Hidden Target

by Rebecca Deel

  Oh, this ought to be good. “Let me guess,” Madison said. “A tofu block with grass seed sprinkled across the top?”

  Nick grinned, then walked around to the driver’s side and reached behind his seat. He handed her a white bag with a familiar red symbol stamped across the side. When Madison opened the bag, the sweet smell fresh chocolate-covered donuts tickled her taste buds. “I take back every mean thing I said.” She grabbed the top donut and bit into the sugary treat. The still-warm donut melted on her tongue.

  He laughed and cranked the engine. He nodded at the drink in the cup holder. “I brought you a cappuccino. Figured you needed a caffeine jolt this morning.”

  “You’re a wise man, Mr. Santana,” she said around a bite of donut. After eating another few bites, Madison sipped the steaming drink. She closed her eyes, content. Halfway to town, she crumpled the empty bag and wiped her sticky fingers. “What will you do today?”

  “Buy you a cell phone. I’ll drop you off at the police station. Stay there until I return or until your mom arrives to help with the shop.”

  Was he serious? “But it’s daylight and my shop is across the street from the police station.” Madison frowned at him. “I’m expecting a large shipment of yarn and needles this morning. I’ll keep the store locked until you or Mom show up.”

  Nick drove in silence pondering her suggestion. “Only if you let Ethan or one of his men check the shop before you go inside.” He slowed his speed at Otter Creek’s outer limits. “Don’t fight me on this, Madison.”

  “Don’t put me on a leash so tight I can’t breathe.” She finished her coffee and replaced the lid. “I understand the extra precautions at night and the cell phone chained to my wrist. But nothing will happen to me at a shop where customers drop in all the time. You’re overreacting.”

  Nick parked in front of the Otter Creek police station and unbuckled the seatbelt, his expression somber. “I won’t risk your safety.”

  Her heart pounded. Was it fear or a caffeine buzz? The harassment incidents annoyed her, but none harmed her. Yet. She swallowed hard.

  Nick plugged the charger into his dashboard. The small battery icon on Madison’s cell phone flashed. Satisfied the phone was charging, he merged with Knoxville traffic and maneuvered through multiple lanes of traffic on Interstate 40. Dayton Lane Exit, 1 mile. He glanced at his watch and flipped the right turn signal.

  Was he overreacting? Uneasiness roiled in Nick’s gut. He couldn’t keep her in seclusion, no matter how much he suspected danger from Bates.

  He turned left onto a side street with small cottages lined up like soldiers. Though all cottages were painted the same dreary gray with peeling white trim, a few industrious owners had planted flowers in window boxes in an attempt at cheerfulness. He looked for a house displaying patchy grass in the front yard and a strip of dirt with multiple pot holes that masqueraded as a driveway.

  Nick located the house at the end of Buchanan Street. The bottom of his car scraped the dirt as he plowed through a deep rut in the driveway. An old station wagon occupied the far end of the drive. Good. The old man was home. He doubted the old guy would help, but he’d stir the water anyway and see what happened.

  Nick crossed the scraggly yard and rang the doorbell, surveying the area around him while he waited. If anything, the neighborhood looked more desolate than it had a few weeks earlier. A chain rattled on the other side of the door. The old man appeared gaunt, frail. Nick struggled to keep shock from showing on his face.

  “What do you want, Santana?” The old man’s reedy voice sounded weak.

  “I need to talk to you a few minutes, Mr. Bates.”

  The feeble hand trembled and grasped the doorknob for support. Bates’ limp, gray hair seemed as dirty as the stained, worn clothes he wore. “You’re not a cop anymore,” he muttered. “Don’t have to talk to you.”

  Nick noted the sheen of perspiration on Richard Bates’ forehead, his pasty complexion. “I have information about your son.”

  The old man grunted, released the door and shuffled into the gloomy house. Assuming the open door meant a reluctant invitation, Nick stepped through the doorway. Dust particles danced in the streaks of sunlight which filtered through shredded curtains. Stale air reeked of cigarette smoke, alcohol and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Empty bottles of beer, discarded newspapers, and old food wrappers lay scattered over the floor, coffee table and furniture.

