UNAWARE: A Suspense Novel

by Susan P. Baker

  “No, the radio’s been quiet. Don’t worry, if Ginny’s in Austin, they’ll find her.”

  Martin, being well the taller of the two, reached over the six-foot wooden gate to unhook it so they could get inside. It took a few moments to figure out the catch and, as they stood there, it began raining harder. Thunder rumbled out over the Gulf. Joe buttoned up his raincoat.

  When Martin forced the latch and opened the gate, each man flipped on his flashlight. Martin unstrapped his forty-five, just in case. He almost hoped they would find Sellers hiding in the bushes, though as angry and worried as Martin felt, he knew he might not be able to resist shooting him.

  They scoured the yard and the inside of the tool shed, finding no one. When they were through, they ran their lights around all the plants. The fullness of the oleander bushes made it difficult to be sure no one was hiding in them, so Martin stepped between them and the fence and pushed the branches aside, shining his flashlight in and out of the overgrown bushes.

  “I guess we can go now,” Joe said. “I think we’ve done a pretty thorough search.”

  Martin thought he heard a hint of gaiety in Joe’s voice and glanced at his partner to see whether he wore a smile. “It’s not funny, Morales,” he said.

  “Hey, I ain’t laughing. You see me laughing?” Morales turned away from Martin and strode toward the gate. “You did look like you thought you were clearing a path in a jungle, though,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Martin grimaced. He probably did look like a fool, but he didn’t care. “I hate to leave her unprotected. I know what Sellers is capable of.”

  “Husband’s not back in town yet?” They got into their car, Joe behind the wheel.

  There were so many dark clouds in the sky that the deep blue of their unit appeared black in the rain. “No. He’s due in late tonight.”

  Joe nodded and pulled out into the street.

  Martin stared back at her house. The hard knot in his stomach made him feel like he’d eaten lead. “I hope she’ll be okay. She’s alone with those two little kids.”

  “Stop worrying,” Joe said. “We just searched the place. If anyone was there, we would have found him.”

  “I know. I know. There wasn’t any evidence of his being around, but it just makes me uneasy to think of her being there alone.”

  Joe drove across Stewart Road and up the slope to Seawall Boulevard. “I think there’s more to this than you’re saying, Amigo.”

  “Shut up, Morales.” Martin stared out the window as they resumed their normal patrol route. He wasn’t about to admit he had feelings for a married woman.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  DENA

  Dena turned the lock behind Martin and hurried to the back of the house. She dead-bolted the garage door and pushed the button on the doorknob as well. After she checked the lock on the back door and mopped up the puddles of water left by Martin’s dripping raincoat, she looked in on the kids.

  She had been right from the beginning. Zack had thought she was crazy about Sellers, but she was right. It would be funny if it weren’t so horrible.

  In the den, Dena picked up their cookie and drink mess and took it to the kitchen. Never in her life had she sobered up so fast. Her head pounded. She was afraid to look out the kitchen window and into the backyard for fear of what she’d see.

  Forcing herself to peer out, she almost fainted when she saw two flashes of light in the yard. She knew it was Martin and his partner, just like she knew her body would be rushing with adrenaline all evening at the slightest sound, ordinary or not. God, she wished Zack would come home.

  Remembering the wooden dowels she had placed in every window’s track all those months before, Dena glanced at the bottom of the kitchen window. The dowel was still there.

  She hurried from room to room and checked each window’s track, more scared than the time the man had followed her home. All the dowels were in place. In the den, she peered through the plate-glass window’s long mini-blinds, just as the police cruiser drove away, leaving the street empty, the pavement glistening from the rain as the clouds parted and revealed a bright moon. She noticed the streetlight in front of her neighbor’s house across the street was not lit. Had it been out for days or… Dropping the blinds, she took the remote control and turned the news up very loud. She stared at the TV screen, not seeing, not hearing.

  Sometime after the news ended, Dena turned off the TV and walked around the house again. She rechecked all the doors and windows. She looked in on the children again. They were sleeping peacefully. She straightened the covers where they had become a bit mussed.

  “You can come home now, Zack,” she said aloud when she started putting out the lights. It wasn’t all that early. He could come home at any time.

  In an effort to distract herself, she turned on the television in their bedroom, making the volume loud. She tried reading, but she couldn’t process the words on the page. Her mind ran in several directions at once. Finally, she remembered the unopened envelope she had received from the private investigator that afternoon. That would give her something else to think about. She had tucked it carefully into her roller bag, away from prying eyes, and had been too distracted ever since to remember it.

  Retrieving her roller bag from the kitchen, Dena got down the box with her mother’s papers in it, too, and settled on the bed. The envelope was overstuffed. She didn’t know whether her hands shook because she would know in a few moments the details of her mother’s past, or because she was still afraid Alan Sellers was out there someplace planning to get her.

