The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

thinking, no more evasion. Just . . . being. As he pulled back, light caught the scar on the edge of his chin, as thin as a thread.
    “I’ve always wondered. How did you get that?” she asked, touching it gently.
    “Now that’s a story. But not one for tonight. It’s late, Cammie. You should go to bed and get some rest.”
    “You’re leaving?”
    He sighed deeply. “If your father finds me on the couch with you he might shoot first and ask questions later.”
    “I don’t want you to leave.”
    He grinned and pulled her close. “You have no idea how good that sounds. I can be here tomorrow when my shift’s over.”
    “I’d like that,” she answered softly.
    “Then I’m going to say good night.” He kissed her again, harder this time, and Cameryn felt her heart kick in her chest. “No, stay here,” he said when she attempted to rise from the couch with him. “I’ll lock the door on my way out. Sweet dreams, Cammie. Promise me you’ll think only good thoughts tonight.”
    “Promise you’ll come back as soon as you can.”
    He shot her a crooked grin. “Deal.”
    Muffled footsteps echoed in her kitchen, followed by the quiet click of the lock. Happy, she hugged herself as the slash of headlights slid across the window, bright as stars. With a conscious choice she had chosen to leap into life. Death, in all its forms, had been left behind.

Chapter Seven

    THIS TIME HER dream was a good one. She was with Justin. The two of them were tucked into a small canoe on a deep mountain lake surrounded by sunflowers that grew right to the water’s edge, like a ring of fire. Justin pushed the oars while Cameryn watched the muscles strain beneath his skin. Wind whipped at his hair. “Do you want to keep going?” he called against the wind. Now he was rowing toward a ribbon of water, only ten feet in length, an umbilical cord of blue connecting the lake with the ocean. With another deep stroke he warned, “The ocean is more dangerous. Are you sure you want to go on?” Waves crashed into the side of their rowboat but she was not afraid. In the distance she saw the tip of a whale’s undulating tail, and she smiled happily and said yes. . . .
    Something from beyond was reaching into her dream. Reluctant, she resisted the pull to the surface of consciousness, fighting hard to stay under with Justin and the whitecapped waves. It was no use. The noise came again, a note from an instrument, a small ring, the flute from a wind chime. Was she in class? No, she could feel the pillow beneath her head and the comforter clutched to her chin. She felt the plastic nose of Rags, her stuffed dog, pressed into her side. Her eyelids fluttered open and Justin disappeared into the ocean as though he were a mist. Groaning, she realized she was in her own bedroom, alone, with only Rags for company.
    Light from the full moon flooded her bedroom so that she could see the outline of her lamp, and beyond that her computer with her screen saver morphing into geometric shapes. She’d left her computer on again—her dad would chew her out if he saw that, convinced as he was that every bad thing happened when Microsoft Outlook was left open. No matter, she would reboot in the morning. Yawning long and deep, she stretched her arms over her head until she gave a tiny, inadvertent squeak. Rolling onto her side, she looked at her clock. Red numbers glowed in the darkness in electronic blocks: 3:03 A.M. Groaning again, she wondered if she could ever get back to sleep. With her arm flung across her eyes, she tried to follow the wisps of her dream but moments later she knew it was no good. Emotions, once suppressed by sleep, rose up inside to crash together.
    Justin and Kyle. Light and dark, good and evil—two divergent streams flowed into her conscience. It wasn’t hard for her to select which emotional channel she wanted to follow. The trick was to silence the other by submerging it back to the depths. But aman cara washed to the forefront, and she felt herself begin to shake. Stop! she told herself fiercely. Think about Justin. She could do this—it was just a matter of choice. Pulling her comforter to the bridge of her nose, she commanded herself to focus on the good. She would not allow herself to hear the whisper of Kyle’s voice, to picture him out there, watching, waiting. No, she would relive the kiss. The kiss and nothing more.
    She squeezed her eyelids together as hard as she could. If she concentrated she could almost