Vengeful Bounty by Jillian Kidd

confetti stars pasted on the tips. How much had
that
cost? Was it two, three, or four starving African villages she could have fed with the money she’d paid for that pedicure?
    The steady, calming
whoosh
of the fountain was much more audible at this angle. But I still made out the conversation at hand because Mom was talking loud enough for the next zip code to hear.
    â€œHayley Boone!” she shrieked. “How aaaaare you?”
    â€œLucille!” Haley hollered back. “You look faaaabulous!”
    They had a brief conversation about the hotel, then talked about what each other’s Man of the Moment was like in bed and, more importantly, how much money he made, and finally decided when and where they were going tonight to get drinks and catch up. Wonderful to know that there were carbon copies of my mother around here. Really heartwarming. So heartwarming that I needed an antacid.
    She at last returned to her one and only daughter, her bleach-bright smile lighting up the screen. She sipped another bit of her martini and let out a happy sigh.
    â€œSorry about that, Mina,” she said. “I haven’t seen Haley since that party in ’51. Fancy meeting her here!”
    â€œFancy that,” I said, throwing Rogue’s squeaker for the 100th time. It had gotten slippery from his mouth. Yum. “How many times do you think dogs will chase after a toy you throw before getting tired? I think my dog could go all day! Isn’t he the cutest?”
    Mom downed the rest of her drink in one big gulp, trying to hide her disgust. “Wednesday, then, is it?”
    â€œSounds fabulous, Mother. Where will we meet?”
    â€œOh, why, I don’t know! I think I’ll get some suggestions from Haley.”
    â€œBut, Mom, you’ve lived in Dallas. You know your way around here.”
    She laughed. “Yes, but dear, times change! There might be someplace new I hadn’t heard of. I’ll call you, okay?”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œHugs and kisses, darling!” She planted a wet smooch on her phone, leaving a massive pinkish mark that blurred her face. “So good to talk to you! Love you! Byyyyee!”
    â€œBye, Mom.”
    Nothing had ever felt so good as ending that transmission. Peace and quiet alighted on the room like an old friend.
    I tossed Rogue’s squeaker one more time, then got up in a burst of adrenaline. It was almost 4 p.m. There was laundry, a run to the grocery store, a walk if possible, and I needed to wash my hair. My hair that Mom was
so
glad I had grown out.
    I stared at the blank screen, allowing my nerves some cooling time.
    As the frustration of talking with the woman who gave me birth seeped out of my system, the unease of my Roberto nightmare crept back in.
    There was a part of me that wanted to disregard the dream as subconscious bull crap. I’d feel safer and more empowered that way. But another wiser part of me knew never to shrug off a dream lightly—especially a recurring one.
    My dreams have always been vivid, even the ones I had as a young child. And more times than I can recall, they proved to be important warnings. I’d started paying more attention to the classic dream symbols of danger: snakes, towers, scorpions, rats. Not all of my dreams have been negative, however. Some have shown me insight into myself, desires, needs. The imagery and bizarre storylines weave around different truths that I couldn’t grasp in my waking hours.
    The hard part was figuring out exactly what the dream meant.
    Obviously my intuition was trying to tell me that Roberto was dangerous.
    Did I need to go after him? Or did I need to avoid him at all costs?
    I’d take the middle ground and keep watch out for him. That seemed a good compromise. Simply being aware of danger often helped me avoid it. When the oblivious lamb thinks it’s safe and doesn’t sense the predator in the tall grasses—that is when it becomes prey.