The Enemy Inside (The Captive Series Book 1)

by Penelope Marshall

  “I dunno, maybe I scared him away. He’s a coward,” Zander tried to offer a plausible explanation. “We need to call the police.”

  “No, they’ll just trample through the house. What if they want me to come down to the station? I just can’t,” I said with a cracked voice.

  I had already started to tear up, but after the full weight of what just happened hit me, along with the idea I would have to be dragged from my house to the police station, I fell apart.

  Zander shook me a little. “I need you to get it together. This is some real life and death shit.”

  “I just can’t,” I replied, shaking my head.

  “Well, I can,” he said as he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. “Yes, hello—I want to report a crime.”

  My whole world was crashing down around me.

  Why can’t I just go back in time and start the day over?

  I would have never answered the door, choosing instead to sleep right through it. At this point, I almost longed for yesterday’s nightmare anxiety; it seemed almost an even trade.

  “Hey, are you with me?” Zander asked as he waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Uh, yeah—I’m with you.”

  “Good, the police are on their way. I know you don’t want them here, but I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you again,” he promised, staring into my eyes solemnly.

  Politics

  The doorbell rang a few minutes later. From the upstairs windows, I could see the flashing red and blue police car lights. The strobing lights flashed me back to the park. It was just like my dream, except it was on fast forward, replaying the part where my mother grabs me and pulls me under the tarp with them.

  I was horrified. Couldn’t I just have a normal life?

  Zander walked over to my bedroom window and pulled the curtains aside. “They’re here. Let’s go.”

  He pressed his hand to mine and interlocked our fingers, gently pulling me toward the door as I gave him slight opposition with my body weight. “I just—”

  “I’m gonna protect you from yourself, and Ty, if it’s the last thing I do, Kenzi,” he said, continuing to inch me over to the door.

  After the doorbell had rung for the umpteenth time, I finally gave in. We stampeded down the stairs, reaching the foyer just in time to see multiple shadows standing on the other side of the frosted glass pane.

  Zander pulled the door open to the blaring lights and sea of police officers standing at the ready to come in. One face among the many stood out to me right away.

  “Detective Bidwell? What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “When I heard your address come up on the police scanner after your call, I rushed right over. What’s happened?” he asked, stepping through the door as he took off his brown fedora.

  “Come right in, Detective,” I said with a little irritation as officer after officer followed him in.

  There were a total of about twenty men and women photographing and fingerprinting my things.

  “Let’s have a seat,” Detective Bidwell said, motioning to the couch. He pulled out a small notepad and pen then looked up at me. “So, tell me, what happened? And why did you call me earlier?”

  “It’s my neighbor, Ty. I saw what I thought to be a woman’s arm with a gold chain link bracelet on it in his trunk. But I could be wrong,” I asserted.

  “Ty Crenshaw?” he asked, sounding impressed. “The QB for the Hawks, Ty Crenshaw? Okay, so you have no proof?”

  “Proof? Isn’t that what you’re for? The man set a fire at my father’s grocery store and broke in here. If I hadn’t scared him off—” Zander ranted.

  Detective Bidwell interrupted him midway. “Is any of this true, Ms. St. Claire?”

  “My mother was Ms. St. Claire,” I said grimly. “I can’t say for sure if all that is true. I only know I struggled with someone in my parents’ bedroom, but I got away and hid. Zander is the one who called you guys after he found me cowering in the closet,” I explained.

  “Are we sure you weren’t the one who broke in here?” Detective Bidwell asked Zander with a slight curl to the edge of his lip.

  “Are you fuckin’ serious? That’s about the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. I was hired to protect her, and why would I call you if I’m the one who broke in here? Also, I was with Kenzi when the fire broke out.” Zander quickly put the detective’s theory to rest.

  “It was just a question, sir. No need to get upset. Just covering all my bases,” Detective Bidwell explained.

  “Yes, of course, Detective,” I agreed, trying to diffuse the situation with a calm voice.

  “I’m going to need to go over and speak with Mr. Crenshaw. Maybe he saw something that could help.” Det. Bidwell stood up, straightened his tie, and readjusted the lapels of his trench coat, where he returned the notepad and pen.

  It seemed as though he was fixing himself up before meeting Ty. He was probably a fan, just like everyone else in this damn town.

  “Of course he saw something. After all, he was here,” Zander said angrily.

  “Wait!” I jumped up from the couch and stood in between him and the door. “But what if—”

  Zander put his arms around me and pulled me to the side, clearing the detective’s path to the door.

  “Kenzi, I would rather be safe than sorry. Let me do my job and figure out if Mr. Crenshaw was involved. We don’t need the man thrown into a scandal in the middle of football season. The Hawks really have a chance at the Super Bowl this year.”

  “Are you seriously talking about letting a criminal walk because he can throw a football?” Zander asked.

  “I didn’t say that, sir. I’m going to be impartial. That’s my job,” Detective Bidwell assured us.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t feel assured at all.