  After tearing off the flap, Dena pulled out a wad of legal papers and unfolded them under the bedside lamp. Adjusting her glasses, she read the first few words, her voice a loud whisper. As if they were electrified, the pages flew from her hands. A stabbing pain shot through her gut. “No,” she cried aloud. “It can’t be.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she rocked on the bed. At first dizzy, she felt like she floated above herself, like she was having an out-of-body experience.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  ALAN SELLERS

  He forced himself to be patient. Give her time. Martin would want to search the yard. Give him time to do that. If she hadn’t put the kids to bed, let her have time to do that. He kept telling himself it wouldn’t be that much longer.

  He liked the feeling of anticipation. She was afraid now. Martin had warned her. She probably had butterflies in her stomach. Her hands were probably shaking. Her knees, rubbery. That pleased him.

  When the sound of the deadbolt being thrown accosted his ears, he didn’t let it bother him. So what was one more obstacle? Look how far he’d come. It wouldn’t be that much longer. No deadbolt would keep him out.

  The kitchen lights went out, causing the small pool of light through the kitchen window to disappear. Almost complete blackness enveloped the garage. Time grew shorter. Let her try to relax. Take her shower. Put on her pajamas. Read one of those books he’d seen on her bedside table. Watch TV until she fell asleep.

  She would probably wake up when he burst through the door. That would be okay. She would be groggy. He would catch her off guard. Surprise her. He wanted her to be awake enough though. He wanted to be sure, before she died, that she knew he was the one cutting her throat. No one treated him like she had in the courtroom and got away with it. He wanted to be sure she knew.

  So, he could be patient. It wouldn’t be that much longer. And afterward, after Ginny, maybe after Martin, he’d take his vacation. He wouldn’t have to work again for a long, long while. It was worth being patient.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  DENA

  After several moments, Dena wiped her face on her sleeve and reread the pleadings. IN THE MATTER OF THE MARRIAGE OF ALAN SELLERS, SR. AND REBECCA LOWELL SELLERS, AND IN THE INTEREST OF ALAN SELLERS, JR., A MINOR CHILD. Her breath was shallow. Her chest ached. Her mind skittered in many directions like a lost and frig
htened small animal. It would take more than a few minutes before she could read further.

  After a while, she became aware of soft pattering of rain on her bedroom window. Her eyes burned, and she realized she must have been staring blankly, perhaps not blinking for some period of time. Her fingers still held the photocopied pages, some of the writing fainter in places and harder to make out, a testament to the age of the original documents. Drawing a deep breath, she thumbed through the papers. There was an Original Petition for Divorce, which included an affidavit and a request for a Temporary Restraining Order, the Temporary Restraining Order itself, the Temporary Orders after a hearing, an Inventory of Property, and a Final Decree of Divorce.

  She flipped to the second page and read about the child. It had to be the same person. Same age. Ginny’s husband was a junior. This baby was a junior.

  So Alan Sellers was her brother, her half-brother. Incredible as it seemed, she knew it to be true. There had always been something familiar about him. Not his demeanor. Certainly the man had been raised in a totally different environment and behaved erratically, not as someone from her own background would have. She hurried into the den and picked up the photograph of her mother, father, and herself. There was something in his face, his coloring, that was like her mother. She heaved a huge sigh as she walked back down the hall toward her bedroom. It was true.

  Her cell phone rang, and she flinched. She scrambled into the den to answer it, hoping it was Martin.

  “Dena, it’s Martin. We’ve found Ginny.”

  Dena sank down on the edge of the bed. “Is she all right?” Please, God, don’t have let Alan Sellers hurt her.

  “Yes,” Martin said. “You won’t believe what she did.”

  “Thank God,” Dena whispered. “Did she even go to Austin?” Pulling her legs under her, she suddenly felt tired and chilled. She covered up with the bedspread.

  “She decided she didn’t want the abortion, so she went to Austin, but she rented a car and drove out to the Hill Country to our cousin’s.”

  “Oh, no.” The baby. Dena had forgotten all about Ginny’s baby. If Sellers was her brother, the baby would be her niece or nephew. The whole scenario was too much to digest. All she could do was carry on the conversation like things were normal, but they weren’t and never would be now. She just wanted to turn out the light and go to sleep and not wake up for a long time. The Sellers case had been nothing but a nightmare from the start.

  “You still there?”

  “Yes. Why didn’t she call somebody? Let you or Mary know where she was?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t want to argue with us, I guess. We would have tried to talk her into going through with the abortion. My cousin, realizing we’d be worried, called Mary a little while ago. She had argued with Ginny and insisted we be told where she was, that we were probably scared half to death.”

  “No kidding.” Dena weighed whether she should tell Martin about her discovery and decided not to for the time being. It was late. She was tired. She wanted to finish reading all the paperwork herself and mull it over before she discussed it with anyone. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

  “Me, too,” Martin said. “I feel like an idiot for getting everyone all worked up.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “I guess I should have done more checking before I raised an alarm. I’m sorry I got you so upset.”

  “That’s okay. Listen, I’m going to go to bed now. I’m very tired.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could make up for it.”

  “It isn’t necessary. I’m going to take my shower and go to bed. Besides, Zack will be coming home anytime.”

