Pacing back to the table, she shoved a picture of Phoebe’s burned arms beneath a folder. Shivering, she reached for the phone. She needed to hear a friendly voice. She thought about calling Marc, but she decided against it. She needed Zeke.
5
June 9, 8:08 PM
Nicole Cunning’s Residence, Washington D.C.
“How about if I cook some Pasta Bellissima?” Zeke asked, massaging Nicole’s foot.
“That sounds wonderful.” She gave a weary-sounding sigh and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “Do we have the ingredients?”
He nodded, studying her tired face. “I went to the store this morning. I knew you were in for a long day, and I wanted to be prepared.”
The phone rang.
As Zeke reached for it, Nicole grabbed his hand. “Let the machine get it. My business manager said he was going to call tonight, but I don’t feel like talking. I’m too tired.”
Nodding, Zeke let the call go to voicemail.
~*~
“You have reached Nicole Cunning. Please leave your name and number after the tone.”
Biting her lip, Crystal hung up. She thought about calling Zeke’s cell phone but decided against it. After all, she was a big girl. She didn’t need reassurances. She needed results. Squaring her shoulders, she went back to the table and got back to work.
~*~
Zeke massaged Nicole’s instep. “So, how’d things go today?”
“Better than I’d hoped.” Nicole’s tired face suddenly glowed. “I still can’t believe my paintings are going to be exhibited at the National Gallery of Art. I’m so excited that I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
Grinning, he continued rubbing her foot. “You deserve it. You’ve worked hard, and the National Gallery is smart to feature you in their summer series of rising stars of the art world. Have you decided which paintings to show?”
“I picked them out today. I’m using Sunset Snow as the cornerstone of my exhibit.” Her eyes sparkled. “The curator said that if I’ll allow it, he’d like to keep Sunset Snow as a permanent addition to the gallery.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Zeke crowed, watching as Nicole removed her hairclip, allowing a riot of dusky curls to fall around her shoulders.
Running her fingers through her hair, she asked, “Have you seen Sunset Snow?”
Nodding, he massaged the ball of her foot. “I saw it at DC Gallery 180. It’s magnificent. The way you reflected the pink sunset in the snow of the woods was beautiful. In fact, I think it’s my favorite painting after Peace Prevails.”
As his firm fingers caressed her instep, Nicole stretched blissfully. “Peace Prevails was my favorite too. I was told it was purchased by a man for his prospective bride. I like the idea of something I painted becoming a love gift.”
Zeke smiled to himself and continued kneading the knots out of Nicole’s foot. After a moment, his forehead creased. “We need to buy you better shoes. Your knots have knots tonight. I’m not surprised that you were limping when you came home.”
Laughing, Nicole shoved his chest with her bare foot. “I know artists are supposed to be eccentric, but I refuse to go traipsing around Washington D.C. in a dress and tennis shoes.”
Zeke’s lips twitched. “Tennis shoes may not be appropriate with your usual attire, but I’m sure you can find a fashionable shoe without stiletto heels. You’re going to ruin your feet.”
Leaning forward, Nicole planted a kiss on the tip of his crooked nose. “My feet will never be ruined with you here to massage them.”
Grinning, he tweaked her big toe. “All done.”
“Thanks, love.” Sighing, she tucked her feet beneath her. “That felt wonderful.”
Zeke wiggled his bare toes in the carpet. “You know, I’ve heard that turnabout is fair play.”
Nicole laughed and patted her lap. “Stick ’em up here.”
Chuckling, he swung around and planted his large, bare feet in her lap. “I could get used to having my feet rubbed by pretty ladies,” he said as Nicole took his foot and massaged it.
Nicole tickled his foot, and when he laughed and jerked, she said with mock severity, “I’m the only pretty lady who gets to touch your toes. Remember that, mister.”
“I promise.” Zeke chuckled. “My feet are all yours.”
“Good.” Nicole smiled and took his foot in her hands. “How did things go for you today?”