  I looked on in horror as I watched him walk from my door, around the sidewalk, and up Ty’s driveway. He stood at the door, ringing the bell. Through the window in the living room, I could see Ty answer the door in a shiny black silk robe and speak with the detective as he pointed toward my house. Ty looked over and shook his head in disagreement, his lips mouthing the word, “No.”

  They laughed and spoke for a little while longer, and I even saw the detective throw a pretend football.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Zander asked as he rubbed my tensely crossed arms. “Can you believe this guy? He’s talking sports over there. What a joke!” Zander said with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

  “What if you’re wrong?” I asked. “I’ll never be able to face him again,” I said, staring out the window.

  “I’m not wrong,” he replied as he guided me back to the couch.

  I sprang to my feet the minute I saw the detective turn from Ty’s door and make his way back to my house. Ty was still standing at his door when I accidentally locked eyes with him. He winked and smiled at me as he turned and walked back into his house.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Zander.

  “See what?” he asked.

  “He just winked and smiled at me,” I replied, pointing at Ty’s house. “You must think I’m crazy!”

  “No, I don’t—I just didn’t see it. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Zander said. “But I do believe you, even though I didn’t see it. That guy is psycho.”

  I exhaled, even though he wouldn’t say it, I did sound crazy. The detective walked back in and took off his fedora once again. He made it to the couch and sat down.

  Detective Bidwell sighed. “He didn’t see anything.”

  “Of course that’s what he’s gonna tell you!” Zander argued.

  “He has an alibi. He has a guest, and she has been there all evening.” I shook my head at the detective’s answer.

  “I know your parents’ murder has taken a toll on you—have you considered therapy?” Detective Bidwell asked as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead.

  “Therapy?” I shouted angrily. “I’m not fuckin’ crazy. I didn’t even see you speak
to a woman.”

  “Let’s focus here, Kenzi. I’m not saying you’re crazy. These things happen after traumatic situations. I’ve seen it time and time again,” he replied.

  “Get out of my house! Everyone! Get out of my house!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  If I didn’t look crazy before, opening my mouth removed all doubt. Everyone in the room paused and looked to the detective for instruction, to which he promptly gave a nod and motion of his hand. They packed up their gear and filed out of the front door just as quickly as they came in, leaving the three of us in awkward silence.

  “You have my number, Kenzi. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But without any proof it’s a he said, she said, situation. And in this neighborhood, I could lose my badge if I go off of conjecture, especially if it involves Mr. Crenshaw. The fans in this town would have my head on a stick. You understand, don’t you?” Detective Bidwell asked earnestly as he slid his fedora back on and started for the door.

  “Yes, I understand that you’re choosing to overlook a potential criminal because he can throw a dumbass ball farther than anyone else,” I said through a lump that had been building in my throat as I tried valiantly to hold back the tears.

  “And when you have to put a black plastic tarp over her body then you’ll believe me, won’t you?” Zander said in a tight voice.

  “Listen! I’m not going to get into a verbal altercation with you. I understand you two are under some stress, so I will let it slide,” he said, half angered.

  “That’s big of you. Thank you for your time, Detective,” Zander said sarcastically as he guided him to the door.

  “I know you don’t agree with me, but take care of her,” Detective Bidwell said to Zander.

  “I will,” Zander replied, closing the door behind the detective.

  “I’m not crazy,” I whispered.

  “I don’t think you are. Let me stay to keep you safe tonight. I can sleep on the couch.”

  “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I shook my head as I wiped the last few tears from my cheeks.

  He rested his palm next to my ear, his thumb wiping away the wetness from my face. “I wasn’t asking,” he replied as he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.

  I felt so safe with him next to me. I broke our kiss, and said, “How could I possibly turn you down?”

  “You can’t,” he said confidently, pressing his lips back onto mine.

  I pulled away. “Let me show you to the spare bedroom.” I grasped his hand and led him up the staircase to show him where he would be staying the night.

  “By the way, your house is the size of my dad’s grocery store,” he said, eyeing the ceilings and walls.

  “It’s not that big.” I chuckled as I opened the door to the room across from mine, leading him in. “Here it is. The bathroom is down the hall, towels and everything are in the linen closet, and I’m right across the way if you need anything. I—uh—I really appreciate you staying to keep an eye on me.”

  “I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” he said as he walked in and laid his gun on the nightstand.

  I looked over to the black metal. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  “A few. But they were all bad people,” he explained.

  “Do you think about them?” I asked quietly, leaning against the wall next to the door.

  “Not really. In SERE training, they taught me how to compartmentalize these things. No sense in having a trained soldier who loses his grip on reality at a family picnic. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wonder if my parents’ killer ever thinks about them. I mean—I think about them every day. And before today—before you—I thought about them every second of every day for the last two years,” I said, shifting my gaze from his gun to my feet.

