by Nadirah Foxx
“And you are?” Dad asked with a touch of animosity in his voice.
Matt held his hand out, and Dad accepted the gesture. “Mr. St. John, my name is Matt. I’m a friend of your daughter’s. I dropped by her apartment after the break-in.”
“Come on in.” Dad closed the door behind us. “I take it you’re the one who spoke some sense into Rachel? Got her to move out of that dump?”
Matt shook his head. “No, sir. Rachel came to that decision on her own. I merely agreed with her.” He turned to me. “Do you need me to unpack your car?”
“Not really. Dad and I can do it.”
“Okay. Then I’m going back. Scott’s meeting me at your apartment. There’s an investigative team headed there as well.”
“Matt, don’t you think that’s overkill? We don’t have—”
Dad stepped up behind me and tapped my arm, shushing me. “I appreciate your helping my daughter. Contacting Scott and having the police come by was a good idea.”
“Glad you approve, sir.” Matt smiled. “It’s just standard procedure whenever a crime happens.”
“Oh?” Dad started. “You’re an officer too?”
“Yes, sir. I’m with the Detroit Police Department.” Matt paused for a beat or two. “I should go.”
“Let me walk you out,” I offered.
He frowned. “No. You shouldn’t be outside alone. Never know where that lunatic might be.”
The door was barely closed before Dad began the interrogation. “What the hell’s going on, Rachel?”
“I made a mistake.” Following my father through the living room, still decorated with Mom’s favorite knickknacks, the knot in my stomach grew tighter. “I met someone I thought was a great guy. When things didn’t work out, he broke into my apartment.”
Dad exhaled. “And just where did you meet this so-called catch?”
I steeled my spine, readying for the criticism that would rain down upon me. “At Duggan’s.”
“That damned bar?” Dad scrubbed a calloused hand over his face. “Rachel, how many times does someone have to warn you about men at saloons?”
“Dad—”
He held up a hand as we entered the kitchen. “No. Remember, you called me at the crack of dawn scared out of your mind? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t say anything? Sit down and try listening for a change.”
Nervously, I pulled out a chair and sat at the table.
Dad reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black label. He gave me a look full of daring—do not question his choice of morning beverage. Dad poured out a couple of fingers of the amber-colored liquid and then set it before me.
“Drink up.”
I made a face.
“A little liquid courage, Rachel.” He waited for me to take a sip. “Your mother—God rest her soul—raised you better than this. You don’t go looking for a date in a bar.”
“I didn’t.” I tried to take another sip but couldn’t do it. The taste reminded me of Leo. “Can I have a cup of coffee instead?”
Dad nodded. He shuffled to the stove and picked up his ancient percolator. “Then why were you in the bar?”
“I was with Crystal. We were waiting for her husband.”
“Poor choice of meeting places.” Dad returned to the table carrying two cups. He sat down and passed one to me. He took the whiskey and poured it into his coffee. “Meeting men on internet sites and in bars isn’t something a respectable young woman does. You need to stop before you get hurt.”
Stop? Was he joking with me? I wasn’t a kid who needed talking to. “How in the hell am I supposed to meet someone?”
“Watch your tone and your language, young lady.” Dad took a healthy sip of coffee before adding, “There are better ways to meet people. Church for one.”
“Church?” I picked up my cup and glanced out the window. Maybe while I was home again, I could take care of the garden. It had been a long time since it had been properly prepared for the winter months. Turning back to Dad, I said, “Church isn’t the only place to meet a man.”
“It was good enough for meeting your mother.” Dad stared down into his cup for a minute.
His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled again. He was hurting. Some days, the hurt was emotional—the continued grief he experienced every day without Mom. Other times, like today, it was a physical pain for him. Dad was injured on his last tour of duty and received a medical discharge. When I asked about the injury, he only told me that I didn’t need to worry about him. Dad lifted his head, and my heart shattered. His eyes were glassy as he winced.
“Dad?”
He opened his mouth to speak when glass broke somewhere in the house. My father forgot about his agony and took off. I was right behind him. We ran to the spare bedroom where a cold breeze blew in. Someone broke a pane in the side window. On the floor was a brick with a piece of paper attached to it. Scrawled across it were the words, You can’t hide from me.
Dad spun around and rushed to the front door. When I heard him swear, that prompted me to move. By the time I reached the porch, Dad stood on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He looked up and down the street before coming back to the house.
“Let’s wait for your friend to return before we unpack your car.”
“Why?” I pushed past Dad and ran down the steps. Someone had slashed all four tires on my car. “Who would do this?”
My father came up beside me. “How serious was this relationship between you and this man from the bar?”
“Not that serious. Dad, we barely…” The words trailed off. No way would I tell my father the intimate details of my experience with Leo. Instead, I shook my head. If Leo did this, then staying with my father wasn’t safe either.
“Rachel?”
I wrapped my hand around Dad’s elbow and tugged him toward the house. “Once Matt gets back here, I want to go to the gun range.”
15
Weapons Launched
Rachel
Dad looked over my shoulder, his breath hot and heavy on my neck. “Who are you hiding from?”
