by Janet Dailey
“Sit down. Talk to me,” he said, gesturing to a chair. He closed out the spreadsheet he had pulled up.
After working with Kenzie for over a year, he was fairly good at reading her mind. Plus he had five kids and was impossible to lie to.
Kenzie took the oak armchair across from his desk and sat, then turned when she heard the jingle of Truck’s tags. One of the trainers must have let him in—sometimes it wasn’t clear who was training whom. A moment later the dog was asking silently for permission to lie by Jim’s side.
“At ease, Truck.” Her boss pointed to the floor and gave the dog a few seconds to settle down before he nodded to her to begin.
It didn’t take Kenzie long to explain. Per plan, she didn’t tell him everything. His thoughtful gaze on her face didn’t waver and his mouth tightened in a fierce scowl when she told him about the sideswipe.
“Hit-and-run, huh? No witnesses?”
“Not that we know of.”
One thick eyebrow went up. “We? Who’s on the case?”
“Ah—the police, of course. And a friend of mine. You don’t know him.” She returned his interested gaze with composure.
“I see. Well, I hope like hell they get the bastard. Take all the time you need, Kenzie.”
“Thank you. I mean it.”
His tone turned bluff. “Not a problem at the moment. I can spare you. Bottom line is looking good, real good.”
“The new clients?”
“One in particular,” Jim said. “Just signed a contract with a billionaire who wants canine protection. Got the wife and kids tucked away at a mountain estate and he’s nervous.”
“Doesn’t he have bodyguards?”
Jim grinned. “Several. But JB dogs are a status symbol, apparently. He insists on paying top dollar.”
“How much are you charging him?” Kenzie asked curiously.
“I suggested fifty thousand and he raised me to one hundred thousand. Per dog. For three dogs. I didn’t say no.”
“You’re bad.” Kenzie laughed.
“Hey, he started it. Three hundred thousand is small change to the guy. He wants to brag about how much his animals cost, I say let him.”
Kenzie shook her head with amusement. “No harm in that. He’s getting good dogs. So who’s doing the training?”
“Buddy and Wells. They can’t believe the money they’re making for the gig.”
He pointed a pencil at her and sounded stern again. “And by the way, you can forget about that unpaid-time-off crap. Your salary is direct deposit, and that’s not going to stop. You earned it, you need it.”
“But—”
“Just check in now and then,” he interrupted. “That’s an order.” His voice was gruff, but she knew that he didn’t show his soft side. “I want updates.”
“I will.” She smiled at him. Jim was army all the way. Never abandon a fallen comrade. He knew Kenzie wouldn’t have requested time off for a trivial reason.
“Wait. Before you go,” Jim said as she rose to leave. “Think you could get my gun back for me? I left it with Norm to have the firing pin fixed.”
“Sure.”
“I’d do it myself but I’m up against a time crunch today.”
Kenzie smiled at him. “No problem.” She wouldn’t mind a quick stop there. Norm Hamill’s firing range was where she’d learned to shoot before she’d enlisted and still went sometimes for target practice.
“Great. That’s one less thing to check off my list.” He pretended indifference. “Okay, I have work to do. Scram.”
“Yes sir.” Her tone was gently teasing. “And thank you again.”
“Stop saying that.”
She moved to leave and Truck half rose until Jim’s hand stopped him. He sank his big fingers into the dog’s ruff as Kenzie raised a hand to wave good-bye. There was a wistful quality in her gaze, and it puzzled the man.
“Should I close the door?” she asked him.
“Please do.” Jim and Truck watched Kenzie walk away on the other side of the glass panel.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he muttered to the dog.
Truck gave him a soulful look in reply and thumped his tail on the floor.
Jim Biggers knew in his bones that Kenzie wasn’t telling the whole truth. He threw his pencil down on the desk and watched her as she went down the hall. “Yeah. She left out about half that story.”
The question was why. He supposed Kenzie had her reasons. Jim shook his head and returned his attention to the computer screen in front of him
Outside in the parking lot, she walked quickly to her car, glancing at Buddy and Wells without saying hello. The two men were working with several new dogs, running them through simple commands that would become increasingly complex in the weeks ahead.
It was good to know that there were no urgent army orders right now. Landing a rich non-military client definitely took the pressure off Jim. She didn’t feel too guilty about not coming in. Kenzie took out her car key and unlocked the doors from several feet away.
She took one last look at the new dogs through her windshield as she got in. Good group, she thought. They were off-leash, but not one had diverted its attention from the trainers at the sound of the key beep.
Kenzie heard her cell phone chime and scrambled to find it in her purse. The screen indicated a missed call from Mrs. Corelli, who hadn’t left a voicemail message.
She frowned as she dialed the number, hoping Christine’s mother would be able to pick up. After the fourth ring, she did.
“Oh, Kenzie. I’m so glad you called back.” Her voice was shaky.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. I want to text you my sister’s phone number before I forget. So you have more than one way to reach us. It was such a relief to be with Ann last night.”
“That’s good. What’s going on?”
“She really wants us to take turns staying there when we’re not at the hospital. Alf thinks it’s best. Now—oh, I can’t text and talk at the same time, can I?”
