Shocked by her revelation, Steven was also impressed. She had done her own personal investigation and had never said a word.
“Who was the first person to approach you after he died?”
“I have all my notes. I wrote everything down, and kept every note, every phone message, and every conversation. I really thought someone would stand out, but I’m no investigator. I’m sure what I did was no more than busy work—something to keep me sane during the grief.”
“George Steiner said you’ve always believed Michael was murdered. I’m sorry the police didn’t do more,” he said.
“You mean more than pursue me?” She grimaced. “I had no defense. I’m the one who gained from his death, the perfect suspect. How do you defend yourself when you’re the rich widow, and no one believes in love?”
“Is there someone who hates you, someone who wanted you to suffer?”
Sarah seemed surprised at the notion. “I—I don’t know. I never thought … I’ve never had any indication. I mean, some of them resent me, but it’s due to Michael’s loss. Before his death, there were rumors, sure, but you can’t pinpoint the culprit when gossip is involved. And no one has ever been unkind, at least not openly. A few of Michael’s old girlfriends wrote to me, all of them are happily married, most of them with children; one of them sent me the most beautiful poem. I’ve never felt any kind of resentment, from anyone.”
“Can I see your notes? I’m not saying you missed something, but I’d like to look.”
“I’d be happy to share them. They’re in Anchorage, locked in a file in my office. Thank you, detective—”
“Steven.”
“Steven,” she repeated. “I’m glad you were able to attend the party with me. After receiving another valentine, I almost didn’t go. Something about this place makes seclusion so easy. I enjoy being a recluse—”
Steven touched her arm, interrupting her. “What valentine?”
“Sorry, I received one the day of the party. The message was Merry Christmas, Valentine. There was nothing else in the envelope. When I saw you in Seattle, I thought someone else had died.”
“Did you tell John?”
Sarah moved closer to the cliff, putting distance between them. “No, it’s Christmas. Eddie’s proposing to Alexis. I couldn’t—it’s just a warning. He wanted me to know he’s still out there. And you said I’m not his real target, at least not yet—not until February.”
Steven was shocked. She had taken a risk, but he could not lecture her, not when they had finally stopped arguing. Besides, she had relied on his assessment. He was the one who had claimed she was safe until February.
“You’re right, I think his target date is your anniversary, but he might try something before then. In fact, he might be counting on us to be slack, giving us clues and zeroing in on your wedding anniversary only to spring a trap unexpectedly. Just promise me you won’t take any more chances.”
“I promise.”
Her back was to him. As Sarah gazed at the sunset, Steven could not take his eyes off her. Steven moved closer, but then hesitated. She was no longer the black widow. She was someone he wanted in his arms. Did he have the right? He had just admitted to Emma and Opal how he felt, yet here he stood, unable to ask her for a first date.
Just inches away, with the sun sinking slowly below the horizon, the wind delicately lifted her long blonde hair, and his resistance weakened. He had to wait. Then, Steven remembered Chase was trying hard to win her back. Steven could not allow the moment to pass.
“We’d better go back. It’s getting late.” She turned, and started to walk away.
He stepped in front of her.
“Wait.” Steven put his hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, so damn wrong.”
Steven searched her eyes, recalling what Steiner had said. He could have sworn he’d found Nirvana, too. He found peace and saw his future, his heaven. Steven drew her into his powerful arms, ready to declare his love.
He kissed her, but softly at first, not wanting to take too much, too soon. Kissing her was more beautiful than he could have imagined. Not hurried, not desperate—but sustaining, fulfilling, like coming home after a grueling week at work to find her waiting. But surrendering to her was so much more. Steven felt as though his entire being was awash in her essence, and he molded himself to Sarah’s warmth. He realized he never wanted to be anywhere, ever again, without her. He held her tightly, but the words he wanted to say would not come.
“Sarah, angel,” he whispered her name, and his chosen nickname. Steven wrapped his fingers in her hair and held her body so close he thought they had merged into one being. “Sarah, I…”
“No words. Please. Just hold me,” she whispered. She rested her head against his chest, fitting herself against him, as their hearts beat as one. He offered her safety, and she gave him purpose.
Steven lifted her face, and vowed his protection. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’ll always be here, no matter what, angel. No matter what. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The reality of what they shared was overwhelming, but slowly brought understanding. The feel of her body against his filled him such wholeness, Steven knew he would never be more sated. They stood together while the sun finished its descent and dusk covered the land. The smell of roses filled his senses, and contentment filled his soul. Steven held her tightly, and she yielded to him. Sarah’s body tight against his, Steven kissed her again, and she responded. He felt their desire escalate, their need become hunger, but then she abruptly pulled away. The emptiness she left behind quickly cooled his passion.
“Steven, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t—this is wrong. We have to wait.”
He nodded.
“I know, and I promise. I’ll make everything right. But yes, we have to wait. I have to solve this case.” His own words sounded wrong, felt wrong, but he had no choice. Suddenly, there was a void where his heart used to reside. Sarah held his heart, and he’d gladly given it.
