And Dennis had access to his grandmother’s key.
With that new realization, a sickening lump formed in her gut. Dennis had used the key to let himself in. He had watched her while she slept, left notes and taken her things. Mrs. Johnson would be crushed.
She turned to tell Chris what she found, but the words stuck in her throat. He was bent over the sketch pad, now open, and glanced up at her. Deep furrows marked the space between his brows, and fear filled that dark gaze. Dread trickled over her, a thick black ooze that held her immobile. What could possibly be in the notebook to put that look on his face?
“Chris?”
He flipped back to the first page, and she prodded herself forward to look at what was there. Her own face stared back at her, and she had a sudden sense of having stepped into an alternate reality. The sketch was done in charcoal, perfect in every detail, each contour of her face, every wave of her hair. If Dennis hoped to be a successful artist someday, his dreams were well within reach.
She glanced up at Chris. “Dennis is an artist. And until two days before you moved in, he lived in the garage apartment. His grandmother is the only person who has a key besides the Tylers and me. So everything points to him.” Somehow, that was much less terrifying than thinking Eugene had found her. But she couldn’t let down her guard. Dennis was crazy—the notes proved that—and possibly dangerous. A new thought added to the dread already swirling inside her. “He could walk in on us, and we’d be trapped.”
He put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. Warmth radiated from him, chasing away some of the chill that had seeped into her bones the moment she entered the stall.
“It’s okay,” he promised, his voice soothing. “Before coming to get you, I checked to make sure no one was hiding. I found tire tracks on the other side of your back fence. Someone’s been coming off the main road outside of town and cutting through the field behind your place. That’s why no one’s seen anything. But we’ll hear him if he comes back.”
Chris was right. With Dennis’s souped-up muscle car, stealth would be impossible. She angled the beam of the flashlight on the pad and slowly turned the pages. Each bore a sketch of her, depicted from various angles, all from the shoulders up. Then there was one of her weeding her garden and another of her walking up the front sidewalk.
As she studied the next series of pictures, bile rose in her throat. She was lying in bed, sound asleep—on her right side, on her left, on her back, comforter pulled to her chin, then thrown down around her waist. An image settled in her mind—Dennis standing next to her bed, eyes raking over her while she slept. She brushed a palm down each arm, longing to wash away the remnants of his lewd gaze, all the while knowing twenty hot showers wouldn’t change the way she felt.
“If I ever get my hands on this creep...” Chris pulled her closer still, holding her as if he would never let go.
She turned another page. This sketch was different from the others. Instead of being alone, she was joined by a man. As before, every detail was perfect. But that was where reality ended.
The man wore a tunic covered in fancy embroidery and beadwork and fitted trousers that disappeared into knee-high boots. A leather mask covered the upper half of his face, and mildly unkempt locks fell past his shoulders, long but amazingly masculine.
Her clothing was just as out of place. A simple gown flowed around her ankles, molded tightly over her hips by an embroidered and beaded belt that complemented his tunic. The rib-crushing, low-cut bodice was also elaborately decorated, its primary purpose to force a good portion of her bosom above the gathered edge of the gown’s plunging neckline. They stood holding hands, their backdrop a field of wildflowers and a distant castle.
The other sketches were equally bizarre. She was depicted with the same mystery man, sharing a drink from what looked like a gold chalice, eating at a long, wooden table heavily laden with food, dancing under a starlit sky. The settings were rich, the costumes elaborate—a lord and his lady.
Then the tone changed from opulent and festive to simple and serious. They were both barefoot, their clothing unadorned. Her simple, thin gown billowed about her legs, and a wreath of flowers encircled her head. A common thread ran through these final pages—adoration, sincerity and reverence, all captured in charcoal. Each sketch depicted a different part of the same somber ceremony, ending with the two of them in waist-deep water, hands joined.
Melissa closed the back cover and hauled in a shaky breath. Except for the first few pages, the entire book was a bizarre fantasy right out of the imagination of a madman.
And she had won the leading role.
“Do you recognize the man in the sketches?”
Melissa sighed. “With just a mouth and chin to go on, I’m afraid I don’t. It could be anybody.”
“What about the hair? Do you know any men with hair like that?”
She gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, Mel Gibson in Braveheart. But I don’t think Dennis is going for realism here. The long hair is just part of the fantasy, along with the creative costumes.”
Chris dropped his arm from her shoulders. “Tommy and Branch just left, but we’ll call them back. The sooner they pick up this Dennis character, the better I’ll feel.”
She nodded and followed him toward the house, an odd sense of relief filling her chest. She was still in danger. Her stalker hadn’t been caught, and not only was he watching her and leaving notes, but he was bold enough to come inside while she slept, which made him even more dangerous. But she finally knew she wasn’t crazy. And soon the entire Harmony Grove Police Department would, too.
“You know,” she began once they were inside, “the night of the storm when I thought I saw someone standing in my doorway, I bet it was Dennis. This also explains why I kept finding Smudge under the bed. Animals sense things, and I think Dennis really freaked him out.”
