by Craig, Susan
Which reminded her of her neglected Economics paper. She finished drying her hair and put on moisturizer and lip balm. Sometime in between the police station and the craft party at Diana’s—a party she’d forgotten until Diana reminded her of her promise to attend—she needed to get to the library.
Jim was still sitting on the couch when he heard Tyler’s door open. He slumped down, pretending to be asleep.
“Hey, Dr. Donovan. Why are you here on the couch instead of in my bed?” Tyler had never understood why one would leave a sleeping dog lie.
Jim opened his eyes. “And good morning to you too, Tyler. I’m on the couch because your mom and I sat up a long time talking last night.”
“Where’s Matthew’s present? I have my sleeping bag and pajamas.” The fully clothed boy held up a loosely wrapped bedroll from which a pajama sleeve dangled.
Tyler’s sleepover. “We must have forgotten to bring it in from the truck. Let’s run out and get it. Then I’ll get us some cereal so your mom will have time to wrap it.”
After setting the bag from Dollar Emporium like a monument in the middle of the kitchen table, Jim grabbed two bowls and a box of cereal. Tyler got the milk out, and in no time at all they were seated, eating and talking trash.
Tyler had issued a challenge: the new Mario game. “You won’t have a chance to beat me. I’m gonna beat you so fast, you won’t even believe it.”
“Never underestimate the advantages of age and wisdom, Tyler. I’ll school you with that game. See if I don’t.” Jim rose and carried the empty bowls to the sink while Tyler set up for the contest.
Leaving the present for Sally to wrap, man and boy flopped onto the living room floor and the battle began.
Ten minutes later, the crinkle of paper sounded from the kitchen and Sally’s voice called out. “Tyler, did you brush your teeth? And is your hair combed?”
Jim raised his eyebrows and looked at Tyler, pushing the button to turn off power to the game as he did so. “She got you, Tyler. Go take care of it.”
As Tyler, grumbling, headed back to the bathroom, Jim walked into the kitchen. Sally, dressed in her usual jeans, tee and flannel shirt, but wearing hiking boots instead of athletic shoes, finished tying ribbon around a brightly wrapped package. He came up behind her. “About tonight—“
“I’ll be spending the night at Diana’s,” she interrupted. “There’s a craft party I promised to attend. I’d forgotten about it until she reminded me. You get the night off, warden.”
She smiled as she said it, but it still hurt. Did she think he wanted to play the jailer? He just wanted her safe. He smiled back. “Fine. I could use a night in a genuine adult bed.”
“I imagine you could,” Sally agreed. “I think it will be easiest if I change for the party before we leave for the police station. No point in having to come all the way back here.”
“Is the party at the condo?” The condo was in York.
“No, it’s at the farm, though I think Logan’s going over to the condo this evening—too many women messing about, he told Diana.”
The farm wasn’t far from Sally’s house. Jim had the feeling that Sally was trying to ditch him. Well, that was okay with him, as long as she wasn’t alone.
She looked up from emptying the dishwasher. “We should take both cars so I can get to the shelter easily tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She was definitely trying to ditch him. At least he didn’t feel hurt—no, he felt angry. He’d put himself out for her. Gone way out of his way to see that she and Tyler were safe. But did she appreciate it? No. Warden, indeed.
“Mom, the bus!” Tyler grabbed Matthew’s present and flew down the drive dragging his backpack and the sleeping bag Jim had neatly re-rolled into a tight cylinder.
As Tyler climbed up the steps into the bus, Jim looked at Sally. “Let’s get moving,” he said brusquely, and started toward the mailbox, his eyes already scanning the ground.
chapter eight
There was no trail in the grass going to or from the mailbox, so Jim led the way past the shelter and up the slope to the ridge. At the top, there was a deer trail, which would have made for easy walking. But Jim stayed to the left of it, in the taller grass, watching for any sign that the trail was being used by a man.
Sally followed behind, stepping where Jim had stepped, and watching, as he had told her to, for broken branches or bits of fabric, hair or fuzz in the stubby bushes growing along the ridgeline. When the bushes gave way to scrub pine, he stopped.
“Where the trees are taller like this, you want to watch for sign all the way up to about six feet high, though between three and five feet up is where you’re most likely to actually find something. I haven’t seen anything yet, but he may have approached from the north, so stay sharp.”
He spoke in a cold, emotionless voice. It was almost as if he was angry—but what reason would he have for that? This was probably his working warrior persona, nothing more. Choosing not to take offense, Sally continued to follow Jim, and tried to ‘stay sharp.’
Watching him look for sign had been interesting at first, his face expressionless, his eyes intent. But now she found herself wishing Jim wore a short bomber jacket like Daniel Smith’s instead of the longer ranch coat he preferred. It would have made for a much more interesting view as she followed him along.
Just as well he doesn’t. She was supposed to be looking for stuff herself, though she was sure that if there was anything to see, Jim would spot it long before she did.
At last they came to the end of the pine and the ridge, having found nothing, and started down the hill toward the line of trees by the creek. Looking toward the shelter, Sally was surprised at how easily she could see what went on.
