According to Legend Read online

  “Please let me make it to that lot before the SUV turns the corner,” I said into the darkness.

  I stepped on the gas and the car sprinted ahead. A rearview mirror check revealed still no SUV as I sped into the parking lot, pulled into a vacant spot in the shadows behind a dumpster, and turned off my headlights. I sat there in the dark with the motor running and my heart racing as I watched and waited. I held my breath.

  The black SUV turned the corner. Not seeing me on the road, the driver accelerated, speeding past the parking lot, and then turning left at the next corner.

  “That was close,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Now if I can just get home in one piece that would be great.”

  Am I going mad? Since when do I talk to myself? This was getting out of control, and fast!

  I turned the headlights back on, eased out of the parking lot and headed back the way I had come. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I don’t think I should go home right away. But where else could I go? I could go to a friend’s, but this could be dangerous and I can’t get anyone else involved. Maybe I should go to hotel. Yes, that’s it. I’ll get a hotel room. Then I remembered that all my credit cards were at home, hidden in the fake bottom of the tinderbox by the fireplace. I had to find a place to go until I felt it would be safe to go home. Was it ever going to be safe to go home again?

  I’ve got to lay low. I turned into the parking lot of a diner, and parked in the back. I went in and took a seat at a two-person booth in a quiet, uncrowded section where I could watch the front door. I ordered a cup of coffee from a friendly waitress, but I didn’t have the energy for conversation.

  I have got to get a grip, I thought as I surveyed the other patrons of the diner. My nerves were shot. Sipping the coffee, I started to wonder, When had my life gotten so crazy? I had always led such a predictable, boring life. My commute from northern Connecticut into the city left me very little time to make any new friends or to stay connected with any old ones.

  Since I got this dream catcher, my entire world had been turned upside down. The ornate antique hummed in my pocket as if it were burning to be free.

  My thoughts turned to Mrs. Warren. ‘I’ll contact you,’ she had said. ‘Trust no one.’

  I flagged down the waitress, paid for the coffee, and headed out to my car. Sitting there in the darkness of the parking lot, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed directory assistance. It only took a moment to get Mrs. Warren’s home number. Should I call her? I had to.

  “Hello,” said the sweet voice of the elderly curator.

  “Hi, Mrs. Warren, this is Pam Hastings,” I said rapidly into the phone.

  “Oh, my dear, what a nice surprise. I haven’t heard from you in ages!” she said as if she had not just seen me earlier that afternoon.

  “Mrs. Warren, I need your help. Would it be okay if I were to stop by?”

  “Oh dear,” she said and paused for what seemed longer than necessary. I thought I heard voices in the background.

  “Mrs. Warren,” I rushed on. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but there really is no safe place for me to go. I’m being followed and, well, I can’t go home.”

  “Oh, my dear. I’m always delighted to hear from you and so pleased that you have decided to go visit your aunt.”

  Visit my aunt? What was she talking about?

  Then I was sure I heard commotion and what sounded like muffled male voices in the background.

  “But,” she continued, “what you are suggesting is, ah, well, impossible right now and frankly not a very wise idea.”

  I heard the muffled voices again. Was it my imagination or did I hear a male voice in the background demanding to know who was calling?

  “Mrs. Warren,” I said, my voice raising an octave. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

  “Nice of you to phone, my dear,” she replied in a strained voice. “Please give your aunt my best regards and phone me next week, would you? Bye-bye now.” The phone went dead.

  I sat in my car in the parking lot of the diner staring at my cell. My life was spinning out of control! Someone had to give me some answers! I curled my hands into fists and slammed them against the steering wheel. I never asked to be caught up in the middle of this madness. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had no choice but to return home.

  Chapter 4

  Starting my car, I sat there in the dark parking lot of the diner, unable to force myself to put it into gear. I scanned the lot, checked out all the other cars. No black van. I was holding the wheel so tight, my hands started to sweat. This is ridiculous. I put the car in drive and inched toward the road. Stopping at the edge of the driveway, I looked to the right, then to the left. Still no black van. In fact, there was no traffic at all.

  I’m being paranoid and acting like an idiot. There is nothing to be afraid of. Headlights flashed in my rearview mirror as a car approached from behind me. I’m being foolish, finding danger in every shadow. Just go home, get the credit cards, and grab a hotel room for the night. Everything will look better in the morning. I headed toward home.

  It was late by the time I turned onto the street where I lived. Everything appeared to be normal on the quiet little road, but I didn’t feel safe. I expected to be ambushed as I entered the house, but I had to get those credit cards. After locking the deadbolt, I headed toward the living room to where I hid my credit cards. The events of the day played through my mind. I was so worried about Mrs. Warren that I felt sick to my stomach. I thought about calling the police, but what could I really tell them? That a gypsy woman had given me a dream catcher and disappeared? That I was followed after leaving the museum? That I had a disturbing telephone conversation with the elderly and eccentric curator of the museum? What did it all mean? Was I just imagining it all?

  Without turning on any of the lights, I went into the living room and sank into the oversized chair in front of the dark, cold fireplace, exhausted. The sound of thunder rumbled low in the distance.

