She’d shut him out.
The blinding pain of anger seared through his gut. He turned one way, then the next. He wanted to hit something. Hard. Damn it.
“Uh, Noah? Where do you want the cab to take you?” Gwen asked, her face red.
“Cancel the damn cab. I can make my own way,” he growled, and left the Pennington Business Academy.
* * *
Jessica remained where she was, her back against the door. Tears streamed down her face as she slowly slid down to the ground. She was sorry she’d hurt Noah. She didn’t want to cause him pain, but this was for the best. She couldn’t think of another way to keep him safe.
Her shoulders shook as quiet sobs racked her frame. Why did being noble feel so damn lousy?
* * *
“She really said that?” Drew whistled from the doorway.
Noah merely grunted as he grabbed the last of his things at Jessica’s. He and Drew were meeting Ryan and the rest of the team at the airport. Reese had called and informed them that Jeff Lyon had terminated their services at Jessica’s instruction. He could tell from Reese’s voice over the phone that his boss wasn’t happy. Well, that damned well made two of them.
She no longer wanted him. He shoved his card case into the duffel bag. She’d gotten her damned “warm milk,” and was now moving on. She was using her aunt’s death as a PR stunt. Damn, how could he have been so blind? She really was like all the others. Like Adriana.
“Wow. She up and said you were incompetent? I would’ve liked to have seen that.” Noah shot him a dark look, and Drew held up his hands. “Hey, we both know she’s wrong. She’s just in a bad place, right now.”
Noah sighed. “I know, but I saw a different side of her, today. She was cold. Almost cruel.”
Drew snapped his fingers. “I knew she was a bitch, right from the start.”
Noah cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I could tell she was so fake and insincere with her clients.”
“No, she wasn’t. Each time I saw her deal with someone, she bent over backwards to make them feel comfortable, and positive about themselves.”
Drew scoffed. “But look how she treated the aunt. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think anyone who had to put up with that shrew deserves a medal, but really, she was high-maintenance. And I’ve got three sisters. I know what I’m talking about.”
Noah shook his head. He remembered seeing Jess and her aunt in the office, and the genuine concern they had for each other. He remembered their talk at the youth center. Everything Jessica did was to please her aunt. “She loved her aunt.” He remembered her horror at discovering her aunt’s body, and the three days of dark hell afterward.
“Still, why shut down her business? Oliveria and Gwen are now unemployed.”
“Better that than dead,” Noah snapped, then stopped short. He met Drew’s knowing gaze. “She’s protecting them. That’s why she’s sending them away.”
Drew nodded. “And she sent you away, too, you big lug. What does that say?”
Noah’s face fell. “Doesn’t she trust me to do my job?” She knew about his arm, how every now and then he got a twinge. She’d even massaged it for him, once. Of course, the massage had led to other things…
Drew rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s because she does trust you to do your job.”
Noah’s eyes widened with comprehension. “She’s trying to protect me.” Damn. She was removing all targets for the stalker to hit. Except her. Damn.
His phone rang, and he snapped it out impatiently. “What?”
“Uh, is that you, Noah?” a woman’s voice asked uncertainly over the line. He recognized the voice. It was Mandy Richards, the consulting psychologist the McCormack Security Agency used.
“Sorry, Mandy. What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s not what you can do for me, it’s what I can do for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you about that profile you wanted. Field communications are patchy, at the best of times. But I’ve had a chance to review the correspondence, if you’re still interested.”
“I sure am, but we’ve had some developments since I sent those,” he replied, and proceeded to bring her up to speed.
“That ties in with my theory. This isn’t your average stalker,” Mandy began.
Noah’s eyebrows rose. “There’s an average stalker?”
“Well, no, but statistically, some stalkers are more common than others. From the language in the correspondence, this doesn’t seem like a rejected lover, or someone who is seeking intimacy with Jessica. On the contrary, this person resents the very air Jessica Pennington breathes. And I think it’s a woman.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Say again?” Noah said, his eyes widening. “Hang on, let me put you on speaker. I want Drew to hear this.”
Drew stepped closer as Noah pushed a button on his phone and held it up so both could hear. “Go ahead, Mandy.”
“I think your stalker is a woman. Some of the language used in the letters is a bit of a red flag. Comments are made on Jessica’s clothing, on her appearance, on her presentation. While some men may notice this, it seems more like a woman to attack on these fronts. Also, she makes reference to not wanting to be like Jessica. The stalker identifies with her, for some reason, and that would suggest a female stalker. Stalkers usually lack empathy for their victims, but this woman would feel fear and confusion for what she’s doing, and that makes her angry. She can’t process that emotion, though. She’s probably in her twenties to mid-thirties. From her actions—creating a letter bomb, avoiding surveillance cameras, getting past your security system, she’s intelligent, but lacks the social skills to really excel or advance at a job, or in a social environment. She’d be very organized, but very awkward. She would find it difficult to establish or maintain an intimate relationship. She would be in a low-level technical job. She is used to being in the background, and finds any attention untenable.”
“But why is she after Jessica?” Noah wondered.
“I would say that at some point, Jessica has offended the woman.”
