Exception (79 page)

I hope you enjoy this is a taste of her first novel, Dreamer.

XO, Patty.

Chapter One

T
HE SOUND
of my ringing phone woke me. Glancing at my alarm clock, I noticed I was only asleep for an hour-and-a-half. I laid there in a daze and tried to ignore the shrill of the device. My heavy eyes only wanted to close.

My night and morning, well, make that my entire day, was exhausting, to say the least. Having back to back visions in one night will do that to you.

At least, one of them was a vision, the other could be a testament to my sanity. At this point, I was convinced I had to be insane for even considering it as anything other than a very vivid dream. The things shown to me in the series of choppy images couldn’t possibly exist, but it felt so real— it felt like a vision. Shit, I was definitely losing brain cells just thinking about it.

At least the other vision was normal, or as normal as glimpses into the future could be. Although difficult to see, and as challenging as it was to try to prevent it from becoming a reality—something I still wasn’t certain I achieved—it wasn’t making me wonder if I should be calling the psychiatrist my parents recommended.
So nice of them.

After the rings silenced and began a new cadence, indicating the caller didn’t appreciate being ignored, I groaned in protest, cursing myself for giving my number out to anyone. I groped around blindly at my bedside table until I felt the soft vibration of my phone beneath my palm.

Without even glancing at the caller ID, I pressed “answer” and brought it to my ear, yawning sleepily. “Hello?” I said through another stifled yawn.

“Is this Kali Lockton?” A rather attractive male voice asked.

“Yes,” I answered cautiously, assuming he was a telemarketer.

The man cleared his throat. “Kali, I’m Detective Jared Miles.” I held my breath.
Uh-oh, I still hadn’t even decided on a story
. “I’d like to speak with you in person regarding your police report from early this morning, concerning your – uh…” He paused briefly. “Your dream,” he finished, sounding uncomfortable.

That took me off guard. I didn’t expect a phone call about the vision. Maybe they put two and two together and realized that the crazy chick who showed up at the police station in the wee hours of the morning was the same chick who called in later and reported the robbery I’d seen in my
normal
vision. I did give them my name when I called and made the report, but I didn’t recall giving it to the officer I uselessly relayed my vision to.

“I don’t remember giving that officer my phone number, or name,” I replied matter of factly as I crawled out of bed and padded towards my kitchen. Pulling out one of the two stools from underneath the counter, I sat down and rested my elbows.

“No, you didn’t,” he began cautiously, “but you did call in a second time and freely offered the information.” I could hear the smugness in his voice.

I tensed, unsure if I should be guarded about the direction this phone call was heading, though it would be nice to finally convince someone of relative importance to actually believe me. I couldn’t help wondering if his intentions leaned more along the lines of interrogation—it wouldn’t be the first time I encountered that situation.

Never once did authorities believe my fortune-telling dreams, but they were often quick to jump down my throat afterwards concerning my involvement. Naturally, this phone call had me on high alert.

I let out a frustrated sigh, knowing it would be worse not to cooperate. “Yes, that was me,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck nervously.

He laughed ever so slightly. “I thought so.”
Smug bastard.

An awkward silence followed. I knew we were still connected; I could hear his steady breathing. Static sounded as we both waited for the other to say something.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Ms. Lockton, I’d like to talk to you in person. When would be a good time?” His tone was light and easy.

I thought about it for a moment. I had to return to work tomorrow night, so it would have to be tomorrow during the day. It was already too late tonight and I had no plans of going anywhere, not at this hour.

Before I could answer, he interrupted. “How about in ten minutes?”

Stunned, I sat there for a second. “Umm… Detective?”

“Miles,” he reminded me.

“Right,” I answered, embarrassed. “Detective Miles, I’m in no mood to drive down to the station tonight. It’s late,” I amended begrudgingly.

He laughed, once again taking me off guard. “It’s not even seven.” He sounded amused. “Ms. Lockton, you don’t have to come to the station. I’ll come to you; I live close by.”

Wait, what?
“Umm… How do you know where I live?” My suspicion was evident in my tone.

He laughed again. “I’m a detective, remember?”

“Right,” I added blandly, still wary.

“So I’ll see you in ten minutes?” He sounded hopeful.

Stealing a glance at the clock, I saw he was right. It wasn’t even seven yet. So why did it feel so late? Oh right, I had virtually no sleep the night before. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed with my novel and read myself to sleep. Standing up from my stool, I paced to the window, opening up the curtains and blinds. I sighed. I may as well get it over with.

“That’s fine. I take it you already know which apartment I’m in?” I asked acidly.

“Yes, I do. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

I was about to tell him goodbye, but he already hung up. I shrugged and walked back over to my counter, setting my phone down. Clearly, I wasn’t dressed for company, but I refused to change from my comfortable pajama shorts and oversized, paint-stained t-shirt for someone to come over and probably berate me. Screw that, I intended to at least be comfortable while enduring the intense scrutiny and interrogation.

I waited, very impatiently I might add, for Mr. Detective to show up. It seemed like a half hour elapsed rather than ten minutes when I finally heard a quick rapping on my door. With my lips pursed in an annoyed pout, I partially opened the door and immediately requested his badge without taking one look at the man’s face. He reached into his pocket and produced an official looking ID and badge. I reluctantly opened the door wider, looking down at the floor.

