Stranger in Her Arms

by Lorna Michaels

  Christy stirred her coffee. “You said he’s an agent, but he’s not anymore, is he?”

  “Nope, he’s a college professor. Good at that, too, from what I hear.”

  “Why did he leave the FBI?” Christy asked.

  From Hannah’s expression, she realized she’d put Hannah in an uncomfortable position. “Sorry,” she said hastily, “I didn’t mean to pry.” Lord, what must the woman think of her, coming in here and five minutes later grilling her about Jonathan?

  “The story’s not exactly classified,” Hannah said, “but you should hear it from him.”

  Christy nodded and wondered what the “story” could possibly be. “I’m not usually so nosy, but Jonathan and I met under such bizarre circumstances, and even though we were together 24/7, cut off from everything, I didn’t really get to know him. I mean, I got to know J.D.—that’s what he called himself. But he’s a different person now.”

  “Do you think he could change that much?” Hannah asked. “Seems to me, he’s who he is on the inside, no matter what he remembers.”

  “I’d like to think that. I…liked J.D. a lot.”

  “Liked?”

  “More than liked, but I…don’t know. I’m a cautious person.”

  Hannah took a last sip from her cup. “Oh, sure. You let that beat-up stranger into your house.”

  “He tells me I should never have done that.”

  “He’s right.” Hannah pushed her cup away. “But it’s too late to obsess over that now. You’ll just have to let things play out.”

  A tiny cry sounded from another room, and she stood up, her face softening, eyes glowing. “Hey, there’s Alex. Wanna see my boys?”

  “I’d love to.” Christy picked up the cups and rinsed them. “Can you tell their cries apart?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They walked through the house and into a bedroom decorated in a Peter Pan motif. Along one light-blue wall stood two cribs, each with a name stenciled on it: Alex and Zachary.

  “Nice names,” Christy remarked.

  Hannah leaned over to pick up a howling, red-faced infant. “Thanks. We planned on two babies and when they came in a package, we decided they’d be our A to Z.” She winked. “To remind us we’ve completed our family.”

  Soothing the baby, she changed him, then sat down in a white bentwood rocker, unbuttoned her blouse, and put the infant to her breast. Christy listened to the baby’s little grunts as he fed and Hannah’s answering murmurs. How she ached to suckle an infant.

  She tiptoed over to the other crib and watched Zachary sleep. So adorable. So sweet.

  The baby stirred. His tiny hands moved, one foot poked out from under the receiving blanket, and he whimpered softly.

  “Want to hold him till it’s his turn?” Hannah asked.

  “I’d love to.” She bent and picked up the wiggly bundle. “Oh, you’re so precious,” she cooed. “And wet. May I change him?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Christy carried him to the changing table and carefully replaced the soaked diaper with a dry one. She couldn’t resist tickling his tummy and when he responded with a gurgle, she knew she’d lost her heart.

  She sat in the twin to Hannah’s rocker and gazed into Zachary’s blue eyes. Her hand brushed over his hair, his angel-soft skin. If only she and Jonathan—

  What was she thinking?

  She and Jonathan were about as far from discussing a baby as Earth was from Mars. She didn’t even know him.

  In his own way, he was as controlling as Keith. And, like Keith, he was far too attractive for his own good. Keith had made the most of his good looks, even after marriage.

  Was it her fate to fall in love with handsome, domineering men? But she wasn’t in love, she told herself, and even if she were, it took two to tango. Or tangle. Well, they’d certainly done that. And very well, too.

  She’d told Jonathan she could take it when their affair was over. She wondered if she’d lied.

  Demanding her attention, Zachary kicked his feet. Christy grabbed one chubby little foot and kissed the sole. “You are so cute,” she told him and was rewarded with a wide, toothless smile. “I’m in love,” she told Hannah.

  “Are you into guy-swapping?” Hannah asked, “because you can hold Alex while Zack gets his breakfast.”

  They traded babies and Christy lost her heart all over again.

