by Sara Davison
The branches swayed slightly in the wind, but nothing else moved behind the house. Hurry up, they’ll be waiting. He slipped around the corner of the building.
In and out. In and out. He repeated the mantra over and over, reminding himself, not only of his mission, but to breathe. When he reached the back door, he rubbed his hands together to get the blood flowing, then retrieved the tool they had given him, jimmied the lock, and returned the pick to the inside pocket of his jacket. This was one of the trickiest parts. A squeak of the door would echo through the silent neighborhood like the wail of a siren. He turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly, only exhaling when the opening was wide enough to slip through.
If getting to the house without being seen was his first test, he’d just passed the second. Like Hercules fighting the Hydra. He grinned wryly. If they were watching him—and he never knew when or how they were—he hoped they were impressed.
Inside, all was silent. Stiller had memorized the layout they had given him of the house, and in seconds he had crossed the main floor and started up the stairs. The house reeked of cigarette smoke and he was grateful for the mask. The child’s room was the third one on the right. He started past the washroom and froze. A man lay on his stomach on the cold tile floor, head resting against the base of the toilet. Stiller reached around and gripped the handle of the Glock he’d stuck in the back of his jeans but didn’t withdraw it. Should he abort?
For a couple of minutes, he stood without moving, evaluating the situation. Then he leaned forward, far enough to peer through the crack between the door and the frame. The man hadn’t moved. The smell of rum and vomit hung thick in the air and Stiller swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He knew those smells. How many times had his foster dad passed out on his bed or on the floor somewhere, emitting those same foul odors? His muscles relaxed. He could drive a truck through this house and likely not yank the girl’s father out of the unnatural slumber he’d fallen into.
Heart still thudding, Stiller crept past the washroom to the partly opened door of the girl’s bedroom and pushed it an inch farther to check for creaks. The hinges moved easily and without a sound, and he nudged the door open with gloved fingers, far enough to slip into the room.
The little girl’s breathing was deep and even. In the soft glow of the princess nightlight stuck into an outlet in the wall, he could make out the outline of her body, half-covered by a blanket that had slipped partway off the bed. She didn’t stir as he approached, not even when he withdrew the needle from his jacket, released the air, and stabbed the tip into the thin little arm, above a large, yellowing bruise. Two minutes later he scooped her up and retraced his steps. The man was still sprawled out in the same position he’d been in earlier, only now he was snoring loudly. Clutching the girl to his chest, Stiller continued down the stairs and made his way to the back door.
When he rounded the corner of the house, headlights flashed, and a vehicle glided up the street toward him. Wary of losing his footing on the ice again, he picked his way down the driveway. The dark sedan stopped, and the rear door opened. Stiller released the sleeping child into the arms that reached through the opening. The girl disappeared inside and he closed the door. For a few seconds, he watched as the car continued down the street. When it disappeared, he let out his breath in a rush of white misty air, shoved the ski mask up onto his head, and started for home and his book.
His third mission was complete.
Chapter Five
Nicole clutched the paper bag of groceries to her chest as she trudged along the sidewalk. A bitter north wind swept past her, and she pulled the hood of her powder-blue ski jacket tighter with a gloved hand. As usual, she’d stayed at the diner long after her shift ended. There was no reason to rush home. Her condo had always seemed cold and empty, but lately the silence practically echoed off the earth-toned walls.
What would it be like if Gage Kelly were there? Her head jerked. Gage Kelly? Why on earth was she thinking about him? She’d spent twenty minutes with the man. He was a complete stranger, a serial killer, for all she knew. She grimaced. Highly unlikely, Nicole. He’d been warm and friendly with his brother, and with her, for that matter. And she’d seen him praying. Not that that was necessarily a guarantee of anything. Plenty of outwardly pious people committed atrocious acts. Still …
Nicole slammed the door on her wayward thoughts. Coming home to an empty house was a good thing. No one waiting for her with incessant demands or endless stories about their problems at work. No one to take her coat and rub her aching feet or make her dinner and ask about her day. Nicole sighed. Most of all, no worrying that whoever was rubbing her feet was silently making plans to leave. It’s better this way. Easier.
She rounded the corner and stopped abruptly. Half a block up, the man she’d just banished from her thoughts sat on the wide, curved steps in front of her building, long legs stretched out in front of him, both hands stuck in the pockets of his long black wool coat as he leaned on his elbows on the step above. Nicole glanced behind her. Gage hadn’t seen her yet. She could back around the corner and find a café to hang out in until he gave up and went home. Go now, before it’s too late. She squared her shoulders and marched to the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey.” A tentative grin crossed Gage’s face as he straightened up on the step.
“Hey. How did you know where I lived?”
“I stopped by the diner yesterday and coerced Connie into telling me.”
Nicole shifted the bag of groceries to her other arm and propped one foot on the bottom step. “She shouldn’t have done that. You could be a stalker for all she knows.”
