by Irene Hannon
She didn’t pull away, and when they stopped by the door he turned to her. “A word of advice. Put the nighttime walks with Bert on hold until we get this thing sorted out. And call me if anything seems suspicious to you or you get another message of any kind from your stalker.”
“Stalker.” Her brow wrinkled. “I hadn’t thought of him in those terms.”
“He’s kept this up long enough to qualify for that term. We’re not dealing with a couple of teenage kids getting their kicks after some clandestine beer drinking party.”
“I guess not.”
He touched her cheek. “Be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.” Without waiting for a reply, he leaned down and brushed his lips across the satiny skin of her forehead.
Battling the impulse to dip his head lower and claim her lips, he started to pull back. But much to his surprise, she tightened her clasp on his hand, stood on tiptoe, and touched her lips to his.
Before he could recover enough to turn it into a real kiss, however, she took a step back.
“I’m still a slow mover.” Her words came out breathless. “But I have to admit you’re playing havoc with my resolve.”
“Should I apologize?” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them out of trouble.
“I’m not sure.” She took another step back and wiped her palms on the denim fabric of her jeans. When Bert trotted over, she picked him up and cuddled him in front of her. Almost like a shield.
“I don’t think I will.” He grinned at her and opened the door. “Lock up. And be ready for a night on the town tomorrow.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, and once he heard her slide the lock and twist the dead bolt, he headed down the walk toward his car.
Wishing he didn’t have to leave.
Counting the hours until tomorrow night.
And hoping the beefed-up patrols would be in place before Alison’s stalker paid another visit.
5
“So how come you’re not out with that pretty little gal you took to Kevin’s wedding? That would be a far better use of your Saturday night than cleaning grout in your father’s bathroom.”
Wedged into a corner of the porcelain tub in the master bath, Mitch twisted toward the doorway. Walter Morgan had always been a strong, sturdy man who thrived on physical activity, and his job in the construction industry had kept him in shape his entire life. Even after he’d retired fifteen years ago, he’d maintained his trim physique. So his new, fragile gauntness—a souvenir of his recent surgery—sent a jolt of worry through Mitch every time he looked at him.
“I thought you were watching a movie.”
“I was. But I’ve seen it before, and I’m tired of sitting around.” Walt stuck his hands in the pockets of too-baggy slacks that were held up with a belt buckled in the last notch. “I think I’ll trim the bushes out front before the light fades.”
“That’s on my to-do list for tomorrow, Pop. I’ll get to it.”
“I know you will. And I appreciate all you’re doing. But I didn’t have a heart attack, and I’m not an invalid. The doctor said it was okay for me to be more active now.”
Mitch didn’t miss the subtle, stubborn tilt in his father’s chin. Nor the flinty determination that sparked to life in his eyes.
He bought himself a moment by wiping his hands on a rag. With every day that passed, his dad had been getting more restless. More adamant about tackling chores. That was a positive thing—to a point. It meant his energy was returning and he was feeling better. Trouble was, Mitch thought he was pushing too hard. He’d tried every argument he could think of to convince his father to take things slower, but to no avail.
Like last Tuesday. He’d come home from work to find his dad patching drywall in a room slated for painting. On Wednesday, when he’d stopped in at the house unexpectedly at lunchtime, he’d discovered his father in the backyard, digging in the as-yet-unplanted vegetable garden. They’d come close to arguing that day.
“Why don’t you fix us some dinner instead, Pop? You could steam some of the broccoli I bought yesterday and fire up the grill for the chicken breasts.” So far, his father had demonstrated negligible interest in cooking. Mitch was hoping that before he moved out, he’d break his father of the habit of relying on high-fat, artery-clogging prepared meals.
“Why don’t you do that while I take over your job?” Walt countered.
“What? You don’t trust me?” Mitch tried to tease him into compliance. “I learned from the best carpenter and construction guy in the business.”
It didn’t work. His father’s eyes narrowed, the way they used to when Mitch was a kid and Walt wasn’t happy with some shenanigan he’d pulled.
“You know, sitting around feeling useless is as bad for a man’s heart as too much cholesterol. Or working too hard. The ticker’s fine, Mitch. You’ve talked to the doctor. I’m recovering from surgery, not a heart attack.”
“I know.” He’d had several long conversations with the doctor throughout the ordeal. “I just don’t want you to wear yourself out. Or put too much strain on your heart while your body’s trying to regain its strength.”
“I appreciate that. But you’re turning into a mother hen.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been on this earth for seventy-five years, son. The good Lord will take me when he’s ready. Not a day before, not a day after. So there’s no sense worrying about something you can’t control. Let’s just trust his timing on this, okay?”
Trust.
The same word Alison had used on Thursday night in reference to the Almighty.
He’d been thinking about it ever since. And about the sustaining strength—and peace—her faith gave her. He was beginning to sense that somehow he’d missed the boat on the whole faith thing. Pop’s quiet expression of faith only reinforced that growing conviction.
