It was the same car she had seen more than a week ago. The streetlight flickered, eerily lighting the chrome accents of the wheels. She yanked on the curtains, drawing them with a rattle across the window. Damn that car.
Daniel. The memories had once been sweet, dear. A dream turned nightmare. Nausea cramped her insides and she bent over, drawing deep breaths until the sick feeling passed.
She shuffled to the chair and picked up the book. She stared unseeing at the pages until the words blurred.
What are you doing? she cried as Dan backhanded her onto the bed. She scrambled backwards against the pillows, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. The thick red substance smeared the back of her hand as she thrust her arms in front of her to thwart him.
No, she screamed as he tore at her clothes, no!
Desperation made her fight back. She wasn't ready. If he found out about the baby, he would -- the ripping of her shirt made her heart stop beating. He shredded her shorts with violent tugs and then she was naked, exposed.
His hands stilled when he saw her swollen stomach.
The click and whir of the video camera broke through the sudden, terrifying silence, but she couldn't think about the nauseating fact the Dan was recording her humiliation. She could only try to save herself and her unborn child. She rolled off the bed and stood, but he caught her around the waist and then threw her to the ground. The first kick smashed into her head, but her arms were wrapped her middle to protect the precious baby within.
The second kick --
Callie jerked up and stood. The book fell out of her lap and landed silently on the carpet. Dan's cruelty haunted her always. She couldn't stay in this house alone with her thoughts, she thought wildly. She couldn't fight the ghost of her abusive husband. She went upstairs and pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt. Hands shaking, she grasped the keys and her purse off the dresser.
She had to get out of here. Now.
* * * *
Evan watched the people in the ice rink as he drank the hot cup of bad-tasting coffee. Now here was entertainment. Evan saw the harsh florescent lights gleam on his partner's balding head as Jerry skated jerkily by. Jerry's triumphant grin soon turned to a grimace as his legs gave out and he found himself skating on his rear end. Evan held up his coffee in a mock salute and laughed. Jerry's two children, Melissa -- nearly twelve -- and Mike, fourteen, gleefully helped up their father, all the while making teasing remarks.
Evan felt a twinge of envy. Surprised at the unexpected jealousy, he turned away. He sipped the hot coffee and frowned as the sluggish muck went down like mud. The sharp smell of ice and the tempting smells of food teased his nostrils. Maybe he would have some pizza. He walked toward a popular restaurant's sign. One thing about the mall was that everything was convenient. He tossed the half-full cup into the trash and ordered a thick slice of supreme pizza.
As he chewed on a gooey, fragrant bite, he returned to watch more of Jerry's antics. His wife had her husband securely by the arm as they made the rounds. Again, Evan felt a vague restlessness crawl in his gut. What would it be like to come home to a family every night? To have a wife to kiss and a kid to hug? The sudden longing made pizza lodge in his throat.
"What the hell, Madigan," he muttered in disgust, swallowing the chunk. "You want a family now? You have a family."
He finished the pizza, but its taste had somehow turned into cheese-flavored cardboard. Ever since he'd dropped Callie off over a week ago, he'd had this nagging sense of something left unfinished.
Callie.
His frown softened to a slight smile. She was something else. He'd left her alone like she'd asked. But she popped into his thoughts at odd moments. And he couldn't help but wonder if what she'd asked was really what she wanted.
Still, her sharp words had sliced his pride and he'd gone. But she hadn't let him alone at all. At night his dreams filled with erotic images of making love with her. Pale, sweat-slick, he'd taken her tight little body over and over again. He'd awakened more than once this past week with throbbing hard-on and the sheets twisted in his fists. Worse than those dreams, though, were the ones where he merely held Callie in his arms, gazing at her sleeping face. Dreams or fantasies? Did it really matter?
Restless, he waved to Jerry that he was leaving. His partner waved back, a goofy grin on his hound dog features. Evan walked through the parking lot, enjoying the cool breeze that interrupted the night's heat. He got into his car and started the engine and waited. He didn't want to go home and he didn't want to go to a bar or the other places he'd haunted on nights he felt like this. He shifted the Mustang into gear and turned onto the street.
He knew where he was going. He just didn't know what he planned to do once he got there.
* * * *
Evan found her sitting in the Mercedes, staring unseeingly at the garage door. He leaned into the driver's side window that had been rolled down. "Hi."
She turned and he saw, even in the darkness, that her eyes were filled with tears.
"It's you," she said.
He grinned. "Yeah. I guess I don't listen too well."
"I'm glad," she said. Evan heard the ache in her voice and knew an answering ache within his heart.
"I didn't want to stay home," she said. "But I don't have any place to go. I don't know anyone or..." He saw the lost look in her green eyes. "It's stupid."
"No, it's not." He opened the car door and helped her out. "Why do you think I'm standing in your driveway? C'mon. Let's get out of here."
"Madigan, about what I said last week..."
"It's history," Evan replied, steering her towards the Mustang.
"I'm not apologizing," she said as she scooted into the passenger seat.
"It's okay," he said, sliding into the driver's seat. He smiled at her. "Want some music?"
"No country," she said adamantly.