There was Nancy, taking a pack of dogs out to one of the rear paddocks. As she watched, Nancy looked right at her and waved. Apparently she and Jim were as easily visible to Nancy as she was to them. If the stalker had used the ridge, he would have had to approach it from the other side, or risk being seen by the volunteers at the shelter.
For the stalker to watch from the creek would make more sense. So why had Jim started with the ridge, when surely the advantage of the trees along the streambed had occurred to him long ago? She hurried down the slope to catch up with him.
“Why did we start with the ridge when the hemlock trees by the creek are easier to get into without being seen?”
“Simple,” he said, not sparing her a glance. “We need to check both. It’s easier to stay alert before you find something than after. When we get into the hemlock, we’ll slow down. Remember to scan from the ground up to about six feet high or higher. We don’t know anything about this guy yet, least of all how tall he is.”
Minutes later, they stepped into the shade of the thick grove of Eastern hemlock. Here it was cooler and the smell of spruce was sharp and clean. Sally’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she scanned the trees from bottom to top, as Jim had instructed. In the end, it was she who spotted it first—a bit of neon orange fuzz against the deep green of the branches, highlighted by a stray sunbeam a little over five feet up.
“Jim, look.” She pointed.
Jim nodded. “Good work.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and took a picture of the fluff in the tree. Eyes down to watch for other sign, he carefully moved toward the tree, then surprised Sally by pulling a pair of thin gloves out of his pocket, stretching them on and plucking the fuzz off the branch. He sealed it carefully in a small plastic bag, and pulled out his phone again.
“Who are you going to call?” asked Sally.
“No one.” He was looking at the phone. “GPS app.” He made a notation on the bag and slipped it back into his pocket, then stood still, his gaze scanning the ground around him. ‘There,” he said with satisfaction, and moved several paces north to take another photograph—of a broken branch tip this time.
Sally followed, intrigued, as Jim worked his way along. Then he stopped.
“This is the place.”
Yes, it was. Even Sally could recognize that. The pine needles were compressed and driven into the damp earth. And some of the branches had been trimmed cleanly away, the fresh cuts showing pale against the rest of the tree.
Jim took more photos—of everything, it seemed—then called her to stand beside him. “Look through here.”
Sally peered through a flattened tunnel cut among the branches. She saw the back of her house, her kitchen door, and part of the driveway to her home. She could also see the path across the meadow that she took to the shelter every morning, and the back of the shelter with its dog runs and paddocks. Most of the shelter parking lot was obscured, and the front doors of her house and of the shelter were completely blocked from view. But thinking of her daily walks back and forth from kitchen to shelter, she shuddered. “Creepy.”
“See these depressions?” Jim squatted and pointed out three small indentations where the bed of pine needles thinned to show the dirt below. “He had a tripod set up here. Probably for a spotting scope, maybe a camera.”
Sally shuddered again, crossing her arms over her chest as if to ward off a chill. “Should we be standing here? Won’t he know we’ve been here?”
“He probably won’t notice a thing. Look at this place. A ten-year-old could spot it. He’s got no skill in woodcraft. I can’t believe this guy was ever a Marine. More likely just a wanna-be. And if he does notice, that’s okay too.”
Not okay with me! Was Jim minimizing in an attempt to ease her mind? It wasn’t working.
“Let him be nervous for a while,” Jim said. “Come on, let’s backtrack him to where he entered the trees.”
They walked side by side now, and even Sally could spot the trail as they moved west toward the road that ran along about a city block west of her home. They passed a spot where the creek widened into a small pond—the ‘fishing hole’ popular with kids from the surrounding area during the day, and teenagers looking for privacy at night.
Sal was glad it was cold. When the weather was nice, Tyler liked to play back here. She wondered if she would ever feel safe letting him do that again. A little further along, they came to the turnoff from the road. It was nothing more than a clearing in the weeds that owned the roadside. Heavy tires had packed the dirt down so that only the hardiest ground-hugging plants survived.
Jim looked at the spot dismissively. “The police might want to check tire prints here, but that isn’t likely to lead anywhere. We’ll leave it for them. Let’s take the road back to your house.”
As Sally and Jim walked down the road, going south, a black Camry passed them heading north. The man driving narrowed his eyes and frowned as he watched them in the rear-view mirror.
How dare she? She should have been shocked and shamed to realize the whole town had seen her dalliance with Donovan last night. Surely, his note should have brought her to her senses. Instead she and the veterinarian had invaded his private retreat, his vantage point. He was sure of it. They’d come out of the woods together as he was about to turn off the road. It would have shaken a lesser man, but in complete control, he merely drove on. Now, with cool deliberation, he turned west at the first road past Sally’s and began looking for a safe place to leave his car. He stayed calm, even though outraged by her impertinence. How dare she try to spy on him? She would pay. There was much about him she didn’t know, skills and abilities as yet untapped. He smiled to himself. Oh, yes, she would pay.
Thirty minutes later, Sally and Jim sat side by side at her kitchen table. She’d made coffee and scrambled a few eggs for a late breakfast. A yellow legal pad and a soft-tip pen lay nearby.
“How do you want to do this?” Jim asked. “If you want to dictate to me, I’ll write.”