“Come in,” I invited him in my most polite tone.

He strolled in and stopped after a few steps inside. I shut the door and finally brought my eyes up to his face. Although his purposely disheveled, dirty blond hair gave him a somewhat boyish look, his features had the beginnings of that sexy, mature, ruggedness lining the edges of his eyes, which were a rather striking green, and ever so faintly around his lips.

His lips
. Yes, I may have stared at a moment too long at them.

As they curled into a lopsided grin, confirming my suspicion he’d noticed, I could only beg the floor to cave in and take me with it.

I noticed how well dressed he was in designer jeans and shoes, and a button-up, black shirt, rolled up partially at the cuffs. He was quite muscular; I could see that from his rippled forearms, which were tanned to perfection, and his broad chest and shoulders. In that moment, I was grateful I was a female; otherwise I was certain to have a single man tent in my shorts. At that thought, I couldn’t help the very indiscreet check of both my shorts, and his pants. I hoped my two-second stare at his crotch had gone unnoticed.
God, where was this dirty perve emerging from? This man has corrupted me already.

In my defense, I certainly hadn’t expected a young detective to show up at my door. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a middle-aged, uptight, stiff man—no pun intended—whose job had taken a toll on him over the years and overall grumpiness defined him. However, Detective Miles looked as though he couldn’t be much older than my ripe age of twenty-four, and his overall demeanor seemed quite laid back.

I couldn’t help but feel slightly insecure in that moment. I looked like a hobo. My long, chestnut hair was ragged, and I was wearing clothes that hung frumpily over my slender frame. My somewhat pale skin looked positively
not-
glowing, especially around my kneecaps and elbows, since I hadn’t bathed it in lotion like I normally would. Dry skin really was a nuisance.

In a nutshell, I was a hot mess, standing next to the kind of man whose presence alone had the power to change the weather in a woman’s panties. Even my own, which normally would’ve taken an ice pick to penetrate.

I tried to feign casualness as I invited him to follow me, pulled one stool from under the counter, and gestured for him to take a seat, which he did.

His gaze followed me as I walked past him around the counter and into the kitchen, to take out two glasses from the cupboard.

“Would you like some tea or water?” My voice sounded feeble, but polite nonetheless.

His intense green eyes watched me thoughtfully for a few seconds. I tore my gaze from him, and carried the glasses to the fridge to fill them up with ice.

“Not necessary,” he spoke to my retreating back.

Just as I was about to set the extra glass down, his baritone voice sang again, making my heart flutter. “But, I’ll take whatever you’re offering.”

Without completely turning to look at him, I swung my head slightly to one side, and spoke over my shoulder. “I’m offering sweet tea or water; you choose.” I wasn’t about to make that choice for him, I gave him two options, surely he must have a preference.

He chuckled, jerking my attention back to his face.
Bad idea
. All I could think about each time his lips tipped into a faint smile was that he definitely caught my earlier assessment of his crotch. My cheeks burned again. God, I really needed to get this over with so I could kick his ass out. I couldn’t take the awkwardness I kept bringing upon myself. I’ve never been awkward or shy around men, so I couldn’t understand how one glance at him could dissolve my solid bones into a vapid puddle.

“Tea or—”

“Water,” he interrupted with a ravishing grin. “I’ll take some water, Ms. Lockton.” His eyes danced with suppressed humor. “Thank you.”

“Call me Kali,” I wavered, managing a small smile. “Ms. Lockton makes me sound like I’m your teacher.” I laughed, grateful that my confidence was on the rise again.

“Okay, Kali.” He lifted one brow, his smile widening.

Turning briskly towards the fridge, I filled the glasses with ice and water before walking back around the counter. I set his glass in front of him and took mine with me as I sat down. The close proximity between us felt uncomfortably electric, although I doubted that sensation was mutual.

Detective Miles took a sip of his water and set it back down. He stared at me intently as his long fingers drummed the hard surface of the counter top.

Before he could unnerve me once more, I broke the uncomfortable silence. “So you want to talk to me about my dream?” I asked tentatively, dropping my gaze to my hands and twiddling my thumbs nervously.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Raising my head to look at him, I waited for him to proceed. I hoped he wouldn’t be as cruel and incredulous as everyone else was.

His eyebrows pulled in slightly, and his earlier smile was replaced with a slight frown. “First off, I want you to know that I do believe you have these dreams.” Oh great, there is always a “but” after that line. Detective Miles shook his head, as if he had just read my mind. “I believe they are much more than just dreams.”

My heart skipped a beat, my brows arched, and my eyes widened in shock. “Really?” I squeaked.

He smiled and nodded. “Really.”

“Wow,” I said, still trying to grasp the idea of someone believing me. “I think you’re the first person who’s actually believed me,” I mumbled mostly to myself.

He cleared his throat, ending my mental happy dance, and took another sip of his water. After setting his glass down, he leaned his elbow on the counter, propping his head thoughtfully on his open palm. “How long have you been having these dreams?”

This was definitely a weird feeling having this conversation. I’ve had it before, sure, with a psychiatrist, but never with someone who wasn’t contemplating what pill would work best for me. I shrugged. “I guess I’ve had them all my life,” I began, peering up at the ceiling as I mulled over his question. “I couldn’t pinpoint a specific date when they started.”