"Who is this?"
Evan joined her and took the picture. "My sister. Sharon."
"She's your only sister?"
"Yes. My twin."
Callie saw his fingers tense on the metal frame, then he placed it on the mantle. Now she knew the source of his pain. Callie had lost her mother when she was 19. Dad turned to work to hide his grief; she moved to California to escape hers. She didn't have brothers or sisters. She'd been so alone when she met Daniel a couple of years later. Vulnerable. Needy. And Dan had been so understanding and loving and kind. The flood of memories threatened to break through, so she turned away from the snapshots of Evan's family.
"Sharon was almost beaten to death by her husband."
Pain, sharp and swift, buckled Callie's knees. The wine glass slipped out her hand, bounced off the thick carpet, and rolled under a wingback chair near the fireplace. The red wine stained the creme-colored carpet, looking too much like blood spatters.
"My God, Callie." Evan put his wine on the mantle and grabbed her arm, guiding her to the couch.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Callie tried to stop her shaking. It was too much. It was all too much.
"What is it? C'mon, sweetheart, you can tell me."
His voice was so gentle, so kind. His eyes filled with understanding and concern. Oh how that would all go away if she told him. Friends, good friends, had turned away from her when she'd been arrested. No one wanted to hear her or to know the truth. Dan's last humiliation had turned out to be the evidence needed to free her. He himself showed the world what a monster he was.
And still everyone blamed her.
Damn them all.
She was tired of crying, of running, of feeling broken and battered. No more. She looked Evan in the eye, and said, "I killed my husband."
--------
*Chapter Nine*
Evan stared at Callie's pale, expressionless face and felt a numbing iciness coat his insides. She'd killed her husband? His gaze flicked to her hands. They were clenched fists, digging into the fabric of her jeans.
"Why?"
"I'm surprised at you, Evan. I figured you'd know by now. I thought you'd check me out. Everything's on file. Just the facts. Black and white. Bad guys. Good guys. That's how cops think, right?"
"Wrong," he answered softly. "There are a lot of gray areas, Callie." He covered her hands with his. "Tell me why you killed him."
She looked at him, her gaze begging him to understand. Then she pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and shook her head.
"What the hell is it going to cost you to just answer me?" His voice was too harsh. He knew it the minute she flinched. "Do you want me to check out your file?"
"You'll find out what they put in the newspapers and in the reports. You'll find out what the experts and the doctors and the shrinks said ... but it boils down to one terrible truth. I shot my husband because the son-of-a-bitch deserved it. He found out I was pregnant and -- " She took a shuddering breath. "Three years I stayed in that marriage. I wished to God I'd come to my senses sooner, but it took getting pregnant to give me the courage. I couldn't -- I couldn't go to my father. Dan had threatened Daddy numerous times. I was afraid he'd find some way to hurt him. I'd finally saved enough money and I was starting to show, so I knew I had to go. But Dan had other plans."
She shook off his hands and stood, forcing Evan to get to his feet, too. She turned away from him, clutched the mantelpiece with trembling fingers, and gazed at the family photos. "Twelve hours. That's all I needed. Dan was going on a fishing trip with his buddies for the weekend. I only had to survive one more night."
"What happened?"
"Dan bought a video camera. He wanted, as he put it, 'To outdo Tommy and Pamela Lee.' He had it all ready to go ... the bed, the camera, and all kinds of sex toys. I panicked and tried to refuse. He pinned me down on the bed and started to rape me ... when he ripped off my shirt, he saw my belly and knew. In his rage, he forgot about the camera.
"He started beating the living hell out of me. Lucky for me he was such a gun freak. I don't remember how I got the thirty-eight out of the nightstand, but I did. And I put six holes into Dan."
"I'm sorry, Callie." Evan wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. The pain she had suffered, the pain she suffered now ... he wished he could take it away.
"I lost the baby. I lost the ability to have kids."
Callie looked at him then, tears streaming down her face. "The video camera caught almost everything that happened. In the end, Dan convicted himself ... and I got away with murder."