“No thanks, I’ll write it myself.” Sally didn’t mind Jim knowing what had been in the notes, but she wouldn’t let the words filthy her mouth. Somehow, saying them would seem like accepting them. She picked up a pen and began.
‘Notes during college—began freshman year, ended early junior year: I don’t remember the circumstances of each, Generally they were things like…You look pretty today, That was a great shot you made in the game last night, etc. They came through campus mail with my name on the outside. They were printed in pencil on ordinary lined paper.’
She paused, gathering her thoughts for the next section. Jim sat at her right side, reading as she wrote and supporting her simply by being there. A true friend. Grateful for his support, she went on.
‘Notes at Pendleton—only came when Trent was deployed: I don’t remember the exact details for these either, but they were things like…Trent is a good man, he will prevail, Don’t worry, soon Trent will be back, You are not alone, a friend is watching, etc. They came in the mail, posted Oceanside, CA. They were torn from a regular 8 ½ by 11 spiral notebook, printed in pencil, in plain long envelopes.’
She was beginning to feel uneasy. Had it been the same person watching her all this time? If she’d done something about it then, maybe it would be over and done with. Whatever. Just get it all on paper and be finished.
‘When I moved here five years ago, I didn’t get any notes.’
With all the problems she’d faced after Trent died, it had been nice to have one problem left behind her.
‘About six months ago, they began again.’
She should have called the police then. Why hadn’t she called them? She should have called.
‘They were on lined paper torn from a spiral notebook, just like before. No envelopes, printed in pencil. They were left on the counter or desk of the shelter office with my name on the outside.
The first one said: You do a good job here, Sally.’
It could have been from anyone. Lots of people printed notes in pencil. She’d tucked the encouragement in her desk drawer for a bad day, then forgot about it.
‘The next, about six weeks later, said: Tyler is a fine boy. You’ve done well.’
I should have called when they mentioned Tyler. Why didn’t I call?
Sally shook her head to chase away the unwanted thoughts, and rolled her shoulders to release the tightness there. She set down the pen, stretched her fingers, then fisted her hand, stretched it out again and picked the pen back up. She took a shallow breath. Jim sat silent at her side.
‘About six weeks after that: Man’s Best Friend is lucky to have you.
About two months ago: Faithfulness is a great virtue.
Five weeks ago: Character shows when you think no one is looking.
Two weeks ago: Remember my eyes are on you.’
Sally could feel Jim watching her, strengthening her with his presence. He’d edged closer, his nearness warming her and his silence golden. She didn’t think she could have endured any commentary. Her breathing was shallow and she focused on making each breath slower and deeper. It didn’t help much.
‘Last Saturday, the Marine Hymn was playing on the computer at the shelter, and “Semper fi” was blinking on the screen. Jim Donovan saw and heard it.’
And saved me from disintegrating completely. Like he’s doing now.
‘Phil Cavalo at CompuCraft took the file off for me.’
Jim had taken care of that, too.
‘Monday there was a note in my home mailbox. It said: Remember whose you are. Stay away from Donovan. Semper fi. It was on the same kind of paper as all the others, but didn’t have my name on the outside. No envelope. I burned it.’
So Tyler wouldn’t see. She had to burn it to protect Tyler. He was only a child. She flexed her fingers on the pen. Her stomach was starting to roll.
‘Tuesday, another note in my mailbox: You did well to send Donovan away last night. I was proud of you. I know that it is me that you want, my Sally, but that would be wrong, too. You belong to Trent. Remember that, be strong, and stay true. Semper fi.’
She felt unclean, as if her skin had been soiled by the stalker’s gaze. And worse, by the touch of his mind when he called her ‘my Sally’. She shuddered, and Jim w
rapped a warm, strong arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. Once again she blessed him for his silence. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, but it was nearly done. She wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans, picked up the pen and went on.
‘Thursday, after Jim Donovan, Tyler and I went to dinner at Dragon King there was another note in my mailbox. It said: I warned you, but you flaunt your sordid affair with Donovan in public. Everyone saw you with him at the Dragon King, in front of Trent’s son. You disgrace your husband, you cheating slut. Semper fi.’
She dropped the pen and leaned heavily on the table, head down, trying to steady the ragged breathing and her racing heart.
Jim watched Sally trying to regain control. Her hands shook, and the handwriting on the yellow pad had deteriorated into a scrawl. She was breathing as if she had run a sprint. He wished he could take her pain away; lay it on himself. Since that was impossible, he did what he could, gathering her into his arms and cradling her head on his chest. He kissed her forehead gently, and she slipped her arms around him. There was tension in her embrace, as if he was her lifeline, and she raised her lips to his, pain and need naked in her eyes.
Jim hesitated. He had promised himself he would wait until she returned his love.
But how could love turn away when she needed him so?
In a single breath, he released his plans and preconditions, and met her need with the gift of his heart. A gift he knew she might never return.
chapter nine
The first touch of his lips was feather soft, increasing smoothly to a firm, demanding pressure that pushed back the aching hurt in her heart. He held her as if he would never let her go. For an instant she felt desperation in his kiss and wondered at it, but then her awareness of his emotions was swept away by the rising tide of her own response.