He was quite certain the woman had no amorous expectations. If she did, that might explain her reluctance for him to leave for the day. Did she suspect the real reason he had asked her for the job? He hoped not, and he didn’t believe she did. Although, he would eventually have to confront her about it…or she’d confront him…and that would be the day he’d have to leave. One day, she would ask the right questions, and he would be compelled to tell her the truth. No, her reluctance was over something far different he couldn’t yet explain.
Laurel Standridge was a strange one.
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with forced politeness. “Around nine.” Why did he insist on calling her ma’am? He had to be more than a couple of years older than she was.
“Before you come tomorrow, could you stop at the hardware store and pick up a few things we need? You can have them put the bill on my account.”
He glanced at the list she handed him. “Might be later than nine before I get here.”
He was already familiar with the hardware store’s laid-back approach to customer service. A shopping trip that should only take an hour could turn into two if the man behind the counter got into a long-winded discussion with one of the locals. If Chase indicated his need to hurry, the clerk would present him with a hostile attitude. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll be looking for you after nine then.” She shifted from one foot to the other and fidgeted with the tail of her t-shirt.
The golden brown of the fabric complimented the color of her eyes, an almost exact match. She had tied her dark blond hair into a ponytail, but she usually wore it loose around her shoulders. The style framed her face in a rather pleasing way. She wasn’t what he’d call beautiful. Her features were a little odd—an asymmetrical heart-shaped face with a strong jaw that jutted out when she was stubborn or demanding.
Dark circles under her eyes revealed her stress and perhaps the lack of sleep. Maybe the woman’s strange behavior was due to insomnia. If he had been his brother’s ex-girlfriend, the woman that Rand claimed betrayed him and stole his property, he probably wouldn’t sleep well either.
When it didn’t appear Laurel was going to delay his departure any longer, he turned to leave.
“Chase?”
He sighed with frustration. “Yes?” He faced her and waited for her next stall tactic.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“For what?”
Her lower lip quivered. “Not asking too many questions.” Her tone was unnatural and guarded as if she knew very well she’d just told him something revealing about herself without telling him anything solid at all.
Her gratitude seemed to come at him out of nowhere, but he understood her past was probably never very far from the surface of her consciousness. She might be odd and quite a bit damaged, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Just returning the favor.”
He finally made his way out the door. As he got into his truck, he could make out her silhouette behind the curtains. He scratched the itch behind his ear. It was the same every, single day. He didn’t want to tangle with a weirdo, but then, on the other hand, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. She certainly hadn’t asked any of the appropriate questions when he knocked on her door asking for work.
Her strange behavior spooked him. Did the woman have some sort of twisted fixation on him? Maybe it was his truck. Maybe she was a chick that liked guys with trucks. Or his hair. Maybe she liked guys with long hair. His wasn’t extremely long, but it was long enough he pulled it back into a short ponytail when he worked.
He had no illusions about his looks. She wasn’t watching him because she thought he looked good from a distance or even up close. The woman was either foolish or twisted. Maybe it was best he never found out which she was.
He concluded that her reasons for watching him leave had nothing to do with him. Lately, he had begun to consider the possibility that she didn’t want to be alone in the house at night. From what he knew of her past, Laurel had good reason to be afraid of the dark.
****
Laurel stepped back from the kitchen window when Chase glanced toward the house. She had watched his departure every day. No doubt he was aware of her observation. Every time he got into his truck and drove away, a swell of fear had rolled up from her gut and lodged in her throat.
The taillights on his beat up Chevy S-10 disappeared down the long driveway toward the highway. Once again, Laurel was alone for the night. Chase’s presence had made the daytime hours tolerable, but the dark hours had become a nightmare to survive one second at a time. She had stopped taking the sleeping aid because she was afraid she’d be unconscious if one of the house’s strange noises turned into a threat. Bumps, creaks, bangs, and whispers ebbed and flowed throughout the night. No matter how long she tried to stay awake, the noises usually waited until she had settled into her bed before starting their nocturnal symphony.
How would Chase react if she asked him to take a room in the house? She could sell him the idea, couldn’t she? It would make things easier for him if he didn’t have to travel back and forth to Fairview every day. Would he go for it? Maybe. Maybe not. Chase was a hard man to read.
She sighed. He didn’t even flinch when she thanked him for not asking questions she didn’t want to answer as if he already knew she had a hard past. The man was a deep, dark mystery. He never talked about himself or where he came from. Never mentioned his parents. Did he have brothers or sisters? His life was a great big fill-in-the-blank, and Laurel had spent many sleepless hours speculating about the missing information.
Maybe hiring him without a reference had been foolish, but she had been so desperate for help she hadn’t even hesitated to hire him on the spot. Actually, she’d been so desperate that she didn’t ask too many questions, afraid that he’d refuse the job like so many others had. Just because she’d hired him without hesitation didn’t mean she trusted him.
