“You got it. Looks like this time we really do have a break.”
Christy and Hannah were watching Oprah when the phone rang. Hannah picked it up. “It’s Jonathan,” she said, handing Christy the phone.
Almost five. He should be here soon. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he answered, and Christy felt the quick jolt of excitement his deep voice always brought. “I called to say I may run late.”
“That’s okay. What did you find out?” He said nothing but she heard him expel a long breath. “Jonathan?”
“She was a nurse. At St. Mary’s.”
Christy swallowed. “What’s… I mean, what was her name?” Again, he didn’t answer, and she said, “You may as well tell me. I’ll hear it on the five o’clock news.”
“Wanda Mulroney.”
Knees suddenly weak, Christy sank onto a chair. “Wanda,” she whispered. “I—I know her. She works…worked in pediatrics…” She was crying now.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. He paused, then asked, “Do you know if she was a drug user?”
“Absolutely not.”
“They found morphine in her glove compartment.”
Christy’s tears stopped and anger replaced them. “If they did, someone planted it. Wanda was a good person. She went to church, she took care of her family and she loved the kids on the pediatric floor. She’d never, never do drugs.”
“I believe you. What I need to figure out is why the drugs were planted.” His voice gentled. “Hang in there. I’ll see you as soon as I can.” He hung up.
Christy sat with the receiver in her lap.
Hannah came to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Bad news?”
“Yeah. The woman they found this morning, she worked at my hospital. Wanda was her name. She has two kids. I saw her right before my vacation. She said her son, Jeremy, just learned to ride a two-wheeler. She was so proud.” Christy rubbed a hand across her wet cheek. “Sorry, I’m…”
“You go ahead and cry, sweetie. It’s okay. She was your friend.”
Christy sniffled and reached for a napkin. “Not a close one, but—but I knew her.” She blew her nose and looked up at Hannah. “I guess you’ve lost people you worked with.”
Hannah got a glass of ice water, handed it to Christy and sat beside her. “Several. It’s always tough. The ones left behind just have to be there for each other.” She patted Christy’s hand.
“Thanks for being here for me.” Christy took a sip of water. “That guy, the Night Stalker, he’s a madman. I—I worry about Jonathan.”
“You’re falling in love with him.”
Christy sniffled again. “I’m not sure I want to be, but I think so.” She sighed. “Heck, I don’t know what I think or what I feel.”
“Love ain’t easy.”
“No kidding,” Christy sighed. She took another drink. “I know so little about Jonathan. I keep asking myself how I could be falling for a man I’ve known less than two weeks. Less than one if you count the real Jonathan Talbot.”
“Trust your heart,” Hannah said. “I know that sounds corny, but what does it tell you?”
“It keeps saying, ‘I’m confused.’”
Hannah laughed. “You knew the minute you saw him standing in the rain that he was a good man. Wasn’t that your heart talking?”
“Yes,” Christy sighed. “but I don’t believe in love at first sight.”
“I do.” Hannah said. “With Troy and me, it was like that old song. We saw each other across a crowded room, and we knew.”
“I have to know someone really well to trust him.”
“From what you’ve told me, you trusted Jonathan almost from the start. If not, you’d have kicked him out no matter what condition he was in.” She got up and began clearing the table.
“After this case is over and both of you are back to normal, you’ll have time to get to know him better.”
“The message I’m getting from him is that there won’t be an ‘after’ for us,” Christy said. She felt tears coming again and blinked them away.
Hannah rested her chin on her hands. “You two need to talk.”
“You’re right,” Christy said, determined to do just that as soon as possible.
“We need to talk,” Jonathan said. He pulled into Christy’s driveway and shut off the engine. He’d picked her up late, nearly eight-thirty. Christy had already eaten, and Hannah had wrapped up a sandwich for him to take with him. He’d insisted they spend the night at Christy’s so he could check her house again.
“All right,” Christy said, glad he’d made the suggestion about talking. “Let’s do it.”
Inside, they sat at the breakfast table. Jonathan took a bite, put the sandwich down, and said, “I want you to take some more time off.”
Wrong button again. “Giving more orders, Dr. Talbot?” she asked.
“Dammit, yes.”
“Remember, Jonathan… Ask, don’t tell. And you might consider mentioning why you think I need more time away from work.” Before he could answer, she said, “Know what? I’m going stir-crazy. First we were holed up in San Sebastian. Now you’re out and about but I’m cooped up in—”
“I thought you liked Hannah.” He sounded puzzled.
“I do. I love her and I love being around the kids, but for heaven’s sake, Jonathan, can’t you see I need my life to be normal again?”
He pushed the sandwich away. “Christy, this situation is anything but normal. I apologize for ordering you around like Keith did, but dammit, I’m scared. The woman this morning, Wanda Mulroney, had red hair, she was a nurse, she was picked up two blocks from St. Mary’s Hospital. We found her car.” His voice broke. “I don’t want you to be next.” Abruptly, he got up and stalked to the window.
Christy stared at his back, at his shoulders so taut with tension. She went to him and touched his arm. “Do you think I want to be?”