  I put my hand in the pocket of my jacket and touched the dream catcher. Feeling its magic tingle on my fingers, my mind became clouded as I was drawn toward sleep. My eyelids were so heavy. I grasped onto the edge of consciousness.

  “Takshawee . . . come to me . . . I am waiting for you.” His deep voice beckoned as I drifted off to sleep.

  The heat of the fire warmed my back. My eyes were closed but I knew I was lying naked, wrapped in furs. Slowly opening my eyes, I found myself looking up into the depths of his dark gaze.

  “Help me, Running Wolf,” I whispered.

  His handsome face smiled down at me. “Takshawee, my love, what troubles you?”

  I touched his face, then he drew me into his arms, holding me gently while he planted soft kisses in my hair. His lips traced a line of hot kisses along my jaw line. He held my face between his hands as he lowered his lips to mine. I knew I was dreaming. I knew I was sitting in front of the cold, dark fireplace in my living room. I knew I was completely dressed. Yet, this felt so real! Could I be in two places at once? My mind was reeling. Then our lips met, and all rational thought was gone.

  His soft mouth caressed mine, the tip of his tongue tracing a path across my slightly parted lips, searching, seeking, in a silent plea to enter. My mouth yielded to him, and I was filled with the sensation of the deepest yearning I had ever known as his tongue explored my mouth and began a sensual slow dance with mine. It was a dance as old as time, a dance these two had shared before.

  He held me close to him, the smell of his warm skin intoxicating. Sliding one hand slowly down my naked back, he drew me further into his embrace. I felt the hardness of him against me. His kiss grew more passionate as he moved one hand lower to caress my bottom while his other hand moved up along my ribs, finding my breast. With his thumb, he began to massage my nipple, which responded to his knowing hand.

  From somewhere I heard a soft moan of pleasure and realized with surprise that it had come from me. He smiled then. He knew exactly what to do to
bring incredible pleasure to the woman in his arms. He stared into my eyes, his own eyes hooded with passion. He ran his tongue down my neck leaving a blazing trail of heat. I gasped aloud when his wet mouth covered my aroused nipple. Every cell of my being was aware of the hard, strong body of the man making love to me. The heat of desire burned deep within me. I gazed down to see the source of my pleasure only to meet his dark stare as he lifted his head to watch the expression of pleasure move across my face. His hands moved lower over my stomach, the path of his hands followed by a trail of hot, wet kisses. I cried out when his fingers touched the throbbing wetness between my legs.

  “Oh my love,” he murmured in a low hoarse whisper as his warm breath torched my damp skin. He moved to kiss me again.

  My hands swept across the expanse of his broad chest, stopping to make gentle circles around his nipples. He sucked in his breath at my touch. My lips burned to taste him, to let my tongue wander where my hands had been. The tip of my tongue touched his nipple and seemed to electrify the desire building in both of us. His heated response drove me on. I let one hand trace the muscles running down his stomach. His breath caught in his throat when my warm fingers encircled his hard shaft, and his mouth captured mine in a fierce, urgent kiss. I had never felt such need. He moved me beneath him in an effortless and natural motion. His dark hair hung in a curtain around us as he held himself above me and locked his stare with mine. His smoldering gaze consumed me. His strong body covered mine, and I felt the heat of him. One of his legs shifted between mine. He slid his muscular thigh to the side and moved my legs further apart with the easy motion. I was eager to have him fill me, but he lingered, cradled against my most intimate part.

  I felt his heart pounding, or was that mine? I opened my eyes to look into his.

  He lowered his head and brought his lips to mine. “Takshawee, I love you,” he whispered into the kiss.

  From somewhere close by, the rumble of a deep growl filled the air. Until now, I hadn’t realized that Half-Breed was there. Running Wolf’s entire body stiffened. The muscles in his back tightened beneath my hand.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “You must wake up NOW!” he said with intense urgency.

  So consumed with desire and basking in our love, I replied, “I don’t want to ever wake up. I want to stay here like this with you forever. I want you to make love to me.” I wanted to feel him deep inside me, but he lifted his warm muscular body from mine and placed his hands firmly upon my shoulders. His dark eyes were fierce and grave with concern. “Wake NOW! You must go. You are in danger!”

  My eyes flew opened. My hand loosened and the catcher dropped back into my jacket pocket. I was alone in the darkness of my living room. My heart hammered, no longer with passion but with fear. Other than the sound of my rapid breathing and pounding heart, the room was silent. Thunder rolled and somewhere out in the neighborhood, a dog was barking. Lightning flashed, and there, outside the patio door, stood the shadow of a man. Trembling and frozen in my seat, I watched as he tried to open the sliding door. He wore dark clothing and his face was obscured by the hood of his jacket and the darkness.

  Thunder rumbled, closer now. The patio door rattled as he tried the latch to see if it would give. The hair on my neck prickled. Seconds passed, it seemed like hours, and I was frozen with terror. The catcher seemed to come alive in my pocket and I heard Running Wolf’s voice in my mind, You must go. You are in danger! I leapt out of the chair and moved as quickly and quietly as I could toward the front door.

