UNAWARE: A Suspense Novel

by Susan P. Baker

  “I heard him. Yuck.” Dena felt some trepidation at the thought of being alone with him even in her private office.

  “He’s kind of creepy. Hurry up, and let’s get him out of here.”

  “I’m ready. Tell him to come in.” She pulled her shoulders back, putting on a brave front while wishing Lucas wasn’t out of the office. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll be all right. Be sure to leave the door open.”

  “Where’s your cousin when we need him?”

  “Just get Sellers in here. I don’t want him to get impatient and leave.”

  Meredith opened the door and said, “Mrs. Armstrong will see you now.”

  Sellers carried a magazine into Dena’s office and tossed it onto one client chair and sat in the other. His dirty blond locks had fallen over his forehead, partly covering his eyes. He brushed at his hair with his fingers.

  “Hey, Dena,” he said.

  “Hello, Mr. Sellers,” she said. “This shouldn’t take long.” She forced herself to smile. He looked harmless enough. For a moment, she was skeptical again about everything Ginny’s family had said. Still, he seemed to radiate some negative energy.

  “I saw Ginny and Martin as I drove up. Almost hit them with my daddy’s white Caddy,” he said, as if to impress her.

  “I didn’t know you had a Cadillac, Mr. Sellers. Is it something we should put into the decree?”

  He stiffened. “Why would you do that?” He scooted up to the edge of the chair.

  “It’s yours, isn’t it? Your father is deceased I understand?”

  “Yeah. So it’s not in this here paperwork?”

  “No. But give me a moment, and I’ll write it in next to your Firebird.” She flipped the decree back to that page. “Year and model? And do you have the VIN number?”

  “Yeah. Hang on a minute.” Sellers thumbed through his wallet.

  If Martin and Ginny had seen him, had they spoken? She wouldn’t ask him. It didn’t really matter. She honestly felt relatively calm around him. No longer afraid as she had been shortly after that courtroom episode.

  He handed her the cards with the data on them. When she was through interlineating the information, she handed the decree to him. “For you to read over.”

  He glanced at the top page. “No, that’s okay. I trust you to put all the right stuff in it.” His sigh sounded melodramatic. “You got a pen?”

  “I can’t let you sign it without going over it with you if you aren’t going to read it.”

  “Mrs. Armstrong, I just want to get this over with,” he said, his eyes moving around her office, taking everything in.

  Dena’s stomach got a strange feeling in it. She reminded herself again of who he was and what he’d done. She looked back into his eyes and found herself feeling sorry for him. There was something about him. She explained what she felt her obligations were. “I understand how you must feel, Mr. Sellers,” she said as she watched him, “but even though I’m not your lawyer, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to let you sign something when you don’t know what it says. It’ll only take a few minutes for me to go over these pages.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He stared at her, his eyes unwavering.

  “Thank you.” She picked up one of the copies, wanting to get through as quickly as possible. She dreaded coming to the part where she would have to tell him about the permanent injunction. What if he wanted to argue about it? Most men would hotly contest it.

  She started with the first paragraph, reading through each portion and stopping to explain what it meant in layman’s terms. She went through it page by page, explaining the terminology and all the things the injunction prohibited him from doing. She glanced at him as she read the part that said he was permanently enjoined from intentionally, knowingly, or recklessly coming into contact with Ginny. He didn’t so much as glance back at her.

  She read through the part about his being enjoined from calling her, or threatening her, or calling or threatening her family. Her eyes went to his face again. He was still staring down at the typed pages.

  She finished reading and explaining the terms, and he never interrupted her. When she looked up again, he was watching her.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Ma’am. Do you have a pen?”

  Dena handed him a pen and watched while he signed his name. He handed the original to her. She gave him a copy.

  “If you wait about two weeks, you can get a certified copy at the district clerk’s office. I appreciate your being so cooperative in signing this, Mr. Sellers, and coming over here today on such short notice.” Dena stood.

