Man of her Dreams

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

It might be warm outside, but our June lineup will thrill and chill you!

* This month, we have a couple of great miniseries. Man of Her Dreams is the spine-tingling conclusion to Debra Webb’s trilogy THE ENFORCERS. And there are just two installments left in B.J. Daniels’s McCALLS’ MONTANA series—High-Caliber Cowboy is out now, and Shotgun Surrender will be available next month.

* We also have two fantastic special promotions. First, is our Gothic ECLIPSE title, Mystique, by Charlotte Douglas. And Dani Sinclair brings you D.B. Hayes, Detective, the second installment in our LIPSTICK LTD. promotion featuring sexy sleuths.

* Last, but definitely not least, is Jessica Andersen’s The Sheriff’s Daughter. Sparks fly between a medical investigator and a vet in this exciting medical thriller.

* Also, keep your eyes peeled for Joanna Wayne’s THE GENTLEMAN’S CLUB, available from Signature Spotlight.

This month, and every month, we promise to deliver six of the best romantic suspense titles around. Don’t miss a single one!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Man of Her Dreams
Debra Webb

ISBN: 9781408947333

Man of Her Dreams

© Debra Webb 2011

First Published in Great Britain in 2011

Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the prior consent of the publisher, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l.

® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

COMING NEXT MONTH

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and with the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing full-time and in 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Books by Debra Webb

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

583—SAFE BY HIS SIDE*

597—THE BODYGUARD’S BABY*

610—PROTECTIVE CUSTODY*

634—SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT: BABY

646—SOLITARY SOLDIER*

659—PERSONAL PROTECTOR*

671—PHYSICAL EVIDENCE*

683—CONTRACT BRIDE*

693—UNDERCOVER WIFE**

697—HER HIDDEN TRUTH**

701—GUARDIAN OF THE NIGHT**

718—HER SECRET ALIBI*

732—KEEPING BABY SAFE*

747—CRIES IN THE NIGHT*

768—AGENT COWBOY*

801—SITUATION: OUT OF CONTROL†

807—FULL EXPOSURE†

837—JOHN DOE ON HER DOORSTEP††

843—EXECUTIVE BODYGUARD††

849—MAN OF HER DREAMS††

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

864—LONGWALKER’S CHILD

935—THE MARRIAGE PRESCRIPTION*

948—THE DOCTOR WORE BOOTS

995—GUARDING THE HEIRESS*

SILHOUETTE BOMBSHELL

22—JUSTICE

33—SILENT WEAPON

*Colby Agency

** The Specialists

†Colby Agency: Internal Affairs

††The Enforcers

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Aidan—An Enforcer, a genetically engineered seer assigned to complete the Prophecy Mission.

Darby Shepard—A simple schoolteacher who has unexplainable dreams. But if she’s so simple, why is her life in danger?

Madam Talia—A local New Orleans psychic. Can she help Darby discover the truth before it’s too late?

Detective Lance Willis—He has to nail the serial killer who has been preying on children. Can Darby help him bring the man to justice?

Jerry Lester—A twisted murderer who is obsessed with children.

Howard Thomas—The Shepard family attorney. Does he know more about Darby’s adoption than he’s telling?

Director Richard O’Riley—Center Director. He has the power to order Darby’s elimination. Will his conscience let him do what’s best for Center?

Governor Kyle Remington—The new head of the Collective. The man in charge of the Collective has traditionally left the day-to-day operations to O’Riley. Will Remington prove a more forceful leader than his predecessor?

Dr. Waylon Galen—The creative mind behind the Enforcers. Will he win this time?

Wizard—Darby’s cat.

Prologue

Ring a-round the roses,

Pocketful of posies

Her mother watched from the kitchen window as six-year-old Christina Fairgate frolicked in the backyard. She clutched her favorite doll under one arm and skipped around the circle she had made in the grass with the other dolls and stuffed animals from her room. She sang the nursery rhyme over and over, as if she expected her audience to join her.

The autumn Louisiana sun hovered like a glimmering orange in the western sky. Its golden rays were still powerful enough to force a sweat even as it slipped downward in surrender to the coming dusk.

Christina’s mother smiled at the pleasant scene, then turned back to the oven to check on the special treat she had prepared for her daughter. One hand gloved with a thick mitt, she opened the oven door and removed the baking pan, allowing the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to fill the air.