“I find that hard to believe. Jessica is a sweetheart,” Drew commented.
“What you need to understand is that this woman is ill. What we would see as a normal comment, even a compliment, could be misconstrued, and blown out of all proportion by this woman. She would have been abused as a child, by a parent, and more than likely the same-sex parent. She may even have been hospitalized at some point, due to her mental illness.”
“But why kill Jessica’s aunt?”
“Well, my guess is that either she viewed the aunt as a threat, or, as part of her resentment, struck out because she knew it would be hurting Jessica. I’ve done some research though. Jacqueline Pennington has quite the reputation for being prim and proper, much like her niece.”
“She was definitely that,” Noah commented dryly, remembering the formidable woman.
“Well, perhaps the stalker sees the aunt as the root of the problem, from which Jessica was created.”
Noah looked at Drew. “Jess thinks a man is after her.”
“And apart from us, she’s pretty much surrounded by women,” Drew responded.
“Thanks, Mandy, I owe you one.” Noah disconnected the phone call and ran for the door. Jessica was at the office, and so were Gwen and Oliveria. The two women knew her intimately. They knew where they could get to her, and how. He didn’t know which one was the stalker, but he feared Jessica was in real danger.
“Call the guys back from the airport. I’ll meet you at the academy,” he called out to Drew.
* * *
Drew was just leaving the apartment when he bumped into a young man on the porch. “Can I help you?”
The youth’s acne-scarred cheeks reddened. �
�I have a delivery for Mrs. Archer, but she’s not answering the buzzer.”
Drew cocked an eyebrow. Noah had told him about the absent Mrs. Archer. “She’s been away for nearly a month,” he informed the kid.
The youth shook his head. “Well, no, I’ve been delivering her medication each week, but her daughter usually lets me in.”
Drew paused. “Her daughter? I was under the impression the daughter lived interstate?”
The youth cleared his throat. “Uh, no sir. She’s been letting me in for the last few weeks. Every Tuesday, at four o’clock.”
Drew’s blood ran cold. He knew Jessica’s schedule. She had a regular class at that time. She wouldn’t be around to see any of these deliveries. “Really? Upstairs?” He looked up the corridor leading to the staircase. “What does she look like?”
The teen shrugged. “Tired. She’s a little taller than me, slim, brown hair, nothing special.”
Drew made a decision, and opened the front door wider. “Show me.”
The youth shrugged again, and led him up the stairs. Drew knocked on the door, his suspicions building.
No response.
Drew pounded on the door. They both waited.
No response.
Drew pulled the gun from his side holster, stepped back, raised his leg and kicked the door in. The kid bolted.
Drew cautiously entered the apartment.
A chill dread settled on his shoulders. The place was silent. Like a grave. He stepped carefully through the living area, keeping his tread quiet on the wooden floor. The rug had been pulled back, and he was surprised by the sight of a trapdoor. He quickly checked the rest of the apartment before returning to the trapdoor.
He pulled the ring gently. The door rose silently. The hinges had been oiled recently. He knelt and peered through the darkness beneath. A damn crawl space. He could see wiring and plumbing, and guessed the owners had used this to create access for maintenance and repairs to the two apartments.
Light shone in a rectangular outline farther down. He lowered himself into the cavity and crawled over to the light, maneuvering his broad shoulders through the limited space. He might have to take care getting through the space, but he realized a slim woman would squeeze through, easily. He arrived at the rectangle. It was another trapdoor, and light from the area below shone through the crack. He twisted the handle, and let the door drop away. He looked down into Jessica Pennington’s laundry.
He swore, and hustled back to the trapdoor leading to the upper apartment. He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket as he levered himself out of the cavity. He was still on the floor when he noticed the stain on the kitchen floor, in front of the deep freezer.
Noah answered the call just as Drew approached the large freezer locker.
“What?”
For once, Drew didn’t tease his friend about his phone manner. “I think I just figured out how she got into the apartment.” He told his colleague about the crawl space.
Noah swore. “Damn. So you think it was the neighbor?”
“No, the delivery guy mentioned a daughter,” Drew replied. He gave Noah the description he’d gained from the youth. He cautiously lifted up the door of the deep freezer.
And recoiled at the sight of the contents. His stomach heaved. “I just found Mrs. Archer. She’s dead.”
* * *
Noah disconnected the call. Tall? Slim? Brown hair? That fit neither Gwen nor Oliveria. He racked his brain. Who was she? He thought back to all the contacts he’d met since guarding Jess. Two of her clients matched the description, but from what he’d seen, they didn’t match Mandy’s profile. Someone in a low-level technical job. His hand hit the steering wheel.
He knew who the stalker was.
* * *
She stared at the receptionist for a while. She was one of them. The woman actually looked a little like Mama, too.
The gray-haired receptionist glanced up from her position behind the desk, and started.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear the office doors open. I hope you weren’t standing there for long.” The woman laughed nervously.
Too bad she didn’t die with the letter bomb, although Jessica was the real target. They pretended to be good, but she could see right through them, just like Mama had seen right through her. She almost let the rage consume her again. The receptionist’s brow wrinkled, as though she was trying to remember her. So this woman thought she was insignificant, too, huh?
