“Look, Jessica, I didn’t mean to imply earlier that you could be in any danger.”
“I know.”
“It’s just I think you take too many risks.”
“I do what I have to do. It’s my job.”
“But that’s the point. It is just a job.”
Despite her fearful expression, she shook her head. “Not to me.”
He finished sweeping up the glass then moved toward the end of the porch. His head hit the wind chimes, causing them to sound again. Uneasiness flitted through her eyes at the sound. He was beginning to suspect she’d booby-trapped the porch.
It struck him then. She was afraid. She recognized the seriousness of her job. She took precautions because she understood the risks. “I think Margo is right. It’s better if you stay at the shelter.”
Her face grew firm with determination as she pushed through the fear. “I won’t be run out of my home. If I hide then they win.”
“They?”
“They. Them. These men who get their thrills terrorizing women. I’m a little rattled, I admit, but I’m okay. We don’t know for certain the footprints were from anyone other than a neighbor, and whoever left that note on my car is just trying to frighten me. I’ll lock the house up tight and activate the alarm after you leave.”
He saw through her bravado, but she’d obviously made up her mind. She was staying. “I’d feel better about leaving if you’d let me check the house.”
She glanced inside then nodded and moved from the door.
He doubted anyone was lurking in the closets waiting to attack, but he’d learned from Robert that people often did things that surprised him. He’d never underestimate anything anyone could do again.
He checked every room and found nothing. Whoever was after her hadn’t gotten inside yet. Was it true what she said? Were the note and flower only meant to frighten her? She was the expert...but his gut told him differently.
He made his way back to the front of the house. Jessica was still standing on the porch, chewing nervously on her fingernail. All color had drained from her face and she was shivering. He doubted it was from the chill in the night air.
“All clear.”
She stepped inside as he stepped out. Still, he didn’t relish the idea of leaving her here alone. “Lock this door when I leave.”
“I will.”
He considered asking her once more to stay at the shelter then decided against it. She’d made her decision clear. “Can I phone you later to make sure you’re okay?”
“I would like that.”
He waited until she was inside and he heard the click of the door locks and the beep of the alarm before he stepped off the porch, careful to miss the wind chimes. As he walked to his car, he glanced back at the house and saw her peeking at him through the curtains. She was frightened, but she was standing her ground. He admired her tenacity. She reminded him of Tory in a lot of ways. They were both tough and independent with a drive to take risks. They hated to be thought of as weak. But Tory had taken the notion of risk-taking to the extreme and paid the ultimate price for her foolishness.
Foolish risks. That was a trait Tory and Jessica shared.
He shook his head. Why was he comparing the woman he’d loved to Jessica Taylor? Why had his mind even thought about her in that way? He wasn’t yet ready for that kind of relationship again. It hadn’t been long enough since Tory’s death. And besides, even if he were prepared to jump back into the dating pool, it wouldn’t be with someone like Jessica who took such risks with her safety.
Yet as he drove off, he couldn’t stop remembering the softness of her skin as he’d held her face in his hands.
* * *
Andrew stopped by the deli at the grocery store to pick up dinner. He wasn’t in the mood to cook and the deli always had a hot meal ready and the food was good.
As he headed for the deli, someone called his name. He glanced around to see Tom Ridley waving and pushing a loaded grocery cart toward him.
Tom was a defense attorney and a friend from church—back in the days when Andrew still attended—when he was part of a couple who attended the Sunday-school couples class run by Tom and his wife, Olivia.
Andrew shook his outstretched hand. “Tom, how are you?”
“Great. Olivia and I were talking about you the other day. We see you more on the news now than we see the newscasters. Good job snagging the Trevino case.”
“Thank you.”
“We’d love to see you at church again sometime. I’m heading up a men’s class now. Unless you’ve been attending elsewhere?”
“No, not really.” He hadn’t set foot inside a church since Tory’s death, and he had no desire to change that. But he did miss seeing his friends. Tom and Olivia had been there for him during the good times and the bad. “How is Olivia?”
“Great. She’d love to see you. Why don’t you come over for supper?”
He perked up, excited about the opportunity to spend time with his old friends. His excitement waned as he remembered that Tom had the life he’d always wanted—wife, kids, family, a complete future that had been placed on hold by Tory’s death. He wasn’t sure he was ready yet to sit through a night watching his friends enjoy the life he’d never have. “I’ll do that one day soon.”
Tom seemed to notice the change. “Well, any night is fine. We need to catch up.”
“We do. Tell Olivia I said hello.”
Tom walked away, but seeing him reminded Andrew of how his life had changed over the past two years. He’d pulled away from relationships in all areas including friends and family. He’d thrown himself into his work, putting in sixteen-hour days and honing his skills as a prosecutor. As a result, he’d worked his way up the ladder of success in the District Attorney’s Office.
Deciding he wasn’t hungry after all, he started back to his car, his mind rolling over the changes that had taken place. His life had altered without his consent, with circumstances beyond his control.
