Stranger in Her Arms

by Lorna Michaels

  They talked some more, and Jonathan decided Berlin was highly unlikely to have killed his former wife. Or anyone else. He thanked the man, left, and drove downtown to check on his car.

  It had drowned. He’d been thinking of buying a new one anyway. He told the guy at the lot he’d call his insurance company as soon as he got back to Houston.

  “You heading back now?” the fellow asked.

  “Soon. I’m making a stop on Gulf Bank Road.”

  “I can tell you a short cut over there.”

  Jonathan wrote down the directions, something he normally wouldn’t do, but he felt uncomfortable relying on memory. Damn, would he always be that way?

  He put his frustration aside as he drove away from the lot. He’d be back home this evening, and Christy would be in Houston, too. He wanted to spend time with her, make love with her. Damn, he could hardly wait to hold her again. Whatever had happened to him this week, finding Christy was worth it.

  He felt good about his progress on the case. As soon as he got back to his office, he’d look over his latest notes. He had to be getting damn close to fingering the bastard or the guy wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble trying to do him in.

  He whistled softly as he drove into a new housing development. For Sale signs dotted lawns with sprouts of grass poking up. He glanced down a side street and noticed a row of town houses. Impulsively, he turned down the street to get a closer look.

  He’d lived in a town house in Washington when he’d been with the Bureau, he recalled. Like that red brick over there. He pulled up and parked across from it. Except for a few details, the resemblance to the one he’d owned was remarkable.

  But why did looking at it make his stomach churn? What had happened there?

  He shut his eyes as his heart began to pound. Memories flooded his mind. He saw himself on the steps with a woman…with Diane.

  Diane Shay. He’d been absorbed in his demanding job with the Bureau and had been leery of commitment. Then he’d told himself he was foolish. He and Diane were in love. He bought a ring, took her to dinner and over chateaubriand, asked her to marry him. She’d said yes. They’d toasted each other with champagne, talked about wedding dates, and afterward…

  His heart beat so fast he could hardly catch his breath. Remember, he thought…and then, oh, God, no!…he did.

  The scene played before his eyes in Technicolor. As he and Diane approached the town house, a man emerged from the shadows. Jonathan recognized him. A year ago he’d been instrumental in apprehending this criminal. Despite Jonathan’s testimony against him, the man had been acquitted on a technicality of a brutal rape/murder. The man raised his arm and fired a gun. Even now, Jonathan could feel the impact of the bullet, the pain in his thigh. The bullet wound Christy had found.

  He remembered groping for his weapon…too slowly. Then the sound of another shot, Diane grabbing her chest, falling. Lying dead in a pool of blood on his front steps.

  With a howl of rage, Jonathan had shot the culprit, who had fallen to the ground dead. Jonathan had managed to crawl inside to the phone and call for help. But it was too late. Too late for Diane, for him, too. As he recuperated from his wound, Jonathan could only wish it had been fatal. Wracked with guilt and aching with loss, as soon as he recovered, he left the Bureau.

  And now he’d put another woman in peril. Christy. By staying with her, he’d introduced her to the Stalker, practically served her up to a maniacal killer.

  He dropped his head to the steering wheel, shut his eyes, and sat there until a knock on the window roused him. A woman stood beside the car. “Are you okay, sir?” she asked. “Do you need help?”

  He shook his head. “Just a headache.” When she walked away, he drove out of the subdivision.

  Only minutes before, he’d been thinking Christy was the best thing that had happened to him. Now he realized he was the worst thing that had happened to her.

  He had to step out of her life. He’d drive back to Houston with her. On the way he’d explain about Diane. And then he’d have her drop him at police headquarters, and say goodbye. He saw no alternative, no matter how it hurt.

  He’d been gone more than an hour. Was she all right? Damn, he wished he had a cell phone, but his had either been taken by his assailant or it had drowned along with his car.

  As soon as he saw a convenience store, he pulled into a parking space and sprinted inside. Thank God Christy had given him some cash.

  He got change and called her, counting the rings until she picked up.

  “H-hello.” Her voice was thin, not like Christy at all.

  “What’s wrong?” he snapped.

  “Jonathan? I’m glad you called.” She sounded close to tears. “I…”

  “Did someone try to get in?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not that,” she said. “Someone called.”

  “And?” he asked impatiently.

  “His voice was muffled, but he said…‘I know where you live.’”

  “Jesus!” The caller had to be the Night Stalker. “Does your phone have Caller ID?”

  “At home. Not here.”

  “Okay,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “I’m not far away. Are the doors and windows locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep them that way,” he told her. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  He hung up. Change of plans, he told himself. It was too late to walk away. He’d have to keep Christy safe. And do his damnedest to bring the Stalker in.

  He made another phone call and then, breaking every traffic law in creation, sped toward Christy’s house.

  Chapter 12

  Jonathan took the porch steps in one leap and jabbed Christy’s bell repeatedly, then paced until she appeared in the doorway. Out of breath, he said, “You should have asked who was here before you opened the door.”