  Lightning flashed again, rolling thunder following immediately behind. The storm was directly overhead now and large raindrops pelted against the windows. I glanced back toward the patio door but the shadow was gone. I took a few quick steps toward the front door. I was only one step away now, and as I stretched out to reach for the doorknob, the catcher moved in my pocket somehow warning me. I stiffened. The sound of my pulse hammered in my ears. The doorknob was being turned from the outside.

  Heart slamming against my chest, I took a step backward. A crashing sound filled the silence as the glass from window beside the door burst into the room. The intruder’s gloved hand, dripping with water, reached in and struggled to find the door lock. Thank God I had locked the deadbolt. But would it keep me safe? The hair on the back of my neck rose. Fear and panic filled me and rose to my throat, choking me. Don’t scream, I told myself. They’ll know you’re here. Feeling like my legs would give out at any moment, I backed into my kitchen.

  Crouching down under the breakfast bar, scared out of my mind, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and with trembling hands, I dialed 911.

  “911. What’s your emergency?” said the calm male voice.

  “Help me! Someone is trying to break into my house!” I whispered frantically into the phone.

  “What is your location?” he asked, and I rattled off my address.

  “What is your name, Miss?” he questioned.

  “Pam, Pam Hastings.” I gripped the phone so tight that I no longer had feeling in my fingers.

  “Pam, have the intruders gained entry into your home?”

  “No, no, I don’t think so.”

  Lightning flashed, lighting up the sky. I peeked up over the counter. I was still alone. No shadow, no intruder.

  Crash! More breaking glass, followed by the sound of the intruder trying to force open the broken window.

  “Oh God,” I whispered into the phone.

  “Tell me what’s happening, Pam,” the operator asked.

  “They’ve broken the window. I’m,”—gasp— “so”—gasp— “scared.” I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

  “Just hold on. Stay with me, Pam,” the operator said. “There’s a police car just one block from you and they’re on the way. I’ll stay on the line with you until the officers arrive.”

  The screaming siren of the approaching police car was followed by the sound of footsteps running away from my house. Somewhere out in the dark, rainy, night a car door slammed, an engine roared to life, and a car peeled away. A moment later, the 911 operator told me that the officers were at my door and asked me to go let them in.

  Still trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline, I opened my door to find two police officers.

  “I’m Officer Martin and this is Officer Williamson, Ma’m. Did you place a 911 call?” the older officer asked.

  “Yes-yes. Someone tried to get into my house.”

  Officer Martin inclined his head toward the broken window. “Looks like he nearly made it.”

  “Y-yes. You got here just in time. Th-thank you.”

  They stepped inside, and it wasn’t until the police were standing in my foyer that I realized I was crying.

  “What is your name, Miss?” Officer Williamson asked.

  “Pam Hastings,” I replied through my tears.

  “Miss Hastings, would you mind turning on a light?” Officer Martin asked.

  I flicked the switch. Nothing.

  “It’s a pretty bad storm,” I said. “Must have knocked the power out.”

  Officer Martin brushed back the curtain on the broken front window to reveal the working streetlights.

  “I think who ever wanted to get in here must have cut your power, Miss Hastings,” he said. “This seems pretty serious. We better take a look around.”

  They circled the outside of the house, then searched every room inside. Nothing had been disturbed since the intruder had never gotten in. Outside, the rainstorm had washed away any evidence of footprints.

  “Do you live here alone, Miss Hastings?” Officer Williamson asked.

  “Yes, I do,” I replied, still dazed.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here tonight,” Officer Martin said. “Do you have a friend or family member you can stay with for a few days?”

  I told them I did. They waited for me to pack a few things in my backpack, grab the credit cards, and then they escorted me to my car. This is really getti
ng dangerous. How can I go to someone else’s house and involve them in this? I didn’t say anything to the police, but I decided to go to a hotel for a few days.

  As I threw the backpack into my car and was about to get in, Officer Williamson said, “Miss Hastings, it will be a few days before the report is typed up. We’ll let you know when it’s ready for you.”

  He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a business card. “Here’s my card in case you have any questions or there is anything else you remember that might be important.”

  I stuck the card into my jacket pocket next to the catcher.

  Was I crazy, or did the catcher tremble with fear?

  Chapter 5

  I sat in my car and watched the police drive away, and with them went my feeling of security. Now what? Where could I go? I knew there were plenty of hotels across town so I started my car and headed in that direction. My eyes were repeatedly drawn to my rearview mirror, but there was no one following.

  It took only ten minutes to get across town to ‘Hotel Alley’ but it felt like hours. Too afraid to pull into the first hotel, I drove on down the street until I saw a well-known chain. It had a covered parking garage and I thought it might be a good idea to keep my car out of sight for a while. I paid for the room with a company credit card and registered with fake name.

  By now the sun was starting to come up so rather than sleep, I took a hot shower and went downstairs for breakfast.

  The hotel restaurant was nearly empty except for a few businessmen reading newspapers or typing on their laptops while sipping coffee. I sat in a small booth apart from the other patrons. The waitress came over and greeted me with a smile. She took my order and asked if I would like a morning paper.

  “Sure,” I replied.