Zeke wiggled his big toe back and forth as she tried to capture it. “Pretty good,” he said. “Crystal and I haven’t made much progress in figuring out Drake’s real name, but Marc arrived this afternoon to lend a hand. Hopefully, that will help.”
As Nicole nodded and finally managed to grab hold of his toe, the doorbell rang.
Rising to answer it, Zeke kissed the top of Nicole’s head as he strolled past.
Standing on the doorstep was a deliveryman holding a box of long-stemmed roses. After tipping the man, Zeke brought the flowers to Nicole. When she saw the card, her forehead furrowed.
Zeke sat down beside her. “One of your admirers?”
Nicole nodded with troubled eyes.
“An admirer you’d rather not have?”
Nicole nodded again. “I try to keep my address a secret, but he’s figured it out.”
She handed the card to Zeke. It simply said, With loving admiration—A.R.
“Who’s A.R.?” Zeke asked quietly.
Nicole pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, something he knew that she did when worried.
“A.R. is Senator Aaron Richards,” she replied in a tight voice. “He’s married. He’s persistent. And he’s creepy.”
Zeke tossed the embossed card onto the coffee table. “I wouldn’t worry about him.”
Resting her chin on her knees, Nicole looked at him with disappointed eyes. “When I talked to Brandon about Senator Richards, he said the same thing.” She sighed. “Brandon said having a senator pay me attention would do my career good. Is that what you think? Or do you think I shouldn’t worry because the senator hasn’t done anything vastly inappropriate yet?”
“Neither,” Zeke murmured, running a gentle hand down the soft curve of her cheek. “You needn’t worry about Richards because I’m in your life now, and I’ll take care of him for you.”
Zeke watched as all the tension fell from Nicole’s body. Leaning forward, she nuzzled his shoulder with her forehead. “You don’t know how much I was hoping you’d say that.”
6
June 10, 12:14 AM
Interstate 395, Washington D.C.
Signaling, Drake turned onto Independence Avenue and adjusted the rearview mirror of his new car. He’d “traded” Gerald’s battered Buick for a Chevy Pavana in the airport’s parking lot. As he fiddled with the Pavana’s GPS, he felt smug that he’d traded up. Knowing it was too late in the night to learn more about Phoebe, he decided to look for another way to amuse himself. One way sounded particularly pleasing…
Drake grinned as he reached Crystal Stuart’s apartment. Her living room curtains were open, and he could see her sitting at a table. Pulling the Pavana up to the curb, he crossed his arms over the steering wheel and watched her. She was reading something—probably a file about him. He smirked. He knew she was trying to figure out his real name. Zeke was probably trying to figure it out too. He snorted. Zeke was a moron. The big-nosed computer geek wasn’t a threat—he’d never put the clues together. But Crystal…
Drake’s eyes narrowed. He reached for the half-eaten candy bar that he’d taken from Gerald’s car. He took a big bite. Crystal was a problem. She was smart enough to throw a wrench in his plans. He needed to do something about her. He needed to kill her—get her out of the way.
Leaning back, he watched her window, studying her as she stretched and yawned. His lips twisted into a grin as she went to her bedroom. He sat silently, biding his time until her lights went out. Leaving his car, he crept to the back of her apartment building.
&nbs
p; ~*~
Marc paced restlessly around his living room, cracking his knuckles. For some reason, he couldn’t get Crystal off his mind. He looked at the phone. He wanted to call her. He wanted to make sure she was OK.
“Don’t be a stupid idiot,” he grumbled, glaring at the phone. “She won’t appreciate a call at this time of night.”
Sighing, he ran a hand over his beard. His friendship with Crystal was so new and fragile. If he made a wrong move, he’d blow everything. He didn’t want her thinking he was a nuisance.
“Call her,” a soft voice spoke deep in his spirit.
Marc paused. He knew he was hearing the Lord. Obediently, he reached for the phone but then caught sight of the clock. It was almost 1:00 AM. Shaking his head, he shut off the lights and went to bed.