He pointed to his stock of tapes on the floorboard next to her feet. "Choose what you want. I promise I don't own a single country tape."
As Callie rooted for a decent tape, Evan backed out of the driveway and headed to the freeway.
"Here," Callie said and handed him a tape. The Eagles "Hotel California." He grinned. The tape was one of his favorites.
He sensed she needed the comfort of quiet. Music filtered through the speakers and Evan relaxed.
"Where are we going?"
"Do you care?"
She settled more comfortably into the seat. "Not really."
"We're going to Swan Lake."
"I haven't been there since Bobby Manahan," she said drowsily. Her eyes closed. An eyelid drifted open and Evan found himself the recipient of a suspicious one-eyed stare. "You're not planning on kissing me and trying to cop a feel, are you?"
Evan chuckled. "Why? Is that what good ol' Bobby did?"
"Yes."
"And?"
Her husky laugh sent prickles of awareness through him. He gripped the steering wheel.
"Bobby got pushed into the lake."
Evan laughed. "Difficult to do. There's a fence around it."
"Yeah. He toppled over it. He was more than six-feet tall and his ego was just as huge. Must have lent an extra weight." She sighed. "I was different then. Brave. I didn't take crap from men."
"You don't take crap from men now."
Her silence warned him that she didn't want to talk anymore, so he turned up the music and drove. Evan took the exit off the Broken Arrow Expressway and ten minutes later they pulled into the exclusive Swan Lake neighborhood. He parked the car and killed the engine. Turning in his seat, he faced Callie.
"I'm not making any promises," he said wickedly. "And you can't push me into the lake. They've reinforced the fence."
Callie's slow grin matched his. "A fence is a minor obstruction, Madigan."
"I'll take my chances."
The darkness hid her expression, but the air tingled with electricity. He met her in front of the car. "Can I hold your hand?"
She didn't an
swer instead she took his hand and led him to the sidewalk surrounding the lake. "Keep your lips to yourself," she said in a breathless voice.
"Whatever you say, Callie," Evan said. "Whatever you say."
They circled the lake, their shoes scraping against the concrete. Cool night air teased them with soft breezes. Evan enjoyed the feel of Callie's hand clasped within his own. The restlessness that had drove him to Callie had stilled. He felt content.
Night sounds of crickets and the gentle swish of water relaxed him. Swans, oblivious to rhythms of man, who now slept, preened and swam the perimeter of the lake. Callie stopped and Evan felt the loss keenly when she withdrew her hand to lean against the fence. "They're so beautiful."
"Like you."
Tension stretched between them as he felt rather than saw the stiffening of her shoulders. Evan leaned next to her. "You don't take compliments well."
"Beauty is superficial."
"Maybe I was talking about your insides."
She looked at him, her face shadowed by the dim streetlights surrounding the residential street. "You don't know anything about me. You don't want me, Evan. I'm a game. A toy for you to play with."
He jerked upright. "What the hell are you talking about? You're not some damn toy. You're a woman. I'm a man. We like each other. Most people take that as the beginning of a relationship."
"I don't want a relationship."
She turned away again and he studied her profile. "When are you going to talk to me? What happened, Callie, to hurt you so much? You won't take a chance on me. Why?"
"That question will be answered soon enough," she replied softly. "I've risked before and I lost. God, I lost everything. I can't do it again."
"All you have to do is trust."
"Easy to say for a man who's probably never played high stakes."
"You're assuming you know everything about me." Frustration snaked through him. "Let just say we don't know each other well enough to make judgements and move on from there, okay? We can find out what we need to know along the way."
"You have selective hearing, Evan. I don't want a relationship."
"You like me."
"Yes."
He watched Callie move away from the fence. She walked toward the car, not looking to see if he would follow. He stood there for a few seconds, looking at the stiff way she walked. Evan grimaced, then shoved his hands into the jean's pockets and trailed after her.
"I like you," he said.
From across the Mustang's roof, she stared him. "I know." Again, he recognized the flicker of doubt, of need.
"Tell me the truth, Callie. If you really want me to leave you alone, then say it. And I won't come back."
Silence stretched tautly between them. He dug the car keys out of his pocket, their jingle sliding across his nerves as he waited for her to answer.
"I don't want you to leave me alone. That's the truth. The whole idea of a relationship scares the hell out of me, Evan."
Relief made his fingers tremble and he dropped the keys. She did want him. That was the first step. "We'll start small. Then we'll build."
"I'm not making any promises."
"I'm not asking for any." He scooped up the keys, walked to her side and unlocked the door. He rounded the car and heard a click as she unlocked the door from the inside.
"So where to next?" he asked as he slid into the seat and started the car.
" I'd like to go home," she said. "I just want to sleep."
"Okay. How about I pick you up tomorrow? We could have lunch."
Evan drove the Mustang back to the BA Expressway. Music filtered through the speakers and again he found himself waiting tensely for her answer.
"You didn't go on extended personal leave just to date me, did you?"
"I'm supposed to be working on my house. It needs some serious renovation."
"So you're wasting your vacation time?"
