Dreaming Death Read online

  Sweet dreams aren’t made of this

  Ever since she was a child, Stacey Hanson has had strange dreams—and sometimes they come true. Her skills and experience led her straight to the FBI’s Krewe of Hunters. Now a serial killer is stalking Washington, DC, and people are scared. And it will be Stacey’s first case.

  Special Agent Keenan Wallace isn’t exactly thrilled to be teamed up with a rookie, but they’re going to have to get past their mutual friction if they want to stop a brutal killer. The victims are all vulnerable women, though the clues lead to suspects from DC’s powerful elite. Stacey can’t escape her nightly visions, but in trying to prevent them from occurring in real life, she might come face-to-face with a nightmare.

  New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than two hundred novels. She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty-five languages, with sixty million books in print. Heather has been honored with awards from booksellers and writers’ organizations for excellence in her work, and is proud to be a recipient of the Silver Bullet from International Thriller Writers and was awarded the prestigious Thriller Master Award in 2016. She is also a recipient of Lifetime Achievement Awards from RWA and The Strand, and is the founder of The Slush Pile Players, an author band and theatrical group. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and mother of five, she still enjoys her South Florida home, but also loves to travel. Heather believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for a living.

  For more information, check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com, or find Heather on Facebook.

  Praise for the novels of Heather Graham

  “Will keep you glued to the pages. The danger, drama, and energy of this book will blow you away, and just when you think you got it figured out...wrong!”

  —Fresh Fiction on The Seekers

  “An intense murder-mystery that kept me turning the pages. Graham never fails to pull me in... Offers rich history, an interesting murder-mystery and a new romance.”

  —Caffeinated Book Reviewer on The Seekers

  “Graham combines southern charm, paranormal elements, and romance in this fast-paced murder mystery.”

  —Caffeinated Book Reviewer on The Summoning

  “Graham proves that she is still at the top of the genre with the latest Krewe of Hunters book.... Evil lurks in the background and readers will be trying to figure out the motives of the killer while flipping the pages to see what can possibly happen next. Another great book to add to this long-running series!”

  —RT Book Reviews on Fade to Black

  “Graham takes us on a thrilling ride... A bone-chilling read.”

  —Fresh Fiction on Pale as Death

  “Sizzling chemistry, murder, and ghosts deliver another fantastic case.”

  —Caffeinated Book Reviewer on Pale as Death

  “Graham is a master at writing stories that weave the paranormal with the everyday.... This book was a great read with twists and turns on every page that is classic Graham style.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Wicked Deeds

  Also by HEATHER GRAHAM

  DEADLY TOUCH

  SEEING DARKNESS

  THE FINAL DECEPTION

  THE STALKING

  THE SEEKERS

  THE SUMMONING

  A LETHAL LEGACY

  ECHOES OF EVIL

  PALE AS DEATH

  FADE TO BLACK

  A DANGEROUS GAME

  WICKED DEEDS

  DARK RITES

  DYING BREATH

  A PERFECT OBSESSION

  DARKEST JOURNEY

  DEADLY FATE

  HAUNTED DESTINY

  FLAWLESS

  THE HIDDEN

  THE FORGOTTEN

  THE SILENCED

  THE DEAD PLAY ON

  THE BETRAYED

  THE HEXED

  THE CURSED

  WAKING THE DEAD

  THE NIGHT IS FOREVER

  THE NIGHT IS ALIVE

  THE NIGHT IS WATCHING

  LET THE DEAD SLEEP

  THE UNINVITED

  THE UNSPOKEN

  THE UNHOLY

  THE UNSEEN

  AN ANGEL FOR CHRISTMAS

  THE EVIL INSIDE

  SACRED EVIL

  HEART OF EVIL

  PHANTOM EVIL

  NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRES

  THE KEEPERS

  GHOST MOON

  GHOST NIGHT

  GHOST SHADOW

  THE KILLING EDGE

  UNHALLOWED GROUND

  DUST TO DUST

  NIGHTWALKER

  DEADLY GIFT

  DEADLY HARVEST

  DEADLY NIGHT

  THE DEATH DEALER

  THE LAST NOEL

  THE SÉANCE

  BLOOD RED

  THE DEAD ROOM

  KISS OF DARKNESS

  THE VISION

  THE ISLAND

  GHOST WALK

  KILLING KELLY

  THE PRESENCE

  DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR

  PICTURE ME DEAD

  HAUNTED

  * * * * *

  Look for Heather Graham’s next novel Danger in Numbers

  available soon from MIRA.

  DREAMING DEATH

  Heather Graham

  A special thanks to friends who have always helped with crazy ideas, from Writers for New Orleans to B-con and more.

  Rebecca Barrett

  Pat Walker

  Patty Harrison

  Cindy Kremple

  Cindy Walker

  Kristen Moum

  Sharon Murphy

  Ginger and Larry McSween

  Janice and Thomas Jones

  Susan and Kevin Cella

  Kristi and Brian Ahlers

  You give so much!

