Dream Shard

By: Mary Wine

Body heat brought them together. Cold reality could tear them apart.

Dream, Book 2

After surviving a brutal emergency-room shooting, nightmares have worn Kalin Smith down. Desperate, she retreats to her grandfather’s cabin and prays her Miwok heritage will bring her peace. In a mountain pool’s healing waters, she finds an unconscious, hypothermic man floating from upriver. When he comes to, it turns out he’s armed, dangerous…and she can feel him sifting through her thoughts.

Devon Ross can’t remember who he is, but he knows for sure he’s psychic and he’s being hunted. When men show up to take him and kill Kalin, instinct—and survival training—kick in. He takes her on the run, led only by a distant, flickering memory of a destination.

Danger turns up the heat between them, but as Devon’s memories gradually return, he remembers why he can never love again. He is an operative for an elite Army Ranger unit and his life is too dangerous. Particularly now that unscrupulous people know who he is.

Warning: Contains an empathic Army Ranger with killer instincts and well-trained hands, and a Native American nurse who knows just what to do with all his body parts.





Dream Shard

Mary Wine





Prologue

Silence wasn’t golden.

It was a torment created in the pits of hell.

Devon Ross tightened his arms around Heather. But her body was limp. She hung in his embrace like a broken doll. He pressed his ear against her chest and there was nothing but silence from her heart. His embrace threatened to crush her fragile body in some vain attempt to force his own life force into her. Rain hit the asphalt and pain ripped through his soul as his ears picked up that soft sound but her heart stayed silent. The dark reality of her death slammed into him like a collapsing building.

Easing his embrace, Devon cradled her in his arms as his eyes found the trickle of blood marking the side of her face. One single bullet through her temple. Self-inflicted. That was all. Her eyes were still open, betraying the fact that she’d never realized her life was ending. Devon stared at her face, memorizing the details of what loving him had brought her. Moonlight cast an ivory glow on her lifeless eyes as he let her body gently down until it lay on the black top. He smoothed his hand over her cheek one last time before pushing up to his feet. The wind whispered through the trees as the rain fell. A tiny glint caught his eye and he knelt next to the body of his wife once again. A delicate silver chain was fastened around her wrist. A little heart hung from it and, as he lifted the jewelry away from her limp wrist, his eyes found the small hinge on one side of it. Flipping it open, he shielded the little picture with a cupped hand. The face of their daughter looked back at him with a smile that he had never seen with his own eyes. Deeper pain slashed through him as he snapped the locket shut and stuffed it into his vest pocket. He scanned the dark road as the rain increased. Heather had hidden their daughter, escaped with the aid of his trust for the sole purpose of preventing him from ever holding his own child. The pain settled into a hot, burning flow of lava as he looked back down at Heather’s sightless eyes.

He had scared her to death.

The reality of his life had sent her into a blind panic. Missing that rising terror had been his failure. Blinded by his own emotions, he’d loosened his security around her, believing that it would help her adjust. Instead, she had fled into the night with its predators. Only at the end had she realized there were worse things than living behind the security she’d felt smothered by. She’d killed herself to protect the secret of where she’d left their child. He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out with his mind and connecting with the life force of his small daughter.

He could find her but he wouldn’t. It was the only gift he might give Heather. The gift of leaving his daughter to grow up, blissfully ignorant of the psychic bloodline she came from. Maybe Rochelle would find a peace that neither of her parents had.

The night was filled with the sound of a helicopter’s rotor. Devon pulled his gun from his belt and discarded a single shot into the gas tank of the small truck Heather had been traveling in. Her death was nothing but a message to him that freedom wasn’t a luxury he could ever afford. On the black market, he was worth a fortune. His baby would be worth even more, because it might be raised to be loyal to anyone or any cause.

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