She loaded the gun, put on the safety and slid it into the pack. “There, I'm ready for anything."
Hawkman stood beside her, clenched fists resting on his hips, his expression sober. “I don't like the idea of you being home alone."
Her eyes lit up and she grinned as she swooped up the kitten. “I won't be."
Frowning, he headed for the kitchen. “You think the little beast can save you?"
She shrugged. “Maybe I can teach her to be a watch-cat."
He chuckled as he surveyed the outside before closing the window blinds, then flipped on the light. “You're making something small out of this, but it could be very serious."
“I don't doubt the gravity of this situation. In fact, it scares me to death,” she said, trailing behind him. “But we can't let it ruin our lives."
Hoping to change the subject, he turned and flipped a curl on her forehead. “I really like the way your hair is growing in. It's so curly, and with the blond highlights it gives you the appearance of a pixie."
“Thanks. I'm enjoying its easy care. But I understand it will go back to the original texture in a couple of years."
“Good. Two years is long enough for you to be an elf."
The ringing phone made them both start and stare at the machine.
“No need for you to turn off all your lights. I'm long gone, but I'll return. So watch your back, Hawk Man."
Jennifer cringed. “I don't like his threats. And this time, he called you Hawkman."
“It appears he's done his research.” He picked up the phone and punched in a number.
She moved to his side. “Who are you calling?"
“The office. I want to see if he's left any messages there. If he has, he knows I'm now Tom Casey."
She stepped back and watched his jaw tighten as he gripped the receiver. When he hung up, the cat wiggled to get free of Jennifer's tight hold. She put her on the floor, then touched Hawkman's arm as he glared at the machine. “Obviously, he left a message. What did he say?"
“I can't escape. He knows all about us: where we live, your name is Jennifer, and I have an office over a doughnut shop.” He glanced down at the kitten rubbing against his leg. “And you've received a kitten as a gift from Marie."
Jennifer's looked at him wide eyed. “Oh my, God!"
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
Jennifer tucked the kitten into the wicker bed, and she seemed content with the bathroom surroundings. Until this little girl could be trusted with the run of the house, it appeared a good remedy. Jennifer flipped on the night light, put down the toilet bowl lid and closed the door.
Hawkman had already slipped into bed, but left on the lamp. His eye-patch and gun lay on the end table next to his head. Even though his eyes were closed, she knew he hadn't fallen asleep. The covers came only to his waist and she could see the tense muscles of his chest and the shiny line of the scar running down his left arm. She remembered the agony he'd gone through while attending therapy classes, but he'd succeeded in getting back full control of the muscles. So well, no one would ever guess how badly he'd been cut by the horrible murderess, Tulip Withers. Jennifer donned her gown and crawled in beside him.
Leaning on her elbow, she put a hand on his arm. “Honey, how would he have known I received a kitten for a gift?"
He opened his eyes. “I'm not sure. It baffles me. I might need to question Marie."
She gasped. “Surely you don't think she has anything to do with this person?"
“It could be very innocent. Someone asking questions or looking over the litter, pretending he wanted to buy one. She could have told him she'd saved this particular feline for you. I wish I'd paid more attention in the pet shop. I blurted out to the workers I knew nothing about cats, and this one had been given to my wife as a gift from Marie. They created such a commotion over the little creature, it never entered my mind someone nearby might have been eavesdropping on the conversation."
“Do you want me to give her a call?"
“No. I need a little more time before I approach her."
Jennifer rolled over on her back and pulled up the cover. “Let's try to get some sleep; maybe we'll think more clearly in the morning."
She awoke early to an empty bed, and assumed her husband hadn't slept well. Letting out a sigh, she pushed her feet into her slippers and shrugged on the robe she'd tossed over the chair last night. She quickly ran a brush through her curly locks, then hurried to the other bathroom and opened the door. The kitten, playing with the small stuffed rabbit Hawkman had bought, batted it with her paw, then raised up and bounced on it with all four feet. Jennifer giggled as she picked up the feline and toy, then carried them down the hallway.
Hawkman had opened the drape covering the sliding glass door just enough so he could look out. He stood staring at the lake with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Good morning. How long have you been up?"
“A long time."
“I figured you wouldn't get much rest.” She knelt and put the cat on the floor. “By the way, she loves the toy you bought."
Hawkman glanced her way. “Oh, yeah, which one?"
“The stuffed bunny. Watch her go after it."
She flipped the rabbit a few feet away and the cat lunged, bounced on it, then rolled over with the ear in its mouth.
Hawkman chuckled. “Glad the little varmint likes to play. I have to say her antics are comical. Have you thought of a name yet?"
Jennifer went into the kitchen where she poured herself a mug of the hot brew. “No. It's got to be something catchy. It will come in time.” She slid onto one of the kitchen bar stools. “What are your plans for today?"
“I've already called Bill."
She glanced at him in surprise. “Boy, I must've been sleeping like a log. I never heard you talking. So what'd he say?"
“He'll get back to me. Right now he has no idea who this guy could be. Said he'd do some research and give me a call in a day or two."
“Are you going into the office?"