  The morning was a baby-lover’s heaven. She helped Hannah bathe the boys, watched them play, even changed a dirty diaper. “Sure you don’t mind?” Hannah asked.

  “Are you kidding? I’m a nurse.”

  When the phone rang at noon and she heard Hannah saying, “Jonathan, we’re fine,” she was surprised that the time had gone so fast.

  Hannah handed her the phone. “Let him hear your voice or he won’t pay the ransom.”

  Christy took the phone. “Hi.”

  “Are you okay?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes, of course, I’m all right. Matter of fact, I’m having a wonderful time. See you later.”

  Jonathan hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and stretched. So far, the day had been busy. After he’d dropped Christy off at Hannah’s, he’d stopped by his house, grabbed his mail, and—hallelujah!—changed clothes. The ones he’d worn for nearly a week were practically part of his skin. He considered burning them, then tossed them in the washer. He sorted through his mail, checked his answering machine and called his insurance company, then made arrangements for a rental car. He didn’t want to use Christy’s any longer than he had to. On the way downtown, he stopped to pick up a new cell phone. Thank God it was July and he wasn’t teaching at the university during the summer semester. One less thing to deal with.

  Once in his office at headquarters, he read the updates on the Stalker files. No new evidence had turned up, and nothing new had surfaced on their three suspects. He hoped the questioning this morning would be productive. They’d better come up with something soon, or people would be clamoring for every task force member’s head. Worse, the police would be pressured to arrest someone, anyone, and there was always the danger that an innocent person would be charged while the killer slipped away.

  He heard a rap on the door of the office he used at the HPD. “Come in,” he called.

  Armand stuck his head in. “Task force meeting in five.”

  “On my way.”

  Members of the task force came into the conference room and took their seats. Today there was no bantering; this was too serious. Folders lay before each place. A whiteboard with markers sat in the corner.

  Armand tossed down the morning edition of the Houston Chronicle. “Anyone read the op-ed page?”

  “I did,” Marilee said. “We didn’t come off well.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Listen up, everyone.” The editorial blasted the HPD in general and the task force in particular. If these people couldn’t produce, the chief should appoint a new task force. If not, the paper intimated, a group of citizens was ready to hire its own.

  “Lynch-mob mentality,” Armand said, “but we need to get somewhere on this case.” His voice rose, and he pounded the table with a beefy fist. “I want answers. Ramirez, what do you have?”

  “Nothing, sir. Jackson Ealy was at work at the hospital all last week. Plenty of witnesses saw him.”

  Armand wrote that on the board. “McGinity?”

  Shannon tossed a worksheet on the table. “Here’s a copy of Torres’s hours. They check out.” She turned to Dell. “What about O’Neal?”

  “He reported to his parole officer on schedule. He signed in and out of work. He’s a punctual guy, never a minute late. Sorry.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Frazier asked.

  “Could any of these guys have had time to get down to San Sebastian, clobber Talbot, and get back in time for work?” Marilee asked. “It’s only an hour away.”

  “Yeah, in good weather,” Jonathan said, “but he wouldn’t have been able to leave the island on
ce the storm kicked up.”

  “He could’ve used a boat,” Dell suggested.

  “Good idea,” Jonathan said. “But he couldn’t have crossed to the mainland in a boat the night the storm blew in. And all these guys were at work early the next morning.”

  “Maybe he’s a superhero,” Dell said.

  Shannon scowled at him, then at Jonathan. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, all of you,” she said, “adding Talbot’s head-bashing into the mix.”

  “Why is that?” Luis asked.

  “It was probably a random act of violence.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “If it was random, he wouldn’t have come after me again.”

  “So it was somebody who doesn’t like you,” Shannon said.

  “You, for instance?” Luis asked and got a glare in reply.

  “You heard Talbot say he was hit by a man.”

  Shannon’s sarcasm did not go over well. “Maybe he got you confused, Miss Femininity,” Luis suggested.

  Shannon’s face went crimson and her fists clenched.

  “Okay, knock it off,” Armand snapped. “Talbot, what’s your take on this?”