I hadn’t realized he was behind me. No hiding the note, so I read it once more and then slipped it into my jeans pocket. The brick was still in my hand. I stared at it, wondering what I should do with the blameless object. Really, I wanted to discard it, but the cops might need it as evidence or something. Unable to toss it out, I set it down on the spare room’s side table.
Facing my father, I admitted, “I’m hiding from the man I told you about—the guy from the bar.”
Dad pressed a hand to his temple. “Rachel, what were you thinking? This sounds like a stalker.”
“No. Leo’s not that dangerous. He just got his feelings hurt.”
“Sweetheart, danger comes in many forms.” Dad gave me a stony expression and then slowly shook his head. He pointed to the broken glass. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”
∞∞∞
Hours went by, and I hadn’t heard from Matt. The later it got, the more worried I became. Every few minutes, I checked my phone. I’d called Matt and left several messages with no response. My mind constructed far-fetched scenarios, including one where Leo attacked and killed Matt. I knew it was nonsense, but I couldn’t stop my ridiculous thoughts.
I stood and paced the floor, hoping that movement would ease my troubled mind. When my phone rang, I jumped and then picked it up.
“Matt?” My voice came out eager and strained.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” It was Crystal. “Girl, turn on the news.”
“What?”
“Just do it,” she said flatly.
Wasn’t it too early for a newscast? I grabbed the remote, flipped through the channels, and finally landed on WXYZ-TV. An Indian-looking reporter was interviewing Matt. His eyes appeared wild as he raked a hand through his hair. I turned up the volume.
“It all happened in a matter of seconds,” he said. Panic and anger mixed in his voice.
The camera went
from a live shot to footage. It was grainy and hard to make out the details—probably because it came from a squad car’s dashboard camera. A white flash from a gun, cars screeched to a halt, and somebody screamed. Matt appeared on screen with Scott by his side. Both men had their guns drawn. Then there was static before the camera switched back to the female reporter. Matt was no longer with her.
“We do have a police sketch.”
They showed a pencil drawing of a man wearing a beanie, sunglasses, and what looked to be a hoodie jacket. My breath caught when I saw the trimmed beard, but it wasn’t enough to be certain.
The reporter was back on the screen. “The witness who provided the details to the sketch artist said the gunman was tall and slim. Sadly, he got away. Tonight, the Detroit police are searching for the suspect while grieving their loss. The name of the slain officer is being withheld until the family is notified.”
With a shaky hand, I turned off the TV.
“Rachel?”
Crystal’s voice snapped my attention. “Yeah?”
“I thought you should know what was going on,” Crystal said. “Scott called me, and then I called you.”
“Thanks, girlfriend.” I was about to hang up when I remembered my apartment full of items. “Hey, can I store my furniture in your garage until—”
“Not a problem, you know that. Don’t hesitate to call me for anything. Got it?”
“Yeah. Love you.”
“Same here.”
I disconnected, but before I could put my phone down, it rang again. This time it was Matt. The knot unraveled in my gut. “Are you okay?”
Heavy breathing hit my ear. In an unsteady voice, Matt said, “Yeah. I’m wrapping up here. Give us a few minutes, and we’ll head to your dad’s.”
“Take it to Scott’s. Crystal said I could store it in her garage.”
“Okay.” Matt went quiet. A long minute passed before he asked, “D-did you see the news?”
“I did. Do you think—”
“It wasn’t Leo. Just a random act of violence. I told you the neighborhood wasn’t safe.” He said something to someone else and then returned to me. “I’ll contact you when I get to Scott’s. It’ll be a minute since we’ve got to go all the way to Westland. Rachel, just stay with your dad.”
It wasn’t a good time to tell Matt about the message. He’d undoubtedly rush back here, worried about my safety. It would keep until later.
∞∞∞
Thirty minutes later, an African-American officer showed up at the house. “Rachel St. John?”
“Yes.” I spoke through the screen door.
She flashed me her badge. “I’m Officer Stevens with the Royal Oak Police Department. Officer Wallace asked me to stop by.”
Opening the door, I said, “Come on in.”
She removed her hat and stepped over the threshold. “According to Officer Wallace with the DPD, someone broke into your apartment. The building is notorious for crime. We’ve had a few instances when the perp was somebody known to the victim. Maybe you’ve seen someone lurking around the premises?”
“Honestly?” I gestured toward the sofa and sat on a chair. “I can’t confirm it, but it might be someone I met at Duggan’s.”
Officer Stevens removed a notepad and a pen from her chest pocket. “And what’s his name?”
“Leo Kilpatrick.”
The cop scribbled his name down on her pad. Without looking up, she asked, “And how long have you known him?”
“A week or two.”
She paused her pen and glanced up. “This question is a bit personal, but I have to ask. Were you involved with Mr. Kilpatrick?”
“Sort of.” My cheeks heated. “It was a brief relationship. He assumed it was more than what it was. When I asked him to leave, he got agitated.”
The officer raised her eyebrow. “Was this after a sexual encounter?”
“Yes,” I mumbled.
She nodded and returned to her notebook. “And when was the last time you saw Mr. Kilpatrick—before the break-in, that is?”
