Tortured Dreams Read online

“I’m a bit disturbed that the US Marshals have been keeping tabs on me. I’m even more disturbed that the FBI did it before them.”

  “But you’re not surprised,” Nyleena finished the thought.

  “No, no I’m not. I wish I was,” I lit another cigarette.

  “What movers do you have coming?” She asked after a minute or two.

  “You and me. I am taking my clothes, my books, and my computer equipment. Everything else is going away,” I answered.

  “That’s what I thought,” Nyleena looked around. “Why don’t we pack up your car with your clothes and books? Pack up your book bag and computer gear and just go?”

  “I don’t have anywhere to live,” I reminded her.

  “That is an easy problem. You stay with me for a month while you look for a place.”

  “I thought you were going to stop contributing to the trust fund?”

  “I am, as soon as your book gets published and you have some sort of income,” she walked over to my closet, dug out all the clothes and tossed them onto the floor.

  “Ready?” She asked.

  “Not in the least,” I told her.

  “Fine,” she picked up something from the coffee table.

  “Yeah, hi, it’s Nyleena Clachan. Could you come back to the apartment for a minute?” She said a few more things then hung up.

  “Who was that?”

  “That was McMichaels and Reece. I want out of this crazy town. A mattress on the floor doesn’t count as a bed. I’m tired of sleeping on it.”

  “How’d you get their numbers?”

  “They gave both of us cards when you were in the hospital.”

  “Great,” I hung my head in resignation. I could dominate anyone but Nyleena. It was a personal choice.

  It took less than five minutes for my two new acquaintances to get turned around and back to my apartment. McMichaels scanned the room, noticed the clothes on the floor and raised an eyebrow.

  “I always leave my stuff,” I told him in response.

  “Well, the good news is we have you an apartment already. The bad news is there isn’t any furniture,” Reece told me.

  “You have an apartment for me?” I frowned.

  “Yes, the Marshals will pay for it for six months. It’s in a secure building. You’ll have to be let in by a doorman. The key code changes every six hours.”

  “Sounds like my building,” Nyleena randomly picked some clothes up and tossed them into a suitcase.

  “That’s because it is your building. Twentieth floor, apartment 2020. It isn’t furnished though,” Reece continued.

  “Really? Why my building?” Nyleena asked.

  “Because it is one of the few Federal Guard Apartment buildings in KC. Since KC has the Federal Guard Neighborhood, they didn’t build very many FGAs.”

  “I hadn’t realized that,” Nyleena nodded once.

  “They are expanding the FG Neighborhood, going to give it an official name even. Got your name on the list for a house in it, yet?” Reece asked her.

  “Nope, I like my condo.”

  The Federal Guard buildings were housing for law enforcement, judges, lawyers, anyone involved in the criminal justice system. They were the result of one mass murderer twenty years earlier. He had managed to kill seven judges, including a supreme justice and a still unknown number of lawyers and police officers. They were sure that the number was well over two hundred, but how well over, they weren’t sure. Secure housing had been constructed and encouraged. With serial killers and mass murderers on the rise, it didn’t pay well to be a member of the justice system. The secure housing was part of the package. Nyleena had gotten her condo the day she had signed on to work for the prosecutor’s office.

  “We’ll be neighbors,” I commented dryly.

  “We will and with a little luck, I won’t come home one day and find a serial killer in your apartment,” she stuffed the last of my clothes into a second suitcase. “What about your books?”

  I scanned the two bookshelves. I had well over a thousand books on them. I shrugged at her.

  “We’ll pack them for now and when you decide to get furniture, you can put them on new shelves,” she told me.

  “Why don’t you take your furniture?” Reece asked, eyes narrowed.

  “I killed someone here. I’d like to leave behind everything possible. I may be a sociopath, but I’m also a touch superstitious. Killing people brings about bad mojo.”

  “Bad mojo that gets trapped in your furniture?” Reece pressed.

  “Honestly, if I could burn down the apartment building and everything in it, I would. Since that is unreasonable, I take my clothes, my books and my electronics. Everything else goes to Goodwill.”

  “How many times have you done this?” He asked.

  “Well, let’s see, she’s moved twice since getting here, there were five moves in Michigan, plus moving to Michigan and now moving to KC. How many is that?” Nyleena grinned.

  “And you always leave your furniture?” McMichaels asked.

  “I buy cheap furniture, usually from the nearest thrift shop. It’s a thing. I don’t know how to explain it. I just can’t stand the thought of moving the furniture,” I rolled my eyes and lit up a cigarette.

  “The FGA is non-smoking, you know that right?” Nyleena asked me.

  “Think my smoking is what they should be concerned about?” I cocked my head sideways at her.

  “I really like the doormen, they are all trained federal officers,” she cleared off a shelf from the bookcase into a very large Rubbermaid container.

  “You act like she is certain to bring doom and gloom to the building,” McMichaels said, mimicking Nyleena with a different bookshelf.

  “When you’ve been around my cousin for a while, you’ll understand. We once went to a movie and when we left, someone tossed a soda at her. She didn’t retaliate until they cornered us in the parking lot. The woman cornered us and blamed us for talking during the movie. The psycho bitch broke two of the car windows. Aislinn just attracts violent people like cheese grows mold. You think its fine and then suddenly, you’re being mobbed by hoards of violent people.”

  “Can we do something about the ‘Aislinn’ thing?” Reece asked.

  “Huh?” I frowned at him.

  “I’m officially renaming you ‘Ace.’ You can call me Xavier and him, Lucas. Just seems like a good idea to get that out of the way. I hate formalities.”

  “I’ve never had a nickname,” I mused.

  “Well, you do now,” Lucas wiped another shelf clean. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Chapter 9