While glancing at Bandit asleep under the kitchen table, she heard the familiar, click and squeak of the French doors opening in the family room. Abby hurried toward the sound, thinking that perhaps Sue and the kids had returned early. The moment she stepped through the archway separating the rooms, a heavy arm encircled her upper arms and chest and a gloved hand clamped firmly over her mouth, but through the shock she kept a death-grip on the delicate handle on her cup.
Abby tried to scream, but the huge hand partially blocked her nose and she could barely breath. The glove was dirty and smelled of motor oil. Glancing to the side, it looked to her like a purple dragon stretched out under all the dirt on his biceps.
“Shut up,” a deep voice growled, “and maybe I won't hurt you.” He tightened his grip. “This is a last warning for your son. Tell him to stick to divorce cases and snooping for insurance companies, or I'll be back.” He dragged Abby further into the room. “You tell him I can get to anyone, anywhere."
Abby heard the low, menacing growl before her assailant did, and tipped her cup, pouring the hot liquid down the man's arm.
Screeching loudly, he released his grip, and Abby yanked away just as Bandit hurled forward and latched onto the man's burned arm with jaws that had easily snapped one of her new wooden croquet balls in half just that morning.
Screaming as loud as she could, Abby attempted to see the man's face. But, long, dark, straggly hair whipped around, hiding his features as the man's huge dirty fist flew in the air and landed on a determined Bandit. He dragged the dog to the French doors. He was closing the door on Bandit's long nose, forcing the dog to release his arm, when a ball of fur landed on his back. “Damn sonofa—” he growled, reaching over his shoulder and ripping the cat from his back. He threw the cat, and was glaring at Abby when Tim appeared behind him.
She'd completely forgotten that someone was watching the house. She certainly didn't expect it to be Tim, or expect the gun he held to be a reassurance. Crossing her trembling arms across her chest, she called to Bandit, “Enough, Bandit. Come back.” The cat had to have been a figment of her imagination caused by her terror. Dead cats didn't attack, and she could think of only one cat who seemed to think he was a lion.
Bandit obeyed immediately, stopping his new advance on the man, and returning to Abby's side.
Startled, the angry man stared at her. “You just had to go and see my face, old woman.” Blood covered the man's arm now as he reached down and pulled a small gun from inside his boot. “Boss says I can't leave any witnesses. I can handle that,” he said, his voice rising on the last word as Tim shoved his gun against the man's back.
Abby couldn't help but feel totally amazed at Tim's bravery—especially since the man's height and weight seemed to dwarf Tim. She blew out a breath and sucked in air, suddenly realizing she'd been holding it.
“You have half a second to drop that,” Tim said softly, “or you'll be losing blood from a new and bigger wound.” The man's weapon clattered on the patio tile.
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Chapter 17
Abby's sigh of relief caught in her throat as the man knocked Tim to the ground and raced for the rear gate. She released Bandit's chain collar and watched the dog sprint after the man. It came to her mind that it certainly mattered what was chasing you when it came to the speed a person could achieve. The man sailed through the gate, slamming it just seconds before Bandit made his jump for it. Abby released the air from her lungs as Bandit landed atop the wide, flat, red-wood slats. His back claws dug ridges in the fence as he scrambled over.
“Stay right here, Abby,” Tim ordered, limp-running toward the gate. He limped quickly through the opening, leaving the gate swinging.
But Abby followed. She had to recall Bandit. She could not let anything happen to that dog. Or Tim, either, she thought. He hurt himself when he hit the concrete patio. And if the engine noise and screeching she could hear meant anything, the man Tim and Bandit were pursuing just went skidding around the corner in something sporty and fast.
After reaching the front of the house, she stopped. She no more than opened her mouth to yell for Bandit when she discovered that he was standing beside her, sleek, black, and panting. She smiled. Jacob had told the dog to guard her and the house. She should have realized he wouldn't go trailing that car down the street.