"Come here." He opened his arms and she didn't hesitate to accept what he offered.
He held her.
And she wept.
* * * *
Callie awoke in Evan's bed feeling like she'd slept for a week. She felt lighter in spirit and, yes, for the first time in a long time, hopeful that the day held something wondrous in store.
The smell of strong coffee propelled her from the bed. She looked rumpled in her jeans and T-shirt, but Evan had already seen her at her worst.
He hadn't condemned her. He hadn't judged her.
She would always be grateful for that.
As she entered the hallway, she realized the major parts of the house were under construction. She passed two more bedrooms, a bathroom, and the entrance to a sun porch. She went through the living room, into the dining room, and through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen.
"Hello."
Evan turned from the stove and grinned. "Hi."
"Thanks. For last night."
"It's okay."
She sat on one of the three barstools lining the counter. "That smells heavenly."
She watched Evan fill a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. "You want some coffee?"
"God, yes."
He poured a cup and brought it along with the plate. "Dig in."
She scooped up a bite of fluffy eggs and groaned. "Heavy on the butter. That's the only way to eat 'em."
"Glad you like it."
Evan filled his own plate and joined her. "So, what do you want to do today?"
"Don't you ever go to work? You're the laziest cop I've ever met."
"Very funny. Like I don't get enough donut jokes." He sipped his coffee. "I told you, I'm supposed to be working on fixing up the house."
"I don't have any plans. And I'm not sure I want to go back to my house right away. I need to visit daddy, but other than that ... I could help out around here."
His look of surprise was priceless, but the light in his eyes dimmed. He cleared his throat. "Actually, Callie, I was hoping that I could help you."
"What do you mean?"
"My sister Sharon is a volunteer at the women's shelter. She can recommend a really good counselor -- "
"What?" Dread settled like a concrete block in her stomach.
"Domestic violence is one of my specialties. In fact, I'm trying to get funding to start a special investigation unit geared toward..." He frowned. "What's wrong?"
"I didn't pour my heart out to a cop. I shared a part of myself with Evan Madigan. But it was the cop that listened, wasn't it? You want to help me? That's what this whole thing has been about?"
"What are you talking about it?"
"Oh God. I'm so stupid. I thought ... you made me believe this was about more than just..." She blew out a breath. "You didn't want to date me, you wanted to save me. Project Callie, right?"
"No. I care about you, Callie. You're important to me."
"I believe you," she said in a soft voice. "I'm grateful, Evan. You'll never know how much I appreciate what you've done for me."
"Callie -- "
She slid off the stool and looked at the man she'd almost given her heart to. "Do me a favor. Let me walk out of here, okay?"
"That's a helluva a thing to ask."
"I know. But do it anyway." She leaned forward and kissed his mouth, then pulled away just enough to meet his anxious gaze. "And just for the record
, Evan, I don't need saving. I've already saved myself."
* * * *
He saw her leave the boyfriend's house. She got into a waiting cab while her half-naked hero watched from the porch. They both looked miserable. Good. He wanted them to suffer. The waiting was over. Mr. Hero had to pay for putting his hands on someone else's wife. Then the dear, sweet betrayer would meet her justice. The whore. The bitch. The murderer. Rage clouded his mind, made him clench his fists so hard, the nails bit into his palms. "Callie!" His scream echoed in the car, in his head, in his heart. He would taste her one last time. Then she would die. Blood for blood.
* * * *
Evan hung up the phone. Jerry would watch out for Callie during the next few hours. She'd probably visit her dad then go home. At least he hoped she would. Evan took the dishes to the sink, rinsed them off, and loaded the dishwasher, his thoughts on Callie. He had to find a way to convince her she wasn't some kind of personal project. He didn't want to save her. He wanted ... well, what the hell did he want? To love her.
Evan closed his eyes and savored the thought of loving Callie. Yes. The idea of her being in his life was right. But would she believe he wanted her? He leaned down to push in the lower cart. The dishes rattled as the cart slid into the dishwasher.