“Andrew!”
He turned to see a familiar white pickup screeching to a halt in front of him. The door swung open and Robert jumped out, his stride determined and menacing.
“Where is she, Andrew?”
“What are you doing here?”
“You can’t keep me locked up, and you can’t keep Sarah from me. Where is she?”
“Somewhere safe.” Andrew opened his car door, intent on leaving.
Robert pushed it shut and crowded him. “Tell me where she is.”
His bullying might work on Sarah, but Andrew wasn’t afraid of him. “You will never see her again. I’ll make sure of that.”
Robert’s voice lowered into a quiet hiss. “She’s mine, Andrew. She may be your sister but she’s my wife. I will find her and when I do, she’s coming home with me.”
Robert was so close that Andrew could smell the alcohol on his breath. The man was out of control and Andrew was determined that his sister would not be a victim again. “That’s never going to happen.”
Robert inched back and gave a warped smile. “You’d better watch your back. You and that woman with you. One of you will tell me where my wife is.”
He strutted back to his truck and roared away, but his threat loomed heavy on Andrew’s mind. What lengths would Robert go to in order to get to Sarah?
* * *
The police cars parked in front of his apartment building weren’t a good sign.
Andrew’s gut clenched, Robert’s threat still fresh on his mind. He zipped into his parking space and quickly got out.
The building manager, Mr. Wilson, met him as he approached the stairs that led to his second floor apartment.
“What happened here?” Andrew asked.
“I was about to phone you, Mr. Jennings. I saw
the fellow take off so I called the police.”
“What happened?”
“The guy kicked in the door. He broke in.”
Andrew rushed up the stairs. His apartment door was standing open, the lock busted by apparently being kicked in. Inside, the place was trashed—furniture overturned, drawers emptied, but nothing appeared to be missing at first sight. Whoever had done this had not been there to rob him. He’d had another motive.
And Andrew was certain he knew what that motive was.
A refrigerator magnet held a photo of Sarah and Robert together, smiling. That hadn’t been there before. No way would he have such a picture hanging on his refrigerator.
Mr. Wilson finally climbed the stairs and looked around. He whistled at the sight. “What a mess. Did he get much?”
Andrew pulled the photo from the magnet. “You said you saw the man who did this?”
“Yep. I got a pretty good look at him. It wasn’t anybody I recognized.”
Andrew handed him the photo. “Was this the man you saw?” His gut clenched as he waited for the elderly man to scan the photo.
Please don’t let it be him.
Mr. Wilson slid off his glasses then nodded as he handed the photo back to Andrew. “That’s the same fellow all right. You know him?”
He leaned into the sink as the weight of his landlord’s words sank in. Jessica had been right, after all. This was the first place Robert had come looking for Sarah.
Had he not listened to Jessica, he might have come home to much more than a trashed apartment.
Sarah might be dead.
* * *
A jingle from the porch grabbed Jessica’s attention. Her pulse quickened but she waited to act. The jingle stopped abruptly—too abruptly, as if someone’s hand had quieted them.
She placed her laptop on the coffee table and moved cautiously toward the door. A shadow moved in front of the window and her breath caught. Fear prickled up her spine. Someone was out there.
Get a grip, Jessica.
She took a deep, calming breath then blew it out. She was letting her paranoia run wild again. Whoever was there was probably only a salesman or a neighbor searching for a lost pet. Or perhaps Andrew had returned to check on her. She waited for the reassuring ring of the bell or knock on the door.
It didn’t come.
Jessica moved quietly to the window and peeked through the curtains. She saw only the back of a man, tall and broad. He reached for the door handle and tried it. The rattling sent chills through Jessica.
He was trying to get into the house!
Her first instinct was to run, dash out through the back and hide, but she swallowed her fear. She would not be run out of her home like some wimpy, frightened woman who couldn’t take care of herself. She wouldn’t let this thug scare her away.
She reached for the light switch by the door and flipped it on, basking the porch in bright light from the freshly installed bulb. The man swore and blocked the light with his arm, hiding his face in the process, then turned and rushed from the porch, his boots clunking against the wooden planks.
Jessica pushed away from the window, fear ripping through every fiber of her at that sound. The clomping of boots on the wooden floor would be a sound that forever haunted her. She grabbed the phone then crouched beneath the desk and tried to dial 911. Her hands shook with fear and she had trouble hitting the right buttons.
She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath. This wasn’t Mitch. Mitch was in a maximum security prison two states away.
Lord, when will I be over this?
A knock on the door caused her to yelp and drop the phone.
He was back!
She peeked out from the desk toward the door, realizing Mitch would never knock.
“Jessica, it’s me. Andrew Jennings.”
Andrew, her rescuer!
She crawled from beneath the desk, picked up the phone and placed it back on the desk. Andrew she could deal with.
“Coming,” she called, but even to her own ears her voice sounded jittery.
