by Karen Rose
He’d made it to the parking lot and was seconds from getting away when he heard someone clear his throat. He turned to find a holy man with a very worried expression on his face.
“Agent Thatcher? I’m Reverend Monsignor Brennan of the Raleigh Dioceses. I was wondering if you could take a few minutes to talk about Father Mike Leone.”
Steven sighed. He’d figured this would be coming sooner or later. “Of course, Monsignor Brennan. Let’s go up to my office.” He didn’t bother glancing at his watch. He figured it would be after noon before he got done clearing Mike’s name. Fishing would have to wait.
Sunday, October 9, 8:25 P.M.
Weary beyond measure, Steven entered his house only to have Helen, Matt, and Brad lift their respective fingers to their lips and shush him. The three stood around the bottom of the steps and Helen pointed upward. “Jenna’s putting Nicky to bed. Sshh.”
“But I’m not tired,” came Nicky’s whine from upstairs and Steven’s heart stuttered. Most parents hated that whining tone, but he hadn’t heard it out of Nicky since before his abduction. His baby had obeyed automatically for so long that a whine about bedtime sounded like an angel’s choir.
“Well, I am,” Jenna was laughing. “You kept me busy, taking all those fish off your hook.”
“I could have done it myself.” Nicky sounded highly amused. “I’m good at that part.”
“Well, now you tell me. Are you sure you want to sleep on that hard floor? It doesn’t look very comfortable.” There was a long pause and Steven met Helen’s eyes and realized they were both praying for a minor miracle—for Nicky to sleep in his own bed for the first time in six months. “Well, suit yourself,” Jenna said and Steven let out the breath he’d been holding. Rome wasn’t built in a day, he thought. They’d get there with Nicky. They would. “Can I at least cover you up?” Jenna asked. There was quiet and then Nicky’s voice.
“Could you sing?”
“Me?” Jenna’s horrified response made them all smile. “You want me to sing to you?”
“You don’t hafta.” Steven looked at Helen who smiled at Nicky’s dramatically mournful tone.
“Well, since I don’t hafta, I won’t,” Jenna replied and Matt snickered softly. “Besides,” she added, “we weren’t much for lullabies in my house. My dad had an old drinking song he would sing when my mother wasn’t around, but I suspect your dad might have a problem with that.”
“Yeah, he prob’ly would,” Nicky agreed thoughtfully. “But he’s not here right now,” he added in a bright voice and Steven choked back a laugh.
“Good night, Nicky,” Jenna said firmly.
“Will you be here when I wake up tomorrow?” Nicky asked, so softly they all had to strain to hear him and Steven swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat.
“No, sweetheart, I have to go home. I have school tomorrow and Jean-Luc will be missing Jim. I think I’ll see you in a few days. Now, go to sleep.”
Jenna appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a pair of Steven’s old sweats, her feet bare and her wet hair hanging down her back in a single braid. Steven felt his soul settle at the sight of her, even as she started in surprise. “I didn’t know I had an audience,” she said in a low voice when she got to the bottom where they waited. “Now I’m doubly glad I didn’t sing.”
“So are we,” Matt said with a grin and she swatted him. “Go get a shower, Matt. You’re still covered in yck.” Steven took a look at his middle boy whose grin had become a scowl. Matt’s jeans were covered in black slime up to his mid-calf. “Yes, you are. What’d you fall into, Matthew?”
“You don’t want to know,” Jenna answered for him and it was Brad’s turn to snicker as Matt skulked up the stairs. “Don’t you start,” she said, turning to Brad. “Besides, I understand that you have some homework to catch up on.” She looked his oldest in the eye, silently issuing a challenge.
Brad met her gaze for a long minute in which everybody held their breaths, then he nodded. “I understand that there’s this really nice chemistry teacher who gives after-school tutoring.”
Jenna sucked in her cheeks, considering his request. “It’ll cost you. Standard tutoring fees.”
Brad shrugged. “It’s okay. My dad’s good for it.”
Jenna shook her head quickly. “Uh-uh. Cash comes from you or no deal.”