Tim was another matter. And not nearly as well trained, she thought, shaming herself for wanting to chuckle when things were unmistakably serious. He was holding his tiny, black cell phone and hobbling toward her, but still at least forty-yards down the street, and there was another hundred fifty-feet from the drive gate to her front door. For a man in pain, he had gotten a long way.
Suddenly tired, she sat down on the short, gray-stone wall that lined the steps and beside the granite lion that stood like a sentinel by her front door. “I'd come and help you,” she called. “But you'd probably end up carrying me."
“You just stay where you are, sweetheart,” Tim called back, puffing, increasing his pace. “One of us gasping for breath is enough.”
Halfway up the drive, he stopped, his eyes widening. He snapped his cell phone closed and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “Do me a favor, sweetheart, and look to your right. I want you to tell me what that is."
She did as he requested and choked back an astounded shriek. Unable to even blink for fear it would disappear, she stared at the cat that sat beside the lion, licking its paw, then washing its face. “Spike,” she said, her voice cracking. “But it can't be."
But it was.
A thin, pitiful-looking Spike stopped washing, swaggered over and stepped onto her lap. She touched him gingerly. His coat looked dull with some missing in spots. When he placed a paw on her chest and licked her chin, she hugged him, too darned happy to cry.
Tim laughed. “I ignored the vet's report that said the dead cat was female. It's been my experience that some vets just can't sex cats.” He shook his head.
He limped to stand in front of her. “You look kinda pale, my darlin'.” He held out his hand. “Come on, let's take your hero buddies inside and collapse.”
My darlin'? Tim could be a funny man, but she was so in awe of seeing, touching Spike that she couldn't think about it much. Abby accepted his hand, gladly. “Who did you have on the phone?"
“First your son, then MacBean, both of which will be here any minute.” He held the door open, releasing her hand so she could go before him.
Once inside, he turned her around, gently, carefully. The concern in his face made tears sting the back of her eyes. “I'm really all right, Tim. You don't have to look so devastated.” She paused, watching Spike settle onto one of his favorite places, the white, wicker settee. “I wonder where the heck Spike has been all this time."
“Right now it doesn't matter.” He reached out and lifted her chin with a shaky finger, inspecting her closely. “I haven't been that scared in five years,” he said. “Seeing your son sprawled out and bleeding all over the floor with a gun pointed at his head scared hell out of me. Seeing that sonofabitch aiming a gun at you reminded me what terror was all about.”
When he opened his arms she stepped between them, needing the comfort they offered. “I think it happened so fast I just didn't have time to get scared.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for being around.” She flinched when his hand rubbed lightly against her shoulder.
Slowly, Tim shifted the material of her short-sleeved blouse, exposing her round shoulder and a swiftly purpling bruise. Another darkened the skin on her forearm. “Damblast,” he said, the words puffing out as if someone hit him in the chest.
“I bruise easily, Tim. I'm not hurt.” At least she didn't think she was. She touched her forearm, probing a little at the area. It was tender, but nothing like it would have been if he had grabbed her with his big dirty hands instead of his arms. “The medicine I take and my disease are the culprits, Tim. That creep grabbed me, but Bandit had him before he could do anything. For certain,
I believe my hot coffee and Bandit's teeth are probably causing him a great deal of pain about now.”
Not caring much for his pallor, she took his arm near the elbow and led him to the couch. “Sit down and listen to me. If I were hurt believe me I would tell you.” She pointed at the snagged patch of material on his hip where blood had seeped through and now looked dry. “I think you're the one who's hurt."
“I'll live.” He sat, and then he patted the cushion beside him with trembling fingers. “Crash here with me, sweetheart. Tell me what that guy said to you."
* * * *
In his rearview mirror he saw Sue's car, then MacBean's with a squad car, and a nondescript brown car, trailing in after him. But Jacob leaped from his van and didn't wait to say anything to those coming in behind him. He slammed through the front door and raced toward the living room. “Abby,” he yelled. “Where the hell are you?” When he saw the two of them sitting on the couch, he skidded to a halt. His body felt hot-wired. His breath came in gulps.