"Time spent with you is not wasted. Would you like to see my house? I could put you to work."
Her soft laugh released some of the tightness coiled in his guts.
"Okay. Lunch." He sensed her hesitation; glanced at her profile. "Then I'd love to see your house."
Elation filled him. It was a step -- a big step for her -- he knew. Damn, Madigan, you're falling in love.
Silence settled around them and soon Evan was pulling into the driveway. He wanted to kiss her, but his promise not touch her without permission rang clearly in his mind. The headlights flickered across the garage door. He heard Callie's gasp at the same time he saw the neon green marks. The headlights obscured the writing, so Evan turned them off. Confusion and uneasiness uncurled in his stomach. The message scrawled in glowing neon letters across the white garage door said, "A murderer lives here."
--------
*Chapter Eight*
The intruder watched with glee as the bitch exited the Mustang and nearly collapsed. "Got my message, little girl," he whispered. A grin twisted his lips as he watched her shoulders shake. From his hiding place, he could hear her blubbering.
Stupid, pathetic bitch.
Then the asshole with her got out of the car and wrapped his arms around her. Damn it. He'd have to do something about the boyfriend.
Mission accomplished, though. Callie was scared. He needed her to be scared. He wanted her to feel the terror again. To know, right before he killed her, the truth about her past. Delicious anticipation curled through him as he thought about his plan.
Soon, little girl, soon. One more time together and then ... good-bye.
* * * *
She hadn't spoken a word. Instead, she had curled into a little ball on the passenger seat and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. Harley had been the one to come to the house, to ask her questions about the graffiti, to admit there wasn't much the police could do about a vandalized garage door.
Evan gripped the steering wheel, unable to formulate one sentence of comfort. How many times had he said the right words to terrified women who sobbed in his arms as they decided to press charges against the men who were supposed to love them? He suspected Callie knew that scenario all too well. Yet he sensed there was more. She was hiding something. Maybe it was the secret of being abused, but somehow, he didn't think so. He wanted her to open up, to tell him everything, to trust him.
Someone was stalking her. Threatening her.
He knew she'd lived in California before returning to Oklahoma. It was time to do a little checking. But that could wait. Tonight, he would take her to his house and give her want she once asked for: sanctuary.
* * * *
Callie shifted in the seat and opened her eyes. She remembered Evan saying he would take her to the best restaurant in town. Get her something to eat. Calm her nerves. She didn't care. He could drive all the way to New Jersey and she wouldn't care. Hell, drive the car into the Atlantic and let her drown in the salty, cold sea.
God. All she could see was the neon accusation scrawled on the garage door. And that face, that terrible, familiar face, staring at her in the rain-soaked window.
After driving down the bumpiest road Callie had ever been on, they pulled into the gravel driveway of two-story house. It was too dark to get see much of it, but it had huge wraparound porch.
"This is the best restaurant?"
"I said I knew the best place to eat in town." He attempted a grin, though his gaze remained serious. "I make a mean bowl of chili."
"You took me to your house?"
"C'mon."
Evan got out of the car. She'd seen the worried looks he'd been casting her. Several times, he'd opened his mouth, then closed it again. She knew he was trying to figure out what to say to her.
Or what to ask.
Hey, Callie, are you murderer?
She got out, too, grateful her legs held up. Her insides might feel as wobbly as Jell-O, but her body was still functioning normally. She leaned against the car, partly to get her bearings, partly to keep from going into Evan's house. She
soaked in the soothing effects of an Oklahoma night. Honeysuckle perfumed the night air; crickets chirped; a warm breeze rattled the leaves of the trees surrounding the house. The crunch of gravel warned her of Evan's approach. He stood, silhouetted in the light of a half-moon, his angular face shadowed, his stance casual as he looked at her.
She didn't expect the kiss. Not really. His lips were warm and firm; he tasted vaguely of mints and coffee. She tried not to respond, but her body knew how long it'd been since she'd had tenderness, and reacted with a hunger that frightened her. She accepted the kiss, tasted the desire, then pulled away.
Grabbing the car for support, she stared at him as he raked a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," she said.
"You're right. I'm not. Are you?"
"I'm overwhelmed."
Evan kept his distance and she was grateful he understood not to push her.
"Do you want to tell me what happened to you?"
"Maybe." Callie realized she wanted to. For the first time since she'd left California, she wanted to reach out to someone and share the burden and the pain that she carried with her.
"I'll feed you first."
He held out his hand and she took it, enjoying how his hand enveloped hers. She marveled that such a small gesture made her feel secure.
Evan wasn't kidding. He did make a mean bowl of chili. His homemade cornbread wasn't too bad, either. Callie had wandered the big house as he cooked, discovering more about the man who wanted to save her. The library was stocked with Shakespeare and Robert Ludlum. His video collection included "The Quiet Man" and "While You Were Sleeping." Photographs, paintings, and sketches crowded the walls. Framed photos decorated the fireplace mantle in the living room. After dinner, they retired there. Restless, Callie took her wine and studied the photos on the fireplace. She found herself picking up the framed photo of a dark-haired woman who looked remarkably like Evan.
Midnight Intentions Page 6