Not anymore, though. It appeared her stalker had finally found her.
* * *
By the time the sun began to rise, Emily had nearly finished downing her second cup of strong coffee. She sat alone in the kitchen, one scented candle her only source of light. Ryan still slept, blissfully unaware of the storm clouds of chaos threatening his world.
What to do, what to do... Every instinct screamed run, but truth be told, she was tired of running. She’d settled in here in Anniversary, loving the feeling of actually living an ordinary life.
Still, she had to face facts. If she didn’t run, then what were her options? If she stayed and fought, she’d have to learn who the stalker was and what exactly he or she wanted.
Most importantly, was Ryan at risk? Restless, she got up and poured herself another cup.
First there was the cryptic note, then the break-in. What next?
Picking up the note, she reread the words. I know what you’ve done. You’ve stolen what is mine, and you’ll pay for what you did. Tell the truth or risk everything.
Hand shaking, she read it again. It was cryptic, to be sure. But she had nothing of value except her child.
While she knew she didn’t know what really had happened with her son’s adoption, she’d done nothing more than welcome an infant into her life five years ago. Believing her husband was on the up-and-up, she’d been full of happiness to finally have the child she was unable to conceive—Ryan...her boy...her son.
Since then, she’d given him everything a child could want, not the least of all which was her heart. As to telling the truth, how could she do that when she didn’t even know what it was?
Forcing herself to be analytical, she read the note a third time. All of the messages had been variations of this same threat. She’d stolen something from the stalker. Tell the truth or risk everything. Renee was right. As far as threats went, that was awfully vague. She supposed she ought to be grateful the stalker hadn’t written something like “you and the boy will die.”
But despite the lack of specification, the notes still terrified her. She supposed she really didn’t want to know the truth, didn’t want to learn what her husband had done to bring her this child.
Because, in the end, none of it mattered. Ryan was hers. She’d give her life protecting him if it came to that.
Pacing, steaming cup of coffee in hand, Emily eyed the clock, willing her heartbeat to slow. She couldn’t think rationally if she allowed panic to take over.
First things first, she had to decide what course of action, if any, to take immediately. As the first light of sunrise began to dapple the trees, she took a deep breath. She decided to call in to work and ask for the day off. Once she let them know what had happened, she felt certain they’d be sympathetic, which was just one of the reasons she loved working there.
Aware the clinic opened at seven for surgery drop-offs, she made the call and, exactly as she’d suspected, she was told in no uncertain terms to take a personal day.
Hanging up the phone, she poured another cup of coffee. As she did, the tightness in her chest eased somewhat. Funny how accomplishing even one small thing made her feel a tiny bit better, more in control of her life.
Next, she debated whether or not to take Ryan to school. In the end, she decided normalcy would be the best for him, so she woke him and helped him choose his clothes for the day.
Driving him to kindergarten, the sheer ordinariness of the act made her regret taking the entire day off from work. But after seeing her son safely ensconced in his classroom under the watchful eye of Ms. Penney, she headed home to try and make order of her ransacked home.
As soon as she got there, though, she decided to go in to work for the afternoon, once she’d finished straightening out her house.
An hour or so later, having tidied the living room and gotten her office back into some semblance of order, she wandered into the kitchen to see if she could squeeze one final cup of coffee from the nearly empty pot. As she sipped the lukewarm beverage, she eyed the clock. If she made herself a quick lunch and changed clothes, she could arrive at the office shortly after noon.
Later, after arriving at the bustling veterinary clinic, she was glad she’d decided to go in. The busy ordinary workday would help take her mind off her problems. She needed to be calm and rational in order to think.
Luckily, the day flew by. A steady stream of clients kept her busy. Before she knew it, the wall clock showed five minutes until closing time.
Just as she was about to lock up and head out, her cell phone rang. It was Mrs. Mims, the day care director and owner.
“Emily, you’d better get over here quick,” she said, her normally calm voice quivering.