“I’m sorry, Jessica isn’t available to see you at the moment. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Pennington Business Academy is now closed for business,” the woman informed her.
Oh, she’d heard, all right. She would have danced, but Mama didn’t approve of dancing. It was sinful, and she tried to be good. So she’d just smiled at the television broadcast. Until she realized what Jessica Pennington was doing. She was trying to run, to hide. After everything that had happened, the bitch still thought she could win. Well, she would put a stop to that. She was here to end it. Now.
Mama would be so proud.
“You help her, don’t you?” She bit the words out. This woman would have to pay, too.
The receptionist was wary. “Ye-es, I do,” she answered slowly.
“You help her spread those lies about my mother.” The words tasted like acid on her tongue. They had humiliated Mama.
The woman slowly rose from her seat, her face pale. “Uh, I don’t know what you’re—” she began.
“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted. Uncomfortable heat swamped her cheeks, but the righteous power flooding through her was uncontrollably thrilling. “You’re as bad as she is.” A resolute calm took over. Yes. They were all naughty, and they had to be punished. Stopped.
“Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll—” the woman began.
She didn’t wait for her to finish. She drew her hand out of her pocket, and slashed out at the woman’s neck with her instrument of vengeful morality. She felt hot liquid fleck her face and neck, and she smiled in triumph as she slid the bloodied knife back into her pocket.
Mama would be so proud.
The receptionist’s words were cut off as her hand rose to her throat, confusion entering her eyes. Blood covered her fingers, and she looked down at her trembling hands in shock before her legs gave out and she fell back onto the chair, before sliding slowly down to the floor. The woman tried to say something, her eyes wildly darting down the hall and back to her, but only a sick, gurgling noise emerged from her torn throat. Her eyes slowly fixated on something in the distance.
She stepped away from the desk and left the dying woman. Her sensible brown shoes were noiseless on the plush blue carpet as she walked down the hallway. Toward Jessica’s office.
Mama would be so proud.
* * *
Jessica traced the images in the framed photo she held. The picture was of her and her aunt, on the day of her graduation. She smiled sadly at the hopeful girl in the photo. She had so many dreams, that day. She looked at her aunt. Poised perfection, there was just the hint of a smile that Jessica hadn’t really noticed before. Tears welled in her eyes as she noticed the proud gleam in her aunt’s eyes. She cleared her throat. Darn, all she seemed capable of doing at the moment was crying. She looked at the other photo on her desk. Oliveria had brought it in to her just minutes ago. It was of her and Noah, oblivious to the camera, and smiling warmly as though sharing a private joke. The photo had been taken at her book launch. Oh, God, she wasn’t going to think of that, or what happened afterward, otherwise she’d cave and call Noah, beg him to come back.
No, this was the right thing to do. She and Oliveria had packed up most of the business papers. Oliveria would organize a professional packing company to come and complete the job. She’d also organized storage. Jessica smiled trem
ulously. Her friend was optimistic. She thought it would all work out, and that business would eventually resume as normal. Well, hopefully for Oliveria, it would. In a matter of hours, the Pennington Business Academy would be no more. And Jessica would have to leave. Then Oliveria and Gwen would be safe. And so would Noah.
A scream from the corridor brought her head up. Oh, no. She dropped the picture into the box on her desk and ran out to see what was going on. Her mouth opened in horror at the sight of Oliveria crawling along the carpet, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
She saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, but couldn’t turn fast enough. Something hit her head, and she blacked out instantly.
Chapter Eighteen
Jessica blinked. Ow. Pain, and lots of it. She blinked rapidly. Her vision slowly cleared. She tried to raise her hand to her head, but she couldn’t. She wiggled. She was tied to a chair.
She looked around. She was in the dining room at the Pennington Business Academy. It was the room where she practiced dining etiquette with her clients, before taking them out to a restaurant. She was bound to a chair at the side of the table.
“Sit up straight.” A voice carried to her from the end of the table. She twisted her head to the right. Pain lanced through her temple again, and she had to suck in a breath.
Irene sat at the end of the table. Jessica blinked. The woman looked like she’d been out in a gale. Her bun was an untidy mess, teetering on the strength of one pin. Her blouse was rumpled, the buttons mismatched. And bloody. A flash of gold and sparkle at the woman’s throat held her attention. Oh, dear God. It was her aunt’s necklace. The one Jessica had given her to celebrate the forty-year anniversary of JP Designs. The one she’d worn the night of her murder. Jessica had noticed her aunt wearing it, with a secret little pleasure. Irene had killed Aunt Jacquie. Jessica felt bile rise in her throat. Oliveria. Where was she? Was she okay? What about Gwen? Oh, God. Irene?
“It was you?” she said hoarsely. She couldn’t believe it. Not Irene. “But, how can that be?” Most stalkers were rejected suitors, and as far as she knew, Irene wasn’t gay, had never made advances toward her. It couldn’t be because she’d somehow rejected her…what the hell was going on? She twisted her wrists against the ropes. The bonds were tight. There wasn’t any give. She sucked in a panicked breath. Ooze tranquility.
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