UNAWARE: A Suspense Novel

by Susan P. Baker

  Zack stared at her. “Something the matter?”

  She didn’t want to sound like a clingy female. All her feelings of equal rights for women, all her arguments that women were just as good as men, those things made it difficult for her to admit, even to herself, that she might need protection.

  “Dena,” he said when she didn’t respond. “Something on your mind?” He cocked his head. “What is it?”

  Not that she thought he’d really care, but since he was persisting, she’d tell him. “I was just thinking about Ginny and Alan Sellers’ case.”

  “Is there something special about it?”

  “I had to file a protective order on the guy, because he beat his wife so badly. Today he called the office.”

  “Really?” He turned his full attention on her. “Why did he call you?”

  “He violated the protective order. I guess he wanted to tell me what he did before Ginny, that’s his wife, did. He sounded sort of irrational, repeating himself over and over.”

  “Luke told me you keep taking those cases even though you’re not supposed to. I agree with him. You need to stop doing family law if it’s going to upset you.”

  Why did Zack suddenly care? If she died, he’d be trustee of her money. Her insides twisted. What a morbid thought. “It’s not that bad.”

  “You’re acting like it is, sitting there and staring into space.”

  They’re eyes met. “I was just thinking about what else Ginny Sellers said. But I probably shouldn’t tell you, if you’re going to side with Luke.”

  “I won’t say anything to Luke if you don’t want me to.”

  “Well…Alan Sellers apparently told his wife he wants to kill me.”

  Zack drew a sharp breath. “You kidding me?”

  “I was kind of frightened at first, but now I’m just mad. I’m not going to be intimidated by something like that.”

  “What a stupid jerk. What did he tell her that for?” He’d been scanning the newspaper. He folded it and set it aside. He sounded like he actually cared.

  “Because he’s a stupid jerk.”

  “You don’t think he really means it, do you? He was probably just blowing off steam.”

  Dena couldn’t decipher the look on Zack’s face. “Yes, but some really creepy thoughts went through my mind and with what my client’s brother said,” Dena shivered, “I just couldn’t help getting a bit nervous about it for a few minutes.” Dena stared at her lap. She was kneading her hands into her thighs. She stopped, resting them palms down. She didn’t want Zack to know it made her worry just a little.

  “What did the girl’s brother say?”

  She should have kept it to herself. There was nothing Zack could do about it. He was gone most of the time. “Martin said Alan Sellers is crazy. He told me to call him if I see any sign of Sellers anywhere.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to take out his anger on his wife?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Sometimes I just get the creeps, though.”

  “You’re usually a good judge of character. What do you think? Is he a mental case?”

  “I didn’t think so when we were at the courthouse. He just had a mean look about him.”

  “Why change your mind just because someone involved with him thinks so? That’s not like you.”

  She shook her head. “I know this sounds silly, but there’s just something about him I can’t put my finger on.”

  “You and your feelings. If you want, I’ll go by and check on the guy myself. Where does he live?”

  Why the sudden concern? Was he worried about the kids? “In an apartment on the East End someplace. You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yeah, I do. We may have our problems, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you, even if I have to take care of the guy myself. What’s his address?”

  She wanted to laugh. The thought of Zack going over to Sellers’ apartment was ludicrous.

  “Just give me his address and see what I do.”

  “All right, sure, Zack. If you really want it, Meredith can get it for you out of the file.”

  “Okay.” He stood and stretched. “Well, if you feel creepy when I’m gone, you can call Bob. I’m sure he’ll come right over.”

  “I have my gun, too.” As soon as she said it, Dena knew it was a mistake.

  With one long step, Zack was in front of her, leaning down over her with a hand on each arm of her chair. His grim face was so close she couldn’t see him clearly.

  “You promised to keep your pistol locked up.”

  An electrifying jolt swept through her, and Dena reared back. She hadn’t seen him this angry in a long time. “I do keep it locked. I’m just saying—”

  “Are you leaving the night table drawer unlocked at night when I’m not here?” His breath still smelled of dinner, but the second time around. “Do the kids know you have a gun in there?”

  She pushed him away. “God no, Zack. I’m just saying—”

  “Because if I find my children have access to a gun, I don’t know what I’ll do. At the least, I’ll get rid of it.”

  “All right. I get the message. Go to bed.”

  He stood and backed away, his nostrils flaring, his eyes penetrating. “Just remember what I said.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t even look at it anymore, I swear.”

  His breath slowed. “I apologize for getting so riled up. It’s late. I’m tired. And I do worry about you and the kids when I’m gone.”

  She reached a hand out to him.

  He touched her shoulder before he left the room. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight. I’ll be in later,” she said, over her shoulder, but he was already gone. What a conversation. At first, he acted like he might still have feelings for her. Could he? She didn’t think so, but she’d been wrong before. And to get so angry about her gun. What was that about? She’d promised to keep it under lock and key, and she had. The kids didn’t know about the gun and even if they did, they didn’t know where she hid the key.

