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raced and his hands shook as he reached to turn her over. Her dark hair covered her face. He didn’t want to move her, didn’t want to touch her cold, lifeless body, but he had to know.
    A branch tapped on the window.
    He pulled her onto her side.
    The tapping continued.
    He brushed her hair off her face.
    The tapping grew rhythmic.
    Abby’s dark eyes stared at him, lifeless and cold.
    The tapping stopped.
    Then her lips moved, and she whispered, “Why didn’t you help me?”
    Luke shot up out of the covers, panting hard. Sweat pouring off his brow, his heart pounded in his chest. He shoved the blankets free, sat on the edge of the bed and tried to get his bearings.
    With great effort he sucked in air and forced his heart rate to slow down. He wasn’t in the shadow-filled room of his dream anymore. Even in the dark, he could see the colorful bedspread and the picture on the wall of his hotel room.
    This dream had haunted him for years. The first time he’d had it was the day he met Abby. It was always the same. Her inert body lay on the floor, covered in blood. Each time he prayed he’d turn her over to find her still alive. However, it always ended the same—Abby dead and him helpless to stop it.
    Only this time the dream was different. This time she spoke. She wanted him to help her. Never before had she spoken to him. And something else was different.
    The damn tapping.
    Where had that come from? What did it mean? And where had it gone?
    His breath coming at a less frantic pace, he listened to the silence in his room. Then he heard a sound. Not tapping. Something altogether different.
    A soft grunting came from the next room. A light shone through the cracks around the partially opened door. And a thudding sound, like someone hitting something.
    Visions of the blood pool at the condo and Abby dead in his dream still fresh in his mind, Luke untangled his body from the sheets and pulled his gun from its holster by the bed. He didn’t know what was going on next door, but if someone was hurting Abby, they weren’t escaping with their lives.
    With his back pressed tight against the wall, and the urge to rush in firmly pushed deep into the back of his brain, he inched his way toward the connecting door. The grunting and thudding continued in an odd sort of stop and start fashion. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the door open with his foot, and wedged himself into the narrow opening between the door and the frame.
    Silently counting to three, he turned, moved through the doorway, and crouched. His gun extended in front of him, he growled out, “Freeze!”
    He followed his own command.
    Abby stood frozen in mid-kick. A light sheen of sweat covered her long slender legs and arms stretching from beneath her T-shirt and shorts. A few of the dark strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail to lay wet against her neck and cheek. In the dim light he could see the light flush of pink in her cheeks. Her eyes widened even more as she watched him from across the room. Then she parted her lips, her tongue darting out to moisten them.
    “Can I put my leg down now?”
    He swallowed hard, nodded, lowering his weapon as she lowered her leg.
    She bounced on the balls of her feet a few minutes, then began slowly stretching down toward her toes. Mesmerized, Luke watched her T-shirt fall forward, revealing the soft curve of her lower back and the stretched shorts over her hips and ass.
    Still feeling the effects of his dream, he fought the urge to make her work up a sweat for another reason. Then the red glowing numbers of the bedside clock-radio caught his peripheral vision.
    3:15 in the morning.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, not trying to hide his irritation.
    “Stretching. What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked as she straightened.
    Besides torturing him?
    “I meant the kick boxing routine in the middle of the night.” He laid his weapon on the edge of the credenza.
    “It’s called a Kata. Since the space