Without further discussion, they started back up the path, holding hands, stealing glances, fighting their desires.
“I’m sorry, angel. I have to leave.”
“I know.” She walked him to his car.
“Please tell Emma and Opal, I appreciate—”
“I will.”
They stopped at the car. He leaned against the door and took both her hands in his. “One question.”
She met his gaze.
“When this is over, will you go out with me? Let me buy you dinner, take you dancing?”
“Yes. I would like that. Very much.”
Her smile warmed him from the inside. The world suddenly receded, and the peace he found just being with her was killing his determination to leave.
“I better get to work. Remember your promise.”
She nodded.
“Stay safe, for me.” He pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. Steven lingered just a moment, but dreaded the separation. He quickly got into the car before he changed his mind.
He watched her in his rearview mirror until a curve in the road took her from his view.
“Goodbye, my warrior,” she whispered, watching him pull away. When she walked inside, the smile on her face and in her heart made the holiday festivities all the merrier.
hen Sarah arrived in Anchorage, John, Eddie, and Steven were at the airport to greet her. She knew immediately that their greeting was not a homecoming party.
“What’s happened?” December 28th was seventeen days from the next fourteenth. She had returned because John insisted, or Eddie would have to fly to La Push. After John heard about the Christmas valentine, he gave her no peace, and Sarah agreed to return to make life easier for everyone. Now, she was barely home, and the terror was beginning anew.
“Someone vandalized your apartment,” John explained. “We took precautions with your house. Eddie stayed there, but we never guarded the apartment.”
“Wh
en?”
“Yesterday. The other tenants heard some unusual noises, but when the police arrived, the vandal was gone. Sarah,” he took her by the arm and led her away from the group, “I’m afraid the vandal—”
“Is the same maniac who wants me dead,” she finished his sentence.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. We were scheduled to make the lock changes today. In fact the condo association liked the new security a chained door guard with a bolt lock could provide; they’re suggesting it too all the tenants. But this is no coincidence.”
She was silent until they rejoined the others, and then she surprised them all with her next request. “Well, let’s go survey the damage.”
“No, not a good idea… it’s more than vandalism,” John explained, choosing his words carefully.
“Will you drive, or shall I?” she insisted.
Steven stood in the background. Sarah barely acknowledged him, and he did not greet her. She was no longer sure how she was supposed to treat him. Sarah wanted to believe in what had happened on the cliff, but, after he left, she worried she had read more into it, especially since he never called to reassure her. She wondered if Steven was still in some silly male competition with Scott, and his distance troubled her.
“Sarah, John’s right. Going there won’t serve any purpose,” Steven said.
She finally looked at him. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks with a leather jacket. He had even trimmed his long hair—although it was still in a ponytail—he appeared more professional, and, right now, all business. She realized his job would not allow him any other behavior, and she tried to be just as stoic.
“It’s my home, and I have a right to see it,” she said resolutely. “It’s all part of the plan, isn’t it? How else can we continue to the next level if we don’t follow all the clues?”
No one refused her, and, within twenty minutes, she stood outside her apartment door. The door was still intact, which surprised Sarah.
“How did they get in?”
“With a key,” Steven said. “How many other people have keys?”
“John. Only John.”
Steven unlocked the door, and Sarah stepped inside. After a few steps, she stopped. This was not her apartment. The damage was substantial. She moved forward, her steps tentative. The living room looked as though a tornado had ripped through, chewing and then spitting out her belongings and raining red paint. The crimson color covered everything.
Sarah gingerly entered the living room, stepping around debris. Splintered furniture, shredded curtains, and slashed paintings blocked her path, but her desk sat untouched.
Her desk was an island in a sea of red devastation. The Tiffany lamp sat, unscathed, and she touched the shade gently. Everything on the desk was exactly where she had left them.
“Why?”
She looked to John for an answer, but he shrugged. The desk, however, gave her hope. Sarah headed to the bedroom. Steven touched her arm, and she gave him her full attention.
“Please don’t go in there,” he pleaded.
“I have to.” She pulled away from him, and his warning.
The room glowed eerily red through the door. She stood in the doorway and held onto the doorknob for support. The vandal had taken buckets of red paint and covered the walls, the floor, it stained her shoes. Her bed was intact, but paint soaked the mattress, had dripped from the frame, and dried globs still hung like fat tear drops stuck in time. Her clothes hung from the walls, windows, and ceiling, held by various knives from her kitchen. Sarah could barely breathe.
She could not look away from the words painted across the walls in large letters. Happy New Year Valentine and The Bitch Dies in February sucked the breath from her lungs. Yet, the words with the most impact were the names of his victims. Enclosed in a large, crudely drawn outline of a heart were the names Debra Johnson and Rhonda Parker. There was also a third heart, with a large question mark in it. That vision flashed in Sarah’s mind like a neon light, a new threat to someone she knew.