“Yes. I have some work to do on a couple of cases.” He raised a brow. “What are your plans?"
“I've got to check with Marie and find out if the kitten is old enough to get neutered. I want to get her spayed as soon as possible."
“Good idea. Lock yourself in and keep the alarm on. You can probably open the drapes during the day, but the minute the sun goes down, close them."
She nodded, took a sip of coffee, then narrowed her eyes. “Hawkman, I'm not going to barricade myself in this house for days on end. I'll take precautions and be alert, but if I want to go to the dock or town, I'm going. I certainly don't see you staying locked inside, even though you're obviously the target."
He sighed. “I figured you'd say that."
She shrugged. “Well, isn't it reasonable I go by the same rules?"
“Since you put it in such a manner, I guess so."
After her husband left the house, Jennifer couldn't find the kitten. Calling, she went through all the rooms, looked under the beds, in the corners, inside closets, behind books, then she panicked at the thought the cat might have dashed outside when Hawkman opened the front door. She hurried over to the dining room window near her computer area, pushed back the drape and scanned the side yard. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the little bundle of fur draped across the seat of her desk chair, sound asleep.
* * * *
Hawkman chewed on a toothpick as he drove toward Medford. He'd racked his brain for an answer to who could be causing the torment. Should he consider the threats seriously, or could this just be a crackpot getting his kicks? Regardless, he felt like he should investigate the situation to make sure. He didn't like the idea the guy knew his original name and had mentioned the cat as a gift. These two items bothered him considerably. He hoped to hear from Bill Broadwell soon. Maybe he'd be able to give him a hint. Hawkman felt in his gut this person existed in his past life at the Agency. He had enemies, but who held su
ch a vendetta that he'd come searching after all these years? The question baffled him.
When he reached the office, he popped into the bakery to buy a couple of pastries since he'd skipped breakfast.
Clyde, the baker, met him at the counter with a broad grin and a pan full of goodies. “You're in early today. These delicacies are right out of the oven. Take your choice."
Hawkman sniffed the air. “It always smells delicious in here. When I'm upstairs and you have those ovens pumped up, the aroma comes floating into my windows and through every crack in the walls. Makes my stomach grumble. You know I'm hooked."
The baker laughed. “Ah, yes. I'm glad you enjoy our goods. By the way, how is Ms. Jennifer?"
“She's doing great and still in remission."
“The last time she came by, she had on a turban. Has her hair grown back?
“Yes. It's curly and she looks like a mischievous little pixie. It's very becoming."
After Hawkman chose a couple of the sweet treats, Clyde put the rest into the display counter. “I'd heard hair can come back quite differently after chemotherapy."
“Yep, she thought it would never grow.” He folded the sack top, started toward the door, then stopped and moved back to the counter. “Say, while I'm here, I need to ask you a question. Have you had any new customers lately, or noticed any strangers lingering around in the past couple of weeks?"
Clyde rubbed a flour covered hand down his apron and put the empty pan on a ledge behind him. “Let me think.” He drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment, then raised his index finger. “I remember a man and woman came in the end of last week. I'd never seen them before."
Hawkman's interest piqued. “Did they come in together?"
“I'm not sure. I was tending to one of the ovens in the back.” He pointed above the door. “That bell rings and alerts me of a customer, so I didn't actually see them walk inside. By the time I got out here, they were standing in front of the case chatting about the baked goods. But I don't think they knew each other."
“Why's that?"
Clyde chuckled. “A tall red headed woman, dressed to the hilt, who carried herself like royalty, just didn't fit with the guy in jeans, tee shirt and needing a shave. And they both bought their own doughnuts."
“What'd the guy look like?"
“Not quite as tall as you, with a fairly buff build. He had dark brown hair, with a tinge of gray at the temples, and green eyes. The right corner of his mouth had a twitch when he spoke.” Clyde touched the middle of his nose. “Oh, and right here, he had a funny bump like it'd been broken. Also, he asked about your business hours. Said you weren't in your office and he didn't see a sign. I told him you usually made appointments with clients. The woman didn't say much of anything."
“Did you by any chance see either of them get into their cars?"
He shook his head. “No. Then he snapped his fingers. “I do remember when they left the shop, the guy stopped the woman a few feet outside the door and pointed to your shingle. She nodded and said something, then they parted, going in different directions. Later, my assistant, Gary, told me the woman performed weddings.” He waved a hand in the air. “You know like a reverend. But he'd never seen the man before."
“Weddings?"
Clyde nodded. “Yeah. I thought it odd too."
“Did he mention her name?"
“No, but I'll ask him later today."
“I'd appreciate it, Clyde. Thanks."
Hawkman trooped up the stairs to his office wondering what the two had talked about outside the bakery. He hoped Gary might be able to supply a name for the lady. He put on the coffee pot and while waiting for it to brew, punched up the messages on the answering machine. He recorded the threatening one he'd already heard when he activated it from the house. Maybe Bill would want to run these through the voice recognition system. Once he listened to the rest, he poured himself a mug of java and munched on the eclair as he opened the telephone book to the yellow pages. He flipped through until he reached ‘Weddings'. After scanning the ads, he jotted down a couple of names and numbers of women who advertised themselves as ministers who performed such ceremonies. He doubted she had anything to do with the man or the threats, but might have noticed what type of vehicle he drove.
