Stranger in Her Arms

by Lorna Michaels

  Dell braked and turned onto a gravel path. “Wh-where are we?” Christy asked. She was really frightened now.

  “Where we’re going,” he said, grinning. “It’s almost time.”

  “Time for what?” As she spoke, she furtively unfastened her seat belt. If he gave her another bizarre answer, she would jump out of the car and take her chances in the woods. Leaning forward so he couldn’t see her hand if he turned in her direction, she reached for the door handle.

  As her hand closed over the handle, she heard a click. He’d locked the door from the driver’s side. She could still get out though. Furtively, she felt for the switch to her door, found it and pushed. Nothing happened.

  She pushed again. And got the same result. He’d disconnected the passenger-side switch.

  But the door could be unlocked manually. She tried, pushing the lock desperately. It didn’t work. He’d dismantled it, too. She was locked in.

  Christy’s breath backed up in her lungs. For long seconds, she couldn’t move as the car headed farther into the woods. Finally, she managed to swivel around to face Dell and saw that his grin had widened and his eyes now glittered with a strange light. To Christy he looked larger and more menacing than he had a few minutes ago. He looked like a monster. “Wh-what are you doing?” she whispered through frozen lips.

  “You know, Meg,” he said and stopped the car beside a creek.

  Meg. Had he mentioned that name before? With her heart pounding in her ears, she couldn’t think. Christy scrambled toward the door, holding her purse in front of her as a shield. She had to answer Dell, get him to see he had her confused with someone else. Would he listen? Or was he beyond reason now? She had to try.

  Swallowing her fear, she met his eyes. “You know me, Dell,” she said in a soothing voice. “I’m not Meg. My name’s Christy.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Auntie. I know who you are.”

  His aunt. The woman he’d mentioned earlier. Who’d raised him and who’d pretended to be a nurse. Should she play along with him, Christy asked herself, as terror turned her bones to jelly. Or should she be logical and hope he’d return to reality?

  Logic, she decided. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I’m not Meg.”

  “But you are,” he said, “and it’s time for your punishment.”

  “I’m not,” she cried, her voice cracking. Stay strong. Stay calm, she ordered herself. It’s your only chance. Gritting her teeth, she stared into Dell’s eyes.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, and his voice became a childish singsong. “You have red hair…and green eyes…and you work in a hopsital…hos…pi…tal.” He leaned toward her and grasped a lock of her hair. “You went away but you came back. I thought you’d be different this time, but you talked nasty to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You should have stayed away, Auntie,” the little-boy voice retorted.

  Coming from the mouth of this burly man, the voice sounded more than frightening. It sounded mad. Dell Cummings was a madman. How could she get away?

  “Yeah, you should never have come around,” Dell continued, “’cause now you’re gonna get your punishment.” He reached for her, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the console.

  Her mind cried out for Jonathan as she struggled against Dell’s brutal strength. What would Jonathan tell her to do? Play for time. With all her strength, she pulled back. “You’re the Night Stalker,” she accused. “You’re the one who attacked Jonathan.”

  For a moment, his eyes cleared as if he fully comprehended, but then he said in his childish singsong, “Jonathan? Yeah, I did.” He giggled then, a hideous sound. “I wanted to play a trick, make everybody think that man on the island did it.” His brows furrowed. “The trick didn’t work. Because you sent Jonathan after me. You told him it was me, didn’t you, Auntie?”

  “No, I—”

  “I’ve killed you before, but you always come back,” he said plaintively. “Why?”

  “You killed somebody else. She wasn’t Meg. I’m not, either…”

  “Shut up.” His voice deepened, became a man’s. “Enough talking. Get out of the car.”

  “You—you’ve locked me in.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll come around for you,” he said with a nasty chuckle. “I’m a gentleman.”

