Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

  Something whizzed past her face and buried itself in the sandstone building beside her. Jewel stopped, stunned, until a sharp pain pierced her left shoulder. Her right hand jerked up to the shoulder at the same moment she realized someone in the car opposite her was shooting at her. She dropped to her knees and crawled behind some garbage cans lined against the building. Another shot rang against the metal and she squealed, cowering lower, crawling forward. There were only three trash cans, and the last shot had pierced the one beside her. The next one could—

  Voices. “Hey, what’s goin’ on out here?” one voice shouted. “Shots! Someone’s firin’ a gun!” yelled another.

  The shots stopped. Tires screamed. Headlights disappeared as the car went tearing down the street.

  Jewel, shivering and crying and bleeding, huddled behind the cans for twenty minutes before she finally crawled out and ran into the night, leaving her prized spike heels behind.

  3

  Ray watched until Shelley and Nicole were safely in their rooms. He knew he’d really shaken Nicole by telling her he thought someone had paid Izzy Dooley to kill her, but she had to be told. She had to be convinced that her life was in danger and that she shouldn’t trust anyone, at least not Roger Chandler or Paul Dominic.

  He had no doubt that Roger Chandler was having a nervous breakdown. His research confirmed what Nicole told him—Chandler was indeed brilliant. But a fuse seemed to have shorted out sometime last year. Ray didn’t really believe Roger was so crazy about Lisa Mervin he’d do anything to get out of his marriage. After all, Nicole wasn’t contesting the divorce, or to his knowledge, demanding anything except modest child support. Even the house was rented, not paid for by Chandler. But the man was determined to possess his daughter. Nicole would never acquiesce to that, and given his behavior, Ray couldn’t imagine a judge giving nun even joint custody. The only way Chandler could have his daughter to himself was if Nicole were dead.

  And tonight he’d learned about a man named Miguel Perez. While Shelley ran ahead to jump in the car after their meal, Nicole told him about the man who’d stood outside Shelley’s school-ground, who had waved to her, and whom she had described as looking like Miguel. She’d also told him about her meeting with Perez in her office, when he’d made clear his romantic feelings. Ray told her he didn’t know why this man might want her dead, but he’d certainly check him out because if he weren’t behind the mess with Izzy, he still might be causing trouble.

  Then there was Paul Dominic. Although in front of other people Ray downplayed his belief that Dominic was around—he wanted to appear cool and objective—he knew in his gut Dominic was alive, here, and following Nicole. The question was why.

  At ten o’clock, two hours after he’d left Nicole at the motel, it hit him—that sickening feeling that danger was near. Ever since he was a boy, he’d experienced waves of near nausea whenever peril lay close by, and he’d always been right.

  He headed back for Nicole’s motel and stopped the car in the parking lot, pulling into the shadows. He had a clear view of Nicole’s second-floor room in his rearview mirror. The draperies were drawn, but he could see light around the edges. She was no doubt unable to sleep. Maybe she was watching television or grading papers. Although it was only ten-twenty, there was little movement around the motel. Someone pulled in, went into the office, then drove to the end of the lot and carried luggage into a first-floor room. A man came out of another room with an ice bucket, went into the alcove where Ray had already located the ice and soft-drink machines, then returned to his room.

  Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But something was wrong.

  Slouching down in his seat, Ray mentally prepared himself for an evening of surveillance. He could have requested a patrolman, but tonight he felt like handling things himself, even though he’d had a long, tiring day.

  He’d thought he was wide awake. Then he saw his mother. She was smiling at him, her beautiful face alight, kneeling and holding out her arms. A little boy, he ran toward her, but the closer he got, the more her features blurred and coalesced until they were no longer beautiful and loving, but heavy and disdainful. His real mother was gone, and another had taken her place, her hand raised, waiting to slap his face or give him a painful pinch.

  He jerked awake, sweating. He hadn’t had the dream for years. He thought he’d left it behind with his youth. Disappointingly, he hadn’t. Or maybe it had occurred only because he’d been thinking about his past this evening when he told Shelley about going to college in New York City. That had been his escape, his first step to freedom.