Instantly, Emily’s heart leapt into her throat. She asked about Ryan. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” Mrs. Mims assured her, clearly trying for calm, although she sounded out of breath and agitated. “But earlier—” she hesitated, then continued in a rush “—a man tried to grab him off the playground. His teacher and one of the parents were able to stop him. The sheriff’s department is on the way.”
Chapter 5
Heart pounding, Emily murmured something in reply and hung up the phone. After she grabbed her purse, she rushed to the front door, dizzy and nauseated. Someone had tried to snatch Ryan. The words played over and over again, a terrifying litany echoing inside her head.
Had this been completely random, the act of some sick pervert wanting a child, any child? Or was this tied into the threats and her past life? Did they even matter? Either way, her son had nearly been harmed.
Taking deep breaths and fighting off the dizziness and the panic, she broke every speed limit on the way to the day care. When she pulled up, two police cars blocked the entrance, lights flashing blue, white and red.
Once she’d parked behind them, she cut the engine and ran to the entrance. Renee Beauchamp and Mac Riordan waited just inside the doorway, with a clearly rattled Mrs. Mims.
Emily hurried forward, and Mac moved to intercept her.
“Easy now,” he said, correctly interpreting Emily’s frantic fears. “Everything’s going to be all right.” He spoke in a soothing voice, taking Emily’s arm and steering her into Mrs. Mims’s office. “Ryan’s fine.”
A single chair rested in front of Mrs. Mims’s desk. Emily had sat there once before, when she’d enrolled her son in the day care, and later the after-school program. As she let Mac guide her to that seat now, she realized her entire body had begun to tremble.
“I want to see my son.” She forced out the words through lifeless lips. “Please.”
Before she’d even finished speaking, Renee shepherded Ryan into the office. Emily shot up out of the chair, dropping to her knees and enveloping her boy into a tight hug.
“Mommy?” Squirming, Ryan pushed her away. “What’s wrong?”
It dawned on her that her son had no idea of the danger he’d just faced. Emily took a deep breath. When she looked up and met Mac’s gaze, she realized he looked nearly as rattled as she felt.
“Nothing’s the matter,” she managed, swallowing hard. “I just missed you.”
Nodding, Ryan appeared to accept this at face value. Then, with a five-year-old’s aplomb, he eyed Renee and Mac, his expression grave. “Was there an accident?”
Exchanging a quick look with Emily, Mac squatted down to put himself at Ryan’s level. “No, not exactly. We wanted to talk to you about the man you met earlier, when you were in the playground.”
Ryan’s troubled expression cleared. “Oh, him. He wasn’t a bad man.”
Emily’s heart skipped a beat, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. “How do you know he wasn’t bad, honey?”
“Because even though he was just like that man in that movie—you know—Stranger Danger, he really didn’t want to hurt me.”
Mac crouched down, putting himself at Ryan’s level. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened?”
“Okay.” M
oving in closer to Emily, as though he needed reassurance, Ryan appeared to carefully consider his words, adopting a serious manner far older than his five years. “First, he said he had candy, and if I wanted to have some I had to go with him.”
Emily winced. Feeling the sudden tension in his mother’s body, Ryan stopped, peering up at her. “Mommy? Are you all right?”
Only when she’d nodded and tried to smile reassuringly did he continue. “When I told him no, he said he had puppies in his van. Just like the cartoon we watched in preschool,” Ryan said scornfully. “I’m only five, and I know better than that.”
“Van?” Mac asked, his deliberately casual voice at odds with his intense gaze. “What color was the van?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw it. He said it was parked around the corner.” Then, again looking up at his mother, he scrunched up his little freckled face into a concerned frown. “You told me never to go with strangers, right Mommy?”
Chest so tight she wasn’t certain she could speak, Emily nodded. “Yes, I did, Ryan.” Praying her hand wouldn’t shake too badly, she reached out and ruffled his hair. “You did good, son. I’m proud of you.”