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
Hawkman tried to concentrate on his other cases, but thoughts of threatening phone calls kept entering his mind. He picked up the receiver and punched the number for Jennifer's cell phone. When she didn't answer, he immediately dialed the landline and waited for the answering machine. “Jennifer, this is Hawkman, pick up."
“Hello,” she said, sounding out of breath.
“You okay?"
“Yes, but this kitten is about to do me in. I hope she settles down soon or I'm not going to be able to keep her."
“What happened?"
“I found her nosing around in your closet. We're going to have to keep the doors closed since we've got mouse poison in there."
“Did she eat any?"
“No, I believe I caught her in time. She seems to be acting fine. I'll keep an eye on her."
“Maybe we won't need to put it out anymore with a cat in the house."
“That's a thought."
“Anything unusual going on?"
“Not that I've noticed. I haven't done much observing of the outside, been too busy with the cat. The house is locked up, the alarm system is on and I don't plan on going out today. Any news on your end?"
“Clyde, the baker, had a couple of new visitors at his shop last week. The man asked some questions about me. The woman is someone who performs weddings."
“What'd she look like?"
“Tall, redheaded, regal looking woman is how Clyde described her."
“Oh, that's Rita Rawlings."
Hawkman practically came out of his chair. “You know her?"
“I met her at a wedding. She even marries people in jail."
“Really? That's odd."
“Bet she had an event in your area and dropped by the bakery for a quick picker-upper."
“Sounds reasonable."
“Why are you interested?"
“She happened to be in the shop the same time this man came in. They exchanged a few words outside and he pointed at my sign, but Clyde didn't hear their conversation. I'd like to know what this guy said."
“Give her a call."
“I will, since I have her name now. Thanks."
“Glad to be of help. I better run and find the little pest. No telling what she's up to now."
Hawkman laughed. “Okay, hon, talk to you later."
He hung up and fished out the notepad from underneath a stack of papers where he'd written the two phone numbers earlier. After punching in the digits, he received a message instructing him to leave his name and number. She'd get back to him as soon as possible. He grimaced, but left the information and hung up. “Nothing's easy,” he mumbled, tapping his pencil on the desk.
He thought about Clyde's description of the man and couldn't place a green-eyed, dark-haired guy in his past. Didn't mean an adversary didn't exist. Someone could hold a grudge due to an ugly incident without ever meeting face to face. Maybe Bill would come up with something. He hoped to hear from him in the next day or two.
Hawkman scratched his chin. Of course, this fellow at the donut shop might just have wanted my services, and had nothing to do with the threatening calls. Time will tell.
He felt stymied at the moment, with no clues on the caller. The phone I.D. was blocked, and the calls weren't long enough to set up a trace. He exhaled loudly, opened a folder and tried to focus on one of his current cases, only to have his concentration interrupted by a knock on the door. Reaching up to his holster, he flipped the cover. “Come in,” he called.
A lovely, redheaded woman stepped into the room. She appeared quite a bit older than he, but the expertly applied make-up, twinkling green eyes, pale emerald colored silk blouse, skirt and b
eige cape, camouflaged her age. “Mr. Casey?"
“Yes.” Hawkman straightened his jacket and immediately stood, as something about her stance made him feel obligated.
She strolled toward him and extended her hand. “I'm Rita Rawlings. I received your call. Since I was in the area, decided to stop by and see if you were in your office."
He shook her hand, then pulled a chair over to the front of his desk and motioned for her to take a seat. “I'm glad you did. I'd much rather talk face to face than over the phone."
Rita sat down and placed her purse on the floor. “I've heard a lot about you and your practice, but never had the pleasure of meeting you in person. However, I have met a Jennifer Casey, the mystery writer from this area. Is she by chance your wife?"
“Yes."
“She attended a wedding I conducted several months ago. Since then, I've read every one of her books. Tell her she's definitely made a new fan."
“Thank you. She'll be thrilled."
“Now what is it you wanted to know? You mentioned something about a man at the bakery in your message."
“First, would you like a cup of coffee?"
“Love one."
“Sugar or cream?"
“Black is fine, thank you."
Hawkman handed her a steaming Styrofoam cup and sat back down behind his desk. “I'm working on a case right now and the owner of the bakery downstairs told me you'd visited his shop last week. My interest is with the man who happened to be in the store at the same time. Do you remember him?"
She wrinkled her forehead. “Yes."
“Do you know his name?"
“No, I'd never seen him before, but thought it odd he asked so many questions about you and your services. Is he giving you static?"
“You remind me of my wife and her intuition. Do all women have this trait?"
She chuckled and took a sip of the hot brew. “A lot do."
“The answer to your question is, I'm not sure. I've received some threatening phone calls and am trying to track the culprit. This man may be innocent, but I thought I'd check out any reasonable leads."
She entwined her fingers on the desktop. “You're wise."
In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9] Page 2