The feeling of helplessness brought a surge of the old anger. She had spent years learning to become self-sufficient, years learning to trust her own judgment again. No one and nothing would take those accomplishments away from her. Not J.D., not a sprained ankle, not a lousy thunderstorm and not some disappearing elf.
From upstairs came a noise that froze her determination along with the blood in her veins. Jackie stopped moving and strained to listen. Minutes passed, but she heard nothing beyond the climbing howl of the wind outside.
All houses made noise. Hers more than most. There was no reason to be so jumpy. She would not become paranoid. According to the clock, she had indeed slept most of the afternoon away. Her grogginess probably had come from taking that blasted pain pill. She should call Bessie to let her know what had happened. She should also check on the store and be sure Angel wasn’t having any problems.
Slowly, painfully, she made her way into the hall, pausing to listen intently while her gaze strayed to the brooding darkness that enveloped the stairs.
With a shiver, she hobbled to the tiny bathroom set beneath them. Cursing her irrational fears, she closed the door and turned on the light, blinking in the sudden glare. Every jolt sent pain coursing through her foot. She’d forgotten to put the cast back on.
Minutes later, as she maneuvered herself into a standing position, the bathroom light flickered. Jackie jerked. One of the crutches fell with a loud clatter. She held her breath, feeling foolish. The next flicker was almost reassuring. Wearily, she leaned over to pick up the crutch and paused.
Had she just heard someone on the stairs?
Listening with every fiber of her being, she waited until the steady throb of pain from her ankle became unbearable. She couldn’t cower in the bathroom all night.
“You’re turning into a wimp. A basic coward. There is no one in the house but you.” The sound of her own voice helped to calm her, but her nerves felt raw.
She fumbled for the doorknob. In the kitchen, the telephone began to ring.
“Hang on,” she muttered. “I’m coming.”
The lights dimmed, even as she reached for the wall switch in the hall.
“Don’t you dare go off,” she warned them. “My nerves can’t take any more.”
The kitchen light snapped on with a reassuring glow. She reached for the telephone only to hear a click as the caller hung up.
“I hurried as fast as I could,” she told the infernal dial tone. The lights dimmed further.
Jackie started for the drawer with the flashlight and stopped. She remembered exactly where that flashlight was—and why. Her body tensed.
“I will not be left in the dark again.”
The distinctive creak of the stairs came again.
“Obviously, the stairs are haunted,” she whispered. But she picked up a paring knife, feeling foolish, and waited. Nothing happened other than another warning rumble of thunder.
No! This was too bizarre. Didn’t Mother Nature know it was December? Thunderstorms were for spring and summer.
The silly thought calmed her. Was she going to allow herself to be spooked by every single noise? She set down the knife, aimed her crutches in the direction of the pantry, and wished she had taken time to put her cast back on. God, her foot ached.
Matches were on the top shelf and there were two yellow candles next to them. She found the holders after only a few tries and felt much better once they were on the table and glowing softly. Now, even if the power went out, she wouldn’t be without light of some kind.
There were four candles in the poinsettia arrangement on the dining-room table, she remembered, and a squat black-and-silver candle on the living-room coffee table. She would light all of them, then there would be no dark rooms if the power went out again.
As she lit the last candle in the dining-room centerpiece, a resounding crash of thunder severed the heavens and the lights went out as though programmed. Jackie dropped the book of matches.
Heart pounding, she gripped the crutches like a lifeline.
She hated thunderstorms. Hated them!
Her hand trembled so badly as she bent for the matches that she nearly dropped a crutch again. Frustrated, angry and on edge, she tried not to think about the way her foot was giving her absolute hell or the thumping noise she thought she had just heard from somewhere inside the house.
Fear clogged her mind. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. For just a second, she thought she might pass out.
Imagination was a terrible burden.
And that’s what it was. Imagination. Angrily, she gripped the crutches and began to cross the dark hall into the cavernous blackness of the living room. She did not look up those stairs.
