"I will."
He stopped as he started for the door and turned back around. "I thought, if we get away early enough, you might like to stop by the hospital on the way out. You know, to see your friend."
"I'd like that," Kristin whispered. "Thanks."
It was a struggle, but she'd managed to blink back the tears until he'd left the room. She hated to cry, hated to get all weepy and emotional. It made her feel weak and powerless, but for some reason she couldn't seem to help herself. His offer to visit Tori had been so thoughtful, so unexpected, and had taken her completely by surprise. Kristin Carey might be cautious when it came to strangers, but Jane Streeter had a feeling about this guy. She was beginning to think he just might be one seriously nice man.
* * *
Jake pushed the door open, lowered the bag to the floor and reached for the light. The bare bulb cast a dim, yellow glow across the small apartment.
As he set Kristin's laptop computer down at the table, he glanced up and stopped. Had he ever really noticed just how rustic the place looked with its open-beamed ceiling and green-painted wooden table and chairs? Add to that the fact that he hadn't been expecting to bring a guest back with him when he'd left and therefore hadn't had a chance to get rid of the cobwebs or air the place out at all, and it hardly presented a welcoming picture. He wouldn't be surprised if she took one look and headed right back down the mountain.
He deposited the rest of her things on the bare mattress, stretching his stiff and aching muscles. The drive had been long and not exactly the most pleasant one he'd ever made. He hadn't expected her to be chatty during the trip, but she'd barely spoken. He'd been relieved when she'd finally fallen asleep. It had helped ease the strain of those awkward silences.
But it hadn't made the trip any easier, or any shorter. He'd hoped to make it up the mountain before dark, but with traffic and the stop at the hospital, that hadn't been possible. Though it had probably worked out for the best. She'd been through a lot already today and someone not used to the narrow, twisting mountain road leading to the station might find the drive a little harrowing at first. As it was, it had been too dark for Kristin to see just how high up they'd climbed or how steep the drop-offs really were.
Her visit to the hospital had been a difficult one and he still wasn't sure exactly what had prompted him to suggest it. She hadn't said it in so many words, but he knew she felt responsible, and he couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Because some nutcase had become fixated on her, her entire life had to change. She'd put up a valiant effort to avoid accepting Ted's plan, but she'd been fighting a losing battle from the beginning. He understood her guilt and sense of responsibility at what her ordeal had brought to the people in her life. He remembered all too well attending Ricky's funeral and the funerals of the two officers who had died along with him, remembered the crippling sense of regret and responsibility he had felt for their deaths and wouldn't have wished that feeling on anyone. How many times he wished he would have been given the opportunity to talk to those men, to have been given the chance to apologize. He'd thought he would at least give Kristin the chance he'd never gotten.
Of course, it was hard to tell if the hospital visit had helped or not. She seemed so stoic, so unemotional, it was hard for him to know what she was feeling. He had waited in the corridor outside Victoria Peters's room while Kristin had gone in for a visit. She'd looked a little pale when she'd stepped out of the room a few moments later, but other than that, she'd revealed little else. In his years on the force, he'd seen people—including cops—go to pieces after a lot less than what she'd been through. He couldn't decide if the woman had enormous strength, or had ice water flowing through her veins.
Even with his jacket on, the room felt cold. He reached down and flipped the switch on the small, electric space heater in the corner but it was going to take more than that to bring the temperature up. He turned to the potbellied stove along the far wall. It was stone cold and the wood box was empty. But he wasn't worried. There was a stack of ages-old newspapers beside the wood box and a couple of cords of wood stacked outside. He would have a fire going in no time.
Turning around, he stared at the open doorway. He could have sworn she was right behind him when he'd started up the stairs. What the hell happened to her?
He found her at the foot of the stairs, staring up at the night sky. He cleared his throat and made his steps noisy as he climbed down, not wanting to startle her again.
"Need some help?"
"Oh, I-I'm sorry," she said, giving her head a shake. "It's just…I've never seen anything like it." She gestured upward. "I don't think I've ever seen so many stars in the sky."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" But there was something in her expression, something in the sound of her voice that caused a tightness in his chest. He wouldn't have expected the cool, curt Kristin to have noticed the stars. She was too practical, too down-to-earth. But Jane was a dreamer, she would notice.
"And it is so black out there." She pointed out into the darkness. "Are you sure there are mountains out there?"
"Why don't you ask me that question in the morning," he suggested dryly. "In the meantime, you better head inside. I'll grab some wood and be right up. We'll want to get a fire going before the temperature drops."
Kristin shivered and snuggled her jacket around her. "Does it get much colder than this? Because I'm freezing already."
He had to laugh. "Just a little," he lied. "But don't worry, we've got plenty of wood."
Just then a gust of wind swept up the side of the mountain, sending a blast of cold air swirling around them.
"Listen," she said, her eyes widening. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what? The wind?"
"No." She shook her head as another gust buffeted them. "There! Do you hear that?"
He was so accustomed to the sounds of the area it took him a few minutes to figure out what she was hearing. "You mean that whistling sound?"
