The chain tightened around his throat. A groan rumbled inside. He choked it down like a dog with his tail tucked.
So much for not getting involved.
Ed pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Without another thought, he put in Alicia’s number.
CHAPTER 16
KYLE OPENED THE CARD, read the first part, and slammed it to the floor. How dare he?
He popped the top on a can of beer and tipped it back. In a matter of minutes, he could swallow without wanting to throw up.
Enough already. Kyle had moved on.
Life sucked.
He toed the nice little family scene on the front of the card until it was smeared with mud from his boot. The Holy Family. One more joke, one more hoax, one more lie from his dad.
He remembered the beautiful picture he’d colored in Sunday school when he was eight, right after his dad came back from Desert Storm. Joseph, Mary, and Jesus. His dad had framed it. Told him what a great job he’d done.
That summer, they’d fished like always on the bay. But something was different. His dad acted funny. He and Mom fought nonstop and Dad had started drinking. And not a friendly beer with his buddies. He drank hard. Angry all the time. Even at Kyle, who hadn’t done a thing.
The guy was dirt. He didn’t deserve Kyle’s time. Thank goodness he was gone.
He picked up the card and tore it into pieces.
There was no time to worry about the card or an absentee father.
He made the call to Buffy, the nurse’s aide he’d befriended while in uniform. Man, that worked with the ladies, just like Jeff had told him.
“Rochelle should be discharged early in the morning. It’s so nice of you to be concerned, Officer. Do I call you Officer, or is it all right if I call you Craig?”
“I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but you can call me Craig. Don’t forget, I plan to surprise her.”
“I’d never tell, Craig.”
He’d follow Rochelle home. Find out exactly where she lived. Then the fun could start. She’d worry each time she left her house. Maybe a holiday surprise.
“And hey, look your prettiest Friday night when I stop by.”
He pictured Buffy giggling.
But he had to laugh, himself, thinking of her sitting home waiting Friday night.
“I bought a new dress and everything. Sure hope Ms. Cassidy appreciates the lengths you’ve gone to for her.”
CHAPTER 17
DECEMBER 24TH
ROCHELLE POURED THE LAST creamy drops from the carton and topped the glass with fresh nutmeg. Nothing like icy, cold eggnog all by yourself. She eyed the scrawny tree in the corner. Which made her more pathetic, eggnog alone or the last tree on the lot?
Eyes misting, she bit into another of the fresh gingersnaps. Stella had baked a tin for each person at the station. The girl had no idea what this kindness had meant.
Mmmm … like her mother used to make. Her mother. She drank from the glass and memories like Christmas ribbons tied her head in knots. If only they hadn’t gone out. If only. If only … Why? Why had she been spared? Didn’t God want her, too? She’d been the only one to identify her family. That horror lived with her every single day.
She plopped the rest of the gingersnap back into the tin.
No one to call, and it was all her own doing. Donna and John had invited her over to watch Cody open her gift to him, but she’d begged off. Since her family had died, Christmas had taken second place to nearly everything. The less she celebrated, the better.
Besides, Donna would have used it as an excuse to have Ed at their home. More matchmaking.
Ed had called earlier in the day, and his voice, deep and self-assured, had nearly done her in. “I have an entire evening to myself after Cody opens his gifts. Would you like to get together for a spiked eggnog?”
“I don’t drink.”
“That’s too bad. Maybe a regular eggnog. And sugar cookies? I’ll raid Donna’s stash. She makes great sugar cookies.”
She’d have loved nothing more, but the thought of his reputation had her guard up. In her dreams, she’d imagined herself curled into those warm, protective arms. Then just as quickly, she imagined Red smoothing the drop of blood from his lip, wrapped in his arms, winking at Rochelle with a knowing smile.
“Not a good idea, Ed. Now that I’m back and feeling better, you need to get on with your life. You have many other friends and all. You won’t be lonely for long. Merry Christmas.”
“And to you, too. But one thing, Rochelle. I don’t have all the friends you think I do. Pleasant dreams, sweet girl.”