  “That’s okay, Dena. The sooner the better,” he replied, standing up also.

  “Yes, I guess so, if you’ve got plans with another woman.” Dena forced a smile. “I’ll be sure and ask the judge to waive that thirty-day waiting period.” She reached out to him to shake hands, even though she cringed inwardly at the thought. “Good luck to you,” she said.

  Sellers took her hand, and he smiled, too. “Thank you. I’ll need it,” he said. “Is that it?”

  “Yes.” She pulled her hand away and walked him to the door.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” he said over his shoulder as he went out.

  Dena watched his back as he departed. She closed the door, and when she turned back, Meredith was holding out a bottle of hand sanitizer. She squeezed a large dollop into Dena’s hand.

  Dena might not have liked his limp, fishy handshake, but clearly the man was perfectly harmless. She made a silent vow never to get so worked up over a case again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ALAN SELLERS

  Early Friday morning, Sellers sat in his father’s Cadillac in the front parking lot, as far from the county Justice Center’s main entrance as he could get. He had arrived early so he could get a parking space where he could see everyone coming and going. He focused his binoculars on the entrance until Ginny arrived and then on the exit until she left.

  He’d packed some sandwiches, cookies, water, and sodas in a throw-away cooler he picked up at the grocery store. He was prepared for everything except taking a piss. For that, he’d have to leave. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but he had drunk a Coke as soon as he arrived so he knew it would.

  As if in response to his thoughts, Ginny came out, alone, and hurried to her car. He could barely make out the smile on her face. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, prepared to tail her. He knew he could hold it now.

  She pulled out into traffic on Broadway and, to his surprise, she drove toward the Causeway. All the way across the Causeway Bridge, he tailed his now ex-wife, staying so far back that at times he could hardly make out her car. Interstate Forty-five was always busy, crowded with cars and trucks, many of them driving over the speed limit. Adjusting the radio, he settled back behind the wheel and sang along with the music on a Houston country station. He felt good, the air-conditioning in the car had revived him, and his plan was progressing on schedule. What else could he want? Just after they entered Harris County, he caught sight of Ginny taking the Baybrook Mall exit. She must be working retail again.

  He stopped at the first gas station he could find near the mall and relieved himself. Zipping up, he wiped his hands on his khakis and got back in the Caddy, driving to the part of the lot Ginny used to park in. Her car was already there. He drove past and found a tree to park under on the edge of the parking lot and prepared to spend the day.

  A little past six o’clock, she came out. Again he followed her, this time, to an apartment complex on Bay Area Boulevard.

  At first, he stayed in the car, studying the apartment layout and planning his next move. There were several multistoried building units. Parking was below the apartments in numbered spaces. He wanted to wait until it got dark and then slip unseen into her apartment. After a while, he walked around the complex, checking it out.

  All of
the apartments on each level opened out onto one long balcony with an overhang to shield the tenants from the weather. There were no private entrances, though each apartment had its own small balcony on the opposite side, most likely, he figured, off the bedroom. A sliding glass door led out to the balcony.

  After his walk-through, Sellers knew where to park to be in view of Ginny’s apartment and still be close enough to get out quickly. He moved the car to the spot he’d picked out and sat watching and figuring he could get up to her balcony. Once up there, he would pop the lock with his pocketknife.

  Waiting for the dark of night and for traffic to slow down before he left the car, he spent the next two hours observing the residents. He had known it would be like this, but it was hard to be patient. He had an urge to run up the stairs, barge in, and get it over with. As he watched, a man approached her door and knocked. Ginny answered the door, swinging it wide to let the man enter. The man kissed her. Sellers didn’t recognize him. He slammed his palm on the steering wheel.

  Bitch. She didn’t even wait until the ink was dry. Damn her. How many men had she screwed since she moved out? He gripped the edge of the front seat, the veins standing out on his forehead as he struggled for control.