“The day of. I was with Matt… I mean Officer Wallace.” The officer cocked her head. I twisted my fingers in my lap. “We were entering my apartment, when Leo came up to us. When he saw me with Officer Wallace, Leo got angry. It was an ugly moment.”
My heart pounded. Could my statement get Matt in trouble? The cop finished writing out my statement and then looked at me.
“Ms. St. John?”
“Yes.”
“Pardon me for asking, but is it possible that you gave Mr. Kilpatrick a key to your place? You stated that he became outraged when he saw you with Officer Wallace. Were you cheating on Mr. Kilpatrick?”
My blood boiled. How dare she ask me that? “Cheating? I broke things off with Leo. It wasn’t serious—just a one-time thing.” I breathed deeply, trying to calm down. “I can assure you that I didn’t give him a key.”
“Sorry.” She lifted a palm. “I had to ask because this sounds like a classic lover’s quarrel.”
“What?” I yelled.
The plump cop shook her head. “A team went over your residence, top to bottom, and came up empty.” She flipped through her notepad. “We pulled three sets of fingerprints from the doorknob. One set was a match with Officer Wallace. We found the other two in a variety of spots throughout your apartment. The lock wasn’t jimmied. Nothing seemed to be out of place either.” Officer Stevens glanced up again.
Was she saying that the cops couldn’t help me?
She added, “Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me?”
My mouth slackened, and my hope disintegrated. Then I remembered the note. Surely Officer Stevens would help me once she saw it. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. “Just this. Someone attached it to a brick and threw it through a window in the back of the house.”
The cop pursed her lips as she perused the paper. After a minute, she lifted her head. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“No.” Eagerly, I said, “We have the brick, too.”
“The note should be fine. Anything else?”
Confidence found a new foothold. Maybe this woman finally believed that I was in danger.
Pushing my shoulders back, I said, “Someone slashed my car tires. All four of them.”
Officer Stevens scribbled more notes and then returned the notebook to her pocket. Pushing to her feet, she clicked the pen and put it away. “Technically, this is an ROPD matter, but Officer Wallace is a friend. I’ll let him know about the message. In the meantime, you might want to invest in a security system. Ms. St. John, I advise that you go nowhere alone, and please, watch your back.”
That was it? Maybe I watched too many episodes of Law & Order. I expected the police to do more.
I walked her to the door.
She placed her hand on the knob, but hesitated. “One more thing.” The officer removed a business card from her pocket. “If you remember anything or something else should happen, please call me.”
Taking the card, I thanked her.
As soon as the door closed, my father entered the living room. “Why weren’t you honest with me? Princess, what happened to our promise?”
When Mom was killed, Dad and I swore we’d never lie to each other. Honesty was the only way we got through that trying period. I felt like crap. I should have realized he was listening in. “Dad—”
“No. The cops will do what they have to do, but I won’t sit back and wait for this asshole to kill you. I’m calling Richard,” Dad announced, picked up his cell phone from an end table, and went out the front door. “Stay inside.”
I sat back and leaned my head against the sofa cushion. My life was about to get even more complicated. Richard Gaspe was in the military with my father. The man had a security company in Detroit. He wasn’t cheap but probably wouldn’t charge us anything since Dad talked about him being like a brother. I simply didn’t want his overbearing protection.
Lack of sleep forced my eye
s shut. Just as I drifted off, my phone buzzed. I sat up and peered at the screen. When I saw who it was, my hand trembled.
Leo Kilpatrick: Miss me?
16
The Cavalry Arrived
Rachel
While we removed the last of the bags from my car, a late model SUV pulled up to the curb. A broad-shouldered man exited the vehicle and ambled over to us. I wasn’t short by any means, but I had to lean back to see his face—intense blue eyes, blond crew cut, and ruddy complexion.
“Richard!” Dad said as he dropped the load and walked up to his friend.
The two men exchanged a warm embrace before acknowledging me.
“Rachel, this is my friend. Richard Gaspe, meet my daughter.” The corners of my father’s mouth curled upwards into a wide smile. “I’ll finish up out here. You two go inside. Rachel can fill you in.”
I escorted the man into the house and to the kitchen. He sat across from me at the table.
“Do I call you Mr. Gaspe?”
“Richard is fine.”
The response was firm—the kind that should have had a salute and a ma’am attached to it. I guess the fifty-something-year-old was just another man who couldn’t forget the formality of the military.
Either I made him uncomfortable or he expected something to happen. Every few minutes, he checked over his shoulder. The more he did it, the more I worried. Was the man a ticking time bomb waiting to implode?
Running a hand over his hair, Richard said, “I checked the surrounding neighborhood before I got here. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, so tell me more about your encounter with Leo Kilpatrick?”
My head rocked up at the mention of Leo’s name. “There’s not much to tell. I met him at Duggan’s over on Woodward. We went out once. He came by my apartment twice for dinner.”
“Harris said the man is stalking you.”
Leave it to my father to jump to conclusions. “I don’t know if he is or not. Leo came by my apartment yesterday, saw me with someone else, and had a fit.”
“Did he threaten you?”
I recalled the incident in the hallway. “Leo told me he didn’t give up easily.”