“Smart cat.”
“And,” she added, “the gloves explain why there were never any prints.”
“Hopefully he wasn’t so careful in the stable.”
Chris was right. Without prints, there wouldn’t be enough evidence to hold him.
A few minutes later, Tommy stood on her porch. He was alone. Branch had evidently decided to stay at the station. “Did you find something?”
“We did,” she answered. “And we’re pretty sure we know who’s behind all this.” She took a deep breath, then hesitated. What if she was wrong? What if it wasn’t Dennis?
But it had to be.
She led him down the walk and around the end of the house. All the proof she needed was in the stable. The mystery was solved. Within days it would be over. The cops would have their man. And she had no doubt it was the right one. He had access to the key. He wanted to move in. He was an artist. There was no one else it could be.
So why the nagging suspicion that she was making a terrible, terrible mistake?
* * *
Chris sat up slowly and twisted side to side, trying to work the stiffness out of his back, while Smudge watched from an adjacent upholstered chair. The antique damask sofa looked quaint and rich. But it made a lousy bed. The only reason he had chosen it was its proximity to the front door.
He had gotten Missy to safety, left her his Blazer, then returned in her car after dark. And all night long, he waited, gun lying on the coffee table next to him and ears tuned for the slightest sound, even while he dozed. He was hoping Dennis would come back and use the front door, as he had the previous night. Now he understood the amazing disappearing act—Dennis had used his grandmother’s key to slip into the house, then locked the door behind him.
And all the while, Missy had slept inside, so sure, since the doors and windows were locked, that she was safe. And he’d trudged back to the garage apartment and gone to bed, unknowingly leaving her in the worst possible danger. He hadn’t stopped kic
king himself since.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, and the cat jumped down to make several passes against his shins. “Well, good morning, Smudge. I hope you slept better than I did.”
Smudge meowed a response, then pranced toward the kitchen with several glances back. The cat clearly expected him to follow.
“I know, I know, it’s breakfast time.”
Missy had made him promise to take good care of her cat. And he didn’t mind a bit. Letting her stay in the house was out of the question, and he didn’t want her running away. So he had convinced her to stay with BethAnn and Kevin. The prior afternoon, they moved her computer and a few pieces of clothing and personal items. If Dennis wasn’t picked up soon, they would have to go back for more.
As soon as he had Smudge fed and watered, he placed a call to Melissa. Judging from the lively lilt to her voice, she had been up for a while.
“Any sign of Dennis?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not. I was so ready for him to use his key and come on in. But he never showed. Maybe he saw me drive up and knew it was me instead of you, even though it was your car sitting in the driveway.”
A sigh came through the phone, heavy with disappointment, and he couldn’t help but feel he had let her down.
“I’m going to get this guy, Missy. Just give me time.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere. At least for the time being.” She drew in a deep breath. “How’s Smudge?”
“In the kitchen, smacking happily.”
“Good.” There was a smile in her tone. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.”
“I’m happy to do it. So what’s on your agenda for today?”
“Transcription.”
“You’re staying home?”
“Yep, chained to the computer all day long.”
Uneasiness stirred in his chest. “Is someone going to be with you?”
“No. BethAnn’s leaving for her store in a few minutes, and Kevin’s already gone.”
The uneasiness intensified. “You shouldn’t stay home alone. I’d stay with you myself, but Sam has classes and Derrick is still on his honeymoon. Karen’s too new to leave her alone.”
“Chris, I don’t need a babysitter. As soon as BethAnn leaves, I’ll lock myself in. Dennis doesn’t have access to BethAnn’s key.”
He nodded slowly. BethAnn’s house was safer than the Tyler place. But it was still Harmony Grove. And she was still alone. “How about if you hang out at my place today instead?”
“I can’t. I’m not going to waste a whole day of transcription time. After quitting with no notice yesterday, I’m just thankful I still have a job. Fortunately, I have an understanding boss.”
“Well, if they haven’t picked up Dennis by tonight, I’d like to move you to my dad’s place. Dennis won’t look for you in Lakeland.”
A long span passed in silence. Finally she sighed. “All right. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do it. And I’ll keep my phone by the computer. Anytime you’re worried about me, you can call me.”
“If I called you every time I worried about you, it wouldn’t be worth hanging up.”
“You’ve got a point there.” The smile was back. “Maybe that isn’t such a good plan, since we both hope to get something accomplished today.”
SIXTEEN
Melissa popped a bite of scrambled egg into her mouth and turned on her computer. Days like this were welcome—several hours of uninterrupted time to get caught up on transcription. Well, uninterrupted except for frequent calls from Chris. But that was all right. Finally, for the first time in weeks, there was hope—a sliver of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
She pushed aside her now empty plate, ready to tackle the day’s tasks. Within moments, the whine of a distant siren hauled her mind away from the words on the screen. It screamed closer, then abruptly ceased, leaving a silence as jarring as the piercing wail had been. Moments later, a second emergency vehicle approached.
