by Jodi Thomas
He parked the truck and ran up the steps to her building, pressed the code and was in. Emily had probably had dinner ready for two hours. He almost ran when the elevator opened. He pounded on the door of her apartment, but no one answered. He pounded again. He even tried the door, but found it locked.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep waiting. Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she’d gone to bed without him.
“Hey, mister,” a woman in a nightgown said from down the hallway.
“Sorry.” Tannon turned toward her, not feeling sorry at all. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The woman stepped out into the hallway. “You must be the guy I’m supposed to give this note to. Emily said you’d be banging the door down if she wasn’t back and she was right. She said to tell you she forgot to charge her phone so she couldn’t call you.”
Tannon took the note and nodded his thanks. Before the woman was back in her apartment, he’d ripped it open.
I’ll be back as soon as I can. The marshal called and asked me to open the library so she could look around.
He read the note again, then folded it and put it in his coat pocket. It made no sense. The shooting happened in the bar. Why would anyone want to look around the library? Whatever they wanted could surely wait until Monday.
He ran down the stairs, not caring that his boots were probably waking up people on every floor. Something wasn’t right.
Chapter 47
EMILY SAT AT THE MAIN DESK FEELING VERY ALONE. TRACE Adams and one of the deputies were wandering around somewhere in the back. She’d followed them for a while, but they made her nervous touching things, moving things. Libraries had an order about them and the public didn’t belong in the back.
She jumped when she saw a shadow cross the door. Even knowing the door was locked, for a moment she couldn’t make herself look.
Then she heard a tapping and Tannon’s voice calling her name.
Emily ran to let him in. Suddenly nothing about the night seemed frightening.
He didn’t kiss her, but his arm held her tight as he walked her away from the doors. She’d expected him to start firing questions, but he didn’t. She was safe and that was all that seemed to matter.
Before she could explain that she had no idea why the marshal would want to search the library, Trace stepped out of the back with the deputy at her side. The marshal carried a plastic bag with two darts inside.
“Emily,” she said calmly. “Would you happen to have Sam Perkins’s address?”
Emily went to her office and returned with a slip of paper. “This is it, or at least it was when he applied for the job a few years ago. Before that, I think he hung around town doing odd jobs and staying wherever was cheap. Is something wrong?”
“No,” the marshal said. “We’d just like to ask him a few questions. Thank you for allowing us to look around.” She took a step, then looked back. “Does anyone go into the staff area besides staff?”
“No.”
“Thanks.”
Emily wanted to ask more questions, but she doubted she’d learn more. With Tannon’s fingers wrapped around her hand all she could think about was getting someplace where they could be alone.
They walked out just behind the marshal and Tannon followed her back to her apartment. They didn’t kiss when they were back at her place. He was polite, asking about her day, wondering why the marshal would want to talk to the janitor, complimenting her on the meal she’d left warming in the oven, helping her with the dishes.
Finally, they were standing in her living room. Only a few feet remained between them, but neither knew how to cross it.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked, feeling her shyness all the way to her bones. They’d touched and kissed before, but each time they were separated it seemed they had to start all over again in knowing how to love.
“No, I’m not interested in a movie,” he said before straightening and pulling in his breath as though the task before him might be difficult. “I want to go to bed with you. I’m not interested in a sleepover. I’m interested in sleeping with you every night for the rest of my life if you’re agreeable to the idea.”
He frowned. “We can be friends if that’s all you want, Emily, but I think it’s only fair I tell you straight out how I feel. I can’t fall in love with you, honey, because I’ve been in love with you all my life.”
When she didn’t say anything, he continued his side of a debate she hadn’t prepared for. “I know I’m not good enough for you. My mother reminded me of that fact today. I’m not sure I know how to be gentle and patient, but I’d like to try. I yell when I’m angry and I know that frightens you, so I’ll try to keep it down. All the way home, I’ve been thinking of what to say, what I need to say to make you love me, and now it doesn’t seem to be coming out right. I’ve got money enough to buy you a house if that’s what you want. I should have bought a ring, but I wasn’t sure you’d let me get that far.”
“Tannon,” she said softly, but he was lost in his speech.
“I work about sixty hours a week, but I can cut that down. I’d be home for supper most nights. I’d—”
Emily had heard enough. “Tannon. Stop talking and come to bed.”
He looked at her a moment before her words sank into his tired brain, and then he smiled a slow smile.
She offered her hand and he took it. When they were in the bedroom, she let him turn off a few of the lights. She stood on her side of the bed and he stood on his. Slowly, they began to take their clothes off. There was no alluring strip, just two people preparing to climb into bed as if they’d done so in front of each other a thousand times.
When she pulled her slacks off, she held her breath and turned, letting him see the scars crossing over her stomach. No one, not even her roommates in college, had ever seen the scars.
He looked down at them, then back up at her eyes. For years, she’d feared what a man would say when he saw the scars. She’d promised she’d never take a lover because of that fear, but Tannon wasn’t a lover—he was her best friend.
