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in his mind’s eye. His midnight angel had been tall, but not nearly as tall as his six-foot plus frame. Her skin looked creamy and golden, her hair a silky black waterfall, which hung straight to her hips. Gentle brown eyes shone like stars, and she had a body that just wouldn’t quit. All in all, she was the sweetest, most luscious package he had ever held in his arms. Jade was a breast man, and her breasts were full, round and incredibly sensitive. He could still remember how it felt to hold her—that delicate waist, those rounded, sexy hips, and those incredible long legs that wrapped around him perfectly. God, how he longed to be with her again.
    Never before in his life had he dreamed what seemed to be a continued scenario—same person, same place and same incredible circumstances. What if he couldn’t get back to her? What if he never dreamed of her again? He would go stark raving mad—maybe he already was. Last night, he’d actually pled with the woman in his dreams to find him, to come to him. Incredible as the situation seemed, on some level the woman had become real to him, more real to him than this hospital bed or the tubes that were keeping the breath flowing to his lungs. When they touched, he could feel her skin, warm and smooth. When they kissed, he could taste her breath, sweet and hot. He prayed one night he could find a way to stay in her world and be the man she dreamed about—one that stood strong on two good legs and held her close with two strong arms. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be at her side.

    * * * *

    Arabella knew Rachel would call again and she did. How could she blame her? She would do the exact same thing—grasp at any and every straw she could find. Before leaving, Arabella checked the time. Just after ten in the morning, there was plenty of time for her to go the Townsend place before Evangeline and the others arrived.
    Arabella climbed into her Jag convertible and drove the slight distance separating their homes. Only one neighbor lived between them and Arabella avoided Lyle Sessions like the plague. He had nothing to do with Arabella and she had nothing to do with him. She refused to have any outside cats because if they just happened to wander onto his property, he would kill them. Although he would never admit the heinous act to her face, he’d bragged to another neighbor how he shot her Siamese cat, Carter. Not ever wanting to risk their lives again, Arabella kept her animals indoors and carted a sandbox back and forth every day. She could have walked to Rachel’s house in a matter of minutes, but having to cross the old bricklayer’s property was just not something she could bring herself to do. He had warned her family not to cross Sessions’ land—it was forbidden to them. Mr. Sessions professed to be a born-again Christian. But Arabella seriously doubted even God would have anything to do with such a piece of human refuse. If this were colonial times, Mr. Sessions would have been ready to burn or stone Arabella in a heartbeat.
    Several cars, including a police cruiser, sat in the driveway of the Townsend home. Arabella would rather not have an audience for what she needed to do. She had tried to tell Rachel it would be wise to wait until her Mother and grandmother arrived. Having Nanette and Arabella on this case would magnify whatever power Arabella had. Rachel wanted someone to do something right then and Arabella did not have the heart to say no, so she went on over to see what she could do.
    When she exited her vehicle, she saw Rachel sitting on her patio with two men. She didn’t recognize either of them, but the younger guy wore a uniform and the other, a ruggedly handsome man, wore a trench coat. A twinge of knowledge or insight crept into her mind and she knew the older man to be a homicide detective. As she approached the group, she couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. The homicide detective was speaking. “I understand, Mrs.