As she leaned toward the monitor, comparing the transcribed sentences on the left with the steno shorthand on the right, apprehension nibbled at the edges of her mind. She scrolled through another page, cleaning up an occasional sloppy stroke and adding missed punctuation. Her anxiety intensified. The eggs and biscuits that had tasted so good lay heavy in her gut, a doughy lump.
A third wail pierced the early-morning stillness, and she glanced at her watch. The sirens probably had nothing to do with Chris, but she couldn’t shake the uneasiness. Twenty minutes earlier, he had stopped to leave her car and pick up his Blazer. He should be almost to work by now.
She pushed herself away from the computer and picked up the phone. Chris would tease her, but so be it. He had done plenty of worrying himself in recent weeks.
Four rings later, his phone went to voice mail. Her stomach tightened into a solid knot. Why wasn’t he answering? She walked out of BethAnn’s office and stared at the front door, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She had promised Chris she wouldn’t leave the house. But she had to do something.
She hesitated only a moment longer, then grabbed her purse and dashed out the door. The activity helped hold the anxiety at bay. But the reprieve didn’t last long. When she turned to head out of town, the road ahead disappeared under a halo of flashing red and blue. Apprehension descended on her again, this time with a vengeance. She jammed the accelerator to the floor.
Dear God, please don’t let it be Chris.
A block from the intersection, a sheriff’s vehicle sat diagonally in the road. The premonition grew stronger as she braked to a stop. Beyond the cruiser, a dump truck carrying a full load of sand sat at an odd angle. Its buckled hood and mangled front grille glinted in the early-morning sunlight. An ambulance and fire truck waited nearby, lights strobing their disturbing rhythm. Where was the other vehicle?
The deputy stopped her the moment she stepped from the car. “Ma’am, you need to turn around.”
“What did the truck hit?” She had to know.
“Ma’am, you need to leave.” The firmness in his tone carried a warning.
She glanced around, looking for Alan or Tommy. At this point, even Chief Branch would do. But the only other law enforcement vehicle at the scene was another sheriff car. Of course, this was outside city limits. Harmony Grove police wouldn’t have been called.
She turned her attention back to the deputy. “Please. My friend just came this way.”
He looked her over, and the stern lines of his face seemed to soften. “The other vehicle was a black Blazer.”
Her uneasiness was replaced by full-blown panic. She raced around the deputy and his parked car, covering the last block at a run. When she rounded the front of the ambulance, her knees buckled. The driver’s side had taken the full impact. The front quarter panel and both doors were a mangled mass of metal. The windshield was shattered, and the glass that had made up the side windows was completely gone. Two bumper stickers proclaimed, Fun Begins at Jamison Marine, and Gold’s Gym, personalizing the vehicle as effectively as a vanity plate.
Dear God, please let him be all right.
She rushed forward, heart pounding in her chest, then stopped dead as all the strength drained from her limbs. Chris was slumped against the seat belt, unconscious. Several rivulets of blood had traced sticky paths down his face and onto his shirt, and a large plastic brace encircled his neck. One paramedic was on his knees in the front passenger seat, working to extricate him, while a second waited at the open passenger door.
“Chris,” she whispered, and reached out to touch his cheek.
The paramedic inside the truck stopped her. “Stand back, ma’am.”
She withdrew her hand and pressed it to her mouth. As they pulled him across the seat and lowered him onto a spine board, tears welled up, and regr
et pressed down on her. She had been so concerned with protecting her heart she had never told him how she felt. God, please give us another chance.
“Is he going to be okay?”
Two paramedics hoisted the board while a third opened the ambulance doors. “We’re taking him to Lakeland Regional. They’ll be able to answer your questions there.”
As she watched them drive away, lights flashing and sirens wailing, hot tears pushed their way forward and pooled on her lashes. One escaped to trace a wet path down her cheek, and she swiped it away. This wasn’t the time to break down. Since she wouldn’t be allowed to see him for a while, maybe she could get some answers.
A sheriff’s deputy and another gentleman stood nearby, the deputy making notes on his pad while the other man talked. When they seemed to be finished, she approached them.
“My friend was driving the Blazer. Can you tell me what happened?”
The man’s face crumpled, and distress crept into his warm brown eyes. The embroidered patch over his left shirt pocket matched the name on the truck. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop, but there wasn’t time.”
“What happened? Did he pull out in front of you?”
“No, he ran right through the stop sign, never slowed down.” The truck driver shook his head, anguish etched into the lines of his face. “All of a sudden he was there in front of me. A fraction of a second later, I hit him.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he talked, gesturing awkwardly. “I hardly even had time to go for the brake.”
“He drove through the stop sign?”
“He did. Never even slowed down.”
That didn’t make sense. Chris would have turned left to go to work. Had he lied about where he was going? She thanked the deputy and truck driver and hiked back to her car. The rest of her questions would have to be answered by Chris.
Midnight Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 16