Jackie concentrated on remembering where J.D. had put the coffee table. Over by the windows, sandwiched between the television console and the other end table. She moved forward carefully and bent to light the candle.
A tiny noise caused her to look over her shoulder.
She saw him clearly. The elf’s lifeless face still twisted in its silent grimace. He lay sprawled unnaturally on the black chair as though dumped there hastily.
From beside the sofa bed, a figure rose.
Without thought, Jackie raised the crutch defensively. Ice-cold nerveless fingers slashed the crutch toward that dark menace. Her weight came down on her bad ankle and her leg twisted under the misstep. Her temple caught the edge of the coffee table as she fell.
Chapter Four
Something was wrong.
J.D. replaced the receiver and stared at the piles of papers crowding his In tray. Even on crutches, Jackie should have answered the phone by now. Unless the pain pills had knocked her out.
A glance toward his office window showed a dark bank of clouds working their way across the sky. Thunder grumbled in the distance. A strange sense of unease built in his chest. Why hadn’t Jackie answered her telephone?
He was here…right there on the end of the bed…. You believe me, J.D. Don’t you?
No, he hadn’t believed her. But what if she had been telling the truth? He’d left her there all alone in the house.
J.D. reached for his coat.
“Something wrong?” Carol looked up from her computer in surprise as J.D. strode into the outer office.
He hoped not. God, how he hoped not.
“Close up for me, will you? There’s something I have to take care of right now.”
She nodded, staring at him in confusion. “Are the children all right?”
He paused, hesitating only a second. They wouldn’t go to Jackie’s shop today. Not after his stern lecture yesterday. “I’m sure they’re fine. This is something else. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for a response. He crossed the room, reaching for the doorknob.
Maybe Jackie was asleep.
The bottle said the medication could make her drowsy. But what if she wasn’t asleep? She was vulnerable. On crutches. She could have fallen. Maybe she became disoriented from the pain medication. J.D. raced across the parking lot, unmindful of the blowing rain. He jammed the key into the ignition and slammed his car into reverse.
Maybe she wasn’t answering the phone because she couldn’t.
He pulled into traffic abruptly, ignoring the horns protesting such a brash move on the rain-slicked pavement. Visions danced through his mind. Ugly visions.
Something was wrong and he knew it.
The light changed. J.D. gunned the engine and raced through the intersection.
Damn! Couldn’t those cars move any faster?
He depressed the accelerator, weaving past the traffic. His breathing came faster, more shallow. The sense of urgency increased. He clenched the steering wheel as lightning forked the troubled sky. Thunder bellowed in its wake. Out of nowhere came an image of his son clinging to Jackie’s baggy sweatpants. She hated thunderstorms.
A garish yellow teddy bear…the eyes had been pulled off this one.
He didn’t relax even when he
took the turnoff to Kylerston. Main Street. A few more blocks to go.
Jackie had such compelling eyes. Troubled. Vulnerable. Her fear was real. Would anyone really make up such a bizarre tale?
Traffic lights suddenly winked out, leaving drivers to stare up at their deadened eyes. He’d never get through the snarled intersection now, and he was only a street away. He glanced around.
The lights were out.
The thought seared his mind. All the lights were out up and down the street.
And Jackie was alone in that dark house with a locked basement door.
You believe me, J.D. Don’t you?
Two vehicles collided gently. A third one missed the tangle but stopped, blocking the lane ahead. J.D. yanked his car to the side of the road, threw it into park and was out and running, dodging patches of ice.
He tried to kill me one night. Fortunately, I was expecting company.
Her side street was dark. No headlights here, and no lights in any of the houses that he passed. J.D. pushed himself harder as the rain and snow sleeted against his eyes. A large maple tree hunkered in Jackie’s front yard like an evil guardian. As he drew closer he saw a flicker of light near her front window.
Candlelight?
Suddenly, it flamed, starkly orange against the dark window.