The cabinet above his head exploded.
He collapsed onto the floor, then rolled into a crouching position. A glance at the damaged cabinet revealed a line of bullet holes. Someone had gotten into his house and the slick bastard was using a silencer.
"You don't have a gun, Mr. Hero. Just take your bullets like a man."
"I'm a cop," yelled Evan, "think hard before you start shooting again."
"A cop who sleeps with a cop killer? I don't believe you." Evan's heart slammed into his chest. Dear God. Was this Callie's stalker?
"Of course, I don't blame you. She is a sweet little piece, isn't she?"
Bastard. "My badge and ID are on the dining room table. Go ahead and check." Evan leaned against the cabinets opposite to the dishwasher. Damn it. His gun was locked in the safe in the bedroom. He looked around for available weapons and saw the butcher block filled with recently-sharpened knives. A knife, even a big knife, couldn't compete with a bullet.
"Detective Madigan, you leave me with a dilemma. I have no desire to kill a fellow officer. But you must be punished for your transgressions."
"Cop killers never get away."
"Some do."
Evan readied to do battle. Sweat rolled down his face and neck, his heart pounded, adrenaline rushed through him. C'mon, you prick, try to get me. Seconds turned into minutes. Evan crept forward and peered around the cabinets.
The intruder wasn't in the kitchen.
He grabbed the biggest knife from the block and made his way to the bedroom. He got his gun from the safe, then checked the entire house and the backyard.
The guy might as well have been a ghost.
Dread sat heavy in his gut. He grabbed the cordless phone and punched in the numbers to Jerry's cell phone with trembling fingers.
"You've reached my voicemail. Leave a message. When I'm done catching bad guys, I'll get back to you."
"Jer, it's Evan. The asshole after Callie almost put a bullet in my head. I'm going to her house right now."
He needed to get to Callie.
Please ... don't let it be too late.
*Chapter Ten*
Callie crouched in the dark room, the wound on the back of her head throbbing. She swallowed the nausea crowding her throat and tried to center herself. She felt so dizzy, so weak. She'd awakened once -- long enough to realize the stalker had dragged her into the basement of the house -- then had mercifully passed out again. She didn't know how long she'd been here. Her fingers cramped from holding the rotted two by four. It was the only weapon she'd been able to find.
She'd walked into the mansion, her mind full of thoughts about Evan, when she felt her skull explode. Oh God. What had happened to Evan's partner? Jerry had been right behind her, telling a story about Evan and twelve cats. She hadn't seen the face of the person who'd knocked her out, but the voice -- the voice -- sounded like Dan.
She'd killed him. She'd emptied six bullets into his stomach and chest ... he was dead. Dead.
"I've gone insane," she whispered, clutching the rough, moldy wood. "I'm really in a mental institution living my worst nightmare."
The basement was huge and darker than a tomb. She shivered at the thought that it might be her tomb. Her vision had adjusted somewhat; she saw shapes of various sizes, but she had no idea what objects were stored down here. The door ... she didn't know where it was. The small room where she developed her pictures took up a minute amount of space in the huge basement. She'd never explored the area. Nothing around her was familiar. She knew she needed to get up, to try to escape. Fear chilled her; the cold creeping tendrils wrapped around her body and immobilized her. She thought of Evan, of her final words ... I've already saved myself. She laughed -- a strangled sound of defeat.
I was wrong, Evan.
She knew she was going to die. Evan would never know that she'd fallen in love with him. That she trusted him. That he had, in fact, saved her. She put her head on her knees and cried. The board clattered to the concrete floor when she dropped it.
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."
Callie raised her head. The glare of high-powered flashlight blinded her.
"What do you want?"
"You. Dead." He laughed. "But that's for later. You and I have a project to finish. Get up. I've made the preparations."
"Screw you."
The laugh, the cold laugh she remembered so well echoed throughout the basement. "Hmmm. I think I'll take you up on that invitation."
"You're not Dan. I killed him."