“Mitch?”
At his father’s prompt, he summoned up a grin. “Sorry. My mind wandered for a minute. I just don’t want you to rush your departure, okay?”
“I’m not in a big hurry to leave, myself. Especially now that you’re back. I have to admit, it’s been a little lonely around here since your mom went to her reward. It sure is nice to have two of the Musketeers together again.” He blinked and cleared his throat. “You never did answer my question about that little gal, Alison.”
He should have known his father wouldn’t let that subject drop.
With an indifferent shrug, he turned back to the grout. “She went to Chicago with her brothers to visit her mom for Mother’s Day.”
“Ah.” He gave an approving nod. “She sounds like a loving daughter. And loving daughters make excellent wives.”
Mitch shot an exasperated look over his shoulder. “I just met her.”
“Doesn’t take long to know if it’s a fit. After one date with your mom, I knew she was the one for me.”
This was not a conversation Mitch wanted to have. Time to change the subject. Again. “What service are you going to tomorrow?”
“Nine. Unless you’d rather sleep later. You put in some long hours on that case last night.”
That was true. The homicide investigation that had pulled him back on duty and nixed his date with Alison had kept him on the move until almost noon today. But he’d catch up on sleep tonight.
He shook his head. Cleaning grout and going to bed early on Saturday night. His SEAL buddies would never believe it.
“The early service is fine.” He refocused on the tile. “I might even go with you.”
That bombshell was met with silence.
He risked a peek out of the corner of his eye. His father was staring at him.
Walt pursed his lips and cocked his head. “Why the change of heart? You’ve said no every time I’ve asked you to go with me since you’ve been back.”
“I drive you there anyway.” Mitch lifted one shoulder and tried to do
wnplay his visit. “I decided I might as well hang around instead of making two trips.”
“Hmm.” Another moment of silence. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that pretty lady, would it?”
Walt Morgan might not yet be at full physical strength, but there wasn’t a thing sluggish about his mental processes.
“She did get me thinking about it.”
A soft chuckle sounded behind him. Mitch ignored it. But as his father turned to exit, he heard his comment loud and clear.
“All I can say is, there’s a lot of potential when a woman can get a man who’s avoided the Lord for years to go to church.”
Mitch wished he could think of a zinger to toss back, but nothing came to mind. For one simple reason.
His father was right.
The whole weekend had been a bust.
As they crossed the Mississippi River from Illinois into Missouri and passed the Gateway Arch, Alison checked on Bert, who was sleeping in his travel cage on the backseat beside her. At least one occupant of the car had had a relaxing trip. Huffing out a sigh, she ticked off all the things that had gone wrong.
First, Mitch had had to cancel their date Friday night when a homicide had required his attention an hour before he was supposed to meet her. Cole had been involved in that case too. Several county detectives had spent Friday night and Saturday morning tracking down suspects and potential witnesses.
Second, because of that, the three of them had ended up leaving for Chicago much later than they’d planned. Jake had done the bulk of the driving while Cole slept—and snored—in a corner of the backseat.
Third, an hour after they’d arrived at the two-bedroom condo their mother shared with her sister, she’d declared she was tired and gone to bed. That had surprised all of them, since Eleanor Taylor had always been the life of the party. But when she called their hotel the next morning and told them she’d spent the night throwing up, it made sense. Aunt Catherine, they learned, had been ill for a couple of days on the cruise the two of them had just taken. She’d obviously passed the bug to her sister.
So they’d gone to church with their aunt, taken her out to brunch, visited a bit with their mother—from a distance, at her insistence—and left after she’d fallen asleep twice during the conversation. They’d promised to return in June for a belated Mother’s Day celebration.
In between all that, Alison had found herself dodging questions from her brothers about her relationship with Mitch.
Definitely not the most relaxing weekend she’d ever spent.
Nor was it going to get better. She’d promised Mitch she’d tell her brothers about the stalker while they were gone, and at the rate Cole was driving, he’d be pulling into her driveway in less than fifteen minutes.
Now was the time.
Taking a deep breath, she tried for a casual tone. “By the way, I meant to tell you guys about something that’s been going on for the past couple of weeks.”
Cole shot her a hopeful look in the rearview mirror. “Does this have anything to do with Mitch?”
He would home in on that. “Not directly.”
“I tried asking him a few discreet questions about the two of you while we were working the homicide into the wee hours of Saturday morning, but he sidestepped every one.”
She knew all about Cole’s version of discreet, and she cringed. “Maybe because it’s none of your business?”
“I’m your brother. That makes it my business.”
“What’s going on that you want to tell us about, Twig?” Jake twisted in his seat and grinned at her.
“When are you going to stop using that adolescent nickname?” She gave him an annoyed look.
“Never. It’s cute. Besides, it fits as well now as it did when you were a gangly twelve-year-old.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t start with the weight thing again.”
“Did I mention weight?” He feigned a picture-of-innocence look. “So what’s up?”