  “I can’t say I know what it’s like to lose a parent in the same way you did, but I did lose my mother. I know what you mean when you say that you think about them every second. That void. ’Cause before today, she was all I thought about,” he said, making his way back from the bed. Looking directly into my eyes, he cupped my cheeks in his palms. “But now that I’ve found you, it’s like you’ve filled something in me I thought would always be empty.”

  I smiled and looked down at his hand, and hooked my fingers onto his thumb. I pulled it from my cheek and shifted it over to my lips. Closing my eyes, I grazed my bottom lip against his palm.

  “You smell like oranges.”

  “Oh, that. A hazard of helping out in the produce department,” he replied, cupping his hand to his nose. “Oranges with a side of potatoes.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, I didn’t wanna mention that part.” I laughed along with him.

  “I guess we should hit the sack.” He shrugged and looked toward his bed, clutching my hand tightly.

  I pulled my hand away and smiled. “Yes, I guess you should. I tend to be a night owl.”

  “Really, why?”

  “I just feel safer awake,” I said, looking across the hall toward my bed.

  Just the thought of having to lie down and close my eyes to invite another nightmare in, gave me enough pause to add insomnia to my ever growing list of disorders.

  “Well, I’m here,” he whispered, resting his index finger under my jaw, shifting my face back toward his.

  “Yeah, but it’s not like you’re gonna be able to save me from my own dreams.”

  “Unless I replace them,” he interrupted, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me close enough to rest his forehead against mine.

  “Replace them?”

  “With new ones,” he exhaled, pressing his lips to my cheek.

  My mind couldn’t even wrap itself around the romantic thing that had just spilled from his lips, as I was so enthralled by his tenderness and imposing presence.

  Mrs. Harvish

  Zander

  I stepped back, looking at her angelic face, noting the vulnerabilities she wore like a shield. I wanted her, unlike any woman I’d ever met. She made me crazy and happy all at the same time, reminding me of my mother and father’s forty-seven years of marriage. I had always hoped for what they had, but never thought it possible.

  It’s funny what one day could change. Yesterday I was alone, with only myself to worry about, and today I found someone who changed everything I thought I wanted in life. One day―one little day.

  She opened her eyes. “Goodnight, Zander.”

  My hand fell to my side as she sheepishly moved away from me. I turned and walked back to the bed, stopping at the window to look out into the night sky.

  “It’s so beautiful here. So calm. Not like war.”

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  “No. I live. I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said as I looked up and down the street, observing the drawn living room curtain across the street.

  She came to stand next to me by the window, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Hey, why do you always stare at Mrs. Harvish’s window? It’s kinda creepy.”

  “Before I took this job, I read up on all the surveillance notes that Adam had written in the reports. He mentioned the old lady that lives in that house had tea every day at noon, and her curtains were always open.”

  “He wrote all that?”

  “We write everything.”

  “What does ‘everything’ mean?” She looked worried.

  I smiled. “Why, did you do something you’re ashamed of?”

  Her eyes widened. “What? No.”

  I chuckled and turned back to the window. “So that woman, Mrs. Harvish, you say? Have you seen her lately?”

  She looked through the window to the old woman’s house. “No, I haven’t. Actually, he was right. She never draws her curtains.”

  “You don’t think it’s weird that, all of a sudden, she draws her curtains and you never see her again?”

  “Well, she is an old woman—do you suppose she could have died?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said as
I pulled my phone out.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  She pulled the phone from my hands. “No. Not again. I won’t go through that again.”

  “So you would rather leave her there? What if she’s fallen?” I looked at her, holding my hand out for my phone.

  She looked at me, then out of the window to Mrs. Harvish’s house. After a moment she dropped the phone back in my hand. “Fine. But you deal with them when they come.”

  “You’re such a saint,” I said sarcastically.

  “Whatever, I can’t do another round with them,” she said, walking to the door.

  I dialed 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice filtered through the phone.

  “Yes, I would like a police officer to check my neighbor’s home. There is an elderly woman who lives there, and we haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “And the address, sir?”

  “1010 Kensington.”

  “We have an officer en route. Would you like me to stay on the phone, sir?”

  “No thank you. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  I shoved the phone back in my pocket, and walked over to Kenzi. “I’ll go outside, so you don’t have to deal with it.”

  “I didn’t mean to be such a bitch about it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m glad that you’re checking in on her.”

  I kissed her forehead and walked downstairs. It only took a few minutes for the police sirens to blare their way down the street. I flagged the car down and walked to the driver’s side to speak with the officer.

  “Were you the one that called?” the officer asked.

  “Yes, that was me, sir,” I said, holding out my hand as he stepped out of the car.

  He shook my hand. “Which house is it?”

  I pointed to Mrs. Harvish’s house. “Over there. Her curtain is never closed, and I haven’t observed any movement.”

  “And who are you?” the officer asked.

  “I work for Stryke Force Personal Security. I’m here working for Ms. St. Clair,” I said, pointing to Kenzi’s house.