She thought about that for a minute. She might miss her mom some, but she wouldn’t miss dumb Randy.
Randy came over and ran the metal box over her shoe. It left a dark track on her foot.
She got up and pushed him back. “Look what you did to my shoe, stupid,” she yelled.
Randy looked at her and smiled. “Line,” he signed.
“Yeah, you made a line. That was bad.”
“Line like the motorcycle,” he signed.
She frowned.
“What’s he saying?” Justin asked.
“Line like what motorcycle?” she asked back, saying it out loud as well as signing.
Randy pointed to the end of the street.
Whitney shook her head. “He’s not making any sense. Something about a line the motorcycle made.”
Justin shrugged. “Probably just Drew burning rubber.”
Randy went back to driving his metal box.
Justin started pounding on something under the hood.
Whitney covered her ears, but he didn’t stop.
Randy didn’t mind, of course, but the noise was driving Whitney crazy, so she got up and walked away, looking for something interesting to do.
Chapter Thirty-four
Sam wandered the house, thankful it was almost restored to normal. A day had passed, and things had finally quieted down—or so she hoped. It was early still, just past eight, and the boys were asleep, finally getting a full night’s rest. She’d tried to sleep too, but to no avail. Instead, she got up and opened the shades, thankful to see the press had gotten bored and gone home. She’d avoided the newspapers. She didn’t see any reason to put herself through more grief.
Her concentration had to be on the case. And since she wasn’t working it, she needed to struggle harder for every bit of information. Nick said he would help her—if she let him. But she couldn’t get past the sick feeling that he’d tricked her. She’d opened herself up to him, and he’d used that for his job. She’d fallen for another jerk. When would she learn?
She made her way outside and watered the plants. She was still dressed in her running clothes, and the sweat, now cooled against her back, felt refreshing in the morning breeze.
She heard a car pull up and started to head toward the house when she heard the familiar voice. When she turned, she saw Aaron lowering himself on a small mechanical platform from the side of his van.
Aaron lived in the city. “What are you doing way out here?”
He rolled his chair up her path, and she watched as he pushed himself up the one step and continued on. He had incredible arm strength, and she always admired how he negotiated obstacles. Nothing ever seemed to stop him.
“You wouldn’t come to me, so I came to you.”
Sam sat down on the step. “It’s been a bad couple days.”
“So I heard. I read that article. What an idiot.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. It was time to move forward. “What’s going on at work?”
Aaron handed her a stack of papers, but held back one manila envelope. “I brought you the important stuff. There’s not much going on.”
“Have they been through the office?”
Aaron looked at her and nodded. “Yesterday morning. There was nothing there.” He paused. “Except gum. They took the gum.”
She nodded. The news that they hadn’t found more should have been a relief, but she couldn’t get past the image of her colleagues watching as a group of uniforms tore apart her desk.
Aaron looked down the street in both directions, making a slow circle with his head.
Sam thought to do the same, but held back. “Aaron, who are you looking for?” she finally asked.
Aaron snapped his gaze back to her and exhaled in one quick spurt. “Work’s been creepy lately.”
“Creepy how?”
“It’s going to sound ridiculous . . .”
“Spit it out.”
“It’s like the papers on my desk seem . . . neater,” he blurted out.
Sam had to smile. “Neater?”
“You know how I keep things in my own piles by case. Just court filings and stuff, nothing sensitive. But I’ve come in a couple mornings this week and the piles seem different—more exact.”
“More exact?”
“I know. I told you it sounds ridiculous, but that’s the best way to explain it. Last night about six, I came by and found Williams looking through my papers.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“So, of course, I immediately thought it was him, too. But when I asked him what he needed, he said the court information for the Mahoney case. I looked at my desk and it was a mess. Whenever he paws through my files, he makes a mess.”
“That’s pretty typical Williams,” she said, but her mind drifted to the night the lights had gone out and she wasn’t so sure.
“I agree. Williams always messes my piles. He doesn’t try to hide that he’s been there. He doesn’t even apologize when I call him on it.” Aaron shifted slightly in his chair before angling it closer to her. When he looked back at her, he shook his head. “This is different. The only way I can really explain it is that it’s neater.”
“What about my office?” she asked.
“I used the keys you gave me for your office, and before the police came yesterday I poked around in there. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in there.”
She exhaled.
“But then I was filing some old statistics in the cabinet in the cube next to mine, and I noticed that those files looked disturbed too. It’s like someone straightened them. Then I found this in the trash.” He handed her the manila envelope he’d been holding in his lap.
Sam opened it and peered inside at a single plastic glove. “One of the agents could’ve had it in a pocket and thrown it away.”
He nodded and began to fiddle with the wheel-lock mechanism on his chair.
“But you don’t think so.”
He shook his head. “I called Corona’s office first, but he was—”
“Out of the office all week,” she finished for him. “He’s at home, though. I could call him.”