He had the mark of prison time all over him. So many of Rand’s acquaintances were ex-cons. She could recognize them by the way they kept their backs to the wall, never made eye contact, and noticed everything around them. Chase didn’t use obvious prison slang, but he appeared to consider every word he said. A man couldn’t be sloppy with what he said or did inside a prison. Carelessness could end a life. A few of Rand’s associates had died the hard way because they couldn’t keep their tongues from wagging or their eyes from straying.
If Chase had served time, that didn’t bother her. She knew how to act toward men who’d been in prison. Of course, he wouldn’t want her hovering around him while he worked. No doubt, he’d noticed her watching him leave every day. She’d made a mistake observing him too closely.
The prison time alone was not enough to unsettle her. No, something else concerned her even more. He hadn’t told her his real name. She had recognized the hesitation before he said Brennan. She’d lived her adult life around too many men uncomfortable with their fake names. Why didn’t Chase want her to know his name? What was he hiding? He was obviously keeping just as many secrets as she was.
And what was with his habit of calling her ma’am? The practice was odd, as she was quite certain he wasn’t displaying southern manners. The man was not from the south. His accent was a bit too nondescript. Was he trying to show her some deference since she was sort of his boss? Maybe, but calling her ma’am seemed more like his polite way of keeping his distance, establishing an employer/employee relationship that couldn’t morph into something more. More than likely, it was a subtle way of refusing any social interaction. He had set up a barrier that she had tried to break down by thanking him for not being nosey. Maybe it was just as well he had left the distance between them intact.
What had he said? Just returning the favor. He had told her a lot about himself without saying anything at all. He didn’t want her questioning him about his past any more than she wanted him asking about hers. So the two of
them had an unspoken understanding. Tread lightly when asking personal questions.
She had hours to kill before turning in for the night. She made herself a chicken salad sandwich, using up the rest of the mix she had made a couple of days ago. She liked her salad with a pinch of fresh dill and a smidgen of chives. Pecans added just a bit of crunch. She chose nuts rather than the celery most people added. She had preheated the oven and toasted a French roll, preferring the salad on fresh warm bread. A glass of iced tea washed down the sandwich.
Eating alone was no fun. She tried to make meals interesting instead of a joyless intake of sustenance, but it was difficult motivating herself to fix tasty meals for one person. Too often she threw out stale food because she couldn’t eat the leftovers fast enough. Maybe she should invite Chase to eat lunch with her or ask him if he wanted to stay for dinner. He disappeared around noon every day and didn’t reappear until it was time for him to start work again. Where did he go for an hour every day? Surely, he didn’t drive all the way into Fairview to eat. The long trip back and forth wouldn’t be worth it.
The dishes were washed and rinsed in no time. The laundry was done. The house cleaned as much as it could be in the middle of a renovation. Sawdust was everywhere. She’d even found the wood shavings in the folds of her comforter and the toes of the shoes in the back of her closet. A fine dust settled over everything. She sneezed as if to punctuate her random thoughts.
With nothing more to do downstairs, she left the light on in the kitchen and headed toward her bedroom on the second floor. She ran her hand along the smooth balustrade of the back stairs until it met the wall. She trudged the remaining steps dispiritedly and stopped when she reached the second floor. Looking down the hallway toward the front stairs, she drew in a deep fortifying breath, fearful of what would happen in the dark hours of the night.
She was in the middle of reading a long book. Perhaps she could read until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She crossed the hall into her room and closed the bedroom door behind her. The book beckoned her from the rocking chair in the corner. She purposefully avoided glancing toward the window that overlooked the backyard. More than once she’d seen a strange light bouncing around inside the detached garage. If someone was inside her garage again, she didn’t want to know.
****
A bang startled Laurel awake. For a horrifying moment, she felt as if she was back at the house she’d shared with Rand in California. She had left San Diego, hadn’t she? Her eyes popped open, and she glanced around the room trying to recall where she was. When she finally remembered, she recognized her room in her Aunt Celeste’s house—the house she had inherited.
The light she had left on when she sat down in the rocker to read was out. Semi-dark shrouded the corners. Shadows played across the ceiling and up the walls. The whole room appeared blurry, and the usual crisp colors of the décor seemed muted as if a haze of fog clouded her vision.
Even though she was the only person in the room, the aura of someone’s menace hovered nearby. The same menace that always overwhelmed her when Rand raged at her. She could feel the anger tracing heat up and down the skin on her arms. Racing up and down her legs. Like every one of her nerve endings burned from the fire of his uncontrolled fury. The rage seemed so strong she could have sworn the threat was right in front of her, only a few feet away. But that was impossible. She was alone.
The book in her lap thudded onto the hardwood floor and made her jump. She bolted from the rocker, sending it crashing into the wall behind her. She intended to rush out the door and down the back stairs, but the atmosphere in the room was as thick as syrup. She couldn’t force enough energy into her heavy limbs to cross the room. Not like slow motion. More like suspended animation as if some magnetic field held her in place only a few paces from the upturned rocking chair.