  Jonathan stood up to pace. “Our janitor, Jackson Ealy, fits the standard profile—”

  “If all we have to look for is someone who fits a ‘standard,’ what do we need a profiler for?” Shannon, still fuming, muttered.

  “Let me finish,” Jonathan said. “I’ve studied O’Neal’s prison records and the reports of psychologists who interviewed him before his trial. I think he’s the least likely of the three to go in for serial murder. In an impulsive moment, yes, but not like this. Torres is the most likely. He’s angry, and from reports of people who knew about his relationship with one of the victims, he’s a control freak.” He ranked the three names on the board, paused.

  Still standing, he said, “Torres has a clean work record. He doesn’t draw attention to himself there. But after hours, his anger spurts out and he becomes a predator.”

  Marilee nodded. “He hunts for victims who fit a pattern that’s meaningful for him—red-haired women who work in health care. They remind him of someone. We just don’t know who.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how Torres got back and forth between San Sebastian and Houston during a tropical storm,” Armand said. “If he did.”

  “Let’s think this through,” Luis suggested. “Torres hits Talbot, drives back across the bridge before it’s impassable and gets to work early Monday. Two days later he goes back again by that boat Dell came up with, does his dirty work, and gets back to work with no one the wiser. He could manage it.”

  “Ramirez, check out his hours again,” Armand said. “Talk to his supervisor at work. Meanwhile, Talbot, do you have any other ideas?”

  “We should check out other security companies that serve hospitals and businesses in and around the Medical Center. I like Torres as our guy, but at this point we can’t rule out other possibilities.”

  “Okay, people, get on it,” Armand said and called out assignments. “We’ll meet tomorrow.”

  As task force members filed out, Jonathan pulled Shannon aside. “I want to apologize for Luis,” he told her quietly. Although she stiffened, he continued. “Luis is stressed, like all of us. But that ‘femininity’ remark was uncalled for.”

  Shannon’s shoulders relaxed, and she looked at Jonathan almost hopefully. “Think so?”

  “Definitely.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “Thanks. I guess I’m touchy about my femininity. I get a lot of digs about being a cop.”

  “Don’t believe ’em.”

  They separated, and Jonathan walked back to his office. Shannon wasn’t unfeminine at all. In fact, she was pretty. But she wasn’t his type. He went back to his office and picked up the phone to check again on Christy.

  Hannah laughed at his anxious question and said, “She’s still fine. Right now she’s in the babies’ room, singing Zachary to sleep. Want me to get her?”

  “No, don’t disturb her.” In his mind, he saw Christy with an infant in her arms. He imagined her tender smile, her soft voice, and a sweet warmth blossomed in his heart. He cleared his throat. “How about if I pick up some dinner for the three of us?”

  “That’d be heaven.”

  “What’s your choice?”

  “Chinese, but let me check with Christy.” In a moment, she came back. “Moo goo gai pan for both of us.”

  The sound of the doorbell made Christy’s heart leap. It had to be Jonathan. “I’ll get it,” she called and wondered if doorbells would be forever associated with him in her mind.

  As certain as she was that Jonathan stood on the other side of the door, she peered through the peephole first. Yes, it was him, his arms full of white boxes. With a smile, she opened the door. “Hi.”

  He frowned. “Did you look out first?”

  Control again. “Is this Self-Protection for Dummies?” she snapped. “Of course I did.”

  He came inside. “You should have let Hannah get it.”

  “She’s feeding the baby. I can’t substitute for that. Sorry.”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, and his eyes darkened. Annoyed as she was, Christy couldn’t still the flutter in her heart, the throbbing in her belly. Damn, even when she was angry with him, he turned her on. If he wanted to make love to her here on the living-room carpet, surrounded by Chinese takeout and baby toys, she’d probably say yes.

  They went into the kitchen. Hannah was seated at the kitchen table patting Alex’s back after his feeding. “Hi, Doc,” she said.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “We’re almost done here.” As if to agree, Alex burped. “You can put dinner in the microwave. You know how to do that, don’t you?”