She still wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that. Was the redhead history? The blonde? She didn’t know and shouldn’t care. Even though he seemed to think he was her bodyguard or something by making it clear he’d taken on the role of her protector. What on earth did she need protecting from? Except men like him. Well, if their paths ever crossed again, she’d sweet girl him.
In spite of the fact the police had no word on the guy who’d attacked her, she didn’t need this guy beating his chest … me Tarzan, you Jane. The pepper spray next to her bed would do a fair job of scaring the attacker away if he dared to hunt her down. Pepper spray and a maze of new locks and bolts.
Still, pepper spray and locks could only protect her life, not her heart. As much as she didn’t like it, Ed had worked his way past her good sense, inching closer and closer to her heart where even the pepper spray proved useless.
Another glance of the room spoke volumes. She was becoming a hermit. Up in the morning, off to work, and home again as quickly as possible.
She picked up the stack of Christmas cards that had been growing on the stand next to her chair. Unread. She’d decided not to send any this year, but still, her friends hadn’t forgotten. There were gold, red, green, and silver envelopes, all no doubt filled with good wishes and gift cards of their own.
And it was Christmas Eve.
First in the pile was a white envelope. Stella sent a card with a singing puppy, his ears covered with elf hats. Ted’s wife was a scrapper who designed her own cards. She slit open the green envelope. Red and silver with a gold star wished her a Merry Christmas along with a sprinkling of gold confetti. She brushed at her jeans and groaned.
Then she slid her fingers under the edge of the red envelope. A small kitten in a Santa hat greeted her on the front. Have a purr-fect Christmas. A giggle escaped her lips.
Will it be Christmas or maybe New Years? When I leave you all smothered in tears? Watch out, Princess. I know where you are every second of every day. And we will meet again. This time no interruptions till the party’s over. Merry Christmas! Your favorite fan.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a metronome on drugs.
She sprinted for the bathroom but only made it as far as the hallway, where she lost all of the eggnog and gingersnaps onto the carpeting. Rochelle slid against the side of the wall and landed on her bottom. He knew where she lived.
Was Bennett behind it? His reach from jail still had power. Sting. Clout.
Christmas Eve and afraid … again.
CHAPTER 18
EARLY JANUARY
“FINALLY. I DIDN’T THINK I’d ever get back in the swing of things.” Rochelle gazed at her desk with what she realized must be love in her eyes. She ran her fingers over the desk mat.
Donna looked up from a stack of papers. “What would you like to attack now that you’re feeling human again?”
“Full out attack?”
“Full out.”
Rochelle smiled. “I’d like to do something that has a kinder feel to it. Light and happy.”
“My, oh, my. Getting knocked on the noggin has damaged your cutthroat skills?”
“Not at all, but it has made me want to balance the stories. You know? Some tough, a few tougher, and then a few that make people smile more. Stories that will bring … hope.”
“Well, I never.” Donna flopped into the guest chair and dumped
her paperwork on the edge of Rochelle’s first-time-ever clean desk. “Are you serious?”
“Never more serious. Why, you got an idea?”
“You remember my son Cody?”
“Of course.” Rochelle took her seat, as well. “He’s only the talk of the station. Cuter, smarter, sweeter than any baby ever. Then again, I’m not exactly knowledgeable when it comes to babies.” That was an understatement. She didn’t know anything about babies except the sequence: they ate, they slept, they pooped.
“Remember me telling you about the clinic where I gave birth,” Donna said. “They really push the envelope. Perfect for the mother, perfect for the child. And John got so involved. Convinced there couldn’t be any better way to have a baby.”
Birth is birth. Leave it to a man to think a new way could be invented.
“It’s all a special vitamin and supplement regimen. Cody’s proof of the good results.”
On more than one occasion at the station, Rochelle had observed the little guy tagging along with Donna. No doubt very advanced for his age.
“It’s called PhD or something like that, right? What do they do that makes them stand out?” Rochelle sat forward and lifted her cup. The cold tea tasted … cold.