  He looked at his wristwatch. Eleven-thirty. He’d been asleep, over an hour. He was furious with himself as he sat up abruptly, looking at Nicole’s room. Was that a shadow near the door? He squinted. The lighting was horrible here.

  Ray frowned. Damn, he could swear there was something near her door, but it wasn’t as tall as a man. A kid playing around? Someone crouching, trying to peek in. No. A dog. A big dog sat outside her door.

  He grabbed his gun and bolted out of the car. “Dominic!” he shouted, turning in a quick circle, gun raised, and seeing nothing. “I know you’re here, goddammit. You’re not going to get away this time.” He started toward the steps leading toward the second-floor balcony, gun raised, as he saw a few lights flicker on in various rooms. “Dom—”

  Something crashed down on the back of his head. Brilliant light flashed before his eyes as he dropped to his knees. He tried to lift the gun again, but consciousness slipped away. He never even felt his head scraping against the concrete parking lot.

  4

  Nicole turned restlessly in the unfamiliar bed. In her mind, she went over everything Ray had said. Izzy Dooley’s girlfriend claimed he’d been paid to kill someone—a wife, a teacher. Would Roger really go so far to get rid of her?

  Moonlight sliced through a crack in the draperies. She stared at it, her mind still racing. She’d told Ray about Miguel because she thought he may have been in her house last night. Izzy had her keys, but it was quite possible Miguel had duplicates. He might have killed Izzy Dooley. He might have killed the patrolman Abbott. But why would he have put on Paul’s cassette to play over and over until she awakened? To mislead her? To make her believe Paul Dominic had killed the men? But how would Miguel know she thought Paul was back unless he too were following her and spotted Paul? It wasn’t as if photos of Paul were hard to find.

  But what did all this have to do with her father? Who had been sending the mysterious letters and the photograph of Paul to Clifton Sloan? And what in the name of God could have been in those letters to throw Clifton into the tailspin he’d suffered the last weeks of his life?

  Shelley moaned a couple of times in her sleep, tiny, pathetic sounds that tore at Nicole’s heart. Each time she got up and bent over her daughter sleeping in the other double bed. Her small, lovely face looked troubled, and Nicole feared she was dreaming of two murdered men or of her little lost dog.

  Nicole tucked the covers up to Shelley’s chin, as if that would protect her from harm, and crawled back into her own bed. She looked at the clock. Eleven-ten. In nine hours she had to be ready to teach a class. Three classes on Friday, and she couldn’t get away with writing assignments. She had to get some sleep, which seemed impossible.

  Twenty minutes later she was sleeping soundly. No tossing, no dreams. Later she was amazed that she’d been able to slip through REM sleep into the deep sleep of dreamlessness. Maybe that’s why it took her so long to respond to the ringing phone. Shelley had already picked it up and was shaking her vigorously on the shoulder when she finally roused.

  “Mommy, there’s a man on the phone,” she said.

  “Who?” Nicole managed without opening her eyes.

  “I don’t know. I never heard the voice, but I don’t like it. It’s mean.”

  Good Lord, what now? Nicole thought before taking the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Ah, little bird,” a rough voice said in her ear. Nicol
e thought her heart would stop. After fifteen years she knew that voice as if she’d heard it yesterday. “Daddy’s not around to protect you anymore, is he? And I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten anything you put me and Ritchie Zand through. And you’ll pay, little bird. It won’t be quick, it won’t be painless, but it’ll be final, both for you and your puta daughter.”

  The caller hung up. Nicole lay on the bed, frozen, shaking. “Mommy. Mommy, what is it?” Shelley demanded, her young voice rising. “Who was it?”

  “Luis Magaro,” Nicole said through chattering teeth. “A dead man.”

  Seventeen

  1

  “A dead man!”

  The raw terror in Shelley’s voice pulled Nicole out of her own fear. “Of course it wasn’t a dead man.”

  “You just said it was!” Shelley insisted.

