Too Close to Home

by Alison Stone

  “Maybe that’s not what she wants,” he offered, his voice going soft. “She seems happy to me.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I think it’s great she’s doing what she wants to do.”

  She backed away, anger boiling below the surface. Didn’t he recognize the irony? “How can Betsy know what she wants? She’s never been out of this town.” Her words lashed out. His head jerked back, as if he had been punched.

  “If you’re not going to be one hundred percent committed to the plant then why not sell?” Kathryn asked, fortified by her anger. “You can’t always take the advice of the managers. Sometimes you have to roll up your sleeves. Check things out for yourself. If you rely too heavily on them, it makes them indispensable.”

  Don’t rely on anyone too much or they become indispensable.

  “My father trusted his employees.”

  “Peter and Bill work hard for this company. I’m sure they always have.” Kathryn glanced around to make sure Meg was out of earshot. “They are old school. I’ve seen a lot of things in my manufacturing experience.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to share your vast experience.” A look of amusement crossed his face.

  “I know you’re toying with me,” she said. “But it’s obvious your heart’s not into working at the plant. You said it yourself a second ago. If you think it’s so great that my sister is doing what she wants to do, why don’t you do what you want to do?“

  He arched an eyebrow. “You have no idea. I’ve lived the past ten years doing exactly what I’ve wanted to do. Avoiding committing to anything. Anyone.” He pushed a hand through his thick brown hair. “I’m no longer worried about trying to please my dad, trying to compete with Craig.”

  Kathryn never realized how deep Benjamin’s pain flowed. It had to be tough—tougher than she realized—growing up the younger brother of a superstar. She touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Your father loved you both.” The words escaped her lips even though she had witnessed the favoritism firsthand. Sometimes parents made mistakes.

  Benjamin stepped off the path, picked up a flat rock and bounced it in the palm of his hand. He bowed his head, flung back his arm and skimmed it across the water, watching until the ripples disappeared. “I couldn’t even do right by you.”

  A memory came into focus. She immediately shut it down. “No one could help me after my dad died.” Tears burned the back of her eyes.

  “We were friends. Didn’t that count for anything?”

  Kathryn swallowed around a huge knot of grief. She didn’t want to revisit that time in her life. Too much pain. Regret. If-onlys. She had spent the past ten years trying to run away from it all.

  Evidently sensing her distress, Benjamin lifted his hands in a surrender gesture. “Oh, forget it. It’s water under the bridge now.” He lowered his eyes then raised them to meet hers. “I never thought I’d say it, but I like being back here. I like my life. The plant’s growing on me.” She didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye. “And sometimes you have to follow your heart instead of your head. This feels right.”

  She paused, reflecting on what he said. She hadn’t stopped to listen to her heart. She quickly dismissed the thought. She must follow her head and do the right thing.

  “Let’s go back,” Benjamin said.

  When they reached the parking lot, Kathryn’s stomach dropped as renewed fear washed over her. The motorcycle. She should have thought this through before recklessly hopping on the back of a shiny red motorcycle.

  Her heart raced. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, determined to suppress the urge to throw up. Any respect she’d gained would be lost in a splash of color at his feet.

  Benjamin’s stern features softened and a smile touched his lips. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

  She flicked her glaze from Benjamin to the bike and back to him.

  “Oh, come on. It’s more fun the second time around.”

  Somehow she doubted that.

  Chapter Nine

  After Kathryn’s adventure with Benjamin, she found herself back in the office later that afternoon. Her type-A personality wouldn’t allow her to play hooky for an entire day.

  Distracted by her growing feelings for Benjamin—a complication she didn’t need—she tapped the end of her pencil on the desk. She needed a break from the monotonous task at hand. The contents of the suggestion box covered her desk, and she was reading each one of them. It was as exciting as watching paint dry. Most everyone, it seemed, wanted to find a way to make their job easier. Some legitimate, others ridiculous.

  She tossed the pencil aside and decided to tackle a few more. The suggestion box had been her brilliant idea, after all. Typed block lettering on a piece of paper caught her attention. She plucked it from near the bottom of the messy pile. Goose bumps raced up her arms.

  Want to be an orphan?

  The sharp lines of the bold print suddenly seemed to come alive on the page. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. She flipped the paper over and scanned the back side. No name. Her stomach clenched at the implied threat. With a shaky hand, she picked up the handset of the phone and punched in a number. It rang a few times.

  “Hello.” Benjamin’s familiar voice immediately soothed her shredded nerves.

  “Can you come pick me up?” Her words came out in a rush.

  He apparently sensed her apprehension. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just…” she let the word trail off as she tried to collect herself, “…I got another note.”

  The Watcher’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Restricted. Dread pooled in his gut. He tossed the book he was reading on the nightstand and slipped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him for privacy.

  “Yeah,” he said into the phone. He thumbed the roll of antacids in his pocket.

  “You got things under control?”

  He hesitated a fraction. “Yeah, no problem.” Immediately, he regretted his mistake.

