“That would be my wife,” Mike said. “Amanda.” He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “Look, Inez, Thomasina’s mom, doesn’t know anything about the stalker. Thomasina had just told Amanda this afternoon, and Amanda told me this evening. Is there any way we can keep this from Inez? She’s worried enough as it is.”
“Mr. Anderson, I’d like for you and Mrs. Hardy to go home to your house, tell your wife what’s happened and wait for us. I’m afraid we can’t keep the facts a secret from your mother-in-law. Thomasina was being stalked and now she’s missing. One and one usually adds up to two.”
“I understand. We …” He gulped. “We’ll go home and wait for you. And please, Sheriff, find Thomasina.”
“We will do our best.”
When she hung up, she turned to Jim. “If we formed a search party, we’d have no idea where to look. It seems apparent that somebody came along and gave Thomasina a ride. She could be in Tennessee by now or right under our noses close by.”
“Professor Kelley had better have a damn good alibi,” Jim said.
“You don’t like Dr. Kelley any more than I do, do you?”
“Nope, I detest his type. But just because he’s a cocky, womanizing jerk doesn’t mean he’s a kidnapper or rapist or killer.”
A foreboding chill rippled along her nerve endings. Bernie shivered. “God, I hope Thomasina shows up safe and sound, with some logical explanation of what happened to her.”
“Yeah, that would be nice, but we both know the odds are against a happy ending.”
“You think whoever killed Stephanie and Jacque has abducted Thomasina, don’t you?”
He nodded. “First thing in the morning, I’ll fill out a VICAP form with the info about Stephanie’s and Jacque’s murders. We need to find out if there are more cases similar to Stephanie’s and Jacque’s. If there are, they could be related.”
The department had a special computer program that generated a request form with all pertinent information about a crime that linked to the FBI’s Violent Crime Apprehension Program. During her father’s last term in office, he’d been determined to bring the Adams County Sheriff’s Department into the twenty-first century.
“But I thought we agreed that this guy is local, that Stephanie knew him and trusted him. And that’s probably what happened tonight with Thomasina. She got in a car with a man she knew and trusted. If that’s the case, how is using the FBI’s VICAP going to help us figure out anything about our killer?”
“Yeah, we did agree that both Stephanie and Thomasina knew the guy who abducted them, but using the VICAP might help us figure out if this guy has lived in the area all his life and whether Jacque was his first victim. Or if he’s killed before, somewhere else, and moved here in the past year or so.”
“The county is going to be in an uproar,” Bernie said. “Unless Thomasina miraculously reappears, I’ll have no choice but to hold a press conference tomorrow. And I’m torn between cautioning women to contact us if they receive notes and presents and sketches from a secret admirer and knowing I can’t reveal too much info without jeopardizing our cases.”
Jim reached over, clamped his hand down on Bernie’s shoulder and looked right at her. “If this guy stays true to his MO and repeats the sequence of events he did with Jacque and Stephanie, we’ll have two weeks tops to find Thomasina before he kills her.”
Bernie closed her eyes and said a quick, silent prayer, pleading with the Almighty to help them. And to help Thomasina Hardy, wherever she was tonight.
Thomasina came to in a semidark room, her head pounding, her mind fuzzy.
What had happened to her? Why was she here?
Where was “here”?
She lifted her head from the pillow and at that moment realized she was lying on a bed of some kind. She tried to sit up and couldn’t.
Why couldn’t she?
She tried to lift her arms, but found that her wrists were bound together over her head. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t. It was then that she knew someone had bound and gagged her, that she was totally helpless and … she turned her head to one side and looked around the small, shadowy room, lit only by the glow of what she thought was a nightlight.
She was alone. All alone.
Think, Thomasina, think!
She had been on her way to teach her Thursday evening class at the college when she’d had a flat tire. She had called her mother, who’d said she’d send Mike to fix the tire. But before Mike showed up—
Oh, God! No!
He had come along and offered to take her to the college and then go back and help Mike fix the flat. She’d had no reason to distrust him and every reason to believe she was safe with him.
He’d given her a Coke and she’d drank nearly all of it while they drove along County Road 157. All the while, she’d thought he was taking her to Adams County Junior College. They’d talked and laughed and she’d felt so completely secure and at ease with him.
But what had happened next?
She vaguely remembered feeling sleepy.
Had he put something in the cola? But how could he have? She’d seen him pop the tab on the can, hadn’t she?
She hadn’t really been paying close attention. He could have easily slipped something into the drink. He’d probably drugged her. But why?
Was he the man who’d been sending her the notes, the gifts, the sketches? Was he her secret admirer?
A surge of sheer, unadulterated fear consumed Thomasina as she lay there on the bed, in the semidarkness of a damp, silent room. Alone.
Where was he? When would he come back? What was he going to do to her?
Chapter 12
Dead on her feet, frustrated and worried sick, Bernie pulled her Jeep into her driveway at three-thirty on Friday morning. Jim sat quietly at her side, so quietly that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep on their ride back from Verona. Jim had agreed that it was best to let Kevin stay with her parents until he could pick him up this evening; he’d also readily accepted Bernie’s offer to fix breakfast for them at her house. Charlie Patterson would drive over from Huntsville and be in Jim’s office by seven, which gave Jim and her a little over three hours to rest for a while, grab a bite to eat and freshen up.