  He got out of the car, locking it behind him and swaggered toward the passenger side. This was it, Christy thought. Why hadn’t she put her cell in her purse? Then she could’ve used these few seconds to call Jonathan. She hadn’t even told him she loved him. Now she’d never have a chance…

  Her purse. She’d forgotten what she did have in it. The gun.

  Dell had a gun, too, of course, but he hadn’t taken it out. He was too confident.

  She opened the purse and pulled out the revolver, keeping it low so Dell wouldn’t see. Jonathan’s warning last week played in her head. “Don’t aim a gun at someone unless you’re going to use it.”

  In a split second she made her decision.

  Dell unlocked the door. “Get out,” he growled and stepped back.

  Christy got out.

  Eyes glittering like a cat with a mouse, Dell stood and watched her. And let out a howl of rage and pain as she shot him in the shoulder.

  She’d meant to aim at his chest, but she’d done the best she could. As he lurched back against the car, Christy raced toward the road.

  “You bitch. Now you’ve made me angry,” Dell thundered. She heard footsteps and glanced back to see him lumbering after her. Too frightened to stop and aim again, she kept running. But even injured, he was faster than she.

  She heard him behind her, felt his breath on her neck. He caught her by her arm and swung her around. With a brutal chop to her wrist, he knocked the gun from her hand.

  She screamed with pain, but she scrambled after the gun. His reach was longer, and he grabbed it, then jerked Christy to her feet. “I never shot any of the others,” he snarled, “but I told you, there’s always an exception. You’re it.”

  She couldn’t do much now, not against a gun. She shut her eyes, held her breath, and waited.

  Suddenly she heard the squeal of tires, and her eyes flew open. A car pulled up behind them. Jonathan’s car.

  He jumped out. “Drop it, Cummings,” he said, his voice deadly. He, too, had a gun.

  Dell stared at him for an endless moment, then he tossed the weapon on the ground, turned and ran into the woods. Behind him, drops of blood formed a trail.

  Jonathan raced after him.

  Cars roared into the clearing, their tires spitting gravel. Armand jumped out of one, and two patrol officers leaped from the other. “One of you stay with her,” Jonathan yelled as he disappeared into the woods.

  Suddenly Christy realized the danger Jonathan was in. He thought Dell had thrown down his weapon, but it was hers. “Jonathan,” she shouted, “be careful. He has another gun.”

  She didn’t think he’d heard her. She had to warn him.

  She ran toward the trees, but the young officer who’d stayed behind caught up and grabbed her arm. “You can’t go in there, Miss. It’s too dangerous.”

  She tugged at her arm, but he held her in place. Tears of frustration clogged her throat. “Let me go,” she choked.

  “Can’t. You’ll get hurt in there.”

  “Then you go. They have to know he has another gun.” The cop hesitated. “I’ll be okay. Please, go.”

  He nodded and rushed off. Christy sank down under a tree. She heard shouts from the woods and tried to make out Jonathan’s voice but couldn’t.

  She leaned back against the tree trunk, shut her eyes and prayed as hard as she could. Please don’t let him shoot Jonathan. Don’t let anyone get hurt.

  A shot rang out. Christy jolted upright, and then she heard a second shot.

  Time passed in slow motion. Every moment without knowing what happened in the woods was unbearable.
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  Finally she heard voices. She wanted to shut her eyes again, afraid of what she’d see. She forced herself to keep them open.

  And then, Jonathan strode out of the woods, his face grim. Thank God. Behind him came the two cops with Dell handcuffed between them. Armand followed.

  Jonathan dropped down beside her. “Christy. Sweetheart.”

  He opened his arms, and she came into them and burrowed into his chest. Only then, with the danger past, did she begin to tremble.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He kissed her forehead, her hair.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “I was so scared.”

  “I know. So was I.”

  “I was afraid for you, too,” she said. “You didn’t know he still had his gun when he ran.”

  “Yes, I did. I heard you and realized why he ran. He intended to lead me into the woods, then turn around and shoot.”