His grin widened. “I’m not a stalker.”
“That’s just the sort of thing a stalker would say. And you’ve shown up at my place of work and now, uninvited, at my home a week later. How do you define stalking?”
His smile faded slightly as a tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Hmm. I guess that does look like suspicious behavior, now that you mention it.”
“Well then, I guess you have five minutes until I call the police and have a restraining order issued against you.”
“That’s about four and a half more than I expected, so I’ll take it.” Gage patted the concrete step beside him.
Stay where you are, Nicole. Distance is good. Helps you think more clearly.
His face grew serious. “Please.”
With a heavy sigh, she climbed the three stairs toward him.
“Here.” Gage reached for the bag of groceries and set it on the other side of him as she sank onto the step. “You must be exhausted.”
Nicole swiveled her head toward him in surprise. “I am, actually. How did you know?”
“Connie mentioned you would be working the seven to four shift today, and since it’s now ...” he stretched out an arm and glanced at his watch, “... 6:45, I’m guessing you pulled a couple of extra hours at the diner.”
Nicole frowned. “I do have a life, you know, besides working at the diner and watching over my shoulder for people who might be stalking me. It’s possible that I went out for dinner or to a movie with friends or something.”
“Did you?”
She stared at him for a long moment before her shoulders sagged. “No.”
Gage pressed his lips together.
She straightened up. “But I could have.”
“I will concede you the point. You could have gone out with friends. I’m glad you didn’t though, because I really wanted to see you tonight.”
“Why?”
He shifted on the step until he faced her. The intensity in his dark eyes blew away the last of her resistance like a paper cup in a hurricane. “Look, you made it pretty clear the other night that you’re not interested. And normally I would absolutely respect that. The thing is, I can’t seem to get our conversation, or you, out of my mind.”
Nicole sighed. “Me neither. And, for the record, it wasn’t that I wasn’t interested. It’s
just that …” Be honest. Tell him you’re scared. “… I wasn’t expecting this.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I wasn’t either. I hope you know I don’t usually go around trolling the diners of Toronto, looking for amazing women. I’m as surprised that this has happened as you are.” His eyes softened with a sadness that tore at her heart. “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not very good at this. Holden and I come from an extremely messed-up family. All my parents did was fight and hurt each other. I’ve seen some great relationships, from a distance, but it’s not something I experienced growing up.”
Gage leaned forward and clasped his hands together between his knees. “In spite of all that, it felt like there was something there the other night, you know? Something real. Which I’m not sure has ever happened to me before.” He glanced at his watch again. “I know my five minutes are up, but would you consider extending the time long enough for us to have dinner?”
Nicole hesitated. She’d felt it too, but … “Maybe I could hold off making the call for an hour or two.”
Gage’s eyes glowed with a warmth that drew her in like she’d been outside in the cold and suddenly offered shelter.
She held up a hand before he could speak. “Consider it a trial period. I can’t promise I won’t kick you out again, though.”
“I can’t promise I won’t drive you to it.”
Nicole studied him. Suggest somewhere public. Somewhere safe. “I picked up groceries on the way home. Do you want to eat here?”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
His mouth quirked, sending butterflies fluttering through Nicole’s stomach. “Then I’ll accept before better judgment prevails.”
Nicole didn’t think it was necessary to inform him that better judgment—like everyone else in her life—had clearly abandoned her the moment he walked into the diner.
Gage rose to his feet with a groan and brushed off the back of his jeans.
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t been sitting there since four o’clock, have you?”
He shrugged. “I took the subway straight from work. I wanted to make sure I was here when you got home.”
“Gage, you must be freezing.”
“It was a little like sitting on a block of ice.” He leaned down and grabbed the bag of groceries. “I’m a Canadian. I can take it.”
He followed her up the stairs to her condo apartment. Nicole fumbled with the keys for a moment. This is a bad idea.
Gage touched her shoulder. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking this might not be the wisest thing I’ve ever done.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “What, inviting me in? Or hesitating about spending the evening with a charming, successful, wildly attractive guy like me?”
The key slid into the lock. Nicole shook her head and pushed open the door. “Either way, it’s a little late for second thoughts. Come on in. I’ll get a fire going so you can thaw out your ... self.” Heat rushed into her cheeks.
His lips twitched again. “A fire would be great, thanks.”
“Sit down and relax. It won’t take long.” Nicole shoved paper and kindling into the wood stove and lit a match. In a few minutes bright flames leaped in the stove. She shut the door and turned to him.
Gage reclined on the couch, watching her. The glow of the fire reflected in the eyes that met hers. “This is a great place.”
“Thanks. My parents bought it for me. A guilt offering, I believe.”
His face softened. “I guess you haven’t had the best relationship examples either.”
“No, except for Connie and Joe, I really haven’t.” She shook off the self-pity that threatened to wrap itself around her. She already had enough emotions swirling through her to keep her busy for a while. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
A shadow flickered across his face. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”
“Tea or coffee, then?”