Without looking at her, he shook his head. “We’re close to catching him. I can feel it. But if you’re at the hospital, I can’t protect you.” He turned and pulled her against him, buried his face in her hair. “Hang on a little longer, can’t you?”
She felt his heart throbbing against hers, felt the arms that held her tremble. “I’ll think about it. I still have tomorrow off.”
“Think hard.”
“I promise I will.” She took his hand. “Come and eat your sandwich.”
“Not hungry.”
“Sit down and relax, then.” She tugged him into the great room. He sat in an armchair, and Christy stood behind him and began massaging his neck. When she felt the tension ease, she said softly, “Jonathan, why did you leave the FBI?”
He didn’t answer for so long, she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t heard her. “Jonathan?”
He turned and reached for her hand. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Sit down,” he said.
All sorts of questions ran through her mind as she sat across from him. Had he been kicked out for some terrible infraction? Had he leaked classified information? Of course, he hadn’t. No way in the world could this man have done anything wrong.
“I didn’t want to frighten you,” he began.
“Well, you’re scaring me now.” She clasped her hands and waited. “What happened to you?”
“Not to me. To my fiancée.”
Fiancée. Of all the things he could have started with, that surprised her most. And hurt her, too. Which didn’t make any sense at all. Did she suppose Jonathan hadn’t had a life before she met him?
“Her name was Diane Shay.”
“Was she an agent?” Christy asked.
“No, an attorney. She was on the staff of Senator Carl Reynard. We were planning to be married…” He paused again, then said, “We were coming back to my town house from dinner one evening when a guy I’d profiled and testified against jumped out of the bushes and shot her.”
Christy’s eyes widened. Her li
ps felt frozen, but she managed to ask, “Did he k…?”
“She died instantly.”
His voice was flat. If she hadn’t been looking at him, she’d have imagined he was reciting a dry fact. But she was looking, and the pain she saw was so stark, so deep, she knew it cut him to the heart. Sometimes, she thought, it was better not to remember.
“I got away with a bullet wound in the thigh, the one you found that first night.”
“And the man?”
“I shot him.”
Jonathan shut his eyes, but Christy knew he still saw the scene. Saw Diane. Felt…
“You think it was your fault,” she said.
“It was my fault.” He covered his face with his hands. Christy hurt for him. She longed to take him in her arms and hold him close, soothe him until the pain disappeared. But unaccountably, she was angry, too. “She chose to become engaged to an FBI agent. She must’ve known what she was getting into.”
He looked up and Christy saw a flash of anger in his eyes. “She might have realized something could happen to me. But not to her.”
“And so you quit.”
“And took a job teaching at the University of Houston. I promised myself I’d never put someone I loved in jeopardy again.”
Momentarily, Christy wondered if he realized he’d said loved, then decided he meant it as a general rule, not something that applied to her personally. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jonathan,” she said softly, taking his hands. “I understand why you feel especially responsible for me, I really do. But I can’t stay locked away forever. I’m sure Diane would have said the same thing.”
He laughed harshly. “Yeah, she would.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Give me a week, Christy. Please.”
Now that she understood, she couldn’t refuse him. “All right. I’ll call in tomorrow.”
His hands relaxed, and he sat back. “Thanks.”
A thought crossed Christy’s mind. “You said you quit, but you haven’t. You’re still profiling. Why?”
“That’s a good question.” He stared into space for a moment. “When I came down here, I started getting calls immediately from local police forces wanting help with cases. I turned them down flat, didn’t even want to hear about the cases.
“Then, when I’d been here almost a year, a young girl in Brenham went missing. It’s a small town, a quiet place where you wouldn’t expect this to happen. The sheriff’s department in Washington County called and asked me to consult on the case. I said no.”
“What changed your mind?” Christy asked.
“The girl’s mother called.”
Christy smiled. “And you said you’d help.”
“I told her the same thing I told the sheriff. No. Then she asked me how I’d feel if my child disappeared and an expert who could help refused.”
Christy pictured Jonathan sitting at his desk, listening to the woman’s voice. She could imagine the war going on inside him.
Jonathan shut his eyes, and she knew he was reliving that day, too. “I can hear her voice,” he said. “She told me she didn’t know why I’d given up profiling, but it was selfish to have a gift and refuse to use it to help others.
“‘You’ll go the rest of your life knowing you might have saved my daughter, that your knowledge might have made a difference between life and death for a fifteen-year-old who had so much to live for. You’ll know it,’ she said, ‘and so will I.’ “And then she hung up. Thirty seconds later I called her back and said I’d help.”
“Did they find her daughter?”
“Yeah,” he said, his lips curving slightly, “and she was okay.”
Christy’s eyes were moist when he finished the story. “And then what?” she asked.
“I realized I have a calling, and I can’t deny it. I don’t want to go back to the Bureau. I had enough. But if there’s another kid who’s missing or a woman who’s been brutalized, I can’t turn my back.”
He leaned forward earnestly. “Do you understand?”
“I do.” And she truly did.
Jonathan looked drained. “Ready for bed?” Christy asked.
“As soon as I check the house.”