He moved slowly to her and kissed her gently before kneeling down on one knee. His big hand moved over the red jagged lines dug into her flesh years ago. “Do they bother you?”
“No. They’re just the remains of one bad time. Are they ugly to you?”
“Yes, not because of the way they look, but because they are a reminder of when you were hurt.” He stared at them a moment, then looked up. “I don’t care about them. The you inside is so beautiful I barely see them.”
Without a word, he leaned and kissed her damaged body. “Only you matter, Emily, but I have to tell you: I’ve always known about them. I’m the one who found you that night. I’m the one who held you until the medics came. I saw what they did to you that night.”
She felt the cold of the room against her bare skin. “Why didn’t you stay with me? Why didn’t you visit? I don’t remember much of the attack. The doctor said I passed out during it either from head trauma or loss of blood. When I woke up hours later, I felt very alone. Why didn’t you come?”
“Because it was all my fault. I was late getting to my car. I was late picking you up. Afterward, I thought you’d hate me for not being there, and if you knew I found you and held you, then you’d hate that I’d seen you like that. Either way, I figured I’d be the last person you wanted to show up for a visit.”
“No,” she corrected, tears flowing for the first time in a long time. “You told me to wait in the front. I’m the one who went to the lot. I’m the one who didn’t listen.”
He stood and pulled her against him, wrapping her in his warmth as he always did. “At the time, I thought I’d wait a while and then we’d talk, but you never came back to school.”
She cried, holding on to him, letting all the anger and grief go as he kissed the top of her hair and whispered, “Don’t cry, honey. Don’t cry. I wish it had been me who got hurt. I would have taken the beating gladly if I’d known you w
ere safe. I love you. I always have.”
Without a word, he lifted her and put her in bed, then climbed in beside her and pulled her close. At first his touch was comforting, then caring.
“Do you think you could learn to love me, Emily?”
“No,” she answered, and rose to her elbow so she could see his face. “I already do.”
Rain tapped on the windows as they began to make love. They were in no hurry, they had a lifetime and both knew it.
He’d been wrong about not thinking he was gentle. His big hands moved over her with tender strokes even when he was sound asleep. Sometimes he’d pass over the scars on his journey of exploring every curve and she’d remember that she’d once been afraid to show them to anyone. She couldn’t erase them or change what had happened to her, but as she felt his love surround her she no longer thought of herself as being scared. Slowly, as the night aged, she realized that the scars didn’t matter to him. He would love her no less.
They’d have a life together.
The two lovers who wrote out their feelings in the margins of The Secrets of Comeback Bay series drifted through her mind. Like her and Tannon, they’d lived in the same town, each dreaming of the other. Only they’d never been brave enough to say how they felt out loud.
Chapter 48
MONDAY
RICK WALKED INTO HIS OFFICE FEELING LIKE HE’D PLAYED an all-night football game in the mud. Trace hadn’t been home when he’d gotten back from the Matheson family dinner last night. He’d waited around reading until twelve, then gone up to her room.
The relief that her things were still there offered him little joy. He didn’t know where she was. If she was safe. If he was safe without her. He tried her cell and heard it ring upstairs. Wherever she’d gone, she hadn’t taken it.
When the rain started, he knew she had to be somewhere out in it. She was close, he decided, but not safe, and the thought drove him insane.
By three a.m. he was wide awake, questioning how he’d acted. Maybe he’d come on too strong and she’d simply relocated. The few things she’d left would be easy to replace. No, he reasoned, she would have told Martha Q or Mrs. Biggs. He’d already woken them both up once to ask questions and didn’t want to think about what they’d say if he did it again.
By seven, he’d given up all hope of sleep and dressed for work. Several of his new clients would be dropping by the office today and he thought he’d go over and make sure the place looked presentable. Or at least as presentable as an old office with used furniture, a worn rug and chipped paint could look.
Hank offered to pick him up since it was still raining. He didn’t ask about Trace when he helped Rick carry files up to the office.
“Will you be all right here alone?” Hank asked as if Rick were a first-grader.
“Yeah. I’ve got work to do and I’ll lock the office door.”
Hank nodded. “Alex said she’d be by to check on you. Just call 911 if you suspect anything. We’ll both be on our way when we see the ID. You won’t have to say a thing.”
Rick laughed. “George will be just below soon. I think he hears everything that goes on in my office, plus half the town is probably watching over me.”
“Where’s the marshal?”
Rick shrugged. “I’m sure she’s around. After all, it would look bad on her record if I died during her watch.”
Hank raised an eyebrow as if he knew there was more in what Rick wasn’t saying, but he didn’t have time to ask. He set the box down and left.
Rick opened the curtains to a rainy day world and sat down behind his desk. After the shooting Saturday night, everyone was very serious about the threats on his life. No more jokes. Sometimes he even got the creepy feeling folks were looking at him as if they were staring at the pre-dead walking. They’d stretch their neck for one more look like it might be their last.
Glancing at his watch, he frowned. His first client, a couple wanting to write a will, wouldn’t be in for another hour. If it had been a normal day and there weren’t some nut somewhere out there wanting to kill him, Rick might have walked over to the diner for coffee.