Brad’s eyes widened when he realized she was very serious. “Dad!”
Steven held up his hands. “I’m not involved in this negotiation. Plus, I agree with her.”
“You would,” Brad said in a disgusted tone. “I’ve got no cash.”
Jenna raised her brows. “Then you’d best get a job.” She looked at Helen. “Was there any pot roast left from dinner?”
Helen’s expression was serene. “I already made you a plate.”
Steven looked from one to the other. “Why didn’t you eat with the others?”
“You don’t want to know!” Matt yelled from up the stairs. Jenna chuckled. “No, you really don’t. Let’s just say I hope I left some hot water for Matt after getting all the yck cleaned off of me and Nicky.”
“I’m sorry I missed the fun,” Steven said, with a pang of regret.
Jenna patted his arm. “Next time you can come. We’ll just choose a different fishing hole.”
“Brad, come,” Helen instructed. “I have work for you to do to pay for those tutoring lessons.”
“But—” Brad protested and Helen cut him off with a look. “Okay,” he muttered and followed Helen, leaving Steven alone with Jenna in the relative privacy of his open foyer.
“Sounds like you all had an adventure today,” he murmured, sliding his hands under the sweatshirt she wore, touching the warm, firm flesh of her back. Wishing they were more alone so he could touch the warm, firm flesh of her front.
“That it was.” She linked her hands around his neck. “What about you? Any progress?”
He thought about his four-hour “deposition” with the monsignor. He thought of Mike’s career and wondered once again if he’d ever fully repair the damage they’d done to a great man’s name. He thought about the fact that Victor Lutz had finally detected the presence of the unmarked cars on his street and complained to the mayor and how Steven had to tell the mayor they were watching for school vandals because he wasn’t supposed to know Rudy Lutz was really William Parker. He thought about how humiliating it had been to be scolded like a schoolboy for misuse of county resources. And how he’d defied orders and extended the patrol surveillance for one more day.
He considered the latest barrage of questions from the press, outraged at his team’s inability to solve this crime in their allotted one hour of prime time. And he thought about the mountain of paperwork he’d scaled, knowing it would have grown back to its previous height by tomorrow morning. So had he made any progress? “No, not a whole hell of a lot,” he answered.
“Don’t do that,” she said softly.
“Do what?”
“Click off with me. It’s like you go somewhere else and leave me behind.”
He stiffened. It was a very Melissa-like comment, but delivered without venom. Today. Who knew where they’d be in five years. Ten? “It’s part of the job, Jen. It’s part of who I am.”
She digested this in silence, not breaking her eye contact.
Then finally said, “All right.” “All right? Just all right?”
She smiled and he felt the knot in his gut loosen by slow degrees. “Just all right. I guess the trick on my end will be not getting hurt when you click off.” She lifted on her toes and brushed a soft kiss across his mouth. “But the trick on your end will be not to click off that often. Or wait too long to click back on.”
It was a proposal of sorts. “I can live with that. If you can.” “I can,” she whispered, still a fraction of an inch from his mouth.
But for how long? he wanted to ask. But didn’t. He didn’t have any right to ask at this point. They’d known each other
nearly two weeks. They’d never talked anything more long-term than the next day. Certainly never come close to uttering the word “love.”
Yes, you did, Thatcher, his self told him. You told her you could fall in love with her.
Yes, I did. And maybe I have, he thought. Maybe. “Steven, you look completely exhausted. Go eat dinner and go to bed.”
Her words reminded his brain of how tired he really was. “I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m not much company tonight.”
She slipped one hand from the back of his neck to put gentle pressure on his mouth. “Get some rest, Steven. Call me tomorrow and we can talk some more. I’m going home now.”
Home. To her apartment. His brain kicked back into full throttle. Until they picked up Rudy Lutz and his friends, he didn’t want her being alone at night. “Jenna, I’ve been thinking about that. I’d feel better if you stayed here tonight.”
Her lips quirked. “I bet you would, but I don’t believe you have it in you, Special Agent Man.”