“The PhD Center for Neonatal and Toddler Development. Dr. Reinholdt is the obstetrician and the pediatrician there. He specializes in both.”
“Interesting.” Was that his way of having complete control start to finish? At least he wasn’t in on the consummation. That she knew of. She smiled.
“Oh, he’s amazing. And the clinic offers better diet, exercise for the mom, supplements which are frontline technology.”
“I assume you want me to dig into it for a human interest piece?”
“I mentioned it to Ted once-upon-a-time, and he thought the idea was hot with hardly any coaxing.”
Rochelle blinked. “Well, I can say no to a lot of things, but hot … never. I’ll call and set up an interview.”
Thoughts of a beautiful pink baby with a cute little grin lifting mini barbells caused a smile to form. Steve Jobs and Ed McGrath all rolled into one?
#
Lindy Lange tendered a lovely Madonna smile, one Dr. Erik Reinholdt had seen many times before. He nodded as she passed through the etched-glass entranceway of the PhD Center, and he studied her when she guided a fluttering hand across her stomach.
The intimate smiles when the mothers caressed their stomachs … so primal.
“Lovely day, Mrs. Lange.” Erik flanked her growing figure and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. This was one beautiful woman who was sure to have an amazing child.
Her deep blue eyes strayed over her ever-growing shape. “Jason and I are so anxious. Only Classics in Literature and Math Fundamentals remain. After all, what baby can possibly survive a journey through the birth canal without first having a thorough knowledge of Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth?”
Lindy grinned at him in the adoring way he had seen on mothers’ faces so many times before. Expectation of giving birth to the next Einstein or even Bill Gates.
He’d worked hard for this clinic, and he would see to it she wasn’t disappointed.
“Who, indeed?” he replied. “Take your time. Let the story flow through your body. Let the baby feel the novel rather than simply hear it. Only one hour at a time. Remember, sound is amplified through the amniotic fluid. We want to teach, not overwhelm your baby.”
As she stepped away, wandering leisurely across the threshold of the education center, he noticed the labored steps. She needed to stop eating the ice cream she thought he knew nothing about.
While advancing toward the kitchen, he loaded his hands with the morning readouts.
Startled by a loud clattering, he froze, then did a one-eighty toward the marble foyer behind him. Who dared interrupt the tranquility of PhD?
A woman’s loud, piercing shouts pulled his attention. Before she had a chance to swing out the doors, Erik caught sight of the always laid-back Lindy Lange engaging in a complete turnaround, screeching at one of the attendants.
A young janitor with a bucket and eyes wide and frightened had apparently slopped dirty water on Lindy’s designer shoes. Still, Erik hadn’t known her to behave like that for any reason.
He forced his cramped legs through the doorway where Caroline Peters stood next to a water cooler, staring at the spectacle. “Go see to her, Caroline. We can’t have our mothers upset like this. If that boy doesn’t have a good reason for the mess he’s made, fire him.” He mopped his forehead. “And please, Caroline. Be sure Mrs. Lange is calm before she moves on to her class. And let’s do another blood draw.” He couldn’t have a distraught mother roaming the clinic, drawing negative attention.
In a grand visual sweep of the reception lounge, he caught sight of the women sitting against either side of the north wall in chairs he had ordered made strictly for comfort. Lush, thick carpeting sighed under their Manolo and Gucci-clad feet. He smiled. Detail was so important in defining the clinic.
He had to wonder which woman would be the mother of his greatest achievement.
With a groan, he inched through the side door to the kitchen. Tessa Borland worked inside preparing healthy snacks. “Are the ladies ready in the conference room, Tess?” He had only found time for a light lunch, so he pried open the cupboard door when he really wanted a shot of scotch. Anything to relieve the stress.
“All ready, Erik.”
“Dr. Reinholdt at work.”
Her brow lifted. “Of course. Then, maybe you should call me Ms. Borland.”
He glanced around then he kicked the door closed. Leaning in, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulled her to him, and kissed her. Her eyes filled with longing.
“I can think of a multitude of things to call you when we’re alone,” he said. “But we’re not alone. We’re at work.”