Ruffling Ryan’s hair, Mac stood. “Let me take you home,” Mac murmured to Emily.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said, surprising even herself. Then, noting the way Ryan gazed up at her in concern, she forced another smile. “I was thinking about taking Ryan out for pizza since he did so well today.”
Ryan beamed. Looking from his mother to Mac, he smiled. “You can come, too, Mac,” he offered. “Mommy might feel better if we have a policeman with us.”
Raising a brow, Mac and her son shared a conspiratorial grin. “Pizza it is,” he said, as though he knew there was no way Emily would refuse him.
And he was right, she thought ruefully as she walked, still weak-kneed, toward the door with her son and the man who’d promised to protect them.
* * *
When Mac held out his hand for Emily’s keys, he half expected her to ignore him. It was a testament to her state of mind when she simply handed them over without a word.
Driving with Emily in the passenger seat and Ryan buckled into his booster seat in the back, he couldn’t help but imagine if this is what it would be like to be a family—something he’d always wanted and knew he’d never have.
From the pinched look on Emily’s face and Ryan’s uncharacteristic silence, he doubted either of them was thinking along the same lines.
“Are you all right, little buddy?” he asked, watching the boy who might be his son in the rearview mirror.
Ryan nodded without speaking. Mac glanced at Emily, half expecting her to crumple at any moment and dissolve in tears, which wouldn’t be good—at all. He needed her to be able to stay strong to protect her son.
Instead, she sat ramrod straight, staring ahead and lost in thought. Judging from the set of her jaw, she was furious.
Good. That meant she wouldn’t give up without a fight. He reluctantly admired that.
They arrived at Paul’s Pizza Palace, which he was pleased to note wasn’t overly crowded. He parked the car and hurried to open Emily’s door, then stood guard while she helped Ryan out of his booster seat.
Once inside, they went through the buffet line and, plates stacked high, they followed while Emily chose a booth. Mac approved of her choice. Away from the windows and tucked into a back corner with a good view of the door, they had both privacy and a clear escape route if needed.
Chiding himself for being paranoid, he ate his pizza and tried to relax. This should be a moment he savored. It wasn’t every day he got to share a meal with the boy who might be his son.
He’d nearly succeeded when Emily touched his arm.
“I know that man.”
At the urgency in her voice, Mac turned to see who she meant. Across the room crowded with lunchtime diners, his new dispatcher Chris sat with his chair wheeled up to a table.
Eyes wide and stricken, Emily had gone pale as a sheet. “What’s he doing here?” she whispered.
“That’s my dispatcher, Chris,” Mac said. He tried to sound normal despite the fact that she looked like she’d seen a demon emerge from the bowels of hell. “Do you know him?”
“Yes.” Mouth grim, she nodded. “His name isn’t really Chris.”
Silently, Mac cursed. He should have run a comprehensive background check. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Studiously avoiding glancing across the room, Emily pretended to study the menu. “That’s Franco DiSorinne. He was one of my husband’s most trusted men.”
Mac clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to reach across the table and take her hand in his. “Okay, say it is him. Do you have any idea why he would be here, pretending to be someone else? It’s been what, five years since Carlos died?”
When she raised her head to meet his gaze, he saw panic in her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve received various threats over the years, but until recently, they’d died out.” Shaking, she leaned close so Ryan wouldn’t hear. “We need to find out if he’s the man who tried to grab Ryan.”
Glancing at Ryan, who had finished his pizza and was busy playing a game on Emily’s phone, Mac shook his head. “He didn’t say anything about a wheelchair,” he said, sotto voce.
“Wheelchairs can be fake,” she shot back in a whisper. “You should know that better than anyone. I’ll bet he can walk just fine. Franco wasn’t in a wheelchair the last time I saw him.”
Debating whether to confront his dispatcher here or wait until Chris—er, Franco—showed up for work in the morning, Mac decided there was no better time than the present.