"Yes!"
He pointed to the top of the lookout. "It's too dark to see much right now, but it's the antennae tower. It makes that sound when the wind blows through them."
She looked up into the direction he pointed, then back to him. "Kinda spooky."
"You'll get used to it," he assured her. "And you'll feel better once you've warmed up." He watched as she started up the steps. "And like I said earlier, the rooms are a little rough, but we'll get them cleaned up in the morning. I'll bring you some clean bedding and some towels. There's hot water if you want a shower."
"Thanks," she called back with a small wave as she disappeared inside.
He turned and headed across the driveway to the mountain of firewood he had chopped and stacked under the overhang of the tower. He walked quickly and with assurance despite the darkness. In three years, he'd come to know every square foot of the small compound and didn't doubt he could walk it in his sleep if he had to.
The tower was dark and the only light burning below was the small one above the main door that Claybe would have left on for him. He and Claybe would fill in for one another when either had to be away. But Claybe would have left hours ago, wanting to be down the mountain before nightfall. He suspected things had been quiet while he was away, but he would touch base with Claybe by radio tomorrow just to be certain.
He quickly gathered up an armful of wood and made his way back across the gravel driveway. At the top of the stairs he stopped. The door was closed. Without a hand free to knock, he hesitated, trying to decide the best way to get her attention.
"Kristin? Hello?" he called out. He waited several seconds, shifting the weight of the wood, then tapped gently against the door with the toe of his boot. "Hello—"
The door opened so quickly he jumped, nearly unbalancing his load.
"I'm sorry," Kristin said, pushing the door open wide. "Let me help."
"No, it's fine," he said, rushing inside quickly. A momentum had started, throwing off his balance and he made a beeline for the wood box
. It was only luck that had him aiming the tilting load just right and filling the box up in one smooth motion. "That ought to be enough to get started." He knelt down and opened the cast-iron door of the stove. Reaching for the newspapers, he crumpled up several large sheets and tossed them inside. "Once we get the fire going, I'll bring up some more wood."
"I can help," Kristin offered, closing the door to a cold gust of wind. She rushed over to the small space heater and warmed her hands. "If you show me where the wood-pile is."
"You concentrate on getting warm," he advised, stacking several small pieces of wood on top of the crinkled papers. "It's too dark out there to see much anyway."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to wait on me."
"I don't."
"Because I know you have work to do around here. Please don't feel you have to entertain me. I don't want to be a bother."
"Thanks, I appreciate that."
"And if you need some help, just let me know."
"Okay," he said, reaching for several larger logs. "Would you mind seeing if you can find a box of matches in one of those drawers over there?"
"What? Oh, sure," she said, jumping to attention. She eagerly rushed into the small kitchen and began pulling out drawers and searching through the cabinets. "Found them!"
"Why don't you keep an eye on this," he said once the papers and the kindling had started to burn. "I'll bring some more wood up but I'll go get you some linens first and—" He stopped, vaguely remembering the burgers they'd had many hours ago on the road. "Are you hungry? I've got food over at my place. I could fix you something."
"Oh no, don't bother," she insisted. "I'm fine."
Somehow he didn't quite believe her. "I'll bring a couple cans of soup just in case, and some coffee for you in the morning," he said, heading for the door. "You should find some pots and pans in the cupboard." At the door he turned around and watched her as she knelt down in front of the fire. It suddenly hit him then. Jane Streeter had come to his house. "I'll be right back. Don't let the fire go out."
* * *
The light was blinding, like sunshine and then some. Squinting, she scooted up, wincing as every muscle in her body protested. She looked around the small apartment. Awareness was immediate. Something was different but it had nothing to do with the unfamiliar surroundings. There was something drastically different about this morning, something missing.
She sat up as realization hit like a rock. Fear. It wasn't there. She didn't feel that nagging, gnawing monster in the pit of her stomach. She had lived with it for so long, had greeted each morning with a growing sense of dread, she'd almost forgotten what it was to wake up and feel…safe.
Was it possible Ted had been right? Could it be that getting away from L.A., away from the telephone calls and the letters and the precautions and the check-ins and the million other things she'd had to deal with for the last eight months might actually be better?
"Amazing," she sighed, sinking back against the pillows. She had been so concerned about being displaced, about having to leave her life and her work and her family behind in L.A. it hadn't even occurred to her she'd also be leaving behind the fear. It had been the overriding emotion in her life for so long, she'd almost forgotten what life could be like without it. This morning she was hundreds of miles away from all of that, from the threats and the dread and the fear.
She took a moment, savoring the feeling. This was what her life had been like before, and a glimmer of hope brightened at the thought that maybe someday soon the whole nightmare would end, that her life would be her own again.
As her eyes grew more accustomed to the light, she looked around the small room. The place looked better in the daylight—not great by any means, but better. Coming in last night it had felt gloomy and a little spooky. Now it just looked a lot like the cabins she remembered from summer camp as a kid—functional and rustic.