  “You sure? I heard you had someone snooping around the warehouse.” The caller paused. “We got a lot riding on this next shipment. You pull this one off and you’ll be a wealthy man.”

  The Watcher walked down the stairs and pulled back the curtains and stared across the darkened street, wondering for a moment if someone was watching him. His home. Those he loved.

  The Watcher being watched.

  Speak up, the Watcher willed himself. He rubbed a hand across his belly, afraid to imagine what this stress was doing to the lining of his stomach.

  “It’s not about the money anymore.” It hadn’t been about the money in a very long time. He cleared his throat. “I want out. You promised me out.” As soon as the words formed, he wished he could take them back. Two mistakes in the span of a minute. He was getting careless. A sane man did not question the likes of the caller.

  As expected, the caller’s voice shifted to an angry growl. “You’ll get out when I say it’s time.”

  “Please.” The Watcher knew how his voice sounded. Pathetic. Failure is not an option.

  “Please?” the caller whined, mocking him. “Do what you’re told. I’d hate for someone you love to get hurt.”

  “Leave her out of this.” It was his turn to get angry. “Leave her out of this.”

  “Then do what you’re told.” The caller laughed. “Then we’ll talk about your retirement.” The Watcher heard a deep chuckle rasp across the line before it went dead.

  He moved silently in the dark, afraid to turn on a light. In a trance, he sat and leaned back. He had never intended to let this get so far out of control.

  He set his jaw in determination. His hands curled into fists. His world was unraveling all because of Kathryn.

  Time to take things into his own hands.

  Benjamin couldn’t get Kathryn off his mind. That afternoon he had seen a side of her he hadn’t seen since high school. A carefree, playful woman. Someone he could feel himself falling for. Again.

  Anger seethed below the surfa
ce. Someone had threatened her. It was probably a stupid, idle threat. Some of the guys on the plant floor were hotheads, especially if they thought their jobs were in jeopardy. All the same, he felt very protective of her.

  He had invited her to stay with him after she found the threatening note, but she had refused. She was stubborn like that. He ran a hand along the back of his neck, trying to loosen the knots. Ironically, she did seem relieved her mother happened to be taking a trip to visit her aunt in Buffalo.

  The threat hadn’t been made against her, she argued. It had been made against her mother. All the same, Benjamin had hoped to stop by her house with the excuse he was out for a jog.

  The plan fell apart when Uncle Peter showed up at his door. Now he was stuck in his kitchen while his uncle settled in for a visit, helping himself to a soda from the refrigerator.

  “Where’s Kathryn?” Peter asked, as if reading his nephew’s mind. Peter handed him a soda. He seemed agitated. Benjamin knew Peter had to have something on his mind to come calling in the evening. Usually nothing came between him and time with little Abby.

  “Kathryn’s home.” Benjamin leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, drink in one hand.

  Peter frowned and deep lines marred his forehead. “You think that’s wise after the note today?”

  Benjamin grimaced. “I’d rather she was somewhere I could keep an eye on her.”

  “She’s one tough lady,” Peter said as he took another swig of his soda. “She knows how to push all the right buttons. She’s got half the employees all worked up. All this talk of selling the plant is bad news.”

  “You think that’s what this is all about? Some disgruntled employees?” It seemed extreme. But when it came to someone’s livelihood, who knew? Someone might feel backed into a corner. Wasn’t that what he was thinking earlier?

  Peter shrugged.

  A growing unease wound its way into Benjamin’s gut. “Any screwball that grew up in this town would know about her father’s suicide. Could use it to play against her worst fears.” The simmering nervousness boiled over to anger. He slammed his can down on the counter and soda splashed over the top. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed a bunch of napkins and piled them on the dark liquid.

  Peter let out a slow breath between tight lips. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. See if I can find out what knucklehead is behind this.”

  “How well do you know the employees in the warehouse?” It still bothered Benjamin that Johnny had been determined to get reassigned out of the warehouse prior to his death.

  “I know the guys pretty well. Most of them have been around for years. Why?” Peter picked at the tab on the soda can. “You think the break-in was an inside job?”

  Benjamin scrubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “Let me check into it. The police haven’t done much. I know the guys who work in the warehouse. I’ll do some digging.”

  Benjamin wiped up the spill and tossed the soaked napkins into the garbage can. He turned to face his uncle. “What in the world is going on?”

  “I’ll try to find out,” Peter said. “I imagine you’re anxious to put this to bed. Get back to Atlanta.”

  The headache behind his eyes grew. “It will be a long time before I head back down south. I need to stick around as long as Kathryn is here.” Her warning about being too reliant on Peter sounded in his head.

  “Don’t let her sway you,” Peter said through thinned lips. “Midport Industries is your family’s legacy. Don’t let her sell it off to the highest bidder.”

  Ignoring his uncle’s concerns regarding his plans, he focused his attention on the most important thing right now. Kathryn’s safety.

  The most important thing? The thought scared him. She had already gotten under his skin. He pushed the thought aside. “I have to call Kathryn. I’d feel better if she wasn’t alone.”

  “Why don’t you take her to the family cottage in Crystal Beach over in Canada? Give me a few days to look into things,” Peter offered. “She’ll be safe there.”