A sound of approval on her lips, she set the pan aside so the cookies would cool. After turning off the oven she poured her daughter, as well as herself, a cool glass of milk. A little snack this close to dinner wouldn’t hurt. Handling the still warm dessert gingerly, she loaded a small plate with cookies and placed it on a tray, along with the two glasses of milk. No need for napkins. Licking gooey chocolate from fingers was part of the fun of homemade cookies.

But neither of them would ever taste those lovingly prepared cookies for when she made her way to the backyard with the laden tray, her little girl was gone.

Days would turn into weeks and weeks to a month before the body would be found.

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down.

Chapter One

New Orleans

Two months later

They were coming for her.

Another test, more poking and prodding.

She couldn’t let them know. If they ever found out what she could do…

Block the dreams. Don’t look. Don’t see.

They could never know the truth.

The man in the white lab coat smiled down at her. He spoke of his own daughter. He seemed kind. Much kinder than the other one. But she knew better than to trust even him. He wanted to know the truth so he could tell the others. And she would never be safe, never be free if they knew the truth.

It didn’t matter that they’d held her prisoner her whole life, even before she was born. She could see beyond the walls, beyond the hiding place where they conducted their secret tests. She knew the truth.

But they could never know.

Never, never, never.

If they knew they would keep her forever.

Darby Shepard bolted upright in her bed. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She shoved her sweat-dampened hair from her eyes and forced her respiration to slow.

She was safe.

At home.

In her own bed.

No need to be afraid.

Long minutes passed before her racing heart calmed. She hated those dreams. Shivering with the receding adrenaline, she cursed herself as she stumbled out of bed. 7:00 a.m. already. She had to hurry or she’d be late for school.

As she quickly showered and then dressed, she tried repeatedly to put the dream out of her thoughts but she couldn’t. It was always the same. The men in the white lab coats were coming for her. She had to keep her dreams a secret. Could tell no one. Couldn’t tell them what she saw. She paused, her fingers stilling on the buttons of her dress. The part that got to her the most was the idea that the dream was a little too real.

She never told anyone what she saw in those nightmares. Never shared the dreams that came, unbidden, with another living soul for fear of…what? The men in the white coats? Maybe.

Darby quickly brushed her damp hair and twisted it into a braid. There was no time to dry the waist-length tresses or even to grab a bite of breakfast. She would be late for school. What kind of example would the teacher set if she showed up late for school?

Teacher. She did so love her work, loved the children.

The crisp October morning sent goose bumps across her skin as she pedaled her bike as fast as she could, quickly moving from Cohn to Broadway and then along Sycamore Street. Halloween was scarcely more than a week away. The ghosts and goblins would be out well before then. Like the North Pole was to Santa, New Orleans was the home to Halloween and all sorts of other wicked things.

She bore to the right on South Claiborne Avenue, then took a hard right onto Jefferson. She scarcely had time to notice the eighteenth-century cobblestoned streets she loved or the tourists and fortune-tellers alike who were already moving about this morning. Soon the streets would be filled with vendors and leftover partygoers from the night before.

Usually she took her time, absorbing the ambience, the history and architecture that still fascinated her after a lifetime of exploration. New Orleans was the kind of place that one never tired of admiring. There was always some new aspect that drew one in, whether it was the varied architecture along the lushly landscaped streets or the ancient foreboding of the numerous cities of the dead. Or even the crumbling lanes and alleys in the less savory parts of town.

Good and evil shared this domain; only time would tell which would prove victorious. Or perhaps it was the ever-shifting balance that captivated visitors to this historical city.

Children between the ages of five and nine scurried through the towering main entrance of the Iris Goodman School as Darby swung off her bike and chained it to the rack near the front of the post-Civil War building. The prestigious elementary school had served this uptown neighborhood for nearly a hundred years and Darby for four. A private facility, the classroom sizes were small and the academic offerings large.

Her satchel banged against her thigh as she took the steps two at a time. She paused at the door and drew in a deep breath before entering the school. She did so love her position as kindergarten teacher. However, adopting the proper comportment was essential.

Inside the chatter and clatter made her smile. The smell of old books and history bolstered her sense of belonging. This was what she’d been born to do. Teaching the children…protecting them.

Uneasiness slid through her at that last thought. She swallowed back the anxiety that attempted to climb into her throat and strode determinedly to her room. Three or four of her charges were already storing backpacks in their cubbies.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” Darby offered as she settled her bag on her desk.