He pushed up from the booth and stood. But when he glanced across the room, Chris was gone.
“I’ll talk to him in the morning,” he said, meeting Emily’s troubled gaze and holding it. Unable to help himself, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. “Don’t worry. If he’s behind this, we’ll take care of it.”
Though she nodded, the worry and fear never left her eyes. “You know what?” she announced, pushing her barely touched meal away. “I’d prefer if you could clear this up tonight. Right now, I’d like to go home and let you get out there and do your job.”
Since he couldn’t fault her logic, he nodded. Ryan had finished eating and bounced in his seat, asking to go to the video arcade every few minutes. Undeterred by his mother’s constant no’s, he continued to push, sending Emily perilously close to the edge.
When Mac stood, a clearly relieved Emily helped Ryan to his feet. “We’re going home,” she said firmly, steering him away from the brightly lit arcade.
“I’ll need you to drop me off at the day care so I can pick up my car,” Mac said quietly. Emily nodded, and again he felt the urge to comfort her, to reach across the seat and pull her into his side. Of course, he did nothing.
They drove away in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, managing to ignore Ryan’s persistent, low-key whining.
When they pulled up in front of the day care, Renee’s department vehicle was still parked in the lot. Mac got out, taking one final long look at Ryan, so he could sear the image on his heart. He told a clearly distracted Emily goodbye, advising her to make sure she locked all her doors, and watched as she drove off.
Then he climbed into his police cruiser and went looking for Chris Pitts, aka Franco DiSorinne.
An hour and a half later, he admitted defeat. Nothing checked out—not the information Chris had put on his employment application or a search of the state database. Neither Chris Pitts or Franco DiSorinne were listed as residents of Texas.
Weary, he decided to call it a night. On his way home, he ran through a drive-thru and picked up a burger and fries for dinner. It was not the healthiest solution, he knew, but with the kind of day he’d had, the last thing he felt like doing was cooking anything.
Once home, he walked out to the small wooden building he used as his trucking company office.
Even though Chris or Franco had only worked as his dispatcher for a short time, he’d done a wonderful job. Not only would he be sorely missed but next to impossible to replace. Every truck had remained loaded and busy, and Chris had even set up some bookings for the rest of the week.
Mac grimaced. It was too bad he’d somehow found the perfect employee who’d turned out to be bogus.
Returning to his kitchen, he sighed and opened the takeout bag and began to chow down, standing up. As he finished eating, washing down his food with a cold beer, his cell phone rang. Caller ID showed it was his friend and former partner, Joe Stalling.
“Hey, Joe.” Grinning, Mac took a swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair. Since Joe still worked as a detective for the Albany P.D., his calls always filled Mac in on all the happenings there.
“Hey, yourself.” Joe’s grin came across in his voice. That was one of the things Mac had liked best about the other man—his tendency to find amusement in the worst situations. Considering his job, working in the Crimes Against Persons—Family Unit, and the types of gut-wrenching cases he’d had, Joe was lucky to have managed to avoid burnout after five years at the same job.
Others sometimes found his ever-present smile off-putting. But Mac knew each officer had his own way of dealing with all the horrific and senseless acts of violence. Joe’s dogged sense of humor was his.
Mac trusted him more than he had anyone since his wife Sarah. They’d all been good friends, back in the days before the car accident had taken Sarah’s life. In fact, Joe was the only person who knew the true reason Mac had resigned from the force and moved to Texas. He filled Joe in on taking the part-time job with the local police department but made no mention of Emily or her break-in.
“Have you seen the kid yet?” Joe asked.
Mac hesitated. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to admit that he’d met Ryan. For now, he wanted to keep it private, between him and Emily and the boy.
“No,” he lied. “I’ve only just met Emily, the mother. I’m trying to take things slow.”
The other man snorted. “Hell, you’ve been there over three weeks. How much slower can you go?”
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