  Maybe he was just going through some midlife change, which would explain how cold he’d been to her lately. Maybe something else was going on. If there was, she didn’t have a clue what it could be. They barely talked to each other anymore. She picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels, looking for something entertaining to get her mind off the discussion they’d just had.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ALAN SELLERS

  Two days after Sellers had telephoned Ginny’s lawyer, a white guy sat in a white Lexus SUV across the street from his apartment. The same car had driven by the afternoon before. He went into the bedroom to see if he could get a better look, but the oleander bushes cast impossible shadows across the car’s windshield.

  Sellers’ curiosity grew as the hours passed. Who was the man looking for, him? Or could he be looking for Ben, who lived in one of the upstairs apartments? He couldn’t quite believe it could be that bitchy black nurse downstairs who worked at the University of Texas Medical Branch. Even funnier to think the man could be trying to get something on her retarded son.

  Living near the medical center, Sellers often saw a bunch of different cars parked in every available free spot in the neighborhood. Usually, the same people got there early every day and monopolized the spaces. Being used to seeing the same cars over and over, Sellers knew the Lexus was not one of those cars. Though a different vehicle occasionally wouldn’t be that weird, two days in a row, especially with a man sitting in it all day, that was unusual.

  Sellers ate his bowl of corn flakes and took his shower. The man was still there. He pulled on his jeans and a black muscle shirt. The man was still there. Finally, he slid his leather belt through the loopholes of his jeans and put on his steel-toed cowboy boots. When he looked out the window again, his hazel eyes met the man’s dark ones through the driver’s side window. They locked onto each other,
like two bulls locking horns. Sellers didn’t recognize him, but he knew the man wasn’t after Ben or the hag downstairs.

  Had Ginny’s lawyer hired someone to get something on him? What good would it do her? The divorce papers already said he was guilty of being cruel. He and Ginny didn’t own a lot of stuff anyhow. Hiring somebody would be a waste of money.

  It could be the insurance company spying on him, hoping to get something on him so they wouldn’t have to pay his claim. But why now? He’d filed it more than six months earlier. It wasn’t that much money.

  Only one other thing came to mind. His father’s death. And if that was it, it sure had taken them a long time to make a connection to him. Sellers’ stomach turned over. He recalled the night his father had died, as he liked to call it. The night his father had died. An image of his old man standing over him with his fists doubled up flashed into his mind.

  “You son of a bitch,” his father had shouted.

  Alan had yelled back, “You ought to know. You married her.”

  Now, his chest grew tight, and his breath was hard to get. It had been a couple of days since he’d gone outside. He needed some fresh air. He needed to talk to his personal-injury lawyer. And he needed to see if his Firebird’s air-conditioner had been fixed.

  Slipping his fillet knife in one of his back pockets and his wallet into the other, Sellers grabbed his keys and slammed the front door behind him on his way to the Cadillac. He started the car and let all the windows down to cool it off, the sweet scent of honeysuckle that covered the wire fence filling the air. Easing up near to the Lexus, he looked the guy dead in the eye and spun the steering wheel so the car did a U-turn.

  Up close, Sellers was even more positive. He didn’t know him. Though the man had dark hair and dark eyes, he didn’t look like a Mexican. He looked like an Anglo, in his thirties, plain and nondescript, someone who could easily get lost in a crowd.

  Keeping under the speed limit all the way down Market Street to Twenty-fifth, Sellers eye-balled his rearview mirror to see if the guy followed him. The Lexus stayed a block away. Sellers turned onto Harborside Drive and headed west. He drove past cruise ship parking lots, the shambles of the gray, exploded grain elevator, then the new operable one and more cruise ship parking lots, all the way down the north side of the island. The man stayed behind him across the Causeway Bridge and into Texas City, a town supported by oil and chemical refineries.

  By the time Sellers got to his lawyer’s office in a strip mall, though, the Lexus had disappeared. He emerged into the merciless heat an hour later armed with the knowledge that the man couldn’t be anyone from the insurance company. His case had settled. His lawyer had the money in his trust account where he would hold it so Ginny couldn’t get it in the divorce.

  The identity of the man really bugged Sellers, now. If it wasn’t his wife, and it wasn’t the insurance company…his hand shook as he inserted the key into the ignition. He must be wrong. No one knew about his involvement in his father’s death. It had to be something else.

  In La Marque, he had lunch at a little Mexican food cafe he’d been going to since he was a kid. His father used to take him there. He ordered his favorite bean and beef burrito and a Corona and watched the door, hoping the man didn’t show up there.

  When he got back outside, Sellers turned on the air-conditioning full blast and headed back to the island. The sun’s glare made it difficult to make out details of the boats motoring around the Causeway Bridge. He drove to the repair shop to check on his Firebird and found the air-conditioner had been fixed. He paid for it and arranged for one of the young mechanics to drive it to Sellers’ apartment after work.

  When he arrived home, there was no sign of the Lexus. Relieved, Sellers checked his mail, still hoping to find out something about his mother. There was nothing but junk mail, so he went inside, and lay down. He awoke later to pounding on his front door. The guy from the car dealership stood there, keys in hand.