She glanced at her down jacket tossed at the foot of the bed. When Jake had suggested she pack warm, he'd obviously known what he was talking about. It seemed impossible now to think she'd actually considered not bringing the jacket. She didn't even want to think what it would have been like without it. In fact, before the fire started creating some heat, she'd even considered wearing the garment to bed.
She glanced at the stove beside the bed. Embers still glowed red inside. She had gotten up several times in the night to add more wood, and she had to admit she'd been surprised at just how much heat that little black thing could put out. The cold was definitely something that would take a little getting used to.
"Although let's hope that won't be necessary," she said out loud, her voice sounding hollow as it echoed off the bare walls. The only way she was going to get through this was to concentrate on the time when it would all be over, when she could have her life back and try to put this whole nightmare behind her.
She glanced down at her watch.
"Eight a.m." She groaned. She had slept amazingly well last night, just not long enough. It had been only a little after eleven when she'd crawled under the covers. She'd been grateful for the two cans of chicken noodle soup Jake had brought with him when he'd delivered the linens for her bed. Immediately after he'd left, she'd opened one can, tossed it into a small saucepan she'd found and heated it up on one of the two burners atop the tiny gas stove. The soup had tasted so hot and delicious, when she'd finished, she'd promptly opened the other can and did the very same thing.
She leaned back against the pillows, thinking about Jake. Along with the soup, he'd also brought crackers, a bar of soap, coffee, sugar and dried nondairy creamer. He'd been a perfectly gracious host, thinking of everything. It was almost as if he did this sort of thing all the time.
She sat up again. Did he? The thought hadn't occurred to her before, but the man was attractive and unattached. It was probably not unreasonable to think he entertained a woman up here from time to time.
"None of my business," she mumbled to herself, sinking back against the pillows and pulling the covers up tight, but she couldn't quite shake the thought.
He'd offered to stay and help her make up the bed last night, but that would have simply been too awkward. It was bad enough that she'd landed in his lap, the least she could do was be as self-sufficient as possible and try to stay out of his way as much as she could.
Besides that, she still felt uneasy around him—only not like before, not like the uneasiness she'd felt when he'd been a stranger. This was different and in some ways much worse. There was something that happened when he was around, something that affected the oxygen supply to her lungs, something that made it difficult to breathe.
Her body ached, and everything was telling her to bury herself under the covers and sleep for another couple of hours. After all, she wasn't used to early mornings. Doing a live broadcast each night, she usually didn't get home and into bed much before two. Add to that, she was in a strange place, she was frankly surprised she had gotten any sleep at all last night. In the darkness, the small apartment had come alive with sounds, which conspired to keep her awake and on edge. Of course, some sounds she could recognize—the wind blowing outside and the wood snapping in the fire. Those hadn't bothered her. It was all the other ones that kept her teeth rattling, the ones she didn't even want to guess at.
"No, better get up," she ordered herself when she felt her lids start to grow heavy again.
She pushed the covers aside and sat up. She had no idea what the routine was around the station but she suspected sleeping late probably wasn't part of it. Besides, Jake didn't strike her as a late sleeper. He had that rugged outdoorsy thing going on and she would bet his day started early. The least she could do was make an appearance.
It took her a moment to realize the tiny tapping on the door wasn't just one of those hundreds of miscellaneous sounds she'd been listening to all night. Someone was knocking very lightly on her door.
Not someone. Jake.
Chapter 6
There was one freaky
millisecond of indecision. Kristin leaped to her feet, then quickly sat back down. She forgot about feeling tired, forgot about the cold, about her aching muscles and too little sleep. What did she do—answer the door or hide under the covers and pretend to be asleep?
She frantically glanced around the room. She was in her underwear and a T-shirt. Had she even packed a robe—or a hairbrush?
There was another small tap, fainter than the first.
"C-come in?" she stuttered, hurriedly slipping back under the covers.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Jake said, cracking the door open an inch.
She cringed and pulled the covers up, wishing she could pull them over her head. She didn't even want to think about what she might look like, and told herself not to be surprised if the man took one look and hightailed it in the opposite direction.
"No, no…I wasn't asleep."
"You're up early," he said, stepping inside. In one hand he held the straps of a large, burlap carrier filled with a load of wood. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Some," she said, pulling the blanket to her chin.
"I thought you might be cold," he said, lifting the carrier full of wood. He walked to the stove and emptied the wood into the box. Reaching for the poker hanging from a hook on the stove, he knelt down and opened the iron door. "Would you like a fire this morning?"
"Sure, thanks," she said, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers encountered a major snarl and she worked quickly to try to smooth it away. "That…that would be nice."
He tossed several small logs into the stove, working the embers until they flamed and engulfed the new pieces.
"That ought to warm you up," he said as he straightened and returned the poker to the hook. "Feel like some breakfast?"
"I think I'm fine." She sat up. "I was just about to start coffee. Could I get you a cup?"
"Why don't you relax for a while, get warm," he said, gathering up the burlap carrier. "When you feel ready, get dressed and come on over to the tower. I've got a fresh pot of coffee made and I'll give you a tour of the place."
Night Talk Page 8