  Several hours passed. He squirmed around in the car, trying to get comfortable. The apartment lights finally went out and stayed out. He held his head in his hands. His anger had given him a headache, the pounding incessant. He must overcome it. He had to let the anger go. He needed another plan.

  Finally, he made up his mind. He’d frame the boyfriend. He set his watch alarm for six the next morning and relieved himself at a gas station one last time. He picked up a hamburger and a single beer on the way back. He would stay and wait. When the man came out, no matter what time, he would go in, and that man’s fingerprints, not his, would be found all over the place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  DENA

  Groggy with sleep, Dena groped across the bed, but Zack wasn’t there. It was Saturday, and he was gone. She scooted over to his side of the bed and buried her face in his pillow, breathing deeply through her nose, trying to hold on to him by his scent on the bedclothes. Her thoughts went to the previous morning when they had said goodbye and to what they had done the night before that.

  She had been awakened Friday morning by his repeatedly calling her name. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she pulled the covers around her naked body and tried to turn over. He stopped her with a kiss on the forehead. Peeking through one eyelid, she had focused on him sitting fully clothed on the edge of the bed. He leaned over her and looked into her face. She had the feeling he’d been there for some time. It was still dark outside. The hall light cast shadows in the room.

  “I have to leave now,” he’d whispered. His breath smelled of coffee.

  She stared at him, memorizing the lines in his face, remembering the lovemaking of the night before, embarrassed at having engaged in it.

  “I hated to wake you up,” he said. “You were sleeping so peacefully. I just wanted to tell you goodbye.”

  Dena pulled her arms out from under the covers and reached for him, pulling him down to her. She held him for a few moments before he drew back and kissed her gently on the mouth.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “It’s still early, so you don’t have to get up yet. I’ll lower the garage door when I go out.” He cupped her cheek in his large hand. The muscles in his jaws flexed. His nostrils flared. “Farewell, my sleepyhead.”

  “I love you, Zachary Armstrong,” she had murmured. And she wondered why she had said that. They’d had sex, sure. But did that mean they were still in love?

  “You’re going to have to let go of me so I can leave.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Dena said. She couldn’t have explained it, but a hint of sadness had crept into her soul.

  “I know you don’t.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “Let go. I have to leave now.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Dena pulled herself up and hugged him close to her, feeling his freshly shaved cheek against hers.

  “Kiss the kids for me,” he whispered.

  “I will.” She touched his cheek one last time.

  “You go back to sleep.”

  “Okay.” Dena lay down on the pillow, watching him through her eyelashes as he stood up. “‘Bye.”

  Her eyes had followed him as he went through the bedroom door and pulled it closed. She smoothed the covers around her again. In the early years, every time he went someplace, she’d had a feeling deep down that she might not ever see him again, that something unknown would prevent him from returning. That feeling had faded over the years, until recently she couldn’t wait for him to be gone. But then lately…. As she lay there, she heard car noises in the garage. Then he was gone.

  Now, rolling onto her side, she turned her thoughts to other things. What could she do with the children all weekend? She could bake their favorite cookies and play games with them. After they were in bed, she could catch up on her emails.

  She kept telling herself to go back to sleep, but it was no use. She had looked at the clock. It was seven. Paul would be up and at the cartoons any minute. Her mind started working on the day’s schedule. She thought of all the things in store for her, things she had to do that day or the next. Why had she looked at the time?

  She rolled over the other way, trying to sleep, thinking of pleasant things. Like Christmas morning when she was a child. Like weddings. Like the births of the children. Like how good the sex had been.

  She thought of Ginny Sellers, oops ... Richardson. Ginny would be on her way to get her abortion in a few minutes. She had felt sorry for the girl, but it was probably for the best. This way Ginny could start a whole new life. It had been a difficult decision, but it had been her own decision.