~*~
Drake slid Crystal’s bedroom window open. On silent feet, he walked across the carpet and stared at her sleeping form. Her hair, normally tucked up into a messy bun, was streaming across her pillow. She looked lovely in the moonlight. He sniffed the air—she smelled like apple blossoms. Taking the knife from his pocket, he held it to her throat, waiting for her to flinch.
~*~
“Pray!”
Sitting up swiftly in bed, Andrew flipped on a lamp.
The soft voice came again. “Pray!”
Recognizing the Lord’s voice, Andrew slipped from beneath his warm covers and knelt beside his bed. His hands knotted themselves in a blanket as he cried out urgently. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he knew it wasn’t good.
~*~
Pressing his knife harder against Crystal’s throat, Drake ran a finger over her forehead.
Crystal mumbled.
Patiently, Drake waited for her to wake up, anticipating the moment when her frightened eyes would find his. He couldn’t wait to hear her plead and whimper. He leaned forward, anticipating…
Crystal started to snore.
Drake blinked.
Crystal snored louder.
He hesitated and then jostled her shoulder.
Her next snore sounded like a freight train.
A reluctant smile pulled at his lips as he considered her. Crystal wasn’t like anyone else. He couldn’t imagine her ability to sleep through what was supposed to be her own murder. His lips twitched as he readjusted his plans. Maybe it’d be fun to let her live for a while and to mess with her instead. Strolling over to the closet, he picked up her shoes.
~*~
Andrew continued to pray. His lips moved silently as he interceded against the darkness.
~*~
Drake set Crystal’s shoes in the middle of her living room floor. Grinning, he moved a vase from a bookshelf and placed it on the kitchen counter. Spying her car keys, he dropped them into an umbrella stand.
Creepy crawling. I’ll mess with your mind. Yes, creepy crawling—your stuff you must find.
He wandered over to the table where Crystal had piled her research. His grin widened as he spotted the photographs of Phoebe’s injuries. Catching sight of Crystal’s neatly written notes, his smile froze and faded. Narrowing his eyes, he thumbed through her theories.
She’s too smart to leave breathing.
Pulling his knife from his pocket, he walked back to the bedroom.
~*~
Zeke woke with a gasp. He peered at the clock next to the sofa. It was close to 2:00 AM.
“Call Crystal.”
Zeke knew he was hearing the Lord. He also knew God was giving him a command and not a suggestion. Immediately, he rolled over and grabbed the phone.
~*~
Flexing his fingers, Drake started toward Crystal’s bed. His knife gleamed in the moonlight. He crept forward like a ghost in the darkness.
Suddenly, the phone rang, shattering the silence.
Crystal stirred.
Knowing he wasn’t close enough to stop her from screaming if she woke, Drake lunged sideways and slipped out the window, closing it behind him.
~*~
She was on fire. She watched with horror as her flesh melted. Smoke was everywhere. She couldn’t breathe. She ran to the file room door and pounded on it in vain. Flames were all around her. She was going to die. Bells began ringing. They were tolling for her. Loud, insistent bells.
Jerking awake, Crystal sat up in bed. Realizing the phone was ringing, she reached for it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Cris. It’s Zeke. Are you OK?”
Crystal looked down at herself. She was drenched in sweat, and her sheet was tangled around her legs. Putting a trembling hand to her forehead, she tossed her hair from her eyes. She was breathing so fast that she was starting to hyperventilate.
“Cris? Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” she stuttered in a suffocated voice, trying to untangle her legs from the sheets. She shivered. The room felt cold and drafty. She shot a quick glance at the window. It was closed. Reaching over, she adjusted the thermostat.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I just had another nightmare. I’m glad you woke me up.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
Crystal peered at the clock. “At this time of night? Nicole would die.”
Zeke chuckled. “No, she wouldn’t. She’d volunteer to come with me.”
“I know.” Crystal sighed. “Nicole’s great. But I really am fine.”
“Are your dreams getting worse?” Zeke asked softly.
Crystal shuddered. Forcing herself to laugh, she said lightly, “Nightmares are no big deal.” She rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Look, we’d better get back to sleep. Thanks for waking me up, though.”
