Watching for Willa

by Helen R. Myers

  Was it running? A momentary spasm of self-consciousness had her wanting to turn her back to it, to dash for the haven of her own four walls. Although she hated to waste time bemoaning hindsight, she also wished she’d taken a second to retrieve that damned shirt. But a sudden, close flash of lightning followed by an ominous crash of thunder stopped that wistful thought.

  Get it over with, she told herself. The sooner she made the call, the faster her problem would be solved. Anyway, a man in his condition wasn’t likely to pay attention to her in that way, was he?

  Frowning, she knocked briskly, and waited.

  Since his computer monitor was on, that probably meant he was awake and working. How long should it take him to get down here? How would he manage? She crossed her arms again regretting her state of dress. But, no, she’d wanted comfort because of the humidity and the dirty job ahead of her.

  She knocked again. “Excuse me! Anyone home? I need help!”

  Several more seconds passed. She leaned closer to the door to listen, but as far as she could tell it was as quiet as a mausoleum in there.

  Surely he wouldn’t ignore her? Had he suffered a hearing problem along with his other injuries?

  Just when she was about to knock more forcefully, she heard a click and then the hardwood door swung open. The long accompanying creak had the hairs on Willa’s arms and at the back of her neck rising. But it wasn’t only the eerie sound that got to her, it was the realization that no one was there!

  Don’t you dare start again. As dark as it was in there, she just hadn’t seen him yet, that was all.

  Holding fast to that logic, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the screen. Seeing the cavernous foyer, she decided to try the handle of the outer door. To her surprise it was unlatched.

  She opened it slightly and stepped inside. Careful. She glanced around the hardwood door. Even if her neighbor was a bestselling writer, it would be foolish to take anything for granted. Anyone could get a little crazy if they found a stranger in their home; what’s more, hadn’t she read that after the crash, Zachary Denton had been accused by his own wife of becoming “twisted”? Anyway, Willa supposed a person had to be a bit strange to create such convoluted stories as he did.

  But instead of discovering someone hiding behind the door, she found a metal armlike mechanism attached to a motor box that was bolted to the inside of the door. Well, well, she mused. So that’s how he did it. Clever contraption.

  “What kind of help?”

  The unexpected demand almost made her yelp like one of the high school girls who worked at her store on weekends. But as she spun around, she decided it was a good thing she continued to hold on to the door; it helped her stand her ground, rather than run.

  He sat on his wheeled throne at the top of the stairs, and although it was quite dark, one glance and the impulse to offer a bright, friendly smile evaporated. In its place emerged renewed doubt, and growing trepidation.

  This was Zachary Denton? She swallowed, but her heart stayed stubbornly locked in her throat. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this cross between a grizzly bear and a wild man.

  The only picture she’d ever seen of him was the one on the back of his books. In it, he’d been posed leaning against a single-engine plane, the same one he’d ridden to the ground shortly after takeoff at Houston’s Hobby Airport. The black-and-white photograph had captured a man no more than thirty, tall and physically fit, but hardly muscle-bound; and although attractive, even intense, he’d hardly looked the sort to spend so much time focused on the dark side of human nature. The man glaring down at her was a different story entirely.

  The fierce-eyed, scraggly bearded sentinel above had the haunted face of someone who could be at least a decade older—until you looked at the rest of him. Even from down here, she could tell he wasn’t anything close to the atrophied wreck she’d expected. Within what looked like a moth-eaten sleeveless sweatshirt was a body that seemed capable of bench pressing someone twice his size. It made her grateful for the distance between them.

  “I asked you a question. What kind of help?”

  His sharp reprimand snapped her out of her trance. “Excuse me. I’m—”

  “I know who you are.”

  He did? Had he seen her pull in next door? She wanted to ask, but his stare stopped her. It wasn’t that being looked at was a new experience for her; she and Kelly had been blessed with good genes, inheriting the best features from their striking parents, and as a result had always attracted their share of attention. But few people tended to be quite this…direct about it. Zachary Denton’s visual inventory felt anything but flattering; it was almost an assault!

  “I don’t like people wandering around out there.” His voice echoed off the high ceiling and dark-paneled walls, sounding not too different than the rumbling thunder. “When they do, I find out why.”

  The accusation gave her the courage to reply. “Then you know I’m not wandering. I’m your new neighbor.” She pointed behind her with her thumb. “11 Raven Lane?”

  When she’d first read the street sign down the block, she’d chuckled, reminded of Poe’s famous poem. Now she wondered if the road hadn’t been named after Zachary Denton moved in.

  “Well, this isn’t 11, it’s 13, so what do you want?”

  What a charmer. Bet anything his house suffered a good trashing from disappointed kids on Halloween, she thought with disappointment. For A.J., of course; how crushed her husband would have been if he’d discovered his favorite writer was a big…creep. Maybe the man had suffered a horrible tragedy, but he wasn’t the first to do so. A person needed to pull himself together and get on with life. All Zachary Denton seemed to have done was entomb himself.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t about to offend the man. She needed his help too much to risk getting thrown out.

