Finally Natasha picked up her sandwich again and took a bite. So RememberMe was apparently a police officer. She was grateful he hadn’t come out of the obsessive-love stage back home. In the areas she frequented, a police officer could have picked her up, even when he wasn’t in uniform, even when he was driving an unmarked car, and no one would have paid attention. People noticed when something was obviously wrong, and in that case, all they would see was a police officer taking a criminal, probably a shoplifter, into custody.
And then RememberMe would have been free to do whatever he wanted with her.
She should have asked Dr. Armstrong what his initial intent had been. Had he thought she would be delighted that he had come for her, that now they could share their love and their lives in the way they both wanted? Would he have been so enraged to discover that she didn’t love him, that she’d led him astray, that he would have just killed her and been done with it? Or would he have locked her up, chained her down and done whatever was necessary to try to instill his delusions in her?
Every possibility led to the same conclusion: death for her. And soon enough, some other poor woman would smile at him or shake hands with him or say something that his twisted mind would turn into an invitation.
“Have you ever been stalked?” Natasha asked. She needed distraction, but her mind was a little too narrowly focused.
“No. My friends seem to think that I’d come down on the wrong side of that equation. You write ‘Morwenna and Henry forever’ in one patch of freshly poured concrete, right on the busiest corner in town, and no one ever lets you forget it.”
Natasha laughed. “Did you really?”
“My best friend dared me. She said I needed to show my love for Henry in a really big way, and his family lived above the shop at the corner, so... And he didn’t even appreciate it. There was a bunch of us coming home from school, and my friend said, ‘Look what Morwenna did.’ I’ve never seen a guy look so mortified, like he was going to be sick right there. He said, ‘Oh, God,’ in a really disgusted, how-can-you-be-so-stupid way, and he ran off. I was horrified, all the kids laughed and I promptly fell out of love with Henry Braithwaite.” She heaved a sigh as if telling the story had drained her.
“Wait a minute. Henry Braithwaite the fabulously sexy and sought-after actor?”
“The very one. But unless he’s changed an awful lot, he’s still a prat.” She gathered the wrapper from her sandwich and stood, then grinned. “I was twelve at the time. Never let it be said that Morwenna Armstrong doesn’t know how to hold a grudge.”
Natasha responded to her wave as she headed back to work, then took another bite of her sandwich. Daniel had to be pleased that they’d narrowed the suspect pool from the entire population of California to the much smaller number of law enforcement officers in Los Angeles County who were given unmarked cars.
But he must also feel an extra measure of disdain that RememberMe was likely a cop. She was sorry for that, but she wasn’t going to add it to her guilt. In fact, since yesterday morning’s talk with Dr. Armstrong, her guilt had been slowly shrinking. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Though she hated the word, hated the way it made her feel, she was a victim in this whole mess, just like Kyle and Daniel. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept responsibility for RememberMe’s actions.
She finished her lunch, threw away the trash and circled the room a time or two before the computer drew her. The screen had gone to sleep but woke when she swiped her finger across it, bringing up the picture of the car. It was impossible to tell from the background on which street it had been captured. There was a convenience store with a ridiculous number of gas pumps, a pharmacy, a business she couldn’t make out and three fast-food restaurants. It had been sunny, hazy, a business-as-usual day for everyone in the area.
Could anyone have suspected that business as usual for the guy in the unassuming gray car was stalking a woman he didn’t know?
Daniel returned, and she straightened. When he came around the table, she stepped into his embrace and sighed. His heartbeat was steady and strong. He was warm and calm and wore her favorite scent in the whole world—eau de him. He was her rock.
After a moment, he pushed her back so he could see her face. “You okay?”
She nodded. “How about you?”
“I won’t be satisfied as long as this guy’s out there, but we’re getting closer.”
She shifted against him, rubbing side to side. “Is that a challenge?”
His laugh surprised him, she could see in his eyes, but it was exactly what she needed to hear. “You know what I mean, Tash.”
She did, and this was his workplace where someone could walk in at any minute. She promised herself she would behave and even get serious again. “I hope it’s no one you know.”
“So do I. Flea’s going to try to get us a picture of him—follow his direction of travel and hopefully find an angle that shows his—” His cell phone buzzed, and he scowled, glanced at the screen then set the phone on the table. “His face. She’s also looking to see if anyone in the department has been checking you out—DMV, traffic, utilities, that kind of thing. Everything digital leaves a trail.”
Natasha glanced at the silent phone then swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Unless you’re good enough to hide it.”
“Everyone screws up sometime.”
“Aw, when have you ever screwed up?”
He snugged her close again and kissed her jaw. “When I let you go without a fight.” Before he kissed her mouth, he murmured a promise, and she believed him.
“I’m not going to lose you again.”
Chapter 10
They were in the middle of that kiss when Ben cleared his throat behind them. Daniel finished it—no, broke it off; he wouldn’t have been finished for a long time—and rolled his eyes. “His timing sucks.”
Natasha’s smile was sweet and teasing. “It’ll give us something to look forward to later.”
Oh, he had a lot to look forward to. So much that he was going to need a whole life to see it all.
