And with one final, silent scream, "Beth!" he bolted up from his midnight sleep, shaking with the terror of her loss. Soaked in a desperate sweat that had no earthly cause, he tore at the sheets on the bed he shared with another, whose name was Diane.

Once again, Daniel Nolan would bear Diane’s disgust and he would again have no answer for her questions. He’d had no answers on any of the other nights that he’d wakened, shaken to the bottom of his soul, for Beth of his screams.

# # #

Teagan Sullivan tried to regain her breath and still her violent shivers. She looked down at the soft flax sheets that had been tucked in neatly when she’d slipped between them several hours ago. Now they were wrenched from the bed, despite the cool night. She was soaked with sweat, her hair tangled, and her cotton nightdress was wound up around her hips, her heart beat wildly in her chest. She could not take much more of this. The dreams were tearing her apart and it felt like death itself was walking the halls of her sleep. They had to stop.

Teagan swung her legs over the side of her antique brass bed and went for the basin of cool water she kept in her vintage wash stand.

As she splashed her face, she became even more aware of the increasing chill that met her sweating flesh. Shivering and overcome with a grief she could not name, a ruggedly handsome face she could not forget, and an ache in her heart, Teagan determined to forget, forget those vivid images that haunted her nights. But she knew, even as she splashed her face with the bracing water, that she would not—could not—forget. Not anymore.

Sighing wearily, she gazed up into the mirror, straight into the most brilliant, emerald eyes she had ever seen and the terror washed over her once more. It slammed her with an impact that froze her marrow and drove the air from her lungs. Those were not her eyes staring back at her from the pale reflected face.

Teagan’s eyes were blue.

Every nerve ending in her body was on alert, her blood turned icy and she shook her head as she looked away from the glass.

She sank down onto the vanity bench, out of sight of that lying mirror, and looked over to the night table clock that was blinking two-thirty a.m. She knew she had to sleep or she’d be useless in court tomorrow when she testified about the pictures she’d taken of a fatal car accident last year. With no sleep she’d be a mighty poor witness for herself.

Teagan needed to rest, but she just couldn’t get to her feet. She could not look into that mirror again until she could explain it all to herself. Then her prior certainty of remembrance was lost as she watched the substance of the dream shatter like a broken mirror, pieces flying everywhere, with each second that had passed since she woke in terror. Just like always.

# # #

The chance for more sleep in the Daniel Nolan home this night disappeared when Diane flew from the bed in a huff screeching, "Dammit all, Daniel, will you ever give me a break? How am I supposed to sleep with you calling night after night for ‘Oh Beth! Poor Beth!’ and who the bloody hell is Beth anyway, some cutesy little meter maid at the department batting her eyelashes and looking for you to ‘rescue’ her?"  Diane lashed at him in exaggerated disgust. "For chrissakes, Daniel, it’s two-friggin’-thirty in the morning and I’m due on the runway at nine. I’m going home!" she ground out though perfect teeth as she headed for her clothes.

So much for "the friend in need."  Diane was a woman just stuffed with concern for her fellow man. If there were a way she could be of help, she’d shag ass as far away from it as she could get and have every good reason for doing it on the tip of her tongue.

Hearing his front door slam shut downstairs, Daniel whispered softly from his still-warm bed, "I’m sorry, Diane," while scraping his hands through his ash-blonde hair. "I really am."

Diane and Daniel had known each other for several years, but had only dated for a few months; not long enough to call their relationship "serious," but it was exclusive. And even if it weren’t in his nature, Daniel still would have shown Diane due respect. After all, he cared for her. Didn’t he?

No point in trying to get a few more winks, the night was shot and the walls themselves were echoing his distress. Daniel looked over at the clock, pulled on his "Dead Dog Barking" jersey and went downstairs to start a pot of coffee.

He shook some gourmet grounds into the filter basket, poured spring water into the reservoir and padded back up to his study to wait for the brew.

Just who in the hell was Beth, anyway? Diane had asked a very good question.

Dropping into a burgundy leather desk chair, Daniel again asked himself the question that had deviled him for the past nine months. What was happening in his sleep?

There was no question he was dreaming. But about what and why? Everyone dreamt, that wasn’t a problem. But for Sergeant Daniel Nolan, it was becoming a big one.

His dreams were keeping him up nights and now they had crept into his days, even though only splinters of them remained. That spelled trouble for a detective sergeant with high hopes for a Chief’s desk. The department provided free shrink service and maybe his ten years on the job had taken a toll on him, he thought as he went back down to get his coffee and returned to his study.

He’d check on it.

That settled, he lifted the 14-carat gold lettered "Sergeant, Badge 2234" coffee mug to his nose, savored the aroma of the fresh, hot Starbucks blend and took a long, full draw on the brew. God, it tasted good going down, not many things better than that in this life. Except Beth.

"Sonofabitch! Where did that come from?" Setting the mug down, he sank back into the plush leather of his expensive chair, slumped forward, and dropped his head in his hands.

Beth. He could still smell her sweetness, feel the touch of her soft curves, taste the salt on her skin. He could feel her breath under his ear, her silky hair all around him and he ached to be loving her again. He could hear the tender words of love she speaks, speaks? to him while they rode the breezes of the night, and he felt their triumphant cries of release when they exploded together and shuddered, breathless, in each other’s arms.

He still "saw" the French doors leading to the balcony and the scrolled carving of leaves and roses in the mahogany bedstead. Through his closed eyes, Daniel saw the embroidered monograms on the bed linens and the high arched leaded glass windows opened to the night. They were still fresh in his mind’s eye. The baroque wall sconces with thick candles flickered against bone plaster walls and the jasmine was creeping over the balcony railings. Rich fragrances of magnolia and gardenias filled the room. He was still seeing it.

Christ, this was insane.

Shaking his head, Daniel deliberately tamped down the memories and thought ahead to the next day. He had a robbery to follow up on in the morning, so he might as well go in early, considering the night was all but gone, in any case.

Rising from the chair, Daniel reached for the mug he treasured to take it to the kitchen, looking over to the side he froze, half-standing. He slowly lowered himself back into the chair, his face ashen. Daniel’s eyes locked onto the gold-veined mirror that hung on the wall beside his desk and held the gaze of the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen. Her smile lit the room. He could not take his eyes away from those crystal, emerald eyes that smiled out at him from the mirror—eyes that he knew as well as he knew his own—eyes that could only be seen in dreams.

# # #

Morning broke purple, pink, gold and blue over the heads of reporter Teagan Sullivan and Sergeant Daniel Nolan, she on the east side of the Elsinore lake, and he on the west side. Each held fresh-brewed coffee in their hands; each was engrossed in the morning birds diving beneath the lake’s surface for their breakfast; each had spent another hellish night in the same dream and neither knew the other existed.

# # #