Oh yeah, the diner wasn’t open now, thanks to him. Rick never thought he’d miss the place. Maybe he just missed the coffee.
He couldn’t even go down to the used bookstore. Hatcher never opened until about nine.
So here he was, tired, worried about Trace, even though she’d be mad if she knew anyone worried about her, and stuck in his office without any coffee. Could the day get any worse?
He heard the back door in the hallway open.
Apparently, the day was about to get worse. Someone would have had to climb over two missing steps to enter from that direction and that didn’t seem like a positive. Trace might have thought of coming in that direction, but she’d have no reason to. Besides, he could hear footsteps and Trace was like a cat, she never made a sound.
Rick pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. Hank probably hadn’t had time to get back to the fire station, but the sheriff’s office would pick up. If this was a false alarm, maybe Hank would bring him coffee. If the threat was real, this might be the only time he’d be able to call.
As he heard footsteps move to his door, he slipped the phone in his top drawer and stood, crossing the room so that his back was against the windows.
The knob turned. The lock held. Rick froze, waiting.
He heard the rattle of keys then the lock turned.
With the rain, Rick knew he’d have the advantage if someone stepped in. They’d be in the bright light, he’d be in the shadows.
To his surprise, Sam Perkins shuffled through the door. For a moment Rick felt relieved to see the library janitor. He did odd jobs around town. It made sense that he’d have keys to some of the buildings he worked on.
Rick straightened. No one had called a handyman, and even if they had, why would he come up the broken back stairs? Another thought crossed his mind. Sam Perkins had been around for years. He was one of those invisible people moving in the shadows. Of the office buildings. Of the library. Of the bed-and-breakfast. No one noticed him.
Rick glanced at the square envelope in his left hand. “Come to leave another note?”
Sam’s wet coat shifted as he now revealed his right hand.
Rick saw the gun in his grip. “Or this time have you decided to face me when you try to kill me?”
Sam smiled. “Nothing against you, Matheson. You just got in my way. If you’d been smart enough to leave town, I wouldn’t be here now.”
Rick made his body relax as he lowered his shoulders and opened his hands. He didn’t want to appear threatening. The man was better than twice his age, but the gun gave him quite the advantage. “Since it’s finally just me and you, Sam, would you mind telling me why it’s so important that I leave town?”
Sam hesitated as if thinking about answering.
Rick studied the man. His clothes were wet and wrinkled. The cuffs of his pants were muddy, and he obviously hadn’t shaved or bathed in a while. He had the look of a drifter who lived beneath a bridge. Rick had heard rumors that before Sam got the job at the library he’d been intermittently homeless. He had neither family nor friends in Harmony, at least not that Rick knew of.
“I’ll tell you if you want to know. I was standing just outside when I heard you tell Hank you’d have a while to work before anyone came in, so I guess we got time.”
“Fine, want to have a seat?” Rick would love to get a desk between him and Sam.
“No.” Sam widened his stance. “You take one twitch toward me, Matheson, and you’ll die not knowing why.”
Rick lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. I won’t move. Just tell me what I ever did to you that makes you so angry.”
Sam’s laughter was hard, choppy. “I ain’t mad at you. You’re just in my way. I seen the way you wormed your way close to the woman I’ve loved for years. You two start by going to lunch, and then you move into her place to watch over it wh
ile she’s gone, only when she comes back you don’t leave.”
Ideas popped like popcorn in Rick’s tired brain. “You think I’ve come between you and”—he couldn’t even imagine it being true, but he gave it a shot—“and Martha Q?”
“She even went off to get all prettied up for you. I’ve been around over the years when she married older men and younger men, bums who mistreated her and rich guys who cheated on her, but this time you’ve gone too far. I don’t have nothing against you, but this time I’m not standing by and watching her make another mistake.”
Rick wanted to laugh out loud, but he knew he’d be shot. How many times in the past year had he said he loved Martha Q? When she took him to lunch his first week? When she offered him a place to stay? When she told him how to treat Trace? The night he’d come to the library to take notes at the meeting, he’d even told the writers’ group that he was sitting in for her because he just loved her.
“Sam, I—”
“Don’t try to deny it,” he said, raising the gun. “She’s the only dream I have left and you’re not taking her from me. I loved her for a time when I was a kid. I loved her then, but we moved away, and when I made it back she’d already married. I spent a few years drunk, a while roughnecking all over the state, a few years in jail. Every time I made it back to her, she was married to some other jerk.”
Rick almost said that with a résumé like that he couldn’t understand why Martha Q overlooked him in the lineup of possible husbands. The janitor didn’t look like the laughing kind. He looked more like the murdering kind. Rick had to think.
“I don’t blame you for loving her, but you’re in my way, Matheson.” Sam nodded as if he’d finally made up his mind about what had to be done. “It’s time for you to disappear.”
Hank and someone from the sheriff’s department were probably on their way, but footsteps might startle Sam and he’d fire. If Trace picked this moment to appear, she wouldn’t be expecting an ambush. She might only add to the body count.