  “I know how to cook.”

  Christy rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure about that.

  Jonathan put the boxes in the oven and came back to look at Zachary, who was propped in a baby bouncer. “Hey, big guy. Wanna get outa there?” He bent down and picked up the baby, then lifted him high in the air. Zachary kicked and gurgled, and Jonathan laughed.

  He sat down by the table and held Zachary on his lap. The baby grabbed Jonathan’s finger. As his tiny hand closed over it, Christy saw Jonathan’s gentle smile. Her heart turned over.

  “He misses his dad,” Hannah remarked.

  “What’s going on with Troy?” Jonathan asked.

  They discussed the case Hannah’s husband was on while Hannah nursed the baby. Over dinner, they talked about the Night Stalker. Jonathan’s frustration was evident to Christy.

  Apparently Hannah noticed it, too. “Let’s change the subject,” she said. “Anyone know any good jokes?”

  The atmosphere calmed as their conversation lightened. After clearing the table and cleaning up, Jonathan and Christy left.

  “Are you okay with the arrangement?” he asked Christy as they got into the car.

  “Love it. Thanks.” She glanced out the window and noticed he was headed away from her house. “Running an errand?” she asked.

  “Heading for my house. I don’t want to get into a pattern.”

  “Good idea.” Besides, she was eager to see how Jonathan lived.

  He took the Loop that encircled the central area of town, got off and headed north. Soon they were in the Heights, a much older section. A mixture of small shabby cottages with siding in need of paint and stately two-story brick homes, the neighborhood was eclectic and interesting. Jonathan pulled into the driveway of a Craftsman bungalow that had been freshly painted. A big oak tree dominated the small front yard. He parked in the garage and they went in.

  The living room was spartan, with wooden floors and a minimum of furniture. “Nice,” Christy said. Cozier than her ostentatious home for sure. And neat enough to meet her own high standards.

  He gave her a tour. The front bedroom had been turned into an office, with all the high-tech gadgets a former FBI man would be used to. On the bookshelf, Chris
ty spotted a photograph of a smiling Jonathan, holding a plaque and shaking hands with Bill Clinton. The president had signed the picture, “To Jonathan Talbot, a true patriot, with best regards.”

  “Gosh,” she said, “I’m impressed. What did you do to get that?”

  He shrugged. “Helped catch a guy who’d written threatening letters to the president.”

  The plaque hung on the wall. Christy read the inscription and wondered if Jonathan missed his old profession and, again, speculated on why he had left.

  “Fax came in,” Jonathan said and pulled a sheet of paper off the machine. He glanced at it and his face darkened. Christy looked over his shoulder.

  Written in block letters, the message read, “I know where you live, too.” In the lower corner of the page was a drawing of a revolver.

  “Of course he does,” Jonathan muttered. “And how long before he tracks you down at Hannah’s?”

  Chapter 15

  Two nights later, Christy and Jonathan relaxed on the couch in their room at the Marriott across from the elegant Galleria Shopping Center. At Jonathan’s insistence, they’d stayed at different places each night. Now they were registered as Mr. and Mrs. J. D. Russell, the name Jonathan had used in San Sebastian. Christy wondered what had gone through Jonathan’s mind when he’d signed the register. Did he focus on the Mr. and Mrs. or was it just part of his plan to keep the Night Stalker from finding them?

  Again, she and Jonathan were spending time together, locked away from the world. Now, with Jonathan’s memories returning at an accelerating pace, they’d talked endlessly. She learned about his childhood: his dogs and Blacky, a pet crow, his success in Little League, his passion for reading. She’d told him about her early life, too. They’d compared childhood heroes from favorite books: Jo in Little Women for her, Frank Hardy for Jonathan. They’d shared dreams that had come true and those that hadn’t.

  But all this would end soon. In three days Christy’s vacation would be over. Although Jonathan urged her to ask for more time off, she refused. She had to risk returning to work, even though the thought of a killer lurking in the cavernous hospital with its maze of corridors, its closets and cubbyholes, made her shudder.