“Nope. Just talk to me. The phone number can wait.”
Mrs. Corelli took a breath. Then another. Kenzie’s heart sank. Her fingers clutched the small phone.
“The neurologist came around on morning rounds—not Dr. Asher, someone else. Apparently she is still stable, but—”
Kenzie stiffened in the seat of the car, braced for bad news.
“She’s been so quiet all this time. But now—” Mrs. Corelli was silent for a few seconds. “She was moaning today, Kenzie. Like she’s in pain. He told us and the doctors with him that she probably isn’t, but I—I don’t know.”
“Did they say anything else?”
Mrs. Corelli thought for several seconds. “There’s concern about the sedation. Dr. Asher approved a change in it and it is lower, but she still needs careful monitoring. The neurologist mentioned possible problems with clots—fluid in the lungs—things like that. Alf and I were so worried, but we weren’t sure if he was speaking generally or what.”
“I can come. Right now. Let me help, however I can.”
“Thank you, Kenzie.” Mrs. Corelli whispered the reply. “We really appreciate it.”
“I’m on my way.” Kenzie turned the key in the ignition.
“Before you hang up—”
“Yes?”
“Is it possible for you to pick up Christine’s laptop and bring it in?”
“Ah—I could,” she stammered. “Why?”
“All her photos are on it.”
“You’re right about that,” Kenzie answered, still puzzled.
“I’m not making myself very clear, am I?”
“Well, no, but it sounds like you have a lot on your mind.” And Kenzie wasn’t going to add to her worries, either. Not yet.
Mrs. Corelli went on, “One of the neurology residents brought up post-trauma memory loss in brain-injured patients and ways to treat it, including visual aids. I caught her in the hall, asked
for more information.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, when Christine regains full consciousness—”
She broke off. The aching hope in the older woman’s voice was heartbreaking. Kenzie waited. Mrs. Corelli had said when. Not if.
“They expect that she will, then,” Kenzie prompted.
“Yes.”
“That’s good news.” But it didn’t explain away the changes in Christine’s behavior that had upset her mother. Maybe there was no explanation for the moaning.
“It is. But not a guarantee of anything.” Mrs. Corelli’s voice cracked a little. Kenzie waited while she composed herself.
“Anyway, going forward, it’s likely to be a while before Christine can talk to us or even form words. But she should be able to recognize images she knows. So I thought perhaps you and I could use the laptop to put together a slide show of family and friends—especially you, Kenzie—and her favorite activities, things like that.”
“Oh. Sure.” Stall for time, she told herself. “Um, when would you want to do that?”
“We could get started on it today or tomorrow. What do you think?”
“I’m all for it. I have to call you back, though. Soon—I promise. I’m in the car right now.” Not driving it, but she would be. Kenzie looked around the JB Kennels parking lot. A couple of fancy cars had come in. Clients, most likely. She wanted to get going.
“Of course, Kenzie. And thank you again. You’ve been so great—I hate to ask you to do anything more.”
“Don’t say that. I want to.”
Kenzie tossed her cell back into her purse as she backed out and headed down the county road. She heard the incoming text a minute later.
Christine’s parents didn’t have to know about the hacker right this second, not with their daughter in such bad shape. Once she told them what had happened, they would have to stay out of the apartment permanently.
Linc’s comment about someone stealing the laptop before he could retrieve it came back to her. The idea stoked fresh anger. She struggled to control it by driving at a steady fifty-five.
Bad enough the stalker had hacked into it. He wasn’t going to get his actual hands on the thing. The thought made her flesh crawl. Homicidal bastard. If he appeared in the road right now, she wouldn’t swerve. She’d—she’d—
She would do the obligatory right thing and call Linc before going back to Christine’s apartment. He had thirty seconds to answer and five minutes to return her call if he didn’t pick up at once. Tough luck otherwise.
Kenzie kept driving as she formulated a plan. Christine’s building had seemed to have a lot of people coming and going, tenants or whoever. She’d scout out the exterior stairs, get to the second-floor apartment, and stand back when the door opened, then get in and get out, fast.
But she wasn’t going to risk her life if anything seemed wrong. Kenzie pulled over on the shoulder, raising dust, and dialed Linc.
No answer. She let it ring just long enough for the attempt to register as a missed call and hung it up. He couldn’t say she hadn’t tried. That was as virtuous as she was going to get.
The phone fell toward the back of the car when she took off again, gunning the car onto the empty road.
Suddenly she was a lot less afraid. If the hacker showed up again on the laptop, it would be a second chance to get a screen grab. More than one if she could.
Face. Eyes.
If only she could reach through the screen and haul him out for an appropriate punishment. Total fantasy, but what a fantasy. Kenzie’s foot pressed down on the accelerator.
Linc saw her number on the call-waiting box. One ring. Two. Three. His commanding officer was on the line. Hang on, he told Kenzie mentally.
“So. You staying down there another week, Linc?”
Four. Five. “Yes sir. With your permission.”
“What was the name of that little town again?”
“Ridgewood.”
“Never heard of it.” The officer chuckled. “I guess it doesn’t matter. By the way, your coworkers on the project don’t seem to miss you much.”