  Ginny had positively glowed when they’d met at the courthouse. After the judge pronounced her divorced, she had hugged Dena long and hard. They’d stopped on the first floor for a few minutes for soft drinks before Ginny pressed a check for the balance due into Dena’s hand, thanking her profusely, and left to go to work.

  Now, Dena yawned and stretched. She heard little footsteps in the hall and then the TV came on. Time to be Mommy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ALAN SELLERS

  The electronic beeping of his cell phone dragged him out of the deep sleep he was enjoying in the back seat of the Cadillac. When he switched off the alarm, he remembered where he was. The time had come for an accounting. The man his wife had slept with should be leaving any time.

  He sat up in the car to resume his vigil. The urge to urinate was unbearable. The sky had not yet grown bright, so he got out on the passenger side and, shielded from view by the dimness, urinated into the ditch by the side of the road. As he started to climb back into the car and take up his surveillance again, the lights came on in Ginny’s apartment.

  Grabbing his fillet knife from the back shelf of the car, he slipped it and his wallet into his rear pockets. He put his keys, pocketknife, and change into his front pockets. Now, he was ready. After crossing the street, he walked to the rear of Ginny’s building where he could see her car and the stairs that led down from her floor.

  He didn’t know which car was her boyfriend’s. He hid behind the dumpster and waited. It stank like what it was, but at least he could see the guest parking area. He was ready to climb up as soon as the man drove away.

  Seven o’clock approached. He touched his front pants pocket, feeling for his pocketknife. Checked his back pocket again. The fillet knife was in place. He crouched down and watched the stairs and the parking lot, hoping that someone glancing from a window wouldn’t notice him.

  His chest grew tight. His stomach knotted up. He swallowed several times. He wished he had drunk something be
fore he crossed the street. Something to eat would be great, too. But that could wait. After he did Ginny, he would get one of those breakfast specials like at Denny’s with pancakes, sausage, two scrambled eggs, and orange juice. Later, he would sack out at home and sleep all day.

  He was having a hard time waiting. A muscle jumped in his leg. His hands shook. Remembering the man upstairs, he grew angry for a moment. And calmed himself with inner talk. They better have enjoyed themselves. It was their last time together.

  Footsteps and voices came from upstairs. The man shuffled down the stairs. The time had come. He lugged a small suitcase. Wait…Ginny came down behind him. She held her overnight bag. Had the man been living there?

  He stayed where he was and watched. The man walked Ginny to her car. She opened the trunk. He put the suitcase inside, then the overnight bag. Were they going off someplace together? Sellers’ vision blurred momentarily. He wanted to run at them. He wanted to scream at both of them to stop. If he’d had a gun, he’d have shot them dead where they stood. But he didn’t have a gun. He hadn’t prepared for this. He could do nothing but watch.

  They went around to the driver’s side of her car. The car beeped and Ginny opened the door. The man put his arms around her and kissed her. She hugged him and got into the car.

  The man walked backwards a few steps before turning and walking to his own car. Ginny started up and backed out. The man started his car and followed Ginny into the street. Ginny turned to the right. So did the man.

  Running across to the Cadillac, Sellers hopped in, started it, and pulled a quick U-turn to go after them. They weren’t getting away from him that easily. A block down the road, the man turned off. Sellers floored the accelerator and sped after Ginny. He didn’t know where she was going, but wherever it was, he’d catch her alone, and that would be it.

  She pulled out onto Interstate Forty-five North. He followed. After ten minutes, fifteen, in weekend traffic, which wasn’t as bad as weekday traffic, Ginny exited onto Airport Boulevard in Houston. A hand gripped Alan’s insides and twisted his stomach. He followed her as she drove down the feeder road and as she turned left onto Airport. When she turned right into a long term parking lot, he continued on his way. Bitch! His head grew hot and throbbed. He hammered the steering wheel, knowing he’d made a useless trip. A shuttle would pick her up and drop her at the curb at Hobby Airport. There would be totally no way to get at her without getting caught.