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  A monster had come.

  His eyes burned like twin globes of fire.

  He was big and moved with purpose. All she could see was the red of his eyes and the bright red and pitch black of his demon face.

  She’d seen him before...seen his face.

  Somehow, she realized he wasn’t a demon. He was wearing a mask, dark shirt and pants, a long jacket...and there was a bulge at his hip.

  She thought he was carrying a gun.

  She was grateful to realize he couldn’t see her. She was hidden, looking out. She couldn’t fathom her hiding spot, but he couldn’t see her. She knew because she was looking right at him, watching him, but he couldn’t see her.

  He was in her father’s office, tearing things apart, jerking drawers from the desk, letting them crash to the floor. He rifled through the papers that fell from them, searching with the urgency of desperation.

  Yes, she’d seen this as well...the demon-man tearing the place apart.

  He went to the computer, swearing when he found it was password protected, sending the keyboard flying to the floor as well.

  Then she heard her father’s voice. He was talking t
o someone.

  Her mother.

  The man with the burning red eyes went still, and he drew his gun, aiming it at the door.

  This was new; this she hadn’t seen before.

  It was then she started to scream. She had to warn them. She had to stop them from coming.

  Her voice rose with urgency.

  But the demon didn’t hear her. Her parents didn’t hear her.

  The door began to open.

  “Stacey! Stacey, sweetheart! Wake up!”

  Her mother was holding her. Her father was beside them. While her mom comforted her, her dad smoothed back her hair.

  “Baby, it’s a nightmare,” he said.

  Her mother looked at him anxiously. “David, this is the third time. We’ve got to do something. We’ve got to get help.”

  “Stacey, stop shaking! It’s a nightmare. Just a dream,” her father said firmly.

  “No. No, Daddy, it’s a man, and he’s coming, he’s coming, and—”

  “Yes, sweetheart, I know you’re seeing something. The devil, a demon, whatever.” Her mother took a deep breath. “We’re...well, we’re going to get someone to help you. I know someone. A nice doctor who can talk you through this. She works with many people—young and old—who are troubled with nightmares. There’s something you’re afraid of, and if we can just find out what it is...” Her mom trailed off at a look from her father. Then she asked, “Will you be able to sleep? Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

  “Judith,” her dad murmured.

  Stacey didn’t want to cause trouble between them. She was frightened. Bone-chilling scared. But it wasn’t for her own safety. She saw what was going to happen from a distant place.

  She was terrified for her parents.

  Her father thought himself a capable man. He was a private investigator. He’d been in the military. He consulted and investigated for the police and other law-enforcement agencies. He was a man who knew that life could be very dangerous.

  He knew how to use a gun, but he didn’t always carry one. When he worked at home, it was kept locked in his gun safe. She’d heard her parents talk about it. Her mom didn’t like guns, so even though she admitted that at the age of twelve, Stacey was unlikely to disobey them and go grab her dad’s gun, the weapon was to always be locked up in the house. It was one of the few arguments she’d ever heard them have.

  Her parents were special people. A true love-match. She was their only child. That was because her dad had been sixty when she’d been born, her mother nearly forty. People—well-meaning people, friends and family—had thought the age difference might be too much.

  Some had thought her mother was after his money. Rather silly, since she was an important banker and made way more than him.

  Her father was such a cool man: he thought it important for a girl to learn everything. He cooked as often as her mom. If her mom made dinner—even if it was icky fish sticks—her father said thank you and told her what a wonderful meal it had been.

  He even did dishes.

  She’d heard someone ask him once if for his so-called one shot, he was sorry he hadn’t gotten a boy.

  He had shrugged and said, “We were thrilled with a happy baby. And a girl? Well, heck, she can do anything a boy can do!”

  She adored him.

  She loved her mom, too.

  And she didn’t want them fighting.

  “No, Mommy, no, you’re right. It was just a nightmare. And it’s over.”

  “See?” her father said proudly. “Judith, she’s smart as a whip.”

  “We still have to do something about...whatever it is!” her mom said.

  “We will,” her father promised.

  They kissed her good-night.

  “Leave the hallway light on?” she asked.

  “Yes, sweetie,” her mom promised.

  They left her, she fell back to sleep, and the dream didn’t come again.

  Not that night.

  * * *

  Her name was Dr. Patricia Blair, and she was very nice. Stacey liked her just fine. She had worked with her dad and David Hanson Investigations before.

  Dr. Patricia encouraged Stacey to talk, and she listened and didn’t mock. Stacey might have been twelve, but she’d spent a lot of her time with grown-ups, and she knew how to deal with them. She never resorted to tears or dramatics. She tried, in a calm and even voice, to explain the way the dream had come.

  First, just the burning eyes.

  Then, the demon face.

  Then, the man in her father’s study...