Abby stood and hurried over to him, and Jacob hugged her to him. Looking over her head at his friend, he asked, “What's happening, Tim?"
“Guy got away, J.T., sorry. Guess I'm too old to chase the bad guys anymore.” His frown deepened. “Still can't figure out how he got past us."
Abby turned toward Tim. “Don't believe him, Jacob. He moved as fast as anyone could with a damaged hip."
Jacob's stomach churned when he saw the dark purple bruise on Abby's arm. He started to ask more questions when the house filled with people. Sue, Andee, and Mike surrounded Abby then led her back to the couch.
His patience running thin, he turned to listen to Tim tell MacBean and the two cops with him about the man, the car he saw, part of the license plate number he remembered.
First her scent, then a quiet movement let Jacob know that Sue had come to stand beside him. After seeing the worry in her eyes, he rested his hand on her waist, pulling her closer. She didn't resist.
“We had three cars looking for the car you called in Benson,” one of them said. “Nothing showed up. We figured this guy must have pulled into a garage near here. Want us to do a house to house?"
Tim shook his head. “Take too long,” he muttered. “You boys get on the radio and have the others keep an eye out. This guy will have to move sooner or later."
“How ‘bout the lab boys?” MacBean asked, looking at the French doors. He pointed at the floor. “Looks like your enormous friend left behind his toy.” The small gun the man had taken from his boot was on the floor, shoved up against the bookcase. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and a pen. “I'll bag and tag.”
“The only thing they'll find on anything is dirt and oil. The guy wore gloves.” Tim thought about it. “He also stuck to the cement so there wouldn't be any visible foot prints. They should have been right behind you, because I called them. Sometimes they catch stuff we miss.” He waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Everyone out of this area before it's messed up any more than it already is."
“Well,” Abby offered, moving toward the kitchen with the children, “he'll need a doctor after what Bandit did to his arm. The dog bite wouldn't have felt so very great on the blisters he got from my hot coffee.” She stopped and pointed at the carpet near the doors. “He lost about a pint right over there.” She was over-stating, but she dreaded cleaning up such a mess.
Tim took Abby's arm gently, walking with her. “Call the hospitals and the medical center, Mac. Man's got a really nasty dog bite.” His chuckle was derisive. “I think he's got some deep scratches, too. Maybe we'll get lucky."
When Sue came around the corner, she could see half of Bandit's body lying beside the settee near the front entry. His tail thumped against the slate tiled floor. As she moved forward, the settee came into sight. She stopped. “Andee, Michael, please come here.” Bandit's large head rested on the cushion with cat's paws on either side of his jaws. The cat was methodically washing Bandit's face.
“What, Mom?” Andee asked, approaching. She, too, stopped and stared, her mouth dropping open.
Mike merely whistled.
“Thank, God,” Sue breathed out. “I thought maybe I'd had too much sun or something."
“It's him,” Andee whispered.
“Nah,” Mike offered. “Grandma must have gotten another cat. Spike couldn't stand Bandit. He'd never let him get that close."
“Grandma didn't get a new cat,” Abby corrected. “I don't know where he's been, but he helped Bandit let blood from the pig who broke in here.” She chuckled. “I guess since they fought together they've become allies."
Andee shivered. “Are you sure he's real? Have you, like, touched him or anything?"
An eerie feeling stirred in Sue, too, but she didn't say anything. She walked forward, knelt beside the settee, reached out and stroked Spike's matted, sticky coat. He looked at her as if she were interrupting something important, meowed, and then ignored her.
She looked up at Jacob, who had just come into the foyer and was eyeing her questioningly. “He's real, J.T."
“Then, what—"
“He had a girlfriend that had the same color of coat,” Abby answered his question before he voiced it. “She showed up in the backyard a couple of weeks ago and stayed.” She walked toward the front door. “Tim ignored the cat's sex on the Vet report. He said they seldom got it right anyway."