“You’re sure you’re OK?”
“Positive,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning, Zeke.”
~*~
Hanging up the phone, Zeke rolled onto his back. Feeling confused, he stared at the living room ceiling. Had the Lord spoken to him just so he could stop Crystal’s nightmare from becoming worse? It seemed rather silly and drastic, but maybe that was the case.
Glancing over at the box of roses on the coffee table, Zeke felt a muscle jumping in his jaw. He couldn’t wait to take care of Nicole’s little problem. Catching sight of the clock, he shut off the lamp by the sofa bed and began mentally wording a note telling Senator Richards that Nicole was off limits.
~*~
Andrew raised his head and sighed. The heavy burden that had been crushing his soul was easing, and in its place was a gentle peace. Softly, he sang a song of praise.
~*~
Crystal forced herself to lie down and slow her breathing. Over and over, she quoted Psalms 56:3-4. But when I am afraid, I will put my confidence in God. Yes, I will trust the promises of God. And since I am trusting Him, what can mere man do to me?
As she felt the terror from her nightmare subsiding, she looked at her sweaty nightgown and groaned. She had to do some laundry. Padding over to the bathroom, she showered and pulled on a comfortable t-shirt and a ratty pair of purple sweatpants.
Walking into the living room, she stumbled over a pair of shoes. Catching herself on the back of the sofa, she felt goose pimples erupting over her arms.
I put those shoes in the closet. I know it.
Feeling a stab of pure fear, she looked around her apartment, but nothing else seemed out of place. Chiding herself for being silly, she turned on the radio. Big band music filled the air. Chewing her lip, she turned to a Christian station. She needed some soothing praise music to help her relax.
“It’s going to be another long night,” she murmured, sitting down and opening a folder. More photographs of Phoebe’s injuries were tucked inside. Crystal shuddered.
Glaring at Drake’s handsome picture, she snarled, “I’m going to figure out your real name, and I’m going to staple you right to the wall.”
With shaking hands, she thumbed through the brutal photos of her friend. “Poppa said Alex had taken you to safety,” she whispered. “I wonder where you are. I hope you’re OK, Phoebe.”
A storm was brewing around Alex Ableman’s isolated Colorado cabin. With his arms crossed behind his head, he lay in bed and studied the wild shadows dancing on his wall. Outside, the wind was moaning. Thunder rolled loudly. Lightning flashed across the night sky.
Alex turned his face from the window as he heard a whimper coming from Phoebe’s bedroom. Pulling on some pants, he sprinted to her open door. By the soft shine of a nightlight, he could see her huddled form.
He tapped on the doorjamb. “Are you OK?”
Phoebe shook her head. A choked sob escaped her lips.
Entering her room, Alex ran a hand over her tumbled brown hair. She was trembling.
“It’s just a storm,” he said gently. “It will pass.”
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he studied her pale face. When he’d rescued her from Drake, her face was so swollen that he couldn’t tell what she looked like. Now, most of her bruises had faded, and he could see she was lovely.
Thunder rolled. Phoebe winced.
Alex knew she’d been trying to deal with the fear engendered from her kidnapping. He also knew she was terrified about Drake’s attempts to reacquire her. He didn’t want added fear about the storm sending her into a tailspin. He wanted to help her conquer it.
“The storm’s beautiful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Come watch it with me?”
Phoebe’s eyes were frightened. “It’s so loud.”
“I know.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “The thunder’s echoing down the mountains. It can be startling if you aren’t used to it, but the loudness is part of what makes it beautiful. Come see?” He could tell she was trying to make up her mind. “Trust me?”
She nodded.
“Do you want to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”
Phoebe gave a wobbly grin. “What do you think?”
“Getting used to having a personal porter, aren’t you?” He chuckled.
Phoebe’s eyes twinkled. He took that as a good sign. Wrapping her in a quilt, and being careful of her injuries, Alex picked her up in his arms.
Outside the window, lightning flashed. A loud crack of thunder boomed through the valley.
Whimpering, Phoebe buried her head against his chest.
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