Ben came on in and sat down. He pulled the computer over and busied himself with it before raising his gaze to them. The grim look was back in his eyes. Not good news.
Daniel pulled out a chair for Natasha then sat beside her. “What is it?”
“Seattle PD called. Someone took a shot at fiancé number two about an hour ago. He’s okay—just a couple of cuts from broken glass. The only description he could give was a white guy, average height, dark hair.”
Beside him, Natasha went stiff, her breath catching in a gasp. Daniel took her hand, squeezing it tightly, but his own muscles relaxed enough that he could sink back in his chair. “That’s good news.”
Ben’s gaze narrowed. “How do you figure that?”
“If RememberMe’s in Seattle, shooting at Eric, then he can’t be here tracking us.” He would come back, no doubt about that, but it gave them a few hours of breathing space.
Ben echoed his thoughts. “He’ll come back.”
“Yeah, but he’s not here right now. We can move Natasha someplace safe. If she doesn’t have her electronics and isn’t using her credit card, he’ll have no way to track her, while we’re finally on our way to identifying him.” Just the idea of her being totally safe sent an overwhelming sense of relief through him. She would still be in hiding, but she wouldn’t be in danger. It would give them time.
Five years ago, he knew she would have protested the notion of being stashed away somewhere for her own good. Today, she merely clasped his hand in both of hers. “You’ll go with me.”
“No. I want to take this guy down. I need to—”
“Sounds like an excellent idea to me.” Sam walked in the door, stopping at the end of the table. “I told you, Detective, I’d hate to lose you. You’re officially one of the victims that needs protection in this case.
My uncle Dave has a cabin at Keystone Lake, about twenty-five miles from here. It’s quiet, out in the woods, no neighbors nearby. Leave your cell phone—Ben would hate to miss any of the guy’s charming texts—and take your radio so we can stay in touch. Okay?”
Three gazes turned on Daniel, making him frown. It wasn’t okay. He didn’t want to be off in the wilderness when psycho guy was arrested. It was personal. He needed to see the case through, to be there when they put handcuffs on him, to outsmart the guy who claimed he was smarter than them all.
Then he inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of Natasha’s perfume, and his common sense kicked in. Time alone together in the wilderness? A cabin, the lake and all the privacy and intimacy they could want? He’d have to be as crazy as the psycho to turn that down.
Besides, she was still RememberMe’s obsession. If by some strange quirk of fate, he found her again...
“Okay,” he said, and those three gazes all registered some measure of surprise. “Okay, we’ll go. We’ll have to stop at the hotel to pick up her stuff, then go by my house. Should I get anything special? Linens, dishes?”
“No. The cabin gets all the family’s castoffs. Nothing matches, but you’ll have everything you need. I’ll take you out there, then pick up some groceries.” Sam shifted gears. “What about the photo?”
“I haven’t shown it to them yet.” Ben passed the laptop across the table.
“You guys really should get a tablet for this part of a job,” Natasha commented, her tone light but stressed underneath. Was she more afraid of looking at the picture and knowing RememberMe or looking at it and still seeing a total stranger?
That was how Daniel felt. He didn’t want to see the face of one of his buddies looking back, but at least he could identify a buddy. They would have a name and a driver’s license or an official police department photo. They would have coworkers and family to interview, a home to search, a car to look out for.
Actually looking was kind of anticlimactic to the buildup. It was a shot taken as the car sailed through an intersection, giving a profile of the driver. A white guy, looked to be about average height, with dark hair. Someone who knew him might be able to identify him from that photo, but Daniel didn’t have a clue. He was both relieved and disappointed.
“Detective Martin says that’s the best they’ve found so far, but she’s still looking,” Ben said. “Natasha, does it remind you even remotely of anyone you know? Anyone you’ve had contact with?”
She shook her head. “It’s like those pictures they have on the news when there’s a bank robbery. Only their mothers would recognize them.”
“Print some copies anyway,” Sam said. “Show them around. Have someone locate Ozzie and see if it’s the same guy he saw.”
“Already printed.” Ben stood, picked up the folder he’d brought in and tapped it. “Let’s get your stuff and head to the lake.”
They were about to turn down the stairs to the basement, to leave by the sally port, when Natasha spoke again. “Can we just walk to the hotel? I’ve been inside way too long, and if he’s in Washington...”
Daniel and Ben exchanged looks and shrugs, and they went out the main entrance instead. The afternoon was sunny, warm enough to not need a jacket but with just enough bite in the breeze to remind them that winter was on its way. In another week or two, the trees would hit their peak color. Natasha would be suitably impressed by the amazing colors of the maple near the gazebo. Once she actually got to see and know the town, she would love it. Daniel would make sure of it.
The three of them crossed the square, ignored the sign about jaywalking and jogged across the street in the middle of the block. The hotel lobby was empty when they went inside, but Claire called a greeting from the counter.
“Why don’t you get started packing?” Daniel suggested. “I’ll be up in a minute.” He watched until she reached the top of the stairs and turned right—never missing a chance to watch her walk upstairs—then joined Ben at the counter.