  “I was half asleep.” Nicole realized she was still clutching the receiver in a death grip. She forced her fingers loose and replaced the receiver in the cradle. Then she sat up and pulled a shaking Shelley into her arms. “Don’t be scared, honey. It was a crank call. I was barely awake. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  “But you looked so scared!”

  “My dream scared me. Baby, it was nothing.”

  “I heard the mean voice. I want Ray,” Shelley wailed.

  In spite of her own shock and fear, Nicole noted that Shelley didn’t ask for her father. Even she seemed to sense Roger was no longer someone to turn to in times of trouble. “Ray is probably asleep. I don’t want to wake him up over a crank call. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “But what if that man has Jesse?”

  “What would make you think he has Jesse?”

  Shelley pulled away from her. “He didn’t say anything about Jesse?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  A scratching noise came from the area of the door. Both Shelley and Nicole jumped, clutching each other. “It’s him!” Shelley shrieked. “It’s the dead man come to get us!”

  Nicole could have kicked herself for uttering “dead man” in front of the child. She’d scared her half to death. “Shel, there was no dead man on the phone. I told you. I was still almost asleep. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  The scratching came again. Shelley let out another shriek. “It’s the werewolf.”

  “It is not a werewolf,” Nicole said firmly. “There’s no such thing.”

  Again the scratching. The fear suddenly washed from Shelley’s face. “It’s Jesse! He’s found us!”

  “No—” The child leaped from the bed, running toward the door. “Shelley, don’t open that door!” Nicole yelled, climbing from the bed.

  “But it’s Jesse!”

  “No! Jesse couldn’t make that much noise.” Nicole’s feet tangled in the covers dragging on the floor. She almost fell as she watched Shelley pull the chain free, then turn the door handle. “Shelley, no!” she cried desperately.

  But it was too late. Shelley yanked on the door. Oh, God, please help me, Nicole prayed as she freed herself from the sheet and floundered forward. She thought she would faint as Shelley swung the door wide, exposing the room to the dangerous night. “God, God, please,” Nicole heard herself whimpering. “My little girl—”

  But the desperate prayer was not necessary. Both she and Shelley stood rigid, stunned, as the big black Doberman pranced through the doorway, sat down, and held out a paw to Shelley. “It’s the dog I’ve seen before!” the child cried, taking the paw. “It’s Jordan!”

  Nicole couldn’t speak. She simply looked at the dog, dumbfounded. Then she looked at the open door. Who would follow the dog inside? Paul Dominic?

  But the doorway was empty. No one seemed to be following the dog, and the dog showed no sign of waiting for someone. It had simply arrived, looking as if it intended to stay.

  Nicole ran for the door, shutting it, locking it, and replacing the chain. When she turned, Shelley was on her knees, hugging the dog around the neck. “You came to protect us from the dead man, didn’t you, Jordan?” she asked.

  The dog licked her face, then looked up at Nicole with that strange expression of knowledge she’d noticed when she’d seen it earlier. Although her breath still came rapidly and her pulse still pounded in her abdomen, she managed a weak smile. Shelley was right. She knew it in her heart. Danger was near, and the dog had been sent to protect them.

  But sent by Paul? How could he know she’d received a terrifying phone call?

  2

  The next morning, Nicole awakened to find the dog lying between her and Shelley’s beds, her big dark eyes open and alert. Nicole crept from bed and kneeled beside the dog, stroking her head and neck.

  “Paul sent you here, didn’t he?” she whispered. “Is he nearby?” The dog looked soulfully into her eyes. “How did he know I was so frightened?”

  “Who’s Paul?” Shelley asked.

  Both Nicole and Jordan looked at her. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “Well, I am. Who’s Paul?”

  Nicole sighed, too tired to think up a lie or an evasion. “Paul Dominic. He’s someone I knew a long time ago.”

  Shelley slipped from her bed, her little hand seeking the dog. “He was your boyfriend.”

  “How did you know?”

  “The way you said his name. Also, that night you and Daddy had the fight in the driveway, Daddy said you thought he was likable, not lovable like Paul Dominic.”