  Moistening her lips, she tried to ignore the deep shadows filling every corner, or how angry the rain sounded beating against his house. “Mr. Denton, if you’ll just let me borrow your telephone, I’ll be on my way in a minute. You see, I was told the water would be on at my place, but apparently someone didn’t make it out here yesterday.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  So he didn’t miss anything from his second floor observation point. Wouldn’t George Orwell have found this “Big Brother” inspiring?

  When he didn’t add anything else, Willa sighed inwardly and continued. “Yes, well, unfortunately, my telephone isn’t hooked up yet—I mean, either.” Good grief, the man was turning her into a babbling ninny.

  “Only a fool would be alone over there without a phone.”

  She couldn’t believe his gall! That did it; as soon as she moved in, she intended to lease one of those cellular models. No way did she intend to deal with this caustic, ungenerous…writer again! “That matter should be taken care of shortly,” she assured him, holding fast to the last shreds of her manners, if not her goodwill. “In a few hours at the most.”

  “Yes…but sometimes a few hours can feel like an eternity.”

  It was a warning despite the softer delivery. It sent another chill racing through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, barely managing to resist rubbing them again. How dare he entertain himself by attempting to unnerve her! Worse, he’d succeeded. And it wasn’t merely the threat she had a sudden urge to run from, it was an inescapable something reaching for her through his dark, hypnotic stare…something blatant and physical. Something…sexual?

  Are you crazy? The man’s in a wheelchair for pity’s sake!

  Willa straightened and tried to look like the businesswoman she was, polite but cool. Clearly, she’d made a mistake. He’d gotten the wrong impression from the way she was dressed. It was too late to do anything about that; however, she intended to let him know she didn’t unravel quite as easily as he seemed to want.

  “I’ll be fine, Mr. Denton, but thank you for your concern.” Trying not to appear anxious as she glanced around, she
spotted the phone on the side table not three yards away. “Oh, I see it right here. If you don’t mind, I’ll—”

  “If you have any sense, you won’t move into that house. Get away while you can.”

  “Excuse me?” Stunned, she couldn’t have budged now if she wanted to.

  “You heard me. It’s all wrong…dangerous for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me? That one you’re going to have to spell out,” she said growing more angry with every second. “Exactly what are you driving at?”

  He nodded as though she’d satisfied some private question. “Yes, you look like a woman who wants to hear men say it. Beautiful.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she snapped with a dismissing wave.

  “And alone.”

  A surprisingly cool breeze blew in through the screen door and Willa shivered. It was because it felt like phantom hands stroking her arms, she insisted to herself as goose bumps sprang up on her skin. She wouldn’t let it be him. He was just playing games to scare her, toying with her mind to make sure she never bothered him again.

  Fury gave her the nerve to shift her hands to her hips and take a few steps toward him. It brought her directly under the single, but dim chandelier light. She wanted to make sure he had an excellent view; then she gave him the slow smile that used to make A.J. start breathing like a freight train engine carrying one car too many. “But I’m hardly alone am I, Mr. Denton? After all, I have you to watch over me.”

  Something mesmerizing and yet untamed flared in his eyes. “That’s your biggest danger.” This time he was the one to point to the phone. “Make your call. You have three minutes before I reset the electronic bolt lock. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of that door when I do.”

  Willa stared, speechless, until he disappeared into a room and slammed the door behind him. Surely he didn’t mean that?

  But what if he did?

  Most important, what was that nonsense about his being dangerous to her? She didn’t care for that threat one bit, or how it reminded her of the stalkings going on around Vilary.

  Get a grip, kiddo. The only thing she could take comfort in was knowing that a man in Zachary Denton’s condition was about as likely to be connected with the trouble in town as it was apt to snow tonight.

  Wishing she’d never come over here, Willa hurried across the room and snatched up the telephone’s receiver. Only then did she notice that her hand was shaking. Zachary Denton had achieved what he’d set out to do: he’d frightened her. In fact he’d left her trembling all over.

  He waited until late to make his move, waited until she’d returned from another trip to town and had shut off the lights for the night. He’d begun to think she never would. What an energetic one, he thought, circling the house to peer in the uncurtained windows to make sure she had given up the scrubbing and polishing for the day.

  Determined, too. She had to be to spend the night in a sleeping bag on the floor. He’d seen her retrieve the thing from the van a short while ago. He would have to remember that about her. It meant she wouldn’t be a pushover; not at all like the others, who’d proved no challenge, making him lose interest.

  He’d already discovered much from simply watching her. Yes, she was the best so far. The least like Judith, though, except for the hair…and the eyes. But that was okay. What was important was that she was here, conveniently within reach.

  The sudden flash of the overhead light in her kitchen made him recoil and press flat back against the cool damp stones of the house. Damn, now what? His heart pounded surging adrenaline through him like a pulsating sprinkler system gone haywire. Had she spotted him? He hadn’t heard a scream. But what if she’d run to the phone to call the police? He had to check and find out.

  Easing to the window again, he peered around the metal trim. No, he’d let himself worry for nothing. Apparently, she was only thirsty and had come down to get a drink. He watched her fill a glass with ice cubes, then bottled water from the refrigerator.