  “I’ll run you back,” Sellers said. “Where to, man?” The Lexus wasn’t anywhere around. Maybe the guy had seen what he came for. His Firebird was parked several houses down. He would have to store the Cadillac again soon. He sure hated giving it up.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Sellers had paid the guy, dropped him at his car, and cruised down the seawall. He was half-tempted to go by Mary’s house just to see if he could catch a glimpse of Ginny, thinking it would creep her out a little, but decided not to risk it. If he did enough stuff, Ginny’s lawyer would be happy to get his ass thrown in jail. No, he’d wait and watch from a distance. Let her think she was safe. Let her get her own place. Let her relax and drop her guard. Then, wham.

  After buying some fried chicken, Sellers went home and settled on his couch with a beer, his sack of chicken, and the remote control. Except for the weird guy, he’d had a good day. He’d gotten his Firebird back. He had money waiting for him after the divorce. He still had enough money to get by for a while, even if he sent Ginny a couple of checks.

  After he finished eating, Sellers kicked back on the sofa and watched TV for a couple of hours. The summer sun had not set when he took out the garbage and spotted the Lexus parked way down the street like the guy didn’t think Alan could see that far.

  He felt jittery, like being called to the principal’s office in high school, except worse. What if it was the cops? Did they think they finally had something on him? But why didn’t they just come out and arrest him? Asshole.

  The car had a regular Texas license plate, not like a cop car. It could be a drug car, like the ones they confiscated in a bust, except what drug dealer would drive a Lexus, even a late model Lexus? Puke. That wasn’t their style.

  Finally, he decided not to put up with the man’s shit anymore. He would front him out once and for all. As soon as it got good and dark, he’d teach the creep a lesson. Every few minutes, he peeked through the kitchen blinds. After eleven o’clock, he flipped on the porch light, shuffled down the stairs so the guy had plenty of time to see him, and got into the Cadillac. Easing into the street, he headed for the seawall. He wanted to be sure to be far away from his apartment so Nurse Nosy wouldn’t call the landlord and try to get him evicted again.

  Cruising all the way up to the beachfront, he turned toward Cherry Hill, the easternmost point of the island. Sellers’ father had told him that during World War II the army had a fort there. Big guns had lined the insides of concrete bunkers along the seawall in case of a submarine invasion. In the fifties and sixties, so many kids had crashed into the bunkers while drag racing that the powers that be busted up the bunkers and pushed them over the side onto the beach.

  He sped up close to the end where people liked to watch the ships in the channel. The Lexus kept up with him. If the man knew the island at all, he had to know where Sellers was leading him.

  No cars were at the point. It was too late at night. Too dangerous.

  The Lexus followed. This time Sellers knew there was no mistake. He slowed. Eased to a stop. The Lexus pulled parallel to him. Sellers got out and dashed around to the driver’s side. The man opened his door and put a foot out just as Sellers approached. Sellers grabbed him by his shirt lapels and jerked him the rest of the way out, throwing him against the side of the car. The man was much taller, but years of working on the wharves had made Sellers stronger.

  He rammed his forearm across the man’s throat and held his fillet knife to the man’s jugular. “All right, Jerkoff, you’d better tell me what this is about and quick, or I’m going to make fish bait out of you.”

  The man didn’t try to defend himself. “I want to hire you to do a job for me.”

  A knot formed in Sellers’ stomach. He pressed the tip of the fillet knife into the man’s skin and stared into his eyes. “Just what kind of a job offer would require you to trail me around for two days?”

  The man’s jaw muscles flexed as he tried to swallow. “I want you to terminate my wife.”

  CHAPTE
R NINETEEN

  MARTIN

  “Martin, you and Mary treat me like a baby,” Ginny said, stomping to the sofa and throwing herself on it.

  Martin chuckled at the irritation in her voice. She still acted like such a baby sometimes. When he’d arrived, she’d been fixing her dinner before dressing for work. She wore a Minnie Mouse tee shirt and boxer shorts and nothing else. She could have passed for twelve, except for the slight bulge that caused her abdomen to pooch out.

  Over her protests, he was installing a deadbolt in the front door of her new apartment. “You are a baby as far as we’re concerned. We worry about your safety.”

  “What, about Alan? I told you. He doesn’t give a damn about me any more.” She crossed her arms and glared at her brother.

  “Fat chance,” Martin said, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I hope you don’t go out like that.”

  “Give me a break, will you? I’m in my own apartment getting ready to go to work. Do you want me to dress like a nun or something?” Ginny picked up her plate from the table and ate, standing over her brother as he worked. “You’re invading my privacy.”

  “Some people would say girls who dress like that are asking for it.”

  “First of all, that’s sexist. Secondly, it’s only a tee shirt and boxers. Get off it.” She stuffed a forkful of food into her mouth. “Anyway, the only place I’d wear this besides around here is if I had to run to the store or something. You know that. What’s the matter with you?”

  He brushed at the perspiration on his forehead. The apartment was getting hot, what with his having to hold the door open while he installed the lock. “You haven’t heard hide nor hair from Sellers?”