As Jacob followed them outside, three men carrying black boxes were talking with Tim and waiting to enter. “How long will they be?” he asked, stopping near Tim.
“Give them an hour,” Tim answered, limping over to the lion statue and sitting down.
Jacob nodded. “I'll take the family for a burger.” He wanted to get back to his office and back to sorting through Robert's notes. This all had to stop. Relief that his mother wasn't hurt seemed to work its way through him from head to toe. He motioned toward the house. “Could you see to the blood clean up before I bring Abby back? And, you'd better take care of that hip."
“Done,” Tim answered. He waved off concern. “Don't worry about my hip, it's just a scratch."
Jacob looked at his family grouped near the van giving his mother support, and enjoyed the view. “Abby will worry if you don't."
Tim smiled. “I'll take care of it.
* * * *
The man placed the phone back on its base. So the cops were opening the Delaney case. Well, what the hell did he care? All the steps taken will either fix that wife of his, or make the cops so confused they quit.
Campbell didn't seem to know when to quit. He laughed. Before it was all over with, he'd make Campbell sorry he ever interfered.
He was too busy with other irons-in-the-fire to worry about it. Last night Kimba had given him three new properties to work on. They were perfect, and just exactly what he delighted in. Older couples who thought they could relax, that their property would go to their children, that they had no worries. His favorites were the ones who had no other family. No one ever gave a damn what happened to these people. It was always so simple.
He scanned the information before him on the desk. No more ex-military men or high-profile people—he'd warned her to be more careful in her choices; to make certain they had nothing but easy prey. She would begin scaring the shit out of these people tomorrow, and then he would know how to proceed. After flipping the file closed, he pushed away from his desk, stood, and walked to the windows lining the wall of his office.
She had sent one of her grease-pit creatures to intimidate Campbell's mother. All that would accomplish was to make Campbell work harder on the case. Kimba never seemed to learn. That was okay. He was forming plans to take care of Campbell, permanently. It didn't matter what Kimba did—the madder Campbell got the easier mark he would become.
Kimba wanted to be powerful. That was something he could understand. Something he had done for himself when he turned fourteen. He might, someday, tell her what her weaknesses were and what to do about them. Meanwhile, he lov
ed watching her scheme her next move. Loved the feel of her in his bed.
Pulling car keys from his pocket, he walked toward the door. It was all harder since Campbell had discovered his ears and unplugged them. Now he would have to visit the houses and see if he couldn't install something. With luck, the Delaney case would keep Campbell too damned busy to notice.
He really hoped Campbell enjoyed it because it would be his last investigation. Sunday night the cops could add J.T. Campbell's name to their caseload. He didn't doubt it because he intended to be the one taking care of this one.
He stepped out of the office and headed for his car.
* * * *
After they had lunch with Abby and Jacob, Sue packed the kids in her car with plans to follow Jacob and his mom back to her house.
“Mom, can we go past the Delaney's house?” Mike asked. “I just want to see if it's okay."
“Yeah, Mom, please,” Andee said, throwing in her opinion. “Bonnie wanted me to tell her if it her room was hurt from the fire."
“Well, I can tell you her room is fine, but I suppose she'd feel better if you told her you saw the house for yourself,” Sue answered thoughtfully. If it would make Bonnie feel better for even a minute, Sue would see to it. “We can't go inside, but I don't think it would hurt just to drive by.” She guided the car around a corner. “The fire was outside the garage, and only one wall got seared."
As she brought the car to a stop in front of the Delaney's, she noticed a tiny, gray-headed woman walking a little dog. “You kids stay in the car,” she said switching off the ignition. “I want to talk to that lady for a moment.”
She left the car and approached the woman whose dog began yapping at her. “Pardon me,” Sue began, “could I talk to you for a moment?”
The woman brushed a hand through her gray curls, eyes widening as if Sue were frightening her. “I don't know you, do I?” she said shakily, backing away.
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