  Christy shivered. Jonathan held her for a moment, stroking her back. Then he pulled away and looked into her eyes. Gently, he wiped a streak of mud from her cheek, then reached into his pants pocket and handed her a handkerchief.

  As she lifted a hand to wipe her eyes, he gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  “What? No, Dell was bleeding. I guess when he grabbed me, he got some on my shirt.”

  “You shot him,” Jonathan said, his tone disbelieving.

  Christy managed to smile. “I know. I don’t believe it myself.”

  He traced her lips with a gentle finger. “You’re so brave.”

  “So are you. You looked fierce, standing there pointing the gun.”

  “FBI training. Comes in handy.”

  Christy said nothing more. She was mesmerized by the look in Jonathan’s eyes. Her lips parted, his covered them, and he kissed her with care and tenderness.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I was almost too late.”

  “But you weren’t. How did you know where to find us?”

  He gestured toward the creek. “Dell’s fishing hole. This is it.”

  She stared at the peaceful-looking stream and shivered. Dell would have— No, the thought was too horrible to contemplate. She pulled Jonathan closer. “Hold me. Please.”

  The sound of a throat clearing intruded and they turned to see Armand standing beside them. “We’ll take Cummings in,” he said, then gestured to Christy. “She can give her statement later.”

  “Tomorrow,” Jonathan said.

  “Okay.”

  The group moved away. Armand got into his car, and the two officers put Dell in theirs.

  As they drove off, another car pulled in. “Crime-scene investigators,” Jonathan said and went over to talk to them.

  When he returned, he held out a hand to Christy. She took it, but when his fingers closed over her wrist, she gasped with pain.

  “What is it?” Jonathan asked.

  “My—my wrist. It must’ve gotten sprained when he knocked the gun out of my hand.”

  “Okay, we’re going to the hospital.” He bent and lifted her into his arms.

  Christy smiled at his gallantry. “Jonathan, it’s my wrist that’s hurting, not my leg.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m not letting you out of my arms.” Holding her securely against his chest, he strode to his car and settled her into the front seat.

  He got in and reached across the console to fold her hand in his. He didn’t let go once as they drove. When they pulled out of the wooded area and onto the road, he asked gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She nodded and, managing to keep her voice steady, recounted the events of the past few hours. “How did you figure it out?” she asked.

  He told her about the button and how it had led him to the conclusion that the killer was a police officer, then that the officer was Dell and finally where he had taken her.

  “Lucky a broken gas main had traffic stalled,” Christy said, “or you might not have made it.”

  She felt Jonathan’s grip tighten on hers and added, “There’s an old nursery rhyme that starts, ‘For the want of a nail a shoe was lost,’ and goes all the way to a kingdom being lost. That’s what happened today, isn’t it? A button led you to a killer.”

  “It’s always the small things,” Jonathan agreed.

  They were quiet the rest of the way into the center of the city. Although Jonathan wanted to take her to St. Mary’s to be checked over, Christy insisted on a smaller hospital. She supposed the gossip mill would be going full force later, but she didn’t want to fuel it today.

  As she suspected, her wrist was only sprained. The emergency room physician taped it, suggested an over-the-counter pain medication and sent her on her way.

  When they got to her house, Jonathan said, “I have to go down to headquarters. You’ll need to go, too, to make a statement, but that can wait until tomorrow. Take it easy, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He kissed her, holding her tightly. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

  She wasn’t sure, but she knew he had to go. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “If I need company, I’ll call my neighbor.”

  She locked the door after he left and dragged herself upstairs where she took a long, warm bath and lay down on the bed. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but she was so drained from her ordeal, she couldn’t stay awake. Only the sound of the doorbell several hours later roused her. She sat up, disoriented, surprised to see that the sun had set.

  She padded barefoot downstairs and went to the door. Automatically she peered out of the peephole, but to open the door without fear seemed unfamiliar. And wonderful.