Bernie reached out, intending to gently shake Jim, but before her hand made contact with his shoulder, he grunted and turned to face her.
Her hand paused midair. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Just had my eyes closed.”
“It’s been a long night.”
He nodded.
Bernie opened the driver’s door and got out of the Jeep. She waited on the sidewalk for Jim to join her. Even this early in the morning, there wasn’t a hint of a breeze and the temperature probably hadn’t dropped below the high eighties. Alabama’s sweltering July humidity made it feel hotter than it actually was, something the weather forecasters referred to as heat indexes. When it was ninety, it often felt like a hundred.
Once inside her house, the cool air-conditioned atmosphere surrounding them the minute they entered, Bernie sighed deeply, then removed her belt and hung it on the hall tree just inside the entrance. Jim hung his belt beside hers and followed her into the living room.
“Sofa or recliner?” she asked.
“Either.”
“You take the recliner,” she told him. “My feet hit the sofa arm when I lie down, so there’s no way you can get comfortable on it.”
He sat down in the recliner, released the footrest latch on the side of the chair and propped up his big feet. “Damn, this feels good.”
Bernie kicked off her brown loafers, stacked one decorative throw pillow on top of another and laid her weary bones down on the sofa, stretching out all the way and resting her heels on the sofa arm.
“I can’t begin to imagine what Thomasina Hardy’s family is going through right now.” Bernie glanced over at Jim, who had his eyes closed. His arms rested on either side of the chair’s cushioned back, his hand
s cupping his head.
“Mmm … They’re wondering if they’ll ever see her alive again.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s too soon to make any predictions.” Jim yawned.
“Want me to shut up so you can take a nap?”
He opened his eyes, lifted his head and looked at her. “I doubt either of us can sleep. We’re too tired. Plus, we know we have to be at the office in a little over three hours.”
“I wish we had some idea where Thomasina is, where he took her. If we just had a clue of some kind, something—anything—that could help us.”
“If Ron can’t track down Professor Kelley, we might have ourselves a real suspect.” Jim yawned again. “The guy could be with Thomasina right now, hiding her away.”
“If only it could be as simple as finding him and making him talk. But we both know that just because Brandon Kelley wasn’t at home when Ron checked on him and apparently hasn’t come home yet, it doesn’t mean he abducted Thomasina or that he’s the man who’s been stalking her.”
“True. But according to her family, there hasn’t been any special guy in her life since she broke up with Ron. They have no idea who her secret admirer might be if it’s not Kelley.”
“I’m concerned about Ron,” Bernie said. “I know her sister said that he’s the one who broke off things with Thomasina, but he must still have some feelings for her. I mean, wouldn’t you think that even if he doesn’t love her now—”
“I’m sure that knowing a former girlfriend’s life might be in jeopardy makes this case a bit more personal for him. But just because they dated and, as her sister implied, had a sexual relationship, doesn’t mean they were in love.”
“No, of course not.”
“Too bad Thomasina disposed of everything except that final batch of sketches and the ankle bracelet.” Groaning contentedly, Jim burrowed his head into the cushioned softness of the recliner. “Of course, I doubt the guy was stupid enough to leave fingerprints. And like with the stuff we found at Stephanie’s, the ankle bracelet, the artist paper, and the envelopes are all probably items that could be purchased just about anywhere by anybody.”
“Why on earth didn’t she go to the police as soon as she started receiving those notes and presents?” Bernie flipped over onto her side and curled her legs at the knees. “What would make her think that any of it was romantic, that the notes and gifts and sketches were from some guy playing secret lover?”
“You’d have to ask her,” Jim said. “I’m the last man on earth you should ask about why women think the way they do. I never could figure out my ex-wife’s thought processes.”
“You shouldn’t assume that all women think alike.” Bernie felt an odd twinge of something in her gut. Jealousy? Get a grip, girl. She had absolutely no right to feel anything even remotely related to jealousy where Jim Norton was concerned, certainly not because he was talking to her about his ex-wife.
“Yeah, you’re right. Mary Lee was—is one of a kind.”
She wanted to ask if he meant one of a kind in a good way or a bad way, but it was really none of her business. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. If not…
“You’ve never been married, have you, Bernie?” Jim asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, your last name is still Granger and—”
“I married my high school sweetheart before we left for college and I divorced him seven years later.” She had been nuts about Ryan, had twisted herself like a pretzel, every which way, to please him. And in the end he’d thanked her for being a good wife by not contesting the divorce. “I haven’t seen Ryan in years. I heard from one of his cousins over in Pine Bluff that he remarried about five years ago, has a couple of kids and is living in Nashville.” Remembering her two miscarriages still hurt, still made her feel inadequate. “I took my maiden name back after the divorce.”
“Mary Lee and I got married right after I graduated from UT. Seems like a lifetime ago. Hell, even the divorce seems like a lifetime ago. Kevin was only six when his mother and I split and now he’s fixing to turn thirteen.”