  Christy’s lips thinned. “I peeked out between the blinds. You didn’t see because you were tromping around on the porch.”

  She stood aside and let him in.

  He wanted to haul her into his arms and keep her there, safe and sound. Instead, he caught her by the shoulders and asked, “Everything all right?”

  “I’m okay,” she told him. “I probably overreacted.”

  “I don’t think so.” He drew her over to the living-room couch. “Tell me exactly what the caller said.”

  “Just what I told you. ‘I know where you live.’”

  “You’d never heard his voice before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Christy said. “It was so muffled, I couldn’t tell.”

  “Let’s check your answering machine in Houston and see if he called there, too.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Christy went to the phone and dialed. She listened, shaking her head. “Six messages, none from him. Maybe he doesn’t know. He could just be trying to scare me.”

  “He knows. All he needed was your license plate number and he got that when he disabled your car.”

  “But why would he call me? What do I have to do with this?”

  “You’re the Good Samaritan. You gave me shelter.” Jonathan got up to pace the living room. “He must know I’m getting close to him. If he can’t get rid of me, he figures the next best move is to distract me, get me riled up over what he could do to you.”

  “From the way you’re stomping around, I’d say it’s working,” Christy said wryly.

  Jonathan shook his head. “Trust me, I’m concentrating on him with every brain cell I have.” He flashed a rueful smile. “I think better on my feet.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Jonathan hesitated, something he didn’t do often, but he wasn’t sure how much to tell Christy. Would she be more cautious if he told her about Diane, or would the story scare her to death? “I—”

  The phone rang.

  They stared at each other, then both of them jumped up to answer. Jonathan got there first. He held up a hand to shush Christy and picked up the receiver. “Hel
lo.”

  “Is this the Matthews’ residence?” a male voice asked.

  Not a voice he’d heard before, Jonathan thought. But the recent past was still unclear so he couldn’t be positive. Best thing to do was to keep the guy talking. “Yes, this is the Matthews’. Who’s calling?”

  Ignoring the question, the caller said, “Let me speak to Christy,” then snapped, “Who is this?”

  “Jonathan Talbot, and you are—?”

  “Christy’s brother.”

  Oops. “Sorry.” He handed the phone to Christy. “Your brother,” he mouthed.

  “From this end, it sounds like you two didn’t make friends.” She chuckled. “Hi, Steve. Yes, I have a visitor.” She turned and lowered her voice, but Jonathan could hear every word, and her annoyance came through loud and clear. “He’s a friend. No, Steve, you don’t know him. I’ll submit his name for your approval on next week’s list.”

  She paused and listened, then sighed. “Apology accepted. Don’t be such a worry wart. I’m fine. And by the way, I’ve decided to spend the rest of my vacation in Houston. Jonathan and I are driving back in a little while. I need to get ready. Give my love to Karen.”

  When she turned back to him, Jonathan raised a brow. “Steve always that overprotective?”

  “He thinks I’m still five years old.”

  “I notice you didn’t tell him what was happening,” Jonathan said.

  “What could he do, other than fret over it?”

  “Insist you come and stay with him,” Jonathan replied, “which, by the way, would make sense.”

  “I told you before, I don’t want to. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Frustrated, Jonathan shook his head. “Of course not. You’re far too stubborn.”

  “I’m not going to answer that,” she said coolly. “Look, I’m willing to go back to Houston because…well, because this…situation has ruined San Sebastian for me.”

  Right on target, Jonathan thought. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “I wasn’t asking for an apology.” Christy sat on the arm of a chair. “Here’s something I thought of. You may not remember, but the news media said every one of the women who was killed had had morphine in her car.”

  He hadn’t remembered that.

  “And in case you haven’t noticed,” Christy continued, “I don’t do drugs.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Maybe this guy was their junkie and they owed him money. Or maybe they were stealing drugs for him from the hospitals where they worked and something went wrong with the deal.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I remember now. The task force thinks he planted the drugs.”

  “They could be wrong.”

  “Or you could be.” God, this woman was muleheaded. How would he convince her to accept his protection? Because he’d be damned if he’d let her out of his sight until the Night Stalker was behind bars. Shouldn’t be long, because the guy was getting desperate. Soon, like most criminals, he’d make a mistake.

  He decided not to tell her about Diane. The story would only terrify her. And this time Jonathan was prepared. This time he’d made arrangements to protect the woman he was…well, responsible for. He couldn’t allow himself to think of their relationship as anything else.

  He got up. “Let’s stop second-guessing this. You need to pack up so we can get out of here and talk about what happens when we get to Houston.”

  “Okay, I’m almost ready.”

  “I’ll help,” he offered, following her into the hall.

  “Uh-uh, I’ll be quicker if you keep out of my way. Go watch a soap.”

  Sure, he thought. More melodrama, just what he needed. But he left her alone and sat in the living room.

  He shut his eyes. He wondered what in his background had led him to a life bound up with violence. He was a psychologist. Shouldn’t he know? But he didn’t.

