Hunted Dreams by Elle Hill Page A

person.”
    She shook her head slightly. “If I’m in some bizarre, never-ending dream, why would some anonymous guy—granted, a crazy sexy guy with really nice hair—come visit me out of the blue?”
    “That’s one of the big questions,” he said. His hand moved absently to his hair, and she grinned at him.
    After a moment of thought, she shook her head. “I don’t buy it. I think you’re some crazy Jungian symbolism. By finding you sexually appealing, I’m, what, trying to reincorporate aspects of myself?”
    “Okay, fine,” he said slowly. “I’m you, only male, Black, and five years older.” He gave her a straight-edged look, and she smiled.
    “I’m the first to admit my subconscious has great taste,” she said, and put her hand on his.
    Reed turned his hand over and tightly grasped hers. “I have some ideas why I’m here. No,” he said significantly, “it’s not because I’m you in drag. My question is what the hell are you doing here?”
    Katana shook her head slowly. Her smile faded. “I don’t know.”
    He leaned forward. “Who are you, Sword Woman?”
    “I don’t know,” she repeated, more slowly this time.
    “Those seem like good—” Reed began, and a loud whump from the closet interrupted him. His glance at the closet door featured both apprehension and annoyance.
    Smiling very slightly, Katana rose from the bed. She took a step toward the closet and stopped. Reed had not relinquished her hand.
    “Interesting timing,” he told her quietly. She squeezed his fingers and pulled her hand free.
    Katana paused in front of the closet. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, not bothering to turn around and look at him.
    Reed drew in a breath, perhaps to respond. With a jerk of her hand, Katana twitched the closet door open. She almost didn’t gasp when a rough, scarred arm reached out from the blackness in front of her and snagged her around the waist.
    Reed’s shout was the last sound she heard before the closet door slithered closed behind her.
    “Mornin’, sunshine,” Cor drawled as Reed entered the living room. She sat sideways in one of the chairs, her legs kicked over one of its arms. Her hair, freed by the shower from its spikes, feathered like blue grass atop her head and across her forehead. Three-quarters of a giant croissant sat in her hand; crumbs sprinkled the front of her bright orange tank top.
    Reed nodded and sat down on the couch a few feet from Maricruz. Quina sat with regal stiffness in one of the room’s other stuffed chairs.
    Apparently interpreting his quick glances around the room, Quina said quietly, “Paul is working and Berto has class this morning. Cor already chatted with them. This meeting is for you, Mari, and me.”
    Maricruz, clad in soft earth tones like some kind of wood nymph, bestowed her radiant smile on him.
    “We’ll try not to drown you in our estrogen,” Cor said and grinned at him. She leaned her head back and took in the full sight of him. He stared back at her. “I heard about you before yesterday, you know: Big, brawny new boy. The straight Broschi girls are all aflutter. I tend to like them short and willowy, but I can definitely see myself making an exception.” She winked at him.
    “I’m not a boy,” Reed said.
    Cor’s grin stretched across her bony face. “Oh, honey, don’t think I can’t tell,” she leered.
    Quina’s brisk voice snicked through their exchange. “How about we stick to the purpose of this meeting?”
    “I agree,” Mari said tartly. “Why did you come here, Corinna?”
    Cor shifted her gaze to Maricruz without moving any other facial muscles. “Just as a reminder, I prefer ‘Cor,’ sweetie,” she breezed. “And I’m here to share the word. Family Greco hereby announces its intention to spread the joy and love by helping those less fortunate and giving back to the community and giving hands up and not out and blah, blah, blah. In short, we’ve decided to fund a homeless shelter in Montebello.”