J.D. sprinted up the slippery porch steps two at a time, his hand clawing for the house key he had taken from the hall table next to her purse. As he inserted it in the door and pushed his way inside, the lights snapped on. All the lights. Her downstairs was an explosion of lights, just like the previous night.
“Jackie?”
And then he smelled the smoke.
J.D. turned to his right. His eyes automatically absorbed the scene, even as he leaped forward. Jackie lay on the carpeting like a discarded rag doll. Flames inched their way across the rug, advancing on her baggy sweatpants.
“Jackie!”
As he scooped her into his arms, the bottom of the drapes suddenly writhed into horrible life. J.D. raced outside and set her on the porch swing. He whirled and went back inside, reaching for the heavy white satin material, Flames licked its length, devouring the fabric in a terri-fyingly greedy display. In minutes the room would be engulfed.
One hard pull yanked the material from the wall. Frantically, J.D. dragged the burning mass outside, tossing it to the sidewalk in a hail of hissing sparks.
Heart pounding, he went back inside. Flames crept across the carpeting in search of prey. He grabbed Jackie’s water glass and tossed its remains, dousing the burning candle where it lay on the floor, feeding the flames. Smoke filled the room in a bilious cloud.
In the bathroom, he refilled the glass, wet down a towel and returned to do battle with the rest of the flames. Heart-pounding fear made him stamp and grind his leather-soled shoes into the charred wreckage even after the fire was out.
Jackie.
Coughing, he rushed back outside to see her eyelids flutter open. An unborn scream parted her lips.
“Jackie!” The scream yielded to a cry of pain as he jerked her into his arms. Belatedly, he remembered her ankle. He cradled her against his chest. If he’d been two minutes later, he would have been too late. The thought made him ill. Another cough wrenched smoke from his lungs.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Easy, now. You’re safe.” Meaningless words rolled from his lips.
A sudden noise at his back brought him spinning around. J.D. found himself facing the business end of a revolver.
“Police. Hold it right there.”
FOR THE SECOND TIME that day, J.D. sat in the hospital waiting room. He was relieved when Ben Thompkins finally strode from behind the No Admittance sign. The rangy policeman surveyed the waiting area, spotted J.D. and sauntered over, claiming the empty seat beside him.
“Met her yesterday, huh?” Thompkins opened.
J.D. glared at him. “How is she?”
Ben shrugged. “Mad as hell. You okay? You look worse than she does.”
“I’m fine. Did she say what happened?”
“The dead elf reappeared in her living room.”
Thompkins kept his tone neutral, his expression blank. J.D. muttered a fervent curse. “I take it you didn’t find anyone else inside the house?”
“Good guess.”
“What about the basement?”
Thompkins frowned. “What about the basement?”
“Did you check down there?”
“Of course. We checked the house from top to bottom, J.D. Just like last night.”
“How did you get through the locked door?”
“What locked door?”
J.D. swallowed his exasperation. “The one leading to the basement.”
Thompkins frowned. “The basement door was standing open, just like last night.”
“No. It was closed and locked last night. At least it was after you guys left.”
Obviously puzzled, Thompkins scratched his jaw. “Ted might have closed it when we came back upstairs. What’s your point?”
“Jackie says she doesn’t have a key to that door.”
Thompkins lifted his brows in disbelief while J.D. tried not to wonder if he’d been played for a sucker.
“Is that what your call to the station house this morning was all about? I didn’t get the message until a short time ago.”
J.D. nodded. “Jackie says she hasn’t been down there since she moved into the house. Her friend misplaced the key.”
Pity flared to life on Thompkins’s harsh countenance. He studied J.D. and shook his head. “She also claims there was a dead elf in her bedroom, who conveniently disappeared before we arrived. Now, she claims he reappeared. Only, you’ll notice he was gone again when you got there? I can’t figure out what sort of a game she’s playing, but the basement door was open, J.D. Both last night and today. I went down there myself. It’s a basement. A large, open, empty basement.”