“Morning, Ms. Shepard,” echoed from the rear of the room.

Happiness bloomed in Darby’s chest as she watched more little ones filter into the room, leaving moms and dads waving from the door. She wiggled her fingers at the proud parents and wondered how it felt to have a child, to love and cherish it. It must be so hard to leave them at school, especially in the beginning.

She wondered then if she would ever know that feeling. Could she ever trust anyone enough to share herself that way? The hollow feeling she always experienced at the thought of family, past and future, often made her wonder if something else was missing in her life. She’d read somewhere that one in eight pregnancies started out as twins. According to the research, the surviving twin always felt as if something were missing in his life. Maybe that was her problem. She definitely felt an unexplainable emptiness.

Dismissing the extreme line of thinking, she focused her attention on taking out the papers she’d graded the night before and preparing for class to begin. And people thought the kids were the only ones who had homework.

In five minutes, the bell would ring and the school day would officially begin. Twelve sets of parents had entrusted her with not only the safety of their offspring, but also with the task of teaching the children everything they would need to know to begin their journey through the coming school years. Considering some of the headlines of late, that was saying something.

“Have you heard?”

Darby looked up to find Sandra Paige from the kindergarten classroom across the hall rushing toward her. Sandra had been the first person to make her feel welcome when she started here four years ago. They’d been good friends since.

“Heard what?” Every instinct warned Darby that she did not want to hear whatever her friend and coworker had to say but there was no way to avoid it. It was the bane of the white-collar world: gossip.

Her face pale and her eyes wide with worry, Sandra ushered Darby into the corner farthest from where her students still lollygagged around their storage cubbies.

“A third child has gone missing,” Sandra whispered, her voice as frantic as the worry in her eyes.

A peculiar stillness fell over Darby. Images flashed through her mind but she blocked them, refused to look. “Who was she?”

“Allison Cook from over at Isidore Newman.” Sandra frowned. “How did you know it was a girl?”

It had started with Christina Fairgate. In the three weeks since her body had been discovered, two more children had gone missing, one boy and one girl. So far, the police were stumped as to finding a connection among the three. There were no matching details whatsoever. Two were from wealthy families, the other from a single mother living in the projects. One black, two whites. Approximate age was all the three had in common, discounting the events surrounding their disappearances, of course. In each case, the child had been at home playing in his or her own backyard with one parent or both inside the house.

Darby swallowed hard, then shrugged stiffly. “Just a guess.” To stall her friend’s inquisition, she quickly asked, “They still don’t have any leads? No witnesses? Nothing?”

Sandra shook her head in weary resignation. “According to her mother, one minute she was there, the next she was gone. In broad daylight, just like the others.”

The scent of home-baked chocolate chip cookies abruptly filled Darby’s nostrils. The image of a little blond-haired girl skipping around in circles flashed before her eyes. Ring a-round the roses. Pocketful of posies.

Darby slammed the door on the other images and sounds that tried to intrude. She would not look, refused to see. From the moment Christina Fairgate’s body had been found, she’d experienced those images…the smells. She didn’t want to see. God, she didn’t want to know.

“Are you all right?”

The sound of her friend’s voice jerked her back to the here and now.

“Fine.” She blinked. “I’m fine.”

Sandra nodded, her expression thoroughly unconvinced. “Oookay,” she said, dragging out the syllable. “I have to get back to my classroom. I’ll talk to you later.”

Darby managed a nod. More like a twitch.

Another child had gone missing.

Two in the space of as many weeks.

Where are the others?

The question slammed into her brain, sent a wave of adrenaline surging through her veins.

There were others. The police just didn’t know yet. Five or six, more maybe. She’d sensed it from the beginning. Why were the sensations coming now? Why couldn’t she make it stop? Or learn something useful from it?

The bell rang, jerking her from the troubling thoughts and sending students scurrying for their seats. Darby moistened her lips and manufactured a smile. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she directed her attention to her class. “Let’s get settled, girls and boys.” She paused long enough for two stragglers to make their way to their seats. “Today is Monday,” she continued when all eyes were focused on her. “Let’s talk about what makes Mondays special.”

Even at five, the children knew there was absolutely nothing special about Mondays.

AT 4:30 P.M., Darby slowed the momentum of her bike in front of an antebellum home in the Lower Garden District. She stopped on the side of the street, propping her weight against the curb with her right foot, keeping her left on the pedal to facilitate a hasty departure.