  The good doctor did everything a psychiatrist was supposed to do, Stacey knew. She asked if Stacey was having any problems at school. Was she, perhaps, being bullied?

  No. She loved school. She liked her friends. She was in a magnet school for music. Nerds did not bully nerds. They were all...nerds.

  She was surprised when the doctor asked her to describe the nightmares in more detail. And equally surprised by the way the woman listened to her. The doctor then asked her mom if she might have a friend speak with Stacey as well.

  Was he another doctor?

  No, just an amazing man with incredible insight.

  He seemed old; tall and thin with white hair and a face that was somehow beautiful.

  Stacey liked him. People around her were calling him Mr. Harrison, but he told her his name was Adam, and he liked being called that.

  He also asked her to go over the details of the nightmare. He listened to her so intently, and his nod was sincere as she finished.

  “Someone is going to kill my dad...and my mom, I think. But they don’t believe me. Everyone just thinks I’m a kid with crazy nightmares. Well, I am a kid with crazy nightmares, but I’m still so scared!”

  “Let me talk to your parents,” he told her. “They’ll listen to me, I hope.”

  Adam did talk to them, but they were in another room, and she could only catch parts of the conversation.

  “I don’t think my family is in danger, but I guess the most worrisome case I’ve been on is the McCarron case,” her father told Adam Harrison. “And what I have strongly suggests something far more nefarious than money laundering and even his illegal drug running from within his company. I have pictures of McCarron himself going into the hospital the night Dr. Vargas and Mr. Anderson died in the stairwell—and it sure as hell looks like he’s carrying a gun of some kind in a holster—his jacket moved while he was walking.”

  “You think McCarron forced them down the stairs?” Adam asked.

  “I don’t have any solid proof. Proving anything on this... Well, the prosecutors need more. I think McCarron and his pharmaceutical empire are guilty in many cases of ‘accidental’ or ‘natural’ death, but I don’t know if what I have is enough. I’ve kept gathering, but not everything has gone to the police yet. Obviously, I go through what I have and try to sort the wheat from the chaff. That’s what I do.”

  “But you have pictures of McCarron entering the Anderson Building thirty minutes before Richard Anderson and Dr. Vargas were found dead next to each other on the landing at the foot of the stairs,” Adam said.

  “Anderson and Vargas were found by one of Dr. Vargas’s associates, Dr. Henry Lawrence, and Lawrence was so upset at finding his beloved mentor that he moved the body and tried every conceivable medical maneuver to bring him back, but Anderson was gone.”

  “Yes,” Adam said. “I’ve read all the reports. Richard Anderson’s was supposedly a natural death—a heart attack at the top of the stairwell, causing him to fall all the way down. That’s what the ME said. And Dr. Vargas supposedly tripped on the same steps in his haste and died trying to reach Anderson to help him. So the scene made it appear. It was tragic, everyone said, so there wasn’t much of a police investigation.”

  “Here’s why I’m involved. Sally A
nderson didn’t believe it. She said she’d heard her husband arguing with someone a week before his death. All he would ever say to her was there was nothing she needed to worry about. She’d hired me at that point to investigate the situation. Supposedly, Anderson was a good guy; he gave a lot to philanthropies. He was a major supporter of organ-transplant research and more. Anyway, I already had him under surveillance on the day of his death. Yes, I have pictures. But I don’t have pictures of McCarron doing anything to Anderson. We did have a video that somehow magically disappeared. One of my investigators filmed McCarron going into Anderson’s office. The video was the best possible proof. To the best of my knowledge, after I turned it over, someone managed to delete it from the prosecutor’s files. Of course, the defense also said it was gone,” her dad told Adam.

  “You and I both know,” Adam said, “that the prosecution has worked hard on this. Another doctor and a nurse are planning to appear as witnesses for the prosecution to swear they heard McCarron threatening Dr. Vargas. But Vargas wasn’t afraid; he dismissed McCarron’s words later, saying he was just a bunch of bluster when he didn’t get his way.”

  “What I’ve dug up,” said her father, “is that it seems McCarron thinks his family didn’t get a fair shot—his brother died, in need of a kidney transplant. But he hadn’t come up on the list yet. And Vargas was the best of the best at kidney transplants. By all accounts, Vargas was a straight shooter—he always followed hospital criteria and couldn’t be bought. I think that McCarron had tried just that—to bribe both Anderson and Vargas—and when it didn’t work, well... I guess he thought that anyone could be bought. We just need a bit of physical proof. We know McCarron’s criminal activities go far beyond insider trading and money laundering. The man rules through fear. He’s managed to bribe cops, buy off witnesses, and slip through the justice system time and time again.”

  Adam was silent for a few moments and then said, “You’re a danger to this man. You brought in the first proof against him, and he probably knows there is more you might have obtained.”

  “I was a Marine, for God’s sake! I can protect myself—”

  “No one man can protect themselves against the kind of killer that might be sent in against you,” Adam said. “Think of your wife and child.”