“At least you have a kid.” Bernie hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It had just slipped out, gone straight from her thoughts to her tongue.
“Did you want kids?”
She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t face him, not when she had tears in her eyes. Had she wanted children? God, yes, she’d wanted them. At least three, maybe four. But apparently it just hadn’t been in the cards for her to be a mother.
Glancing down at the floor, she swallowed, then said, “Yes, I wanted kids. It just didn’t happen.”
“Guess we’d better get a little rest,” Jim told her, as if sensing her discomfort in answering his question. “I’ll help you with breakfast before we head over to the office. Seven o’clock will roll around before we know it.”
She took his comments as a cue that he wanted peace and quiet, a little downtime to rest and regroup before they returned to work and dealt with the horrible fact that another Adams County woman had been abducted.
Bernie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to relax. But her brain wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t allow her any peace. Various thoughts flickered through her mind, everything from who might have abducted Thomasina Hardy to what her life could have been like if Ryan had never cheated on her and if one of her babies had lived.
Stop thinking, damn it.
She hummed silently, a repetitive tune that was soon overpowered by her thoughts. Then she tried counting. That, too, didn’t work. It never did, but she kept trying it anyway. Finally, she gave up the effort to switch off her mind and allowed the thoughts to take over, which they always did anyway.
Wonder about what Jim’s marriage had been like. Wonder whether he still cared about his ex-wife. Mary Lee was probably gorgeous, the way Robyn was. Guys like Jim always went for the obviously sexy types. Hey, who was she kidding —all men went for the sexy types. So why had a jock like Ryan married someone like her, someone who’d been an athlete in high school?
He married you because you worshipped the ground he walked on. He liked having his own little groveling slave. She had given in to Ryan’s wishes in a way she’d never given in to anyone else, not even her dad. In her teens and early twenties, she’d had some major self-esteem issues, and it wasn’t until after her divorce that she’d come into her own. Well, as much as it was possible for a people-pleaser to choose her own path in life.
Had Jim’s ex-wife adored him, tried to please him, loved him beyond all reason? Had he broken Mary Lee’s heart? Or had it been the other way around? Something instinctive within her sensed that Jim had been the one who’d gotten his heart broken and that maybe he still carried a torch for this ex-wife. Mary Lee, who’d remarried. Mary Lee, who was now facing a battle with breast cancer.
Stop thinking about Jim Norton. He’s not interested in you.
Concentrate on something else, someone else. What can you do to find Thomasina Hardy before she becomes another murder victim? She was doing all that could be done, wasn’t she? Her chief deputy was a top-notch detective who’d proven himself on the Memphis PD. And Charlie Patterson was an experienced ABI agent. It wasn’t as if she was in this all alone, so why was it that she felt an overwhelming need to call her father and ask for his help?
Your lack of self-confidence is showing, Bernadette.
Her mind continued jumping from one thought to another, asking her questions she couldn’t answer, posing problems she couldn’t solve, demanding that she listen instead of sleep. But finally, exhaustion claimed her and she dozed off for a few minutes.
When she woke fifteen minutes later, her house was quiet and still. All she heard was the tick of the mantel clock and the hum of Jim’s hard, steady breathing. She sat up, put her feet on the floor and stretched. A sudden chill hit her, making her wonder if Jim might be too cool sitting there in his short-sleeved shirt. She removed the cream knit afg
han from the back of the sofa, got up and walked over to him. For a couple of seconds, she stood by the recliner and watched him as he slept. She liked the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he moved. He appealed to her on so many different levels, including the physical. He was a big, tall man with an athlete’s body. And he was good looking in a rough, rugged sort of way.
Bernie unwrapped the afghan and laid it over Jim, spreading it out from his chest to his ankles. He grumbled and turned onto his side.
That’s when several almost irresistible urges hit her—the urge to touch him, to caress his face, to lean down and kiss his slightly parted lips. She moved back toward the sofa, putting distance between them.
Damn it! Why is it that you bring out all my female instincts, Jimmy Norton? All those nurturing, loving, sexual instincts that I work so hard to control?
Charlie Patterson was waiting for them when they arrived at the jail promptly at seven A. M. And he wasn’t alone. Ron Hensley had also come in early, and from the looks of him, he hadn’t gotten any more rest than they had. Bloodshot eyes, a heavy five o’clock shadow and a wrinkled shirt said it all. The guy had probably been up most, if not all, of the night.
R.B. Granger sat behind Jim’s desk, drinking coffee and talking to Ron and Charlie. Jim glanced at Bernie as they stood side by side, just a few feet over the threshold. When she saw her father, she stopped dead in her tracks. Jim noted her reaction change from what he thought was gladness in seeing her dad, knowing he was here to help, to a sense of disappointment, as if she understood that her father didn’t trust her to handle this case without him.
“Good morning.” Charlie saluted them with his cup.
“Are we late?” Bernie asked, her tone tense.
“We just got here,” R.B. said. “I met up with Charlie outside a few minutes ago. Ron was already here and had put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
Jim walked over to R.B. and asked, “How’s Kevin this morning?”
“He was still asleep when I left,” R.B. replied. “Brenda’s planning on making him blueberry pancakes this morning.”
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