It was protocol to keep specific information out of phone calls, which were ridiculously easy to intercept. There was only so much encryption could do.
The call-waiting box disappeared and Linc swore silently. “I check in every day.”
“That’s what I hear. Keep it up,” the other man said affably. “So long.”
Linc looked at the phone screen and jabbed the message icon. There weren’t any. He called her. No answer.
Damn it. What could he do? He had no way of tracing her, and he couldn’t just jump in the car and chase her around.
Then again, he could be overreacting. Maybe she’d called to tell him what a great guy he was, but hadn’t wanted to say that to voicemail.
He wished.
CHAPTER 5
He left the motel to get something to eat, not forgetting to bring the phone in his pocket. It stayed silent as a rock.
It occurred to Linc that she might have called to let him know she’d rescheduled with the lieutenant. Somehow he doubted it. He wondered why she was leery of the police—she had to have worked with cops now and then, unless JB Kennels only trained military working dogs.
Could be just her natural impatience, combined with her army brat’s sense of superiority. But she was right about how long it would take the police to get an investigation under way. That didn’t mean he was going to brush them aside. He was curious about what the lieutenant would have to say.
Of course forensic analysis took forever. But there was no other way to amass the kind of evidence that could put the stalker behind bars. Conjecture wouldn’t do it.
He wouldn’t let that stop him.
Linc got in his car, taking his time and eventually finding his way to the road that led past the Arlington military cemetery. The rows of white markers standing sentinel passed by in a heartbeat, but made him think.
Never forget. It was that simple.
He focused on the road again, seeing the Washington Monument, the highest point in DC, alone against the blue fall sky. Standing tall.
He drove farther into Arlington proper, heading for a side street lined with ethnic restaurants. Unfortunately, none were open. He settled for franchise food from a drive-through and tossed the takeout bag into the front passenger seat, then headed back to the motel.
The parking lot was just about empty by the time he pulled back in. Linc unlocked his door and sat down to feed himself. He wouldn’t call it a meal.
In five minutes, he finished the tasteless sandwich he’d bought and got rid of the wrapping. Then he rolled up a magazine and used it to sweep the others off the motel table so he could put his feet up on it.
He leaned his head back on scratchy metallic upholstery that hadn’t been cleaned since disco died. He wished he had earphones and a decent playlist to blast into his brain.
There was nothing to listen to but the drone of a vacuum in the next room. He’d hung a Do Not Disturb sign on his door. The housekeeper would have to come back later.
He entered points on his mental grid.
Girl A. That was Christine, the stalker’s first target, although Linc was keeping an open mind on that. There were other possibilities.
She and Kenzie, Girl B, hung out constantly, did a lot of things together. Neither had been aware that someone was watching.
Linc tried to think like the stalker.
If he’d ever spied on Kenzie in action at the kennels or a local event that featured the JB dogs, he knew how tough she was. Her best pal Christine was easier prey.
Everyone loves her. Kenzie had said it.
The line from A to B had proved to be short.
Had he hoped for a two-for-one when Kenzie loaned Christine her car? He must have been disappointed when Christine drove off alone, but he hadn’t wasted any time.
Stalkers could be methodical and remarkably patient. But obsessions had a way of intensify
ing. Demons had to be fed. Voices got louder. Harass, hurt, kill.
The creep had followed Christine, then forced her off the road on a lonely stretch of highway. Maybe he’d intended to rape her or worse—other cars or trucks could have driven by, not stopping, not seeing.
He had to have a self-protective streak. He hadn’t chanced it, just taken off. Leaving Christine unconscious and badly injured, trapped in a car that could have exploded in flames at any second.
Just thinking about it made Linc want to slam the stalker’s face into something hard, like a concrete wall, repeatedly.
Uncivilized. Illegal. Effective.
He kept on thinking. About the shadows he’d seen in Kenzie’s hall. Linc hadn’t imagined them. Done with Girl A, Evil Eyes had doubled back to Girl B’s building for more sick fun.
Picked Kenzie’s locks. Or simply pushed in her half-latched door. And got scared off by Linc.
It bugged the hell out of him that he remembered so little. The stalker remained a shadow, tantalizingly out of reach.
Unless ...
A fair amount of time had elapsed between when Linc had glimpsed the aftermath of the accident on TV and when he himself had ended up at Kenzie’s building.
The stalker could have sped away seconds after the crash. And done a U-turn in the next minute, come back around, rubbernecking before the cops took over. Keep going. Nothing to see here, people. Move it.
The cameraman might have filmed that when he and the reporter were warned away from the wreck.
Even with live feeds, someone at the station controlled what got on the air. There had to be outtakes—the stalker could have been recorded. Driving a car that could be ID’d. A visible face in the window that Kenzie might recognize.
Time frame—he needed one to mesh with the grid in his mind and pin the stalker to it. The news footage was digitally stamped down to the second, if he could get a look at it.
Did the first responders actually get there first? How long was it before Christine was pulled from the wreck? Linc didn’t know but he could find out, if he could get Kenzie to play nice with the police department. It would have to be her. It was her car that had been wrecked and her friend that had been hurt.