The Dead Room by Heather Graham Page A

about?”
    â€œWho was that man?”
    â€œWhat man?”
    â€œThe one you were talking to.”
    â€œLeslie, I talked to dozens of men today.”
    â€œThis afternoon. Out on the sidewalk near the site.”
    Did he hesitate for just a second? Was she imagining that he sounded suspicious when he answered?
    â€œI think you know most of the people I talked to today. Hank, Dryer…maybe you saw me talking to him? Let’s see, I talked with Brad a couple of times, with Laymon…a really cute grad student—but she was no man. Hmm. A not-so-cute grad student, some other cops, a P.I., a nosy businessman…a guy driving a double-parked limo….”
    â€œOkay, sorry. Never mind,” Leslie said.
    â€œYou sure you’re all right?”
    â€œI’m great. Actually, I’m tired and filthy, but at least I’m not hungry—we had pizza. I’m sorry I bothered you, Robert. I’m going to clean up and go to bed. But enough about me. How are you doing?”
    â€œI’m great. No, no, I’m not,” he said, and she could hear the rueful humor in his voice. “Half the time I’m so frustrated I could scream, but then again, I’m an old cop, and I’m accustomed to that feeling. I’ll tell you what. When I take you to dinner, I’ll pour my heart out, how’s that?”
    â€œSounds fine,” she assured him.
    â€œGood night, then. You call me if you need me. And ask me anything. Anytime.”
    â€œYou’re a doll. And you know I will. Thank you.”
    She clicked off, then stood in the entryway and looked around. The house was so quiet it seemed almost unnatural.
    â€œSomeone has to be here,” she said aloud. But if they were, apparently they had no intention of showing themselves to her.
    She went upstairs and showered. Afterward, drying her hair, she turned on the television. She’d no idea it had gotten quite so late, but the ten o’clock news was on. She got to see herself, Brad, Laymon, a few of the excited grad students and Dryer, who announced that the police were excited by the discovery, like everyone else, and that there would be a large police presence in the area. New York would be preserved for New Yorkers. The city wouldn’t stand for vandalism or interference.
    At last, with the television on, she fell asleep.
    And that was when he came to her.
    In dreams.
    She slept, and he was there.
    She knew that she dreamed, but the dreaming was sweet and real. She felt his presence as he spooned his body around her, just as they had so often slept when he was alive. His arms were around her, and she could feel the soft seduction of his breath against her nape. She smiled. “I knew that you would come. But—”
    â€œShh,” he said softly.
    He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, caressed the length of her back, stroked soothingly along her spine.
    She turned into his arms, felt his kiss. Hungry, erotic, just as it had always been when they were apart for any length of time. A kiss that spoke volumes. Strong and powerful, liquid and ardent. His embrace was strong, reassuring, somehow gentle, like the power of his passion, and she slid into that embrace as if they had never been apart. She returned his kiss with the love that had lain dormant in the painful corridors of her heart ever since…
    But she knew she was only dreaming.
    She broke the kiss, lips moving the slightest distance away.
    â€œI love you so much,” he whispered.
    â€œWhy won’t you come to me? Speak to me? Why has it taken you so long? Why can I only dream about you?” she whispered. “I see so many others….”
    â€œBut I’m not like any of the others,” he told her, and he smiled, that rakish, rueful smile. He was such a combination of assurance and humility.
    â€œMatt…”
    â€œShh…”
    And then his lips were against hers once again. So loving, so passionate.
    As