“Anything’s fine, as long as it’s hot. Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Nicole pushed through the French doors and into the kitchen, her hands trembling as she reached for the canister of tea bags on the counter. What is going on here? Gage was good-looking, gorgeous even with his long dark hair, and deep, way-too-penetrating eyes. She’d seen attractive men before though, plenty of them, at the diner, without reacting to them like this. Something else was drawing her to Gage so strongly it frightened her. Nicole shook her head. She’d feed the man and get him out of her apartment, which she’d been crazy to invite him to in the first place. One hour, then he definitely had to go.
Nicole filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, then quickly put together a salad. After heating a pot of minestrone soup, she dished it into two bowls, set everything on a tray, and pushed through the swinging doors into the living room.
Gage jumped to his feet when she walked into the room. “Here, let me.” He took the tray from her and set it on the coffee table, then turned back. A smile crossed his lips. “You have some soot, here.” He ran his finger over her cheek. Nicole fought to take a breath.
Better judgment chose that moment to return. Run, Nicole. Get out before it’s too late. Her forehead wrinkled. Was that better judgment? Or was it actually the fear and distrust she’d lived with so long they’d become as comfortable and familiar as a pair of well-worn jeans?
Gage studied her face, as though he could read her thoughts. “Don’t run.”
The whispered words sent a shiver through her. “I won’t.”
“Good.” He stepped back. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” She sank down onto the couch, grateful the intensity of the moment was broken.
Gage handed her a bowl of soup and poured a cup of tea that he set in front of her before settling himself at the other end of the couch with his own bowl. “So tell me about your day. You must have a lot of great stories about things that happen at the diner.”
He seemed much more relaxed, now that she had assured him she wasn’t going anywhere. Or maybe he was just starting to thaw out. Either way, she took his cue and shifted to lean against the arm of the couch so she could face him while she ate and share with him about the characters that came into the diner every day. To her great surprise, they talked and laughed easily together.
Nicole swirled her spoon through the soup. The smell of oregano drifted from the bowl, and she took a deep, calming breath. “What is it you are so successful at?”
“I’m sorry?”
“At the door, you said something about being … what was it, charming, wildly attractive, and successful, I believe. So what is it you are so successful at doing?”
“Oh.” Gage leaned over to set his bowl down on the coffee table. “That part may have been a slight exaggeration. I’m with the Crown Attorney’s office.”
Nicole’s eyes widened. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Does that surprise you?”
She pursed her lips and studied him. “I guess you just don’t strike me as the lawyer type.”
“And what is the lawyer type, exactly?”
“I don’t know, a little stuffier maybe, more arrogant, flashier.”
He grinned. “You’ve seen too many of those fancy, big-firm lawyers on TV. Crown attorneys can’t afford to be flashy, and we definitely don’t have anything to be arrogant about. The stuffy part I guess you’ll have to decide for yourself.” He reached for his mug and wrapped both hands around it. “How do you like working at the diner?”
“I love it. Connie and Joe are great to me. Like family.” She picked up the soft, ivory-colored napkin and ran her fingers across it.
“How long have you been there?”
“Since I finished high school. When I got accepted into university, I didn’t want to ask my …” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I wanted to pay for it myself, so one day when I was walking past the diner, I saw the Help Wanted sign in the window and went in and applied.” A smile touched her
lips. “As soon as I met Connie I knew I had come to the right place. It was like I had come …”
“Home?”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “Yeah.”
Gage probed tentatively, his voice soft. “Didn’t you ever have a real home?”
“You mean like with a mother who meets you after school with a plate of cookies, and a dad who teaches you to ride a bike, and a backyard with swings and a dog? That kind of home?”
“I’m guessing that’s a no?”
She laughed. “Apparently you can add incredibly astute to those characteristics you mentioned earlier.”
“So, to sum up, you’d say wildly attractive, charming, successful, and astute make up my list of desirable qualities?”
“I didn’t say that. You said …” Nicole leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Okay, I believe you now.”
“I’m glad to hear it. About what?”
“You really are a lawyer, aren’t you?”
Gage lifted his shoulders. “Guilty.”
“Ah.” She pointed a finger at him. “What about Holden? What does he do?”
“He’s a social worker.”
Nicole winced.
“Yeah, it’s a tough job. He’s seen some pretty awful things. He loves it though.” Gage touched her elbow. “What did you study in university?”
“Business. It took me eight years of working and studying part-time, but I graduated a couple of years ago, and now I’m working on my Master’s.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You’ve been out of high school for ten years?”
“I’m older than I look. Anyway, I’m still at the diner, partly so I can keep financing my schooling, but even more because I can’t bring myself to leave.”
“You feel like you belong there.”
Tingles of fear whispered across her arms. How could he read her so well already? Don’t let him get too close. Nicole set down her bowl. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s getting late and I still have studying to do tonight.”