Christy tagged along while he surveyed her home. And the garage. And the yard. Clearly, he was taking no chances. When he finished, Christy insisted that he eat the rest of his dinner. “Your contribution to the starving children in third-world countries,” she reminded him. “And I’m going to sit here and make sure you eat every bite.”
“The return of Nurse Ratched,” he grumbled, but he sat.
As he was finishing his sandwich, the phone rang. They looked at each other. “Go ahead,” Jonathan said, and Christy picked it up.
“H-hello.”
“Christy, it’s Hannah. I’m glad I got you.” Her voice was high and shaky.
“What’s wrong?” Not Troy, not one of the boys, please God.
“My—my mom just called. My dad had a heart attack. He’s—he’s in pretty bad shape. The twins and I are flying to Minneapolis in the morning. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave you alone.”
Frowning, Jonathan got up from the table. “It’s Hannah,” Christy mouthed and motioned for him to pick up the extension in the great room. Meanwhile, she needed to reassure her friend. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Just concentrate on your dad.”
Jonathan’s voice interrupted. “Hannah, what’s the matter?”
Hannah repeated what she’d told Christy, and Jonathan said, “Of course you have to leave. Take care of your folks. I’ll see that Christy’s okay.”
“What time is your flight?” Christy asked.
“The earliest I could get was at one o’clock. I have to be at Bush Intercontinental at eleven.”
“Jonathan, why don’t you take me to Hannah’s when you drive in to the HPD. I’ll help her get ready, and she can drop me back at home on her way to the airport. It’s only a minute out of the way.”
“That’d be great. I could use the support.” Hannah’s voice was shaky again.
“Okay, then. And in the meantime, know that we’ll keep your dad in our prayers. Go get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Christy hung up and met Jonathan as he hurried back into the kitchen. She put up a hand to stop the words she was certain he was going to say. “I really will be fine here.”
“I’ll look for somewhere else for you. Luis has a friend—”
“Did you hear me, Doctor Worrywart? I’ll be okay. I have a super alarm system, a peep hole in the front door, and dead bolts on it and the back door. Not to mention a gun. I won’t let anyone in, even the mailman. And rest assured, I will not play Nancy Drew and go out to catch the killer myself by luring him into a dark alley.”
“I guess that sums it up,” Jonathan said, but he didn’t look convinced.
“How about I distract you by tearing off your clothes and making you crazy again?”
“That’d work.”
“For me, too.” Christy took hold of his tie and led him upstairs.
Chapter 17
Early the next morning Jonathan let Christy out of the car and watched her sprint up the walk to Hannah’s door. He leaned out of the window. “Wait,” he called.
Christy turned and loped back to the car.
Jonathan grabbed her hand. “When you get home, keep the gun loaded and handy. And check in with me every hour, would you?”
She looked annoyed, but she nodded. His hand was on the window ledge, and she covered it with hers. “Please don’t worry, Jonathan. You have a killer to catch.”
“How can I not worry?” he said. “You’re important to me.”
“Important.” Her voice quivered. “What does that mean?”
“That I…care about you.”
“So do I…care about you.” She took a step back. “You’re on the front lines. Be careful. Please.”
“Sure.”
He waited while Christy rang the doorbell. When Hannah opened the door, the
two women embraced. Over Christy’s shoulder Hannah waved at Jonathan before she and Christy went inside.
He sent up a prayer for his friend’s dad and then drove away, heading for downtown Houston. The early-morning sun gleamed off the roof of the car in front of him, momentarily blinding him. He put down his visor and turned onto the freeway ramp, then merged with traffic. Was the Night Stalker in one of the cars streaming toward the center of the city? Was he at work now, planning his next move?
Jonathan asked himself if Christy was safer at home than she would be at the hospital. Hard to tell. He wished he hadn’t been so late the other night and that he’d had time to take her to the firing range. If she had to use the gun, would she?
When he got to headquarters, he suppressed the urge to call her at Hannah’s and began running the data on security workers, asking the computer to target those with the characteristics that fit the profile. The computer spat out thirty names. Damn, there were too many.
After an hour, his phone rang. Armand wanted to talk to him along with Luis and Dell. Jonathan strode down the hall and tapped on Armand’s door, then let himself in. The room smelled of stale cigarettes. A half-full cup of coffee and an empty donut box sat on the desk. The trash can overflowed with papers. “Looks like you’ve been here all night,” Jonathan said. Armand’s night hadn’t been as pleasurable as his, for sure. Jonathan’s lips curved. Christy had been quite inventive in her efforts to distract him.
Luis and Dell filed in, and the three of them sat across from Armand.
Jonathan glanced at his watch. Was Christy on her way home yet? No, too early.
Armand cleared his throat. “Talbot. You with me?”
“Sorry. I was distracted. I’m worried about my…uh…” What should he call her? “…my friend.”
Armand looked puzzled.
“Lady friend,” Luis offered helpfully. “You know, the chick who went to dinner with us.”
Dell snickered, and Armand shot him a disapproving look. “Let’s get down to business,” he said. “What do you have on the security personnel?”
“I’ll have to narrow them down some more,” Jonathan said.
“Is this productive?” Armand’s voice betrayed frustration. “Isn’t Torres our man?”
Stranger in Her Arms Page 18