  “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

  “Well, you and Daddy were yelling.”

  “Yes, we were. That was disgraceful.”

  Shelley shrugged. “It’s okay. I guess married people just do that. Uncle Bobby yelled like crazy at Aunt Carmen the night I stayed over.”

  Nicole raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I would have, but I forgot when you picked me up at school and told me about Jesse being gone and the murdered men. But Bobby was so mean, Mommy. He said he never shoulda married Aunt Carmen and he only did because of the kid. Jill said that was her baby brother that died. I didn’t really understand, but it made Jill cry. Aunt Carmen, too. Then he left. Slammed the door and screeched his tires. Even his daddy was crying. Jill said he got scared when Bobby was so mad. I don’t like Bobby for making everyone cry.”

  “Bobby left?”

  “Yeah. Aunt Carmen cried for a long time. Then I fell asleep. The next morning after I called you, Aunt Carmen left. I figured out later she came to our house because of the murders. Bobby took Jill and me to school, but he was a huge grouch. He wouldn’t let us listen to the radio, and he didn’t even say bye to Jill and me when he dropped us off at our schools,”

  Nicole realized things were tense between Carmen and Bobby, but she didn’t know they were having screaming arguments in the middle of the night.

  Shelley crooned over the dog. “Jordan, do you know where Jesse is?” She leaned down and looked into the dog’s eyes. “Mom, she does!”

  “Shelley, sweetheart, you don’t know that. Jordan can’t talk.”

  “She can talk with her eyes, Mommy, really.” Shelley sat back on her heels. “Jordan, find Jesse.”

  The dog immediately stood and walked to the door. “See?” Shelley squealed triumphantly. “I knew it!” She ran to the door and began unhooking the chain.

  “Shelley, don’t,” Nicole said uselessly as Shelley flung open the door and daylight flooded the room.

  The dog licked Shelley’s hand, then bolted across the balcony and down the steps. “Wait!” Shelley called. “We can’t follow that fast!”

  Nicole went to the door in time to see the dog disappear around the side of the building. Shelley looked at her tragically. “Why did she run away?”

  “She probably needed the bathroom and her breakfast.”

  “And she wanted to see Paul.”

  It sounded so strange to hear Shelley casually say the name of a man Nicole both loved and feared, a man of mystery, a man whose intentions she still did
n’t know.

  “Yes, Paul was probably waiting for her,” she said softly.

  Shelley studied her. “Mommy, did you love Paul Dominic?”

  “Yes, Shelley, I did.”

  “More than Daddy?”

  Nicole hesitated. “In a different way.”

  “Oh. I think that means more than Daddy, but that’s all right. Was Paul a teacher, too?”

  “No, he was a concert pianist.” When Shelley frowned, she amended her vocabulary. “Piano player. He played those big grand pianos and wore a tuxedo. He played in concert halls all over the world and made records. He was very famous.”

  “Wow,” Shelley uttered appreciatively. “What happened to him?”

  Nicole took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Shelley. I honestly don’t know.”

  3

  Nicole barely made it to class on time. She immediately quelled questions about the murders, which her students had learned about from television and the newspaper. They seemed disappointed, even pouty about not getting any details, but Nicole didn’t care. Her lecture, however, was disjointed, her manner nervous and stumbling. Half the students didn’t seem to notice—they wouldn’t have noticed if she began talking about Chaucer instead of Melville. But the other half were aware of her unease, particularly Miguel, who took few notes and stared at her intently throughout the class time, making her even more edgy. Was he totally innocent of all the mayhem going on around her, or was he right in the middle of it?

  After class she rushed up to her office. She closed the door and called police headquarters, only to be told that Ray DeSoto had not reported to work that day. When she asked the desk sergeant why, he referred her to Ray’s partner, Cy Waters.

  Oh, no, Nicole thought. She was certain the man disliked and distrusted her. Her reluctance to talk to him grew when she heard his curt, “Waters, Mrs. Chandler. What is it?”