Corinthian fluted columns supported the home’s double gallery. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the last of the sun’s warming rays to tumble across its floors. She didn’t have to get off her bike and walk to the rear of the property to know that lovely gardens, bordered by brick walks with a bubbling fountain in the center, graced the backyard. Though sorely out of place in its nineteenth-century setting, a colorful metal swing set—red, yellow and blue—stood proudly in the middle of it all.

Yellow crime scene tape sprawled across the front of the property, flapping in the wind, its middle sagging and giving the appearance of a sinister smile.

This was the home where Allison Cook lived…the yard where she’d been playing when she disappeared.

A shadow moved through the lush shrubbery. Male, she knew, but she couldn’t see his face. Yet his voice was familiar. She heard that raspy, evil voice in her dreams. No one can save the children. They belong to me. One, two, I’m coming for you. Three, four, better lock your door.

Darby shuddered, pushed the voice away. She stared at the bushes where her mind had conjured the image of the shadow. Did the police know that he’d been hiding there? He’d watched until it was safe to grab the little girl. She concentrated hard, tried to see how he’d hushed the child. An inhalant. Quick, painless. The child would slump helplessly in his arms.

Her fingers tightened on the handlebars. How long did he watch the children before he made a move? Where did he take them afterwards? If she could see, if she dared to really look, maybe she could save the ones who weren’t dead…yet.

The latest victim was still alive, but she couldn’t sense anything definite about the others.

“Move along, ma’am.”

Darby jumped at the sound of the harshly barked order. Uniformed policeman. NOPD.

“This isn’t a sideshow,” he snapped impatiently. “Have some respect for the family. Now move along!”

Darby blinked, dragged her sluggish mind from the trance she’d slipped into. She had to go. The realization that a cop was speaking to her, the visual implications of his uniform and the cruiser parked a few feet away, suddenly cracked through the haze.

“I’m sorry…I…” She looked back at the house one last time. The sound of weeping, the weight of overwhelming anguish, abruptly echoed through her soul.

“Let’s see some ID.”

Another voice.

Male.

Darby’s gaze collided with dark brown eyes that were methodically sizing her up. The eyes belonged to a man dressed in a suit. A cop, too, she realized when he flashed his badge.

“I’m Detective Willis. Let’s see some identification, ma’am.”

Still feeling dazed, she fumbled in her satchel for her wallet. She showed him her driver’s license and waited for him to ask the questions that would come next.

“Ms. Shepard, what brings you to this neighborhood?”

He wouldn’t want to hear the truth. “I was on my way home.” She mentally grappled for an excuse to be on this street. “I thought I’d stop by Sardi’s Deli.” She knew the place. It was only a few blocks away. Though there were delis close to home, he couldn’t prove that she hadn’t been headed to this particular one for one reason or another.

He studied her a moment longer as she put her wallet away. She could feel him assessing her, deciding if her excuse was legitimate or warranted further questioning.

Realization struck her then. They were desperate for a lead in this case. They were hoping the perpetrator would show up at the scene of the crime again. Perhaps to get a look at the grieving parents. He would so love that. The children belonged to him now.

Her senses went on alert as the detective reached into the interior pocket of his jacket. She held very still so as not to give away her edginess. When his hand came back into view, he held a small white business card.

“Why don’t you call me if you think of anything from your observations that might assist us in this case.” The statement was made grudgingly, but the look of desperation in his eyes didn’t back up his indifferent tone.

Darby reached for the card, her fingers brushed his and in that one instant she felt his pain, his fear. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to solve this mystery. Pain at having watched the autopsy of one dead child, fear that another might follow soon.

She nodded. “Sure,” was all she could manage.

Pushing off with her left foot, she sped away from the Cook home and the lawmen stationed there. Four children…one found murdered. How many more would be sacrificed before they stopped this madman?

Trying hard to think of anything but those helpless children, Darby rushed home, pushing herself to the limit. By the time she reached Cohn Street, her legs ached, her lungs burned. She lugged her bike onto the porch that fronted the shotgun house she called home. The place had been divided into two apartments. Hers was the one-bedroom on the left side. Her neighbor, a stewardess who spent a lot of time away from home, occupied the two-bedroom on the right. The place had a small but nice yard that the landlord went to great lengths to keep looking sharp. He’d won the city’s beautification award for rental property several years running. Inside, hardwood floors, ancient yet well-maintained fixtures and a gas fireplace provided the primary details Darby had been looking for when she found the place.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside the cool dark interior. Wizard, her tomcat, met her at the door. He yowled and wound himself around her legs, tail twitching. Darby tossed her satchel aside and ushered Wiz out the door. She’d had him neutered long ago so he wouldn’t wander far.