  Jonathan stood on the other side, his arms loaded with takeout boxes. “Dinner,” he said.

  Over Chinese delicacies from a nearby restaurant, he told her more about Dell. “He confessed to the killings and to abducting you. Told us everything about his past. He was an only child. He didn’t know his father, and his mother walked out when he was five. His aunt raised him.”

  “Meg.”

  “Yes, she was abusive, both verbally and physically.”

  Christy sipped her tea. “She worked in a hospital, and she had red hair.”

  “Courtesy of a bottle, apparently. Dell ran away when he was sixteen, moved to Houston and applied to the police academy when he was old enough. He did well as a cop. He was able to suppress all the horror of his childhood until last fall when Aunt Meg suddenly turned up.”

  Christy shuddered. “That opened all the old wounds, I guess. I wonder why she came.”

  “She’d been ill and couldn’t work, so she needed money. She figured she’d get it from Dell.”

  “That was a mistake,” Christy said.

  “Yeah, he’d always hated her and promised himself he’d punish her. After she visited him, he began acting out his childhood fantasies.”

  “Did—did he kill Meg, too?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “He picked substitutes.”

  “Health-care workers with reddish hair.”

  Jonathan reached for her hand. “I’m sorry you were one of them.”

  “I’m glad there won’t be any more. And that you figured out who it was and where he took me.”

  “He’s no different than most killers. They get over-confident. Dell sure did. He sent me a fax telling me he had you before he got to your house.” His hand tightened on hers and his voice thickened. “I keep seeing him with that gun pointed at you. It’s my fault that—”

  “Shh. It’s no one’s fault, just chance. And it’s over.” She tightened her hold on his hand. “Come to bed, Jonathan. We both need to be close.”

  Chapter 20

  The next morning Jonathan drove Christy to police headquarters. The feelings were still so strong, the thought of her brush with death so vivid, that just walking into the building and seeing uniformed cops made Christy feel ill, but Jonathan held her hand and she managed to get through the morning. She gave her statement and felt relieved, knowing Dell was off the streets.

  Afterwa
rd Jonathan drove her home and followed her inside. Christy tossed her purse on the counter. “Tomorrow I go back to work,” she said. “It’s hard to believe life’s going to be normal again.”

  Jonathan put his hand on her arm. “Let’s sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  His expression was somber, and Christy felt a premonition. Something bad was about to happen.

  She sat on the couch in the great room, and he took a seat across from her. This was the first time since they’d begun making love that he hadn’t sat within touching distance. He’s going to end it, she thought.

  “What happened yesterday was my fault,” Jonathan began.

  “No,” Christy said, “it wasn’t. Everything that happened, from Dell’s murdering red-haired women to your working with the HPD, to Dell seeing me and deciding I was another incarnation of Aunt Meg, was chance. Just one toss of the dice after another. You didn’t mean for anything to happen to me. I know that. You know that.” She leaned forward, her eyes fastened to his, “Jonathan, let it go.”

  He rose and paced to the window. “I can’t.”

  Christy went after him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not Diane.”

  He swung around, his face bleak. “No, you’re not, but if it had taken me one more minute to get to you, or if I’d been wrong about where Dell took you, you’d have been…” He swallowed. “You’d have been as dead as she is.”

  “But I’m not,” Christy said. “Look at me, Jonathan. I’m not.” She spread her hands. “Another roll of the dice, but this was a lucky one.”

  “I can’t take another chance. Something like this could happen again.”

  “Or maybe it won’t. Maybe another case won’t come up.”

  “It will.” He took her hand, led her back to the couch. “Look, I’ve quit the bureau, but I know myself. If someone needs my skills, I won’t say no. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. I owe it to society—”

  “What do you owe yourself?” She’d fought a killer yesterday, Christy told herself. Dammit, she’d fight for what she wanted.

  “That’s not the issue,” he said implacably.

  “All right, then. What do you owe me?”

  “Safety,” he said promptly.