Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy(3)

I wanted to rush up to her, give her a hug, wash her face and take her clothes shopping. That cheap blouse did nothing for her apple figure.

The walking fashion disaster suddenly stopped and closed her eyes. “She’s near. Dan’s with her. Oh, the poor girl.”

I frowned at Dan. “Is she talking about me?”

He nodded. “Lana’s a psychic. She can sense you, but no one else can. The other woman, Taylor, is a clairvoyant. She’s trying to find your …”

He stopped and reconsidered what he was going to say. “She’s trying to find you,” he finally finished.

What a weird dream.

Sheriff Grayson halted, his big hands touching the two women’s shoulders. They stopped too. The deputy goggled over their shoulders.





Grayson pointed at the pile of teal my eyes refused to settle on. “You found her, bless her soul. Stay back, ladies. Come on Buck, let’s have a look at her before we tape it off and call in the big boys.”

The two officers walked over to the splash of color, Grayson stepping heavily, the deputy almost prancing with nervous energy. They halted next to the teal pile and looked down at it. The younger man went very white. Buck staggered away, getting behind a tree before yarking up his last meal. Grayson’s mouth drew into a tight line. He shook his head sadly.

“Poor little thing.”

“Is that a person?” No wonder I didn’t want to look at it. My subconscious had known it was a dead body. I inched a little closer, fascinated despite myself. Buck the deputy still leaned up against the tree, though he’d stopped barfing. I didn’t want to see the corpse’s face, but curiosity got the better of me.

The splash of teal was a dress. It had gold and burgundy trim, the skirt rumpled up to the black-stockinged knees of the dead woman. “Hey, I have a dress that looks like that,” I told Dan.

“I know,” he said softly. “You’re wearing it.”

I looked down at myself. Darn if I wasn’t wearing that dress, a favorite of mine. I’d gotten it on sale, marked down from $150 to just 40 bucks. Lucky me. The matching jacket, like my shoes, was missing.

Lana whispered loudly to Taylor. “She doesn’t know.”

Something in the psychic’s voice gave me a jolt of alarm. I suddenly needed to see the dead woman lying on the ground. I had to see her face after all. I started towards Sheriff Grayson.

Dan grabbed me and pulled me close. “You don’t want to do that, baby girl.”

“Why not? You said they can’t see me. I won’t get in trouble.”

“They can’t see your spirit.” He nodded at the body. “You’ve probably been out here several days, Brandilynn. It’s been warm and raining. They’re just lucky the wild pigs didn’t find you yet.”

Oh, this dream was so not turning out, not even with Dan the Marlboro Man holding me tight against his broad chest. “You’re saying that’s me over there? That body is mine?”

Lana pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. To Taylor she whispered, “Dan’s telling her now. This is not going to be good.”

Dan’s hand snared my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’re dead. The Fulton Falls Ripper got you.”

I snorted, ignoring the sick twist in my gut. “This is the nuttiest dream I ever had.”

When Dan didn’t let me go, when his chocolate eyes remained locked on mine, when his arm tightened almost painfully around my waist, it took all I had to quell the rising panic. I jabbered to hold the terror at bay. “The Ripper only kills prostitutes. I’m





an escort. I don’t sleep with all my customers. Shoot, I don’t sleep with even ten percent of my customers. I sure as heck don’t do vampires. I’m not a whore.”

“She thinks she’s dreaming.”

I jerked my head free of Dan’s grip and twisted around to glare at the leaky-eyed Lana. “Would you stop with the play-by-play? Gosh, you’re like John Madden over there.”

I pushed away from Dan, and he reluctantly let me go. Good thing; it spared him from me punching him in the mouth. Of course, with those rugged good looks, a bloody lip would only enhance his uber-manliness.

I stomped over to body and discovered the woman lay facedown. No way to prove it wasn’t me beyond all doubt. Yeah, the dress looked just like the one I wore right now. So what? I’d bought it off the clearance rack last fall. Who knew how many women owned the same dress?

The black hose with the sexy seam up the back were like mine too. Didn’t prove a thing. The rumpled skirt hid my favorite garter belt … or it would have, had it been me. It couldn’t be me though, because the body looked thicker than mine. In fact, it pushed hard at the seams of the dress. I worked hard to maintain my size four figure. Of course the body had bloated, but someone my size wouldn’t get that big, right?