He kissed her on the forehead, miserable they couldn’t find a few minutes to sneak away. Her petite frame and pretty face had a way of persuading him to forget work.
“How about calling me Mrs. Reinholdt one day?” She held out the new patient folders. “Erik! I’m talking to you!”
CHAPTER 19
HOME ALONE, PER USUAL, Maggie Reinholdt finished sautéing two generous cups of baby portabella mushrooms in a butter-olive oil mix. Slices of roasted garlic and fresh tomatoes covered the mushrooms, and she shouted “Cheers” as she stirred in plump pieces of marinated chicken. She ground in her favorite peppercorn mix and breathed deeply.
Her hand grasped the delicate stem of the Waterford flute, and she poured a glassful of Bordeaux into the pan. Then she poured herself a glass, saluting the good doctor.
Today, on the fifth anniversary of the death of their son—her son—she intended to pay homage to his memory with or without her husband. Did Erik even remember what day it was?
A celebratory dinner. She loved garlic chicken with a hint of portabellas, but this time, she cut a few extra into the sauté pan, which she then half covered.
She leaned on the edge of the counter, thinking—remembering as the luscious smells of chicken, mushrooms, and wine permeated the air.
There was one more place to look for Erik’s files. If he ever tried to divorce her, she’d be ready. And she’d need those files, plus his father’s, if she were to do any serious damage.
After downing another partial glass, she lifted a lid, sniffed appreciatively, and tested a grain of wild rice. Hunger lured her. Stress increased her appetite, but still, she rarely managed more than a few bites. Tonight, she would try to eat, make an attempt to put health before grief.
For Ricky’s sake.
Erik’s allergy to mushrooms inspired her. Anticipating the possibility, slim though it was, of him arriving for dinner, she chopped another handful of portabellas and plopped them in.
CHAPTER 20
COLDER THAN A WELL-DIGGER’S shovel.
Rochelle grinned through chattering teeth. Exactly what her father had always s
aid about Michigan winters. He’d been a wealth of clichés. And the whole family had laughed at his antics. How she missed him. Missed her mom and brother as well. But there was no sense dwelling on what she couldn’t change. They were gone. Oh, God. Why? I’d give anything to have them back.
With New Year’s Day barely behind her and January’s chill biting through her jacket, she shivered and hugged her arms across her chest. Outside the locker room, the temp teetered well below the freezing mark, not including the wind chill. She sighed.
The crank calls had increased. Those horrid reminders that there was a man out there who wanted to hurt her—bad. There was also another man, one who made her feel safe in spite of the calls and notes. Ed McGrath.
In the five weeks since she had been discharged from the hospital, Rochelle and Ed had shared two cups of cheap coffee and a couple banana nut muffins in a mom-and-pop a mile north of her subdivision. Only phone calls had filled the rest of the empty spaces; not much to go on other than they both loved banana muffins and apparently—bargain-basement brew.
He’d been tenacious, continuing to ask her out; she had continued to say no. Yet, here she stood at last, a frozen lump needing something besides her musings to warm her feet.
Why did he pursue her? She’d heard all the rumors about him. Why would he want to ask out a quiet stay-at-home like her? She wasn’t the pencil-skirt style with a rep to match.
And yet, his phone calls had been a lifeline recently.
She sucked back bitter air, pushed at her glove, and glanced at her watch. It was getting late. Tired of standing around, she kicked at a crumpled pop can beyond the door and frowned as pop soaked the tip of her new boot. She shivered again. With a quick swipe, she pulled a light blue hat from her pocket and tugged it over her ears. How long did it take a man to shower while she hung around looking like a disgruntled Smurf? Or was he doing interviews with gorgeous women hanging on him? Maybe it was part of what was expected for his position on the team.
Why had she agreed to attend the game? She laughed thinking of two of the guys at church who had told her she’d be crazy to turn down free tickets. She’d finally decided that if she agreed to one date, he’d find The Motor Mouth Princess prickly enough he’d stop calling.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 6