“Yeah, Nancy said I could leave a message for him, but what would I say? ‘The place looks cleaner and I found a rubber glove. We’ve got a nosy maid on our hands.” ’
Sam smiled. “You did the right thing.” She knew from her experience with Corona that he wasn’t taking things as seriously as she thought he should have been. “There’s nothing more you can do except keep an eye out for what changes—and keep the sensitive stuff locked up.”
Aaron nodded.
“That heater ever turn up?” she asked.
Aaron shook his head.
She frowned. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said.
“It’s not your fault.” She thought about her car brakes. No headway there either. She looked up at Aaron and saw the misery in his expression. “Don’t worry about it, Aaron. I’ll get this guy.” She waved her hand to change the subject. “Now, tell me what’s going on with you—not work stuff. How’s the training going?”
Their conversation turned to his race, and Sam listened as he talked about the rigorous training schedule and the people he’d met through training. The race was three weeks from today and Sam loved hearing his enthusiasm. One of these days she needed to get Derek to sit down with Aaron. Maybe Aaron’s go-get-’em attitude would rub off.
As Aaron spoke, Sam tried to think of a good present to get him for the accomplishment. Something cool for his new chair, she decided.
“I should get going,” he said when they’d caught up on the race and his plans. “You going to be okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Will you call me later in the week?”
“I promise,” she said as she heard her phone ring.
Aaron waved her into the house.
Sam headed for the kitchen and the portable phone.
“Yo
u’ve got a package out front,” she heard Aaron yell.
“I’ll get it.”
“Okay, I’m off. Have a good day.”
“Sure,” she muttered.
“Well, try at least,” Aaron called back.
She smiled and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Did you get the present I sent you, Sammy Jean?”
Sam felt her knees buckle beneath her and she gripped the counter. Her number wasn’t listed. And no one called her by that name. She shook her head. She couldn’t let him get to her. She stiffened her weak leg muscles and clenched her jaw. “You son of a bitch. I’m after you.”
“Take it easy now, Sammy. You’d better go get it before either of you gets too hot. Wouldn’t want you to explode.”
The line went dead.
Explode, she thought. “Jesus Christ!” Sam dropped the phone and ran to the front door. There, leaned up against the house, beside the doorstep, was a box. She could see only one word, handwritten across the side in black ink: BOOM. A bomb!
The street was empty. Aaron had gone. The boys! She had to get the boys out and then call for help. Pushing the door closed, Sam bolted to the back of the house, waiting for the explosion to hit.
She pushed Rob’s door open and screamed at him to get up. “We’ve got to get out of the house! Now, Rob, now!”
Rob sat up and blinked hard.
“Come on,” she urged him. “Hurry up.”
She ran past his door to Derek’s and opened it. The bed was empty. The room was empty. Where was Derek?
“Derek!” she screamed. “Derek!”
Rob stumbled into the hall behind her. “He’s in the shower. Don’t you hear it?”
Sam looked at Rob and blinked, hearing the water for the first time. “We’ve got to get him out of there.” She rushed to the back of the house and tried the knob on the bathroom door. It was locked. “Derek!” she screamed, pounding on the door.
“You know how weird he is in the shower. He always locks the door. He’ll be out in a minute.”
They didn’t have a minute.
She turned to Rob. “Work on getting him out of there. Then go out the back door, through the Dennises’ yard onto the other street. Stay away from the front of the house. Okay?”
Rob blinked. “Why?”
She didn’t want to panic him, but she knew he was old enough to handle the truth. “There might be a bomb in the front yard. I need to get you and Derek out of here.”
“A bomb,” he repeated, his mouth falling open.
“We have to hurry,” she pressed. “We have to get Derek out of there.”
Rob turned to the bathroom door and started to pound on it. “Derek! Derek, there’s a bomb.”
Sam pounded with him. “We need to get out of the house!” Her mind raced. How quickly would it detonate, how much or how little time did she have to get it away from the house? She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t know what would set it off. She had to do something. The car brakes, the heater—Jesus, hewas trying to kill her.
He wouldn’t have called if it was going to be activated by motion. She would never pick it up now. So she had to assume he’d put a timer in it. She thought about calling for the bomb squad, but she didn’t have the time. “Come on, Derek.”
She knew nothing about bombs, had never even seen a live one. She’d heard once that a bomb had been deactivated by rain. With that thought in mind, she rushed out the front door and picked up the water hose. With the faucet on all the way, she pointed the hose at the box and sprayed toward the street. The box nudged into the path. She cringed but it didn’t explode.
She held the lever at full spray, watching as the box skipped down the front path to the sidewalk. It surprised her to see it move so quickly, and she wondered what kind of device was so light.
“He can’t hear us,” Rob said, running out to the yard.
“Keep trying! I’m going to get it away from the house. Stay back there until you can get him out and then go out the back door.”
She squeezed the spray gun harder. It was still too close to the house. “Come on,” she whispered.
Almost there, she thought, looking at the empty street. She stopped the water and pumped it on again, giving the box a last push to the street. It fell over the curb and she dropped the hose, turning back to the house. She had to call the police. As she reached for the doorknob, she heard a honk and turned back.