“...quiet,” Claire was saying. “Everyone’s checked out except Natasha and the wine ladies. They’re leaving this afternoon. But it’s like that. We have a guest or two during the week, fill up for the weekends, then are blessedly empty on Mondays. It gives me a chance to recharge.”
“We don’t get time to recharge,” Ben replied. “Our customers are full-time criminals. Weekday, weekend, holiday, football season...nothing keeps them from their work.”
“Which is why we have our work,” Daniel reminded him. “If everyone started obeying the law, you and I would have to... I don’t know. Go wash dishes in your mom’s kitchen?”
“I’ve washed my share of dishes at the restaurant. Didn’t get paid for it, either.” Ben pulled out a copy of the photograph. “Claire, can you take a look at this? Does he look familiar?”
She took the picture, tilted her head to one side and studied it, lips pursed. A moment passed then another, and her forehead wrinkled. “I hate to say because it’s just kind of a feeling, and I assume this person is wanted for some reason if you’re showing his picture around, but...” She expelled a breath. “It kind of looks like Rob.”
Daniel’s mind went blank for a moment, but then he remembered: the guest Natasha had been talking to when he and Morwenna arrived to take her to dinner on Friday. Oh, hell. Had RememberMe been sleeping right here in the same building with Natasha all this time?
If so, the bastard hadn’t been bragging. He really was smarter than them.
But somebody in the department had looked into this Rob guy, had verified that he was from San Francisco, that he was here on business. Claire herself had said he’d come at the same time every month for three months. He’d been here before Natasha had even arrived in the state.
“You said he’s checked out?” Ben asked.
“Yes, he left this morning about eight. I can give you the information I have on file for him.” Without waiting for a response, she called up her guest files on the computer.
Daniel restlessly tapped his fingers on the counter. Kind of looks like wasn’t the kind of eyewitness identification that made a cop or a prosecutor happy. And if RememberMe had taken a shot at Eric in Seattle a couple hours ago, he couldn’t possibly have been here at the hotel to check out at eight this morning. The number of men just here in Cedar Creek who matched the poor description Eric had given was probably in the thousands.
It couldn’t be.
But he was getting a very bad feeling.
Claire came back with a page torn from a notepad. The full name was Rob Miller, along with his address and phone number, as well as the make, model and license tag of his rental car.
“Rob Miller.” Ben placed his thumb on the page, blocking out the o and the b. RM. “Coincidence?” he murmured.
Before Daniel could process that, sound came from upstairs: a thud, a grunt then a piercing shriek that stopped his heart cold.
It was Natasha, and she was screaming his name.
* * *
Filling her lungs in a panicked gasp, Natasha gave voice to the kind of chilling scream Stacia was so good at. “Daniel, help!” She’d been standing beside the bed, packing neat piles of clothing into her suitcase, when strong arms had grabbed her from behind. In the first instant, she’d thought it was Daniel, but then she’d realized that the scent was wrong, and under the circumstances, Daniel would never sneak up on her like that.
Then the man had spoken. Hello, Nat. Remember me?
He was pulling hard, but she’d wrapped her hands around the footrail of the bed. One gripped smooth steel; the other was clutching one of the damn birds. She kicked back, screamed again then went limp and forced him to support her weight fully.
But he was damn strong. He held her, one arm cutting into her middle, and peeled her hand from the rail, one finger at a time. When she lost that hold, he yanked, and her other hand was jerked loose fr
om the bird, its wings and beak slicing her palm.
With nothing for her to grab, he easily yanked her across the room. When she lunged for the doorjamb, he wrapped both arms around her, trapping her arms at her sides, expelling the air from her lungs, and pulled her along the corridor. Below, Daniel yelled her name, and steps thudded on the lobby’s wood floor, but before she could find breath for another scream, her stalker was dragging her like a bag of grain up the smaller, less-ornate stairs to the third floor. On the landing, she managed to hook her foot around the baluster, but it didn’t slow him even a bit. He gave an extra heave and continued down the hall to a door at the back of the building.
Once through that doorway, he shoved her, lungs heaving, against the wall, holding her there with one steely hand pressing too tightly around her throat, and used his free hand to close and lock the door. They were in another stairwell, this one dusty and dark. No windows let in the sun, and if there was a bulb, he didn’t bother turning it on. He didn’t seem to need it, as he began hauling her up the stairs.
They were going to the roof. Oh, God, that couldn’t possibly be good. Did he think he could force her down a fire escape quicker than Daniel or Ben could run out the back door? Was his plan to go across the roof to the next building?
Or did he intend to throw her off, onto the street below?
Her heart pounded so hard that Daniel must surely hear it, and her breath was little more than ineffectual wheezes. As he fumbled with the doorknob at the top of the stairs, she scratched the hand that held her, digging her nails in deep, making him swear, but his grip didn’t loosen. He opened the door into fresh air and brilliant sunlight, shoved her outside, locked that door, too, then let go of her.
Run! Tasha screamed, but as if he heard the voice himself, he slapped her. The force of the blow knocked her to the floor—the roof—whatever the hell it was called—and sent pain ricocheting from her cheekbone all the way down to her toes. The deck surface was coated with tar and gritty with dirt, dead leaves and windblown debris, bits of it pressing into the unharmed side of her face.
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