Prologue

 

Looking at his broken nose in the mirror, Callum Galloway gingerly touched the purple bruises and glowered at his partner Jace.

Cal was a soldier for The Regiment of Enlightened Militia, REM for short. A black-ops unit that specialized in sleep studies.  

Dreams, to be more precise.

But, it had only been twenty-four hours since Cal’s last dream-walk for REM. What the bloody hell were they thinking sending him on another mission so soon? His body and mind were worn down and beat to shite.  

“What did you run into a wall?” Jace asked, grimacing at the sound of cartilage moving when Cal pressed the sides of his nose.

“When I came out of the dream, I killed Sandio, but not before he punched me. It was my fault. I was too close. REM got what they needed from the dream-walk. With Sandio gone, REM can bring down the rest of his cartel. That was REM’s objective. Sandio was just a disposable scumbag.”

“You better get dressed and get on with it. You have to report by twenty-three hundred.”

“Any further communication from REM since they dropped off the last file?” Cal asked brushing blond hair off his face with his fingertips.

Cal knew if transmissions came, it would be directly to him, not Jace. Each case was top-secret and confidential. The files would only be seen by the dream-walker for that mission. But something wasn’t right. His intuitions were churning his gut like swamp mud.

“You think REM would say something to us before we enter a dream-walk? Are you daft?” Jace replied, his words laced in a thick New Zealand accent.

Cal glanced at the dreamers file lying next to the sink. Isabelle Debouis. He’d read the file three times on the flight back from Argentina. He still didn’t get it. What kind of threat did this woman pose?

He’d received his orders from REM, and of course he’d comply with them, he always did. But in the past there had been a reason for the mission. What the hell ties did this woman have to the world’s top criminals? Castillo was an ER nurse from Seattle. She had no husband linked to gun smuggling, or a boyfriend dabbling in biological weapons.

What had he missed that REM was so hot to get their hands on?

Cal glanced at the woman in the photo with spiky blond hair and green eyes. Scanning the data, he checked once more to see if he spotted anything new. So what was this woman’s threat to humankind? Was he too tired to see the obvious?

REM’s instructions in the file were strange, vague. He’d never seen a mission file like the one laying in front of him. What was the objective?

Cal knew his place was never to question his missions. His job was to move into action, get the information, and then get the hell out… hopefully this time, without being punched. His nose was a buggered up mess.

“I haven’t been back in the states for more than two hours. Why the bloody hell didn’t REM send you?” Cal’s Welsh brogue became thick in anger as he yanked the jacket dangling from Jace’s fingers and pulled it over his broad shoulders.

Jace shrugged, but didn’t answer.

Cal didn’t have time for fucking games.

REM listed him and Jace as level-four telepaths. Their top level. Their best. Jace was also Cal’s best friend, and he could sense his friend was holding something back. Jace was a freaking bad liar. Cal knew this for a fact. He’d telepathically spent the last nine years inside Jace’s head.

“Let’s get this done. I need sleep.” Cal pushed past Jace in the narrow hallway that led into the living room. “Have a shot of single-malt for me when I get out.” He looked around, frowning. Christ, he’d even forgotten where he was. “That’s right, no room service. We’re in a bloody apartment.”

Hitching up his tux pants, Cal knelt on the thin carpet and pulled in a deep, centering breath of air.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear away the doubts about the mission. He needed to focus on the dreamer on the other side and let the rest of it go. He pressed his palms agaisnt to the cool wall.

There. He felt her. She was asleep. Cal let himself relax. Drifting. Matching breaths with hers.

One. Deep in, then out. Another.

The dreamer’s sleep patterns washed into his mind. He let his body be pulled across the distance into her mind.

Floating. Falling. He tried to right himself.

Sensations, colors, and smells, slammed into him.

What the fuck?

Cal opened his eyes.