Nick’s car was pulling toward the curb.
“No!” she screamed, waving her arms to stop him.
He stopped inches from the box.
As he opened his door, she yelled to warn him. “Run! It’s a bomb! He sent a bomb!”
Nick left his door open and came around his car, keeping distance between himself and the curb.
“Come on! Hurry up,” she urged, feeling sweat trickle down her back.
Nick looked down at the package and then at Sam. “This isn’t a bomb, Sam.”
She watched him lean over and pick it up. The word “boom” was gone now. The outer packaging had dissolved, and inside she could see a familiar white box. She shuddered as he pulled the loose, wet cardboard the rest of the way off.
“I think it’s chocolate, Sam, not a bomb. It looks like See’s Candies.” He frowned and took his cell phone off his belt. He dialed and Sam could hear him talking in hushed tones to someone on the other end. After a minute, he nodded and replaced the phone on his belt. “Someone’s going to come check out the box. You want to tell me what the hell happened?”
Sam sank down onto the wet grass and covered her face with her hands. She was shaking. She fought to pull herself together, remembering that the caller had said not to let them get too hot. He’d led her to believe that the package was a bomb. Was he watching her now? She looked up and down the street and saw no one.
Nick leaned over her, his hand extended. “Come on. You did the right thing.”
She ignored his hand and stood up, feeling the muscles in her legs quake beneath her.
The front door opened and Derek and Rob rushed out. Derek’s hair was still dripping wet and his flannel shirt was pulled on inside out. “What happened? Is everything okay? Where’s the bomb?”
“Fine,” Nick said. “Everything’s fine.”
Sam couldn’t speak. Instead, she leaned over, pressed her palms flat to her knees, and tried to catch her breath. It was the same guy—the missing file, the photo, the exploding heater, the cut brakes, and now this. He knew she’d think the threat was real. The others had all been real. Maybe he was expecting her to call the police and get a bomb squad out there. Nothing would damage her credibility at this point more than something so humiliating.
“It wasn’t a bomb. I was wrong.” She looked at Rob and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
The boys mumbled something between themselves, and Sam stood up and paced in front of the house. She could feel Nick right behind her. She shook her head without turning back.
“He called me, Nick. He told me it would explode. I thought after the heater at work and the car brakes that it was a bomb. I was sure it was a bomb.”
Nick turned her around and pulled her against him.
She pushed herself away. “I can’t, Nick. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to again.” It took all the fight she had left.
“Sam, you’re going to have to trust me. I didn’t know about the warrant. I thought I was protecting you.” He shook his head. “I should’ve known. Cintrello’s been out to hang someone for this thing from the start. You were just the easiest target.” He took her shoulders. “Please give it a chance.”
“I don’t know, Nick. It’s too much right now. I can’t think that way.” She looked out at the water-soaked box and felt weak and tired.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” Nick whispered. “In the meantime, we’re going to catch this S.O.B. We’re going to catch him and make him pay.”
Hearing him talk made her want to cry. He believed in her.
He might be the only one who did. “Is he trying to kill me or just make me look like an ass?” she asked. “This feels like something different from the murders. Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know, but we’re not going to let him do anything else. We’re going to fight back, you hear me? Fight back.”
“How about the boys? I don’t want them subjected to this. What if he pulled a stunt like this when I wasn’t here? They could get hurt.”
“We’ll work it out. Between the two of us, we’ll make sure someone’s here for them. It’s going to be okay.”
She nodded, drinking his words like water, refusing to think about what would happen if he was wrong.
Chapter Thirty-five
Nick flipped on the little shower radio to the jazz station and caught the end of the John Coltrane rendition of “My Favorite Things.” Damn if jazz didn’t always make him feel better. Even though he hadn’t had more than two hours’ sleep any of the past three nights.
He studied the case as the water massaged his skin, thinking about the latest stunt this guy had pulled. He had really gotten under Sam’s skin, and Nick was glad it was he who had arrived and not someone else. He didn’t blame her for thinking the box was a bomb, but reacting like that wouldn’t have gone over without some raised eyebrows at the station. He’d had the contents checked out, and it was nothing but chocolate.
Out of the shower, he made coffee and scrambled eggs loaded with salsa. It was supposed to be his day off, but as soon as he slept for an hour or two, he was going back to work on the case. With the stereo on, he kicked back on the futon as he ate and flipped through the paper. Halfway through his breakfast, his cell phone rang. He frowned. It was only nine in the morning and no one he wanted to talk to would call him on the cell phone. He thought about Sam. Maybe one someone.
“Thomas,” he answered.
“Yo, Nick. It’s Dougie D.”
Nick laughed. “Dougie D?”
“Yeah, man. You know. Dougie Harris.”
“Right, I know. What’s up with the D?”
“Ah, man, everyone’s going that way, you know. Down here, we got Leroy M and Bobby T. I figure I try it out.”
(2002) Chasing Darkness Page 25