, he became incapable of answering any questions at all.

Not a phone call, not a letter, not even a post card.

It was as if Nick had dropped off the face of the earth, taking with him her entire existence.

From a carefree teenager, the beloved only daughter of a respected and wealthy judge, her life plunged into the pits of hell.

Her father started losing his mind day by day, darkness descending, and Nick wasn’t there.

How many evenings she stared out the window, pretending to read, her father having finally exhausted himself enough to nap in an armchair.

Going out on a date was unthinkable. There wasn’t enough money to pay a nurse for evening hours.

She’d had to earn extra credits over the summers to graduate at seventeen, because she could see the day coming when the money would run out and she’d have to stay home all day to nurse her father, and she wanted at least a high school certificate.

Dating was out, going to movies with girlfriends was out, having friends over was definitely out.

What she got was a nurse coming for a few hours a day in which she could rush to do the shopping and rush into the library to stock up on books.

What she got was staring out the window, waiting for Nick.

Hoping for Nick.

Yearning for Nick.

Who never came.

So in her daydreams, when she finally did meet him, utterly by chance in a big city, she got to choose how it would be. He was either immensely rich and handsome or powerful and handsome. He was never a loser, a drunk, or an addict. That wasn’t Nick.

Hello , he’d say, stepping back in admiration. Aren’t you beautiful?

Thank you, she’d answer. I hope you’re well. I’d love to stay and chat but I need to get back to my ? —

Here Elle’s imagination struggled a little. To what? Get back to what? What could possibly be more important than Nick?

But it didn’t really matter because then he’d say, Have a drink with me. Please. Just five minutes. I’m so glad to see you.

And, well, this was Nick . And so she would. And then he’d say he loved her and would never leave her again.

It was a fine daydream and it had to be, because it replaced more or less everything a young girl should have—school, friends, first love, dreams, plans…

The details wavered but the core of it was always the same, though. He found her whole and happy and successful. Beautiful and elegant and self-assured.

Not the miserable creature she was now. Pale and pinched from the last four nights of watching her father die when she hadn’t slept at all. Wearing a too-thin jacket that didn’t protect in any way against the cold, because the only winter coat she had was ripped along the sleeve.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way at all. But it was.

She simply watched as he walked toward her and everything about her was numb except her heart. Her treacherous, treacherous heart, which leaped in joy to see him.

He didn’t hurry down to her, but his long legs seemed to carry him to her quickly. He had on a big down jacket that came down to mid-thigh, gloved hands hanging down by his side.

Elle was aware of her own hands, gloveless, almost blue with cold. Embarrassed, she stuck them behind her back.

And that was how they met, Nick towering over her, face in shadow, looking down at her. The sun was at his back, huge just before sunset, an enormous pale disk. They stood and looked at each other. Elle was struck dumb.

He was here, right in front of her.

How she’d longed for this moment, and here it was, by the side of her father’s coffin.

She should say something, she should?—

“Miss?”

Elle turned. She’d completely forgotten the attendants. “Yes?”

“You’re going to have to stand back, Miss. We’re going to cover the coffin with dirt.”

“Oh.” She stepped back and Nick stepped with her. “Of course.”

She and Nick watched as dirt covered the coffin of her only living relative. She didn’t cry. She’d shed so many tears over the years. There were none left. Her father had gone long before this. What had been left behind was a shell of a person, human meat.

Her father had been witty, well-read, strongly opinionated, charming. That man had died years ago.

So she watched as they covered the coffin, quickly and efficiently. It was cold, and they wanted the job over with as fast as possible. When they finished, they put away their tools and faced her.

There was a gash in the ground now, raw and red. Someday it would be covered with grass as the other graves were, but for now, it was clear that the earth had recently claimed one of its own. A tombstone would come, eventually, when she could afford it.

The funeral home director had quoted figures that made no sense to her. The cheapest one cost over two thousand dollars. It might as well have cost a million. She didn’t have it.

She didn’t have anything.

One of the gravediggers pulled off his hat. “Real sorry about the Judge, ma’am. You have our condolences.”

Elle dipped her head. “Thank you. Um…” She opened her purse and peered inside, though she didn’t need to look to see what was in it.

One bill. Not a big one, either. She pulled out the twenty and handed it to the man, well aware of the fact that it should have been a hundred-dollar bill, fifty each.

He picked it up gingerly, looked at his mate in disgust, stuck it in his pants pocket and glared at her.

Elle understood completely. They had done a hard job. The ground was frozen and they’d toiled. The funeral director had let her know clearly that the cheap option she’d chosen didn’t cover the diggers, and that she would have to recompense them herself.

This was so awful . She felt so raw and exposed, reduced to ashes, to dust. All of this was playing out right in front of Nick, who was observing everything.

She remembered how observant he was. He always had been. He was seeing her humiliation in 4K HD, up close and personal.

Elle cleared her throat, reached out a hand toward the gravedigger, then stuck it in her pocket. “I’m sorry it’s not more,” she said quietly. “Perhaps?—”

“Here.” Nick handed over two bills. Her eyes widened when she saw Benjamin Franklin’s face twice. “Thanks for your help.”

The cap came off again, both men thanked him, nodded to her and walked off.

Elle stared at the ground, breathing through her pain. Nick had left many years ago, and for all those years, not a day, not a minute had gone by in which she hadn’t missed him so fiercely she thought she might explode from it.

All this time she’d yearned for Nick.

And here he was. At her lowest point.

“He loved you very much,” she said, looking at the ground.

“I know,” he said quietly.

His voice, already deep as a boy, had become deeper, rougher. The voice of a man.

He was a man. He’d been mature beyond his years when he’d come into their life, a runaway her father found in their backyard one winter evening.

He was lying in the snow with a broken, badly-infected wrist, dying, so emaciated her father was able to pick him up and carry him in his arms to the car to take him to the hospital.

From that moment on, Nick Ross belonged to them.

Until he left them, inexplicably, another cold winter night.