  “Well ... call the station if you need me for anything.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’m exhausted and just want to get some sleep.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Thanks for calling.” Dena clicked off the phone and stretched out on the bed. She could crawl under the covers in a few minutes and actually close her eyes without worrying about living to see morning. The whole thing was so ridiculous. It was almost funny. Not that she felt like laughing. Unless with hysteria. It was like something from television. She still felt stunned that Alan Sellers was her brother, but at least he was just eccentric and not a murderer. She shivered. She’d worry about it all later, in the clear light of day. Zack would be home. She’d be rested. Totally sober. It would all work out. The papers went back into her roller bag. She zipped it up and dragged it next to her dresser.

  She laughed at herself for having been so terrified earlier. Picking up the remote control, she flipped channels until she found a talk show. What she needed was some comedy.

  She began thinking about Zack’s return. It seemed like ages since she’d seen him. They were going to have to sit down and have a big discussion about what to do with their lives. He hadn’t been happy either, she knew, and should be amenable to an uncontested divorce with liberal visitation with the kids. She wouldn’t ask him for child support. That should pacify him.

  She took a shower and pulled on her favorite nightgown. There was really no need to wait up for him. He had keys, and she was so tired, weary to her bones. She got under the covers and put out the light. No more reading that night.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  MARTIN

  Martin clicked off his cell.

  “What’d she say? Was she mad?”

  Martin shrugged at his partner as he brushed his hand through his hair. “She was all right about it. Kind of quiet, in fact. Me, I’d have been pissed. He looked through the rain-spotted window at the Gulf. The moonlight reflected off the small breakers, otherwise, the sky was pitch black over the water.

  “She sounds like a pretty cool lady,” Joe said. “I thought she’d cuss you out or something.”

  “Nah, she’s not the type. She’s first class. She said she just wanted to get some sleep. She’s tired.” He remembered how she’d looked when he’d been at her house. She’d been so frightened. He’d wanted to put his arms around her and pull her close. She was just a little thing, and even if she was a lawyer, she still needed protecting.

  “Hey, you know what?” Joe said, as they circled around a bar parking lot and drove back up to the seawall. “I could use a drink. Our shift will be over by the time we get back downtown. You want to get a beer after we get through?”

  “Yeah, sure. You pick the place.” Martin was pleased that Joe asked. Their relationship was on the mend. He had known things would get better if he went back on the street. He wasn’t ever riding that desk again. He didn’t care what the chief did to him. He glanced at Joe and then out at the street, all shiny and wet, reflecting the restaurant and hotel lights. He liked it when the weather caused the traffic to be slow.

  Martin thought of Dena again. She was a married woman. Why did the good ones have to be married? Her kids sure were cute. Paul had a cool car collection. Martin stroked his chin absent-mindedly and stared out at the water. If he had kids, he’d sit on the floor and play with them. He’d wrestle with his son. He’d read to them. Ride bicycles. Go to the beach. He wouldn’t go off traveling the world like Dena’s husband did. He’d never leave them alone that much. Dena. He liked her name. Not that it would get him anywhere. He sighed and rubbed his neck. He would just have to try to find someone as likable as she was.

  “Great. Just a beer would be fine with me,” Joe said.

  Joe’s words startled Martin momentarily, bringing him back to the present. “You know what scares the hell out of me?”

  “What?”

  “If I’d found Sellers, I probably would have killed him.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  DENA

  Dena dozed for a few minutes, and then awoke abruptly. She plumped up her pillow. She turned off the TV and hunkered down.

  She dozed again, and when her head rolled off to the side, she awoke again. All the excitement of the evening must be too
much for her brain. She stared at the ceiling in the dark. The room was silent, but for the raindrops on the glass and a gust of wind trying to get through the crack of the windowsill. She laid her head upon her pillow, ready to accept sleep.

  She drifted off and began to dream. She was falling and couldn’t stop. She tried to grab something, anything, to save herself, but as she reached out, nothing was there. She was in a void. It was dark. There was no one to help her. She flailed her arms.

  Turning over, she awakened, bolting up to a sitting position. She reached out to Zack’s side of the bed. It was still empty. She looked at the glowing numerals on the clock. She had only been asleep a few minutes. What had awakened her? The dream? She must have rolled over.

  Settling back down, she pulled the comforter around her. Zack really should be home any minute. She listened for his car, tuning into the sounds of the night. The refrigerator whirred when it cut on. Raindrops pinged on the windows. The neighbor’s dog barked. The kitchen doorknob rattled.

  Zack. Dena flipped on her bedside lamp and bounded out of bed. She’d be nice and let him in. She ran across the soft bedroom carpet, flinging open the door and running through the dark into the kitchen. She heard the doorknob again. Was he having trouble with his key?

  “Zack.” She grabbed the doorknob and yanked, but the door wouldn’t budge. Damn. She forgot she’d dead-bolted it. Locked it from the inside. The kitchen being pitch black made it impossible to see his face in the window. “It’s the upper lock, Zack,” she said, as she flipped on the light and found herself face-to-face with Alan Sellers. Her vision was blurry without her glasses, but it was him.

  His nose and cheek pressed up against the glass. His right hand, wrapped around a pointy knife, pushed up against the window. His hazel eyes penetrated hers.