She opened the door to find him leaning against the jamb. He looked as pensive and worried as she felt. He brushed past her into the house and Jessica’s thoughts immediately went to Sarah.
She closed the door. “What’s the matter?”
He paced the floor, locking his fingers together and pressing them over his head in a gesture of worry. “You were right. I should have trusted you sooner.”
Her sense of mission overrode her previous fears. Jessica reached for Andrew’s arm. “Calm down and tell me what’s happened.”
Her touch seemed to calm him. “It’s Robert. He was at my apartment. If I’d acted on my instinct...if you hadn’t convinced me to have Sarah stay at the shelter...”
He couldn’t finish. But he didn’t need to. She already knew what might have occurred. Sarah might have been killed tonight.
A chill swept over her. This was all too coincidental not to be connected. She briefly told Andrew about the man on her porch, omitting of course the part about her hiding under the desk like a frightened little girl.
He took a deep breath as the reality of the situation hit him. “He came here too, trying to get to Sarah through you. I saw him earlier. He threatened you.”
So it had been Robert who’d left that note. Robert who had been in her yard. That seemed the most likely scenario given the details. She shuddered as the sound of those boots clomping against the wooden porch replayed in her mind. She would definitely check the website again to make certain Mitch was where he was supposed to be, but for now it looked as if she had a different problem.
Robert Young was escalating, and there was no telling what he would do in order to get to Sarah.
FOUR
Jessica gripped her coffee cup with both hands, mostly to keep them from shaking. She was trying to cope, trying to maintain a strong facade, but Andrew’s pacing back and forth in the kitchen of the shelter did nothing to calm her nerves.
Normally, this type of harassment wouldn’t faze her, but the haunting sounds of boots against the wooden porch and the fear she’d experienced because of it left her rattled. She’d been the one to suggest coming to the shelter and Andrew had agreed. Margo had come when Jessica called about the attempted break-in.
Margo tapped her pen against the table as she studied Jessica. “So you didn’t see the man’s face, then?”
“No. His back was to me, but he was tall.”
“Robert’s tall.”
Margo rolled her eyes at Andrew’s comment. “So are about a million other guys.” She turned back to Jessica. “How tall?”
Jessica struggled to recall the details but everything was now so muddled. It frustrated her to have those memories fading so quickly. She always cautioned women to look for the details and now she couldn’t recall any herself. It was physiological. Adrenaline caused confusion. It was often why witness testimonies were notoriously unreliable. She shrugged at Margo’s question. “Tall enough to set off my chimes.” Logical reason began to return. Mitch was six-foot-one so she’d positioned the chimes so that anyone over six feet would run into them, thereby alerting her to their presence. “Six feet at least.”
“What I want to know is what he’s doing out,” Andrew said. “I thought he was in custody. It is still the cops’ job to lock these guys up, right?” Sarcasm dripped from his lips.
“We do lock them up,” Margo shot back. “Then you lawyer types let them out again.” She sighed. “We haven’t been able to locate him to pick him up for violating the restraining order. He wasn’t at the house when I picked up Jessica’s car.”
“And you didn’t bother telling us this?” He pulled a hand through his hair and turned away. He opened one cabinet then another. Then another.
<
br /> “What are you doing?” Jessica demanded, nearing her limit of frustration.
“Looking for a coffee mug.” He turned, leaving the bare cabinets and empty shelves exposed. “You must have some.”
Heat rose in Jessica’s face at the sight of those bare shelves, a reminder that they were short on funds and donations for the month. “Try the dishwasher.”
He opened the dishwasher and jerked on the top rack, pulling it too hard too fast. The rack lost its wheel and Andrew had to grab it to keep it from falling.
Jessica rushed over. “Be careful! You’re going to break it.” She pushed him aside and fixed it herself then handed him a mug.
“Looks like it doesn’t work too well, anyway.” He walked to the sink and rinsed out his cup.
Jessica fumed at his haughty attitude. There he went again, diminishing her life’s work. Gone was the camaraderie she’d felt with him earlier.
Margo interrupted before Jessica laid into him.
“I’ll file a report but I think you both know the drill. You can’t prove it was Robert on your porch so there is really nothing the police can do at this point. The one bright spot I see in this is that he may still not know where the shelter is located.”
Jessica knew the truth. “It won’t take him long to find us.”
“Probably not. But I wouldn’t make it easy for him. I recommend you stay here for a few days and keep the place on lockdown.”
Andrew nodded. “That’s a good idea. You’re too easy a target at home.”
Jessica stared at them both, dumbfounded by the idea that everyone expected her to run and hide...and that she had to keep repeating herself. “How many times do I have to say this? I won’t be run out of my home by someone like Robert Young.”
“I’m only suggesting you take precautions. You’ve stayed at the shelter lots of times.”
“Sure, but that’s by choice.” She folded her arms and stood her ground. “You’re suggesting I hide out.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that? You’re practically here all the time, anyway.”
No Safe Haven Page 5