But the scrawled message by her nightstand caused her the most shock. Remember when I plugged the phone back in?
Sarah tried to back out of the room, but her body went limp, and she felt faint. Her heart was beating so hard, she could hear each thump loudly in her ears. She felt flushed and dizzy. Steven hurried her out onto the patio.
“Breathe deep, slow but deep,” he directed her. He held her close.
She did and soon the spell passed.
“I’m sorry, angel. We tried to warn you.” His arms, to Sarah, meant protection. She closed her eyes and wanted to stay safely in them forever, but instead she worked hard to regain her composer. She had to put him first, his position, and after a few minutes, she gathered her courage once again. “I’m all right now. Honest.”
She left his arms to prove it, and Sarah took in a few slow breaths of fresh air. She gazed out at Cook Inlet and Sleeping Lady Mountain, trying to imprint the view in her memory. This would be the last time she would ever stand here. When she left the apartment, she knew she would never return.
“There’s something missing. I just don’t know what.”
“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Yes. Of course, I’m ready.”
John took her by the hand to lead her to the front door. “I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t want you to see that.”
“But I needed to. I think I needed to.” She stopped at the desk, she wanted the letter opener, but the sentimental reminder of her life with Michael was gone. Sarah didn’t bother checking the drawers. Now she understood why the desk had gone untouched. He wanted her to know he had taken it.
She never let on, just squeezed John’s hand and hurried out the door. She needed air. Fainting spells were not a sign of strength, and she felt ill.
Steven watched her closely, and Sarah sensed his gaze. Eddie put his arm around her, and Sarah acknowledged his support with a weak smile. She accepted his assistance as they left the apartment, and made their way to the car.
The drive to her house seemed longer than usual. Sarah sat in the back of the car with Eddie, but remained quiet. She was remembering the day she had given Michael the letter opener. Their first Christmas together, Sarah lacked any original idea for a present, especially for a man who appeared to have everything, until she saw him get a paper cut while opening the mail, and then she knew the man who had everything did not have a simple letter opener.
She bought an antique silver and pearl letter opener, a former desk item of John Glenn’s, who’d been a hero of Michael’s. She had a silver locket carefully attached and engraved, “To the man who has everything, including my love.”
Christmas day, he proposed, and presented her with the biggest diamond she had ever seen. The letter opener was insignificant in comparison, and felt inadequate, but Michael cherished it. Sarah smiled, remembering how he used to look forward to the mail just so he could use it. Now a reminder of one of the happiest days of her life, and the day when the man she loved asked her to be his wife, a man who understood that the simple things in life were the most memorable.
They finally arrived at the house, and Sarah went in ahead of them. She knew they were discussing beefing up the security system, but she was convinced no amount of security would save her from the fate her nightmares dictated. John wanted to install cameras. Sarah vetoed the idea—at least inside the house. Cameras would not protect her from this demon, and she did not want her murder recorded for YouTube.
Safely at home, Sarah could relax. She turned on the lights, started the coffee, and put water on for tea. The house was unusually cold, so she checked the thermostat and went to the den to build a fire. Here, the air was more frigid, and she immediately saw the reason. The French doors leading out to the deck were standing open. Snow was drifting inside.
Sarah made her way outside to investigate. She turned on the exterior lights, and walked out onto the deck. She looked out into the yard. The sight before
her sent her reeling backward, the sound of her own screams dragged her into a living nightmare where there was no escape.
Sarah turned from the sight on the lawn and ran through the door. Steven reached her first. He appeared from nowhere, and Sarah was not ready for him. Terrified her stalker had waited for her return, her mind shut down from the horror. Sarah fainted but Steven caught her. He held her inert body and looked beyond her to the scene in the snow.
Spray painted on the lawn, was a crude valentine. The heart covered a good deal of the yard, and inside, spelled out against the snow-covered lawn, was the message Welcome Home, Valentine. A naked body lay slashed and bloody under the message, except the body was really just a mannequin, well displayed, and covered with red paint to provoke. The warning served its purpose, and they all got the message: there was no place safe from this monster.
January 14—5:00 p.m.
he steering wheel pulled to the right, and the noise was unmistakable. Patricia Anders knew she had a flat tire but kept urging her car forward. Fixing a flat did not bother her, but the location did. She was on the Denali Highway, which was isolated and dark, and the worst place for car trouble. She forced the car another few feet.
Eventually, she gave in and pulled onto the shoulder. She turned on her hazard lights and got out to inspect the damage. Patricia walked around the car and, sure enough, the left-rear tire was flat—a nail, at least six inches long, had worked its way through the thick tread and punctured the rubber of the inner liner. Large, wet flakes were going to make the road icy as temperatures continued to drop, adding to the danger of being out too long. Patricia realized she should hurry, and she opened the trunk to get the spare. The flat tire meant dinner would be late, but at least Patricia could handle the emergency herself. She did not have to wait for a good samaritan to come to her rescue.
Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 19