  Right now he wished he and Christy were together because they had met at the gym, that instead of driving back to Houston, they could go down the hall to Christy’s room and make love in the light of day. He wanted to feel her heated skin against cool sheets, hear her cry out with passion, and lie drowsily beside her through the long afternoon.

  No such luck.

  He heard her footsteps and opened his eyes. “Ready?” At her nod, he picked up her luggage.

  Halfway down the walk, Christy stopped. “Be right back.” He stowed her bags in the trunk while she ran back into the house.

  She returned carrying a plastic baggie. “This morning I found a sand dollar by the back door,” she said. “See?” She held it out. “It’s all in one piece. Isn’t that amazing? It found a way to survive the storm.” She grinned at him. “Just like you.”

  The comparison surprised him. “You think I’m a survivor?”

  “Of course you are.” She got into the car, fastened her seat belt, and smiled as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You didn’t just lie on the beach and drown.”

  He chuckled. “By that definition, everyone’s a survivor. They do what they have to, so they can go on.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you did.”

  Her sweet touch made his breath catch. He leaned toward her. Don’t, his brain said. But he could no more pull back than he could stop breathing. He put his arms around her and kissed her, even though he knew he shouldn’t drag her deeper into his life, even though he was certain he’d have to leave her soon. He couldn’t subject another woman to a lifetime of danger. They broke apart but remained motionless, gazing into one another’s eyes. Then Christy smiled. “If you hadn’t made it, I’d have missed one heck of a kiss.”

  He laughed and started the car.

  They crossed the causeway bridge and left San Sebastian behind. Houston was a little over an hour away. Christy yawned and leaned back, watching the way Jonathan handled the car. Totally in control, she decided.

  Halfway to Houston, Jonathan pulled off the freeway and into a strip center with a little café. “Let’s have some lunch,” he said.

  “Fine with me.”

  Once they were settled into a booth near the back and had given their orders, he said, “We have to talk about what happens when we get back.” He looked grim.

  “Okay, talk,” she said.

  “I have a friend in Houston. Her name is Hannah Neuhaus.”

  There was the reason for his dark expression, Christy decided. He must have been dreading telling her about another lover.

  He paused, and she managed to say, “It’s okay. I understand.” She was determined to handle this like a sophisticated woman. She wanted to understand, although finding out about another woman hurt. A lot. Jonathan must be embarrassed that he’d remembered Hannah after he’d slept with Christy.

  Jonathan gave her a puzzled glance. “Understand what?”

  “Your girlfriend. Hannah.”

  “Hannah’s not my girlfriend. If Troy, her husband, heard that, he’d have me hog-tied in thirty seconds. He’s an FBI agent. So’s Hannah.”

  “Oh.” Christy felt her cheeks heat. “I thought…”

  “Yeah, well. What I started to say was, Hannah’s on maternity leave. Starting tomorrow you’ll stay with her during the day. She can use the company and—”

  “Whoa, just a minute, Doctor Talbot. What are we talking about here?”

  “The phone call you got. That wasn’t just a crank call. We’re dealing with a homicidal maniac who’s killed six women. I want you protected.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her. “This is not up for debate.” His voice was stern, his expression unyielding. She hadn’t seen that kind of look on J.D.’s face.

  “Okay, I get the message. You want me protected,” Christy said. “But where does your friend come in?”

  “Hannah just gave birth to twins. Her husband is away on assignment. While you’re still on vacation, you’ll spend the days with her. You like babies, right? You give her a little help with the twins, and
she keeps you safe. It’s the perfect arrangement.”

  Well, wasn’t that just like an arrogant male? Talbot had an idea, thought he could just snap his fingers and presto, it would work out. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “How do you know Hannah would be interested?”

  “She’s interested,” he said.

  “And you know this because…?”

  “I called her. From the convenience store. Right after I talked to you.”

  Astonished, Christy stared at him. “You just called her? Without asking me?”

  “This is an emergency,” he said implacably. “Manners aren’t a priority.”

  Christy felt a tear threatening and turned away. “This has nothing to do with manners,” she said, trying to control her voice. “This has to do with you railroading my life.” He responded with a puzzled frown, and she said, “I understand the situation, and I know you’re right.”

  His frown stayed in place. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Your attitude’s the problem.” He sounded like Keith, not at all like J.D. Her thoughts of this morning returned. Who was this man? What was he really like?

  “Sorry,” Jonathan said, “but as I said before, in this kind of an emergency, neither of us should be worrying about niceties. We’re talking about your life here.”

  Christy sighed. She’d responded to an echo of Keith. Even though she understood the danger she was in and Jonathan’s concern for her, she couldn’t seem to control her knee-jerk reaction. “I’m not foolish enough to turn down protection. But I don’t like to be ordered around.”

  “Message received,” Jonathan said. “Don’t worry, this won’t have to go on very long. We’ll nail this guy soon.”

  “I hope so,” Christy said, “because my vacation is over in a week.”

  “That’ll give me more incentive,” he said. “Meantime, you’ll like Hannah. She’s great. And until we catch the killer, I’ll be with you at night.”