J.D. muttered a profanity. “Why would she lie to me? That’s crazy.”
His shrug was eloquent. “She says the elf was sitting in the chair in the corner. She says someone else came at her from beside the bed. She says she tried to hit the other guy with a crutch and fell.”
“And you don’t believe her.”
“I’m a cop. I look at evidence, J.D. There isn’t a lick of proof to support the word of an obviously stressed-out woman on medication. She can’t even give me a decent description of the man she claims attacked her. All she remembers is he had blue eyes.”
J.D. grimaced. “What about the fire?”
“She admits to lighting candles because she was afraid of the storm,” Thompkins said patiently. “They were burning in almost all the downstairs rooms. She’s on crutches and she’s been taking medicine that could have made her drowsy. At a guess, she lost her balance, fell, knocked the candle over and the flame set fire to the carpet and the drapes. Nothing indicates anything else.”
“But there could have been someone in her house?” J.D. persisted.
Thompkins groaned, his expression pained. “And I thought the rash of burglaries was gonna drive me nuts. Sure. Santa himself might have been there looking for his missing elf. The back door was unlocked,” he added grudgingly, “but that doesn’t mean a thing. You didn’t see anyone, did you?”
“Just Jackie and the fire.” The memory tightened his gut.
“That was a damn fool thing to do, too,” Thompkins scolded. “Once you got her out you should have waited for the fire department.”
“The entire house would have gone up in a matter of minutes.”
“And you could have died if you hadn’t been fast and lucky with those drapes.”
J.D. didn’t want to think about that. His reactions had been instinctive. “Jackie isn’t the sort to leave a door unlocked,” he told Thompkins.
That netted him a glower as Thompkins drummed his fingers against the armrest. “Look at this logically, J.D. She couldn’t have been unconscious for more than a few minutes
or that fire would have spread a lot farther.”
Thinking how close it had come to reaching Jackie’s clothing made him want to shudder.
Thompkins warmed to his objections. “Do you have any idea what a dead body weighs? You don’t just tote one around like a houseplant. Think about it, J.D. How the hell would anyone get a body inside the house without being seen? It was late afternoon—dinnertime. Someone would have noticed a body being carried in or out of her house.”
J.D. forced his fingers to uncurl. He didn’t want those words to make sense, but they did. “What about her exhusband?”
Thompkins sighed. “We’re still checking. I don’t have much info yet, but I do know her restraining order is legit.”
So she did have a reason to be afraid.
“What’s your stake in this, anyhow?” Ben demanded. “I thought you didn’t even know the woman.”
“I don’t. But my kids like her.” J.D. fidgeted uncomfortably. So did he, damn it. He recalled the amazing softness of her lips, her skin flushed with the delicate heat of passion. J.D. shifted in the plastic chair.
“So the official police stand is that she was dopey from medication and fell because of the crutches?” he asked. “And let’s not forget that she’s hallucinating because she’s high-strung, on medication and afraid of storms?”
Thompkins heaved another sigh. “Rather crudely put, but yeah, at the moment that’s it in a nutshell.”
J.D. scowled. “Not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. Look, J.D., I don’t know what to think. Her story is far-fetched, you have to admit that.”
Thompkins was right. J.D. didn’t really know anything about Jackie. They hadn’t talked much last night because she’d been too nervous. Justifiably so. Any intelligent woman would have been on edge with a complete stranger spending the night in her house…elf or no elf.
“She didn’t seem crazy,” he muttered.
Thompkins rose to his feet. “Just be careful, J.D.”
JACKIE WASN’T HAPPY to see him. Her hair was doing its best to escape the confines of the pins she had used to trap it on top of her head. She swiped futilely at several tendrils, scowling after a departing nurse. Her eyes were sunken hollows, the only color on her pale face coming from the darkening bruise near her temple. Yet she lifted her chin, proudly defiant, her doe eyes so vulnerable they stabbed at his heart.
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