Her pulse took a leap and she moistened her lips, praying they wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “Nothing important. But I figured you guys, being law enforcement types and all, would be interested. Believe it or not, I’ve gotten a few of those heavy-breathing kind of calls lately. Some people have no life, that’s all I can say.”
Her brothers exchanged a look. One she knew far too well.
She braced herself as Jake shifted into U.S. marshal mode.
“When did this start?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“How many calls have you gotten?”
“Four.”
“We can trace them, Alison. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“I thought he’d get tired of the game and stop calling. Besides, there’s no need to trace them. The numbers showed up on caller ID.”
“Numbers? As in plural?” Cole caught her eye in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah. Two.”
“Give them to us. We’ll check them out.”
This was where it was going to get tricky. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“No need. They’re both public phones. One at a quick shop parking lot in South County, the other at a gas station about a quarter mile from my house.”
Jake frowned at her. “How do you know that?”
“Mitch looked into it for me.”
Her reply was met with five seconds of dead silence.
“You told Mitch and not us?” This from Cole. In an ominous voice that made it clear he was not happy about being left out of this loop.
And he was going to be less happy after he heard the rest.
“Yeah. He happened to be there when the first bouquet came.”
Her brothers exchanged another one of those looks. In some silent communication she wasn’t privy to, Cole handed the interrogation over to Jake. Which was fine with her. Jake wasn’t as prone to fly off the handle as his younger brother.
“Okay, Alison.” He turned toward her again, his voice calm, his eyes probing. “Instead of feeding us this scenario in bits and pieces, why don’t you just give us the whole story?”
So she did, finishing by answering the questions she knew would come next. “And before you ask, I have no idea who might be behind the calls or the flowers. Nor does there seem to be a pattern to any of this.”
Cole flipped on his turn signal and moved into the exit lane of the highway. Her exit. In five minutes she’d be home. She’d timed this well.
“The thing is, Mitch thought it might make sense to ask the patrol officers to drive by my house more frequently until this guy gets tired of his game. Since you know them all, Cole, he said you might be able to pull a few favors and get a little more coverage. Not that I think it’s necessary, but I told him I’d ask you about it.”
“You know, this is really interesting.” Cole made a left turn. “When Jake and I try to watch out for you, you get all huffy and independent. Then this new guy shows up, and you fall right in line with his suggestions. I wonder why.”
She ignored the comment.
“Alison?” Cole prompted.
“What?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t hear one.”
He shot her an annoyed glance in the rearview mirror.
She ignored that too. Bert began to stir, and she poked her fingers through the cage to stroke behind his ears. “We’re almost home, boy.”
“Where’s the latest bouquet, Alison?” Jake spoke up.
“In my garage.”
“Is the bingo card with it?”
“Yes.”
“I want to take a look at it.”
“Mitch already did that. There’s nothing that identifies the sender.”
“I still want to take a look.”
“So do I,” Cole chimed in.
“Fine. Look all you want.”
The conversation petered out as Cole pulled into her driveway. Once he set the brake, she pushed open her door and circled the c
ar to retrieve Bert. By the time she got there, Jake had already jockeyed the cage through the door.
When she reached for it, he angled away from her.
“I’ve got it, Alison.”
The firm set of his jaw told her arguing would be useless.
Retreating to the trunk, she arrived to find Cole pulling out her overnight case. He blocked her approach with a broad shoulder, swung the case out, and started for her front door.
She planted her hands on her hips. “You know, this is exactly why I don’t tell you guys anything,” she called after them. “You go into this superprotective mode that drives me nuts.”
“The appropriate response is ‘thank you.’” Cole threw the retort over his shoulder.
Frustrated, Alison glared at their backs. She did appreciate their help, but why did they have to go overboard? When would they realize she was strong and independent and perfectly capable of handling her life on her own?
Never.
She sighed at the depressing reality. The truth was, they were always going to think of her as their kid sister. Throw in their law enforcement backgrounds, and she was doomed.
One of these days, she was going to have to make her peace with that.
But today wasn’t that day.
They were waiting for her at the door when she joined them. After fitting her key in the lock, she pushed through and headed for the beeping alarm. They followed, and as she deactivated it, Jake opened Bert’s cage.
“You want this in your bedroom?” Cole hefted the suitcase.
“Yes.”
“Basement?” Jake lifted the cage.
“Yes.” They started to turn away. “And thank you.” She owed them that, but she had to dig deep for the words.
Cole shot her a grin over his shoulder.
“You’re welcome, Twig.” Jake winked at her.
Ignoring the wink, she opened the back door and let Bert out. Once her brothers reappeared, she led them into the garage and gestured to the bagged bouquet on the shelf.
“Have at it.”
She watched from a few feet away as they examined the dead flowers. From her vantage point, she had only a side view of their faces, but grim was the best word she could think of to describe their expressions. And they got grimmer after they extracted the bingo card and exchanged another look.