He chuckled, despite his exhaustion. “If that’s a challenge, I’ll declare you the winner right now. No, I’m talking about Lutz and his friends. Pullman hasn’t found anything tying any of them to your car yet and I just want you to be safe. for dumb jocks who can’t pass high school these guys have shown an amazing amount of planning and care.”
Jenna chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t want those thugs to keep me from living in my own apartment. I’ll be careful and I’ve got the dogs. I’ll be fine.”
Sunday, October 9, 10:25 P.M.
She was home. Finally. Driving her friend’s car. Shame about her Jag. Somebody spent a lot of time restoring that baby. She could have been killed, he thought, and huffed a chuckle. When he was done with her, she’d wish she’d been behind the wheel of that car instead of her friend.
He watched her jog up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Studied the construction of the balconies jutting away from the building. They would easily hold his weight and the weight of his kit. He frowned a little. He’d be bulky tonight, but that was the price of a house call. He really didn’t want to drag her off to the barn. She was a lot bigger than the others, a veritable Amazon compared to the petite Lorraine and Alev. Samantha had been taller, but so willowy. He smiled remembering how pretty she’d been. How pretty they’d all been.
No, house calls weren’t nearly as much fun. He’d miss the extended play opportunities the barn offered. He’d just have to make this one night with Miss Marshall count. He’d been watching and waiting for this opportunity for days, even leaving Alev tonight, although Alev was just about gone. All used up. His heart quickened in anticipation. With her size and strength Miss Marshall would put up quite a struggle, so one night just might be enough.
He sat patiently as she walked her dog. Lifted his binoculars and watched her putter around her kitchen. Microwave her dinner and eat it at her dining-room table. From here he could just see the light glinting off the glass covering her diplomas and cursed the fact that from his vantage point in the parking lot he could only see both her and her apartment from above her waist. A lot of good stuff happened below the waist. He tingled just thinking about it.
And wondered if it felt any different killing a smart woman versus a stupid one.
Well, he’d find out tonight.
TWENTY-SIX
Monday, October 10, 1:00 A.M.
THE BRIGHT LIGHT SHINING IN HER EYES lurched Jenna from deep sleep into instant awareness. The sharp bite of the knife at her throat made her flinch and obey the growled words.
“Don’t move.”
Quickly she fought past the mental confusion of deep sleep. “Who—”
“Shut up.” And she heard the loud ripping sound of tape. Then her mouth was covered and she realized whoever this was either had use of both hands or wasn’t alone. But when the light never wavered, she knew it was freestanding. That he had use of both hands. That he was alone. She also knew she owned no such light, which meant he’d come prepared. And that knowledge frightened her more than if he hadn’t been alone.
He’d broken into her apartment. And gotten past the dogs. Jim and Jean-Luc. Where were the dogs? she wondered frantically, then forced herself to calm. Forced herself to draw deep even breaths through her nose. Forced herself to remember everything she’d been taught in self-defense. Clenched her fists under the blanket.
Which he ripped away like a magician with a tablecloth. “Now you’ll pay, Miss Marshall.”
Miss Marshall. Only one person called her Miss Marshall like that.
Victor Lutz. His image flashed before her, his huge hulking body, big hands. Cold, dark, threatening eyes.
Oh, my God. The panic bubbled up. He’s going to kill me. I never should have confronted him that way over Casey. Now he’s going to kill me.
Jenna, stop. Breathe. Think.
She stopped. Breathed. Tried to think.
She knew her physical capability. She’d never be able to overpower a man of Victor Lutz’s size and strength, even with all her training in martial arts. But she might be able to surprise him long enough to get away. To get help.
Jenna stiffened her body, waiting for him to touch her, waiting for the slightest decrease in the pressure of the knife at her throat, the slightest indication he was distracted, knowing she’d have only one chance to surprise him and escape.
Instead, the pressure on the knife increased, ever so slightly. It hurt. A lot. A whimper built in her throat and with it, the panic.
He’s going to kill me. Steven will find me, but it will be too late. I’ll be dead.
Jenna, stop. Breathe. Think.