Without bothering with lights, she went straight to her bedroom to change out of “teacher” wear. Jeans and T-shirts were her preferred attire.

I’m coming for you.

The words whispered through the darkness, sending fear snaking around her chest.

Darby closed her eyes and forced all thought of the missing children from her mind. This was why she never looked, never allowed herself to see. Once it got started, she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t let the visions…the dreams…take control of her life. Not again. She’d allowed that to happen once. Thank God she’d still been at home with her parents then. They’d protected her. But there was no one to protect her now.

Better lock your door.

Darby turned on the shower, stripped off her clothes and stepped beneath the spray of water. She focused on the feel of the hot water pelting her skin. She blocked all other sensory perception. She would not see, would not hear. There was nothing she could do to help those children. The dreams were never complete. Just enough information came to torture her with sounds and sensations. Never enough to help. It had always been that way.

And even if she could see, how would she ever convince the police to believe her?

She had to let it go. There wasn’t enough information to make a difference. She sensed snippets, voices, images, but there were never sufficient pieces of the puzzle to put it together. Back in junior high school, when her parents had spent the weekend coddling her after a fierce “dream” episode, she had promised herself she would never let the dreams take control again. The record of her “episode” was no doubt included in her school transcript. Crazy. Out of control. Talking nonsense.

The episodes had always been there, even before her real life had begun. Darby braced her hands against the slick tile walls and thought back to her early childhood. That place. The white lab coats and the constant poking and prodding. The only thing she could figure out from that time was that she’d been a part of some sort of experiment. She’d lived at this place hidden away in the mountains. A hospital or clinic. They’d called it Center. She remembered the word, the place, but not in detail.

Her gut told her she’d been born there and would never have escaped if she hadn’t played the game she’d devised. Fear knotted inside her at even the thought of being back there again. She had known somehow, had sensed, that her future depended upon her not being able to perform as they required. All she’d had to do was pretend she didn’t see, that she didn’t understand.

When all means to prompt what the men in the white lab coats had obviously thought to be her hidden talent failed, they had sent her away.

At first, she hadn’t been able to remember Center or the men in the white coats. She’d been adopted by a nice family in New Orleans, the Shepards, and for a while she’d drifted in a sea of nothingness. It was as if she’d been born the day they brought her to their home. Only instead of being an infant, she’d been ten years old. Gradually, a few meager memories of her time before had come to her in dreams and visions, the very ones she struggled not to see to this day.

As a result of the intense episode in her junior high days, her adopted parents had insisted that she be evaluated. The evaluation had shaken loose even more of her hidden past, but she’d never told anyone. The psychologist had considered her “episode” a traumatic event brought on by puberty and had prescribed medication. Darby had carried those tranquilizers with her since. Whenever she felt control slipping, she took them faithfully for a few nights. The nagging dreams would stop. Her refusal to look, enabled by the medication, kept her sane most of the time.

Now and again, the struggle to focus on the here and now rather than on some stranger’s immediate past was nearly more than she could bear. The fight to keep the portal closed was a constant battle.

Darby twisted the knobs to the Off position and reached for her towel. Now, she decided, was a perfect time for that extra help. She’d been extremely lucky for several years now. She’d been able to control those heightened senses without the medication. But her usual means weren’t working. The voices and images kept coming, tearing her apart and at the same time telling her nothing.

She couldn’t risk another psychotic break like the one she’d experienced all those years ago. The adoptive parents who’d loved and cared for her were gone now, leaving her on her own. Alone with no protection, no support system.

She had to be strong, had to protect herself.

Wrapping the towel around her, she headed to the kitchen in search of the pills that would make the voices and images go away.

She filled a glass with water and unscrewed the childproof lid on the bottle. As much as she hated running from anything, she understood the necessity in this case. She couldn’t lose control under any circumstances. There was no one to protect her from the voices and the images. No one to protect her from the men in the white lab coats.

If they learned where she was and that she had fooled them all those years ago, they would come for her. She knew things, though she didn’t understand what any of it meant, that she shouldn’t. With every fiber of her being, she felt certain that if they ever found out she had the dreams, they would come.

Better lock your door.