  Benjamin checked the clock on the wall. It was after eleven. He picked up the cordless phone and tapped his thumb on the handset. Kathryn was probably asleep. She had seemed tired this afternoon. He hesitated and returned the phone to its cradle.

  He’d call her first thing in the morning.

  After the stress of the day, Kathryn took a long bath, luxuriating in the thick bubbles, trying to clear her mind, if only for the night. Growing up, she and her sister had fought over the single bathroom in the house. Tonight, it was all hers. Her mother had gone to spend a few days with her sister in Buffalo. And Betsy had taken off with some girlfriends for a few days to check out the fall foliage. She claimed it was the only vacation she’d take all year.

  Alone. Peace and quiet.

  She finally dragged herself from the warm-water cocoon and wrapped herself in a fleece robe. She wandered down to the kitchen to make some tea. As she waited for the water to heat on the stove, her attention drifted to the yard.

  How many times had she done this? Stood transfixed at the sink, staring out into the night, as if it had a magnetic pull on her. Her father’s shed. The sight made her feel empty, alone and downright angry. Why had her father done this to them? Why hadn’t her mother torn the shed down years ago?

  She turned her back to the window but couldn’t help stealing a peek over her shoulder. Trying to soothe her nerves, she rubbed her arms. She reached up and pulled down the yellowed blind, adjusting it a few times until it stayed in place. There. Privacy.

  She thought of the note. Want to be an orphan? Renewed fear tainted with disgust pressed into her heart. She figured some cruel employee had used the knowledge of her father’s death as a ploy to vent his frustration against her and her plans to sell the plant. She scooted to the left, away from the window—despite the blind—as tingly pinpricks hummed in her fingers, threatening to consume her.

  Her mind mulled over recent events. Johnny’s death. Flat tires. The attack in the warehouse.

  Now the note threatening to make me an orphan.

  Lost in thought, she wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. She wondered how all the pieces connected. If they did. The only thing she knew for sure was the fair town of Midport had done nothing to redeem itself to her.

  The shrill whistle of the kettle made her jump out of her skin. Her hand flew to her chest and an awkward laugh escaped her lips. You’re freaking yourself out. She crossed to the stove and picked up the kettle and made her tea. After extinguishing the light in the kitchen, she checked the locks on both doors—for the hundredth time—and climbed the stairs. She put the mug on her nightstand and crawled into bed.

  Kathryn wiggled her toes under her white comforter. The soft down was tucked under her chin. One of the luxuries of living in Western New York included the cool autumn evenings, perfect for hunkering down under the coziness of heavy bed linens. Or hiding under them.

  Eventually, the continuous loop of worries in her mind derailed. She relaxed. She plumped up her pillow, adjusting it under her head. She hugged her arms around herself. No company except the talking head on television. When she found herself drifting off, she snapped off the television and welcomed sleep.

  Kathryn didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when she heard something. A creak, maybe. Her eyes flew open. The house stood quiet.

  Creak.

  There it was again. The shifting of a floorboard outside her room. Her pounding heart threatened to deafen her. She strained to hear. Had her imagination gotten the best of her? Her first instinct, inbred from childhood, was to pull the covers up over her head. Hide.

  She held her breath. Frozen with fear, she listened. The sound of her ragged breathing was all she heard.

  Creak.

  Kathryn bolted upright. The sound was definitely not in her imagination. She reached for the portable phone and clutched it close to her chest. In the inky blackness of
her room, she pushed back the covers and fumbled for the talk button. She pushed it. Nothing. No dial tone. A new rush of panic nearly took her breath away. She held the phone at arm’s length, as if that might give her answers. She glanced toward her closed door.

  Wait a minute. Her practical side awakened. Maybe the phone battery is dead. Maybe that explained the lack of dial tone.

  The small hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Trying not to make a sound, she slipped out of bed and crept toward the closed bedroom door. The sounds of her pulse and breath filled her ears.

  Someone was on the other side of her bedroom door. She sensed it. Glancing back toward her bed, she remembered the ceramic mug. She ran back over and picked it up just as the bedroom door exploded open, splintering the quiet night.

  Driven by pure adrenaline, she swung the mug. It connected with the intruder’s skull with a horrifying crunch. She didn’t bother to investigate. She bolted out the door. Down the stairs.

  She fumbled with the chain on the front door. It stuck. Panic made her nauseous. She turned, glancing up the stairs toward the heavy footsteps. Getting closer. A nightmare. Her legs didn’t move. She froze.

  Run.

  Her legs responded. She pushed away from the front door and sprinted to the back of the house.

  The back door remained shut. Locked. Just as she had left it. How did he get in? She released the deadbolt and flung the door open. She slapped the screen door with the palm of her hand. It flew open and crashed against the outside wall. She charged outside. Across the drive. Toward the back of the house.

  The wet dew on the grass licked her bare toes. Her father’s gardening shed was a square shadow in the moonless night. She moved behind it and leaned forward, hands on her thighs, gulping huge breaths of cold air.