  His confidence returned and with it came lust. But all too soon he had to press himself back against the unyielding stone because her skimpy top and panties left little to the imagination.

  He wanted to touch her breasts. He rubbed his hands over smooth mortar and stone pretending it was her flesh. He wanted to hurt her, knowing she would be aroused; he wanted to hear her beg him to stop, though he knew she wouldn’t really mean it.

  He owed Judith for teaching him that secret. If not for her, he might never have discovered his hidden talent, his great power. And soon beautiful Willa would know it, too…would know his power.

  He imagined the ecstasy that moment would bring, the feel of his hands around her creamy throat as she drew him deeper and deeper inside her body. That would be the best moment because the harder he squeezed, the sooner her face would become Judith’s…desirable, untouchable…cruel, untouchable Judith. Only then would he let the fiery red sea of excitement and pleasure consume him.

  If only he could tell Willa now how fantastic it was going to be. But it was too soon. “Much too soon,” he groaned in misery as he rocked his feverish forehead against the night-cooled stone. His pelvis, too.

  Then he stopped. Another idea was forming.

  If he hurried, he could do something. He could be her first thought in the morning. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, he thought as the house went dark again, but it was a beginning.

  Eager to get started, he stumbled off into the night.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She stretched, as far as the sleeping bag allowed, and took her time before opening her eyes. Waking had always been a sensual experience to her, much like indulging in a long bubble bath, slipping into something sleek and silky or making love. Something to be enjoyed thoroughly or not at all. Her mattress hadn’t been ideal—now thirty, she had to admit she preferred the comforts of a conventional bed to roughing it with the equipment she and A.J. had used back when they’d been hikers and campers—but there was nothing like the sleep that followed a day of all-out physical labor to make a hard floor inconsequential.

  Ready for some coffee and round two, she finally flipped back the top of her unzipped sleeping bag and rolled herself up onto her feet. She stretched again as she padded to the bathroom. By the light already spilling in through the windows she estimated it was around six o’clock, her favorite hour to start the day. All she needed now was coffee and a banana, her breakfast almost every morning. After that she would be ready to start painting.

  When she came out of the bathroom, still toweling her face dry, she thought about the newspaper and hoped she would find one on her driveway when she got downstairs. Thank goodness the paperboy had been running late yesterday; she’d intercepted him and he’d agreed to add her to his route starting today. She liked to ease into her mornings with the paper. Not via the front pages, though. After A.J. died, she’d stopped giving herself an ulcer over what they printed there.

  What appealed to her was browsing through the home and living sections, the fashions and finally the comics. Who cared if her accountant brother-in-law rolled his eyes at that? Willa smiled as she hung up the single bath towel she’d brought from the duplex. Jack could chide and lecture all he wanted about how a business-woman needed to pay attention to the financial news. As far as she was concerned, her “business” was understanding women and their fantasies. Nothing she’d ever read in the so-called serious sections of the paper had ever helped her or anyone she knew have a happier more satisfying relationship with a lover or spouse. In fact, from her vantage point, those killed romance.

  An article about how more people were adding fountains into their homes for their ornateness as well as their soothing effect, inspired her to invest in one for the entryway of her store. As anticipated, it soon lured passers-by, who then became intrigued with the sensual massage and bath products she displayed around the fountain.

  And that hadn’t been an isolated experiment. The fashion sections of the paper helped
her determine upcoming color trends and styles for her lingerie and loungewear inventory. The comics gave her a lift on days when being an entrepreneur seemed to be the most insane choice a woman in her situation could make. Let the financial moguls posture and pontificate on the business section’s pages; she’d never met one who understood how to tell his slightly plump wife that he would love to see her in a sexy item of lingerie or robe.

  Willa bent at the waist and brushed her long hair forward from the nape. Thinking of robes reminded her that she needed to call Starla and remind her about the short silk ones they were going to bring out of stock to add to the sale merchandise today. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. Her young assistant manager would utter a funny, theatrical groan, but underneath would be a subtle accusation about not being trusted. Willa knew she’d already pushed her luck. Yesterday she’d dialed to pass on her new number, then she’d phoned to check how sales were going. And she’d called again later that night to make sure Starla remembered to lock up securely.

  No, she wouldn’t do it. Everything was under control. If she felt like a mother away from her baby for the first time, that was her problem, one she’d better keep to herself—unless she wanted to risk losing a valuable employee, as well as someone she’d come to care for as a friend.

  Straightening and flinging her hair back over her shoulders, her gaze settled on the windows of her bedroom…and beyond. To his house. Those windows.

  Her heart gave a jolt as she saw the dark silhouette behind the net draperies. It was him. For a few blissful moments she’d actually managed to push yesterday’s disturbing incident to the back of her mind, and now the man had the gall to be spying on her like some…Peeping Tom!

  She felt the strongest urge to hide behind the bathroom door, and an equally strong impulse to throw her brush at him. It wasn’t a matter of being self-conscious about her body. Good grief, her tank top and briefs were more concealing than what women wore on the beaches these days. But just because she didn’t have her draperies and blinds yet, did that give him a right to invade her privacy like some voyeur?