"Make no mistake. You're a murdering bitch. But who did you kill, Callie?" The light reversed and its beam illuminated the face of her dead husband.
Her heart stopped beating. "No. NO!"
I'm insane. I've gone insane. Nausea roiled violently in her stomach; she leaned over and emptied its contents. The putrid smell of vomit mixed with the musty smell of the basement. She spit the residue out of her mouth, then wiped her lips with a trembling hand.
"There now. Feel better?"
"Just kill me now, you bastard. I'm not going anywhere with you."
"That's what you think."
The light disappeared then she felt his hands on her shoulders. She struggled against his grip, but he turned her around and held her across the neck with one strong arm. A cloth covered her nose and mouth, a sick-sweet smell gagged her ... then she felt nothing.
* * * *
Evan pulled into Callie's driveway, parked the car, and leapt out of it. He skidded to a halt in front of the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the note taped above the peephole.
"Gone out with Jerry for ice cream. Be back later. -Callie"
Relief flooded him. Thank God. He'd tried to call her several times, but she never picked up the phone. Evan froze. If the killer had arrived and found the same note, he might be waiting for Callie to return. Or maybe ... maybe he'd followed them and had found a way to abduct her. Evan pulled out his cell phone and called Jerry.
"Yeah?"
Finally! "Jer?"
He heard his partner cough then sneeze. "Damn. Think I'm getting a cold."
"Where the hell are you?"
"Ice cream parlor. I'm eating a fudge sundae and Callie's scarfin' down a double dip cone. Didn't you get the note?"
His voice sounded scratchy and strange. Evan frowned. "Yeah, I got the note. I want to meet you. Callie's stalker paid me a little visit about half an hour ago."
"Oh shit." Jerry gave Evan directions to their location. "Don't worry. She's safe."
"Keep her that way. Something doesn't feel right. I'm going to call the department and get some black and whites out here."
His partner sneezed again. He sounded even more nasally than before. "Maybe you should wait on the b
lack and whites. Why don't we arrange a safe house instead? Let's set a trap for this guy and see if we can get him first."
"Okay. This guy is crazy, Jerry. I don't think he's going to give up until Callie's dead."
"I'll take your word for it. We'll talk more when you get here."
The phone disconnected. Evan shoved his credit-card sized cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans and got back into the Mustang. He'd feel better as soon as he saw Callie.
* * * *
Callie struggled against the ropes binding her wrists and feet. She'd awakened to find Dan cutting off her clothes with a huge, jagged knife. A hunter's knife. The knife that she knew Dan would plunge into her heart when he was finished humiliating and torturing her.
He'd taken her to one of the guest rooms. He'd already taped her mouth; it took little effort for him to tie her up. She was spread-eagled on the four-poster bed. The ropes attached to the large posts gave her enough leeway to move, just enough to give her the false hope she might get free. Bitterness welled within her. Tears scorched her cheeks. The knowledge that she was going to die overwhelmed her and she sobbed against the duct tape concealing her mouth.
Dan sat at the end of the bed with Jerry's cell phone, gleefully lying to Evan. She'd heard his car screech into the driveway and felt the faint glimmer of hope ... until Dan answered Jerry's cell phone and spent the next two minutes convincing Evan to go somewhere else.
Her tormentor flipped the phone shut. "Plan for every contingency." His grin was manic. "Your new friend is on his way to see you. It's going to take him about thirty minutes to get there. Five minutes to figure out he's been had. Maybe twenty minutes, if he speeds, to return. Don't worry, darling. I only need thirty-seven minutes from start to finish. He'll get back just in time to discover your body."
He got up and rounded the bed, leaning over to look into her eyes. "Terrified, aren't you, my love? No gun nearby to save you. No lover on his way to rescue you. You know I'm going to kill you. You know that I'm going to do this..." He stroked her breast with his gloved hand, then leaned down and suckled her nipple. The powdery feel of the surgical glove was preferable to the heat and wet of his mouth. She knew worse was coming, but she felt sick and violated.
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