A heavy hand covered her breast through the worn T-shirt she wore to bed. Pinched her nipple hard. She jerked a breath through her nose. Couldn’t contain the whimper this time.
“Do you like that?” he growled. He shoved her nightshirt up to her stomach and fingered her panties. She could hear his breathing grow harder. Faster. “Pretty.”
She couldn’t control the urge to close her legs, but he just laughed softly. His hand disappeared and she heard the soft scrape of leather? No. Plastic? Possibly. A bag? Maybe. No, she thought hearing a snap, click, snap, click. Metal buckles, opening up and hitting a plastic case. She captured each detail, knowing if she got away she’d need to tell the police everything she could.
Then she heard another sound, one that made her nearly sob with relief.
A soft growl, this one canine. The dogs.
Then a furor of barking, snarling.
Cursing. Vicious cursing. A sharp cry of pain. Human. More cursing followed by a canine yelp, then nothing. “Sonofabitch,” he snarled.
Then everything happened at once.
There was knocking at her front door and Mrs. Kasselbaum’s urgent voice asking if she was all right, did she need any help. There was the feel of the knife at her throat, pressing harder, then pulling back. And instinctively she rolled just as the knife came plunging into the mattress where she’d lain a split second before.
She heard another curse, then the sound of ripping fabric. Then the sound of him gathering his things and his footsteps as he ran, leaving the light behind.
Blinking from the bright light, Jenna lay still for a moment, unable to move. She put her hand to her throat and brought it away, sticky with her own blood.
She stared at her hand, at the blood. Disbelieving. She was bleeding. He’d cut her.
Then she heard the sound of her front door opening and another startled cry of pain. Mrs. Kasselbaum. Oh, God.
Got to get to her. Got to call for help. Jenna ripped the tape from her mouth, gulped a breath. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, flinching when her feet hit something hard and furry.
The dog. Which one?
He’d killed the dog. Which one?
Oh, God.
She grabbed the phone and punched 911 while she ran to the front of her apartment, stumbling, falling, crawling. She tried to pull herself up on one of the dining-room
chairs, but it wobbled and fell, sending her sprawling again. She’d pushed herself back on her knees and crawled another few feet when the 911 voice answered. Jenna didn’t wait for the woman to finish her question, just babbled. “Help. Please. A man... just came in.”
“Is he still there, ma’am?”
Hearing the calm voice helped her breathe. Think. Speak. “No. No, he’s gone.” She shuddered, crawling closer to her open front door where another furry body lay just inside.
“Are you hurt, ma’am?”
Jenna felt a hysterical laugh fight its way up her throat. “I’m bleeding. He cut me. There’s another woman hurt. My neighbor.” She crawled past the dog and into the hall where another neighbor had appeared, a cordless phone to his ear. He was calling 911, too.
So she could hang up. She pushed herself to her knees next to Mrs. Kasselbaum’s inert form. “Mrs. Kasselbaum.” The tears were coming now as she realized she didn’t even know the old woman’s first name. She grasped a thin, scrawny shoulder and shook. “Mrs. Kasselbaum, please.”
The other neighbor knelt down beside her and pulled her hand from the old woman. “Don’t touch her,” he said, panic in his own voice. “Wait for the paramedics. They’re on their way.” His name was Stan. His wife was Terri and they had a new baby named Bella. She knew all of this yet didn’t know the first name of the old woman who might be dead because she cared too much.
Sobbing now, Jenna fell back against Mrs. Kasselbaum’s closed door, reached for her own phone, and called the only other number in her brain.
“Steven, please, come.”
Monday, October 10, 1:43 A.M.
Steven rushed up the steps of her apartment unit, flashing his badge as the paramedics were carrying a gurney down. He looked down at the gray face of Mrs. Kasselbaum, still in her hair curlers, then up at the paramedic’s face. He shrugged. “Fifty-fifty,” he said. “She’s eighty-two.”
“Where are you taking her?” Steven asked, knowing Jenna would want to know.
“Wake. Gotta go.” They pushed past him and out the front door of the apartment building where a frightened, confused crowd of neighbors had gathered next to the flashing lights of the ambulance.