Her heart pounded. Her arms hung uselessly by her side. A heavy weight pressed on her chest, and she fought to catch her next breath. Unable to draw in enough oxygen, she went limp and nearly passed out. As soon as she stopped struggling, the force that had held her suspended suddenly released her. She staggered, but caught her balance before she fell.
The urge to run for her life overtook her. She flung the door open, but before she rushed into the hall, a cacophony of discordant sounds shattered the otherwise quiet night. She backed away from the noise. So many squeaks, groans, bangs, crashes, and twangs. She covered her ears. What was going on? Was someone playing a sick joke on her? Or was her house... No, she wouldn’t think the word. She didn’t believe in that paranormal crap.
Rand had sent someone to scare her. He was a sick bastard. Maybe frightening her to death was his idea of sweet revenge.
She remembered the baseball bat nestled against the bedpost. She swiveled and retraced her steps. Her fingers curved around the rubber hand guard just as a faint voice whispered a warning in her ear. “Leave this place.”
She straightened. First fear swelled inside her. Then, the urge to laugh overcame her. “Are you kidding me? Are you really throwing me a line from Scooby Doo? Come out and face me, you coward.” She swung the bat at nothing but air. Aluminum met the wood of her headboard with a thwang.
Her mind rolled through all the stimuli hitting her. So confusing. A frightening heaviness tried to trap her in the room while another insistent force pushed her to run away as fast as she could.
A wave of cold air passed through her. Not over or around, but straight through her. She fell to the floor, her knees hitting the wood. The bat remained clutched tightly in her hand, and her white knuckles glowed in the semi-dark. A bright light filtered through the curtain of the window that overlooked the garage, so bright it nearly blinded her.
She rose to her feet and ran out of the room, dragging the bat behind her. Laughter followed her down the stairs. Fear for her life kept her moving. The light she had left on in the kitchen was out, but she didn’t let that odd circumstance stall her. She rushed across the room toward the back door. Suddenly the overhead fixture illuminated the room. Then it blinked off and on with an electrical sputter.
She yanked on the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. “Aw, come on,” she yelled at the house. “I thought you wanted me to leave this place.” Her mocking tone rang around the kitchen.
The door swung open without her help. She grabbed her keys off the hook near the back door and raced out of the house and across the porch toward her car.
Once inside her vehicle, she locked the doors. With the bat between her knees and her head resting on the end grip, she finally allowed herself to breathe again. Her heart raced as she looked back at the house. The kitchen light had blinked on and off a few more times before it remained out. She dared to glance at the garage window. A faint glow pulsed on the inside of the garage.
She had two choices. She could drive into Fairview and hope there was a vacant motel room where she could spend the night in peace, or she could stay on her property and sleep in her car. It wasn’t the first time she had spent the night in her vehicle, so she opted to stay close.
Someone was playing tricks on her, hoping to mess with her mind. There was no other explanation for the strange things that happened in her house. Chase would be back in the morning. She would ask him to stay on the property at night. If someone was attempting to drive her crazy, she wanted a witness.
Chapter Four
It took Chase nearly an hour to assemble all of the items from Laurel’s list. He glanced at his watch. It was nearing ten o’clock. He hadn’t intended to get such a late start. Laurel never commented on his work habits, but he wondered if one day she would. He never sauntered into work before nine, and he left well before five each day. If she ever said something about his short hours, he had no idea what excuse he would give. Maybe telling her his reasons were none of her concern would be enough to stop her from asking too many questions.
Except that his reasons had everything to do with her. He had promised Rand he would find her and get Rand’s p
roperty back. Of course, the drugs had probably been sold a long time ago, and she’d probably already spent Rand’s money. No, he was searching for the passcodes.
She probably wouldn’t hide the travel drive they were on inside the house. Might not even hide them on her property. She was smarter than that. Did she have a safe deposit box at the bank? Did anyone use those anymore? Maybe she had simply destroyed the drive in a fit of revenge-fueled anger. If she had, she had signed Rand’s death warrant. The men he dealt with were powerful and deadly.
No, Laurel was not vindictive. She seemed nothing like the conniving bitch Rand had said she was. Laurel appeared to be a decent person. A little weird maybe, but certainly not a thief who had the unmitigated gall to steal from a career criminal such as Rand.
Chase loaded the materials she had ordered onto the bed of his truck, backed out of the lot in front of the hardware store, and headed down the highway out of Fairview toward Laurel Heights.
The woman didn’t seem the vain type. Why had she named the place after herself, especially since she appeared to be a very private person? The property’s name screamed her identity like a flashing neon billboard to every vehicle passing by on Highway 65. She hadn’t been that hard to find. If she was hiding, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
It was a beautiful late-winter day, one of those crisp, bright, invigorating days filled with the promise of spring. The rains of the past week had ceased and left the earth clean and sparkling once again, washing the dust off the highway in thin rivulets. Chase liked this time of year. The season was full of promise. The old and worn out had withered and died with the cold weather. The new and fresh were preparing to emerge.
Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts Series Book 1) Page 3