  He cleared room at the end of the couch closest to Bates and sat. Before he could open his mouth, a large white object hurled itself at him and landed in a heap on his lap. Nick drew back his arm, intending to knock the thing off his legs, when it looked up at him with blue eyes. A tail twitched, ears swiveled. His lips curled at the source of the unnamed odor—a large white cat.

  Bates’ chuckle sounded more like a croupy cough than a laugh. “That’s Snowball. You’re sitting in his spot.”

  Nick eyed the furry animal. Since Snowball didn’t make any threatening moves, he stroked between the animal’s ears. Snowball made himself more comfortable on Nick’s lap and purred. “Heard from Scott?”

  The old man shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Nick shifted his gaze from the contented cat back to Scott Bates’ father. “Look, Mr. Bates, I don’t want to hassle your son. A good friend is being stalked. I want to ask Scott if he knows anything about it.”

  Bates mulled over his explanation. “Why do you think my son’s involved?”

  “Not sure that he is. Local police found his car abandoned about an hour from here, the same area where my friend lives. If he’s not behind the threats, I want to rule him out and continue the search.”

  “Don’t know where he is.”

  “But you talked to him recently, didn’t you?” Nick almost missed the flicker of change in the old man’s expression. A wave a satisfaction flooded him. “When?”

  “Few weeks ago.”

  The corners of Nick’s mouth curved. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Two weeks, maybe.”

  “Did he stop by or call?”

  Bates grunted. “Came by. Wanted cash.”

  A slow burn ignited in Nick’s gut. Richard Bates didn’t look like he had a lot of cash to spare and in no shape to earn it. Regret sliced through him with the precision of a samurai sword. His own father would have been about Bates’ age. He swallowed against the knot in his throat. “Did Scott tell you he was leaving Knoxville?”

  Snowball jumped from Nick’s lap and leaped onto Bates’. After a few turns, he perched on his owner’s lap. He chuckled, patted the cat and said, “Told me he was going fishing for a few days. Needed to clear his head.”

  “Does Scott own a gun, Mr. Bates?”

  He frowned. “No. Look, my boy’s a hothead and he mouths off a lot, but he’s no killer.” Bates scratched Snowball under the chin and massaged his back. Nick waited for him to decide the next step.

  “If you find him, tell him to call.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.” Nick stood and brushed cat hair from his jeans. His heart went out to the hurting, sick father. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Bates?”

  The old man gave a sharp bark of laughter that ended in a gut-wrenching cough. “Nobody can help me now. Don’t have long to live—maybe a few weeks,” he said, his expression grim. “Pancreatic cancer.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Hopelessness pooled in the man’s eyes. Nick handed the man his business card. “Here’s my number.” He pressed the cold, brittle hand between his own. “Call me if I can help you or if you hear from Scott.”

  Bates lifted a thoughtful gaze and studied Nick’s face. “I’m not promising anything.”

  Nick nodded, turning toward the door.

  “Santana.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?”

  “Scotty met a woman. Told me Lynne lives near some little town called Otter Creek.”

  Madison tore the plastic encasing eight skeins of jewel-toned yarn and gr
inned like a kid tearing into birthday presents. She rolled a strand of yarn between her thumb and forefinger, marveling at the soft texture and vibrant color. This wouldn’t stay on the shelf long. If her enthusiastic knitters hadn’t purchased all the skeins by the end of the week, she might take some home for her own stash. She would find a spot for it in her guest bedroom until a project surfaced for the yarn.

  “Oh, that’s beautiful!”

  Madison smiled at the brunette standing in front of her. “Hi, Trixie. I’m surprised to see you back already. Need help with your scarf?”

  “What?” Trixie Richards, one of her beginning knitters, dragged her gaze away from the yarn. “Oh, no, I don’t need help. I heard one of the other knitters discussing her yarn supply yesterday and I want different types of yarn for experimenting, too.”

  Madison laughed. “It’s always fun to try out something new. Choose a few skeins and we’ll narrow your choices to the best two or three.”

  Trixie stepped away from the counter. Halfway across the room, she turned back, speculation in her green eyes. “I saw the picture of that man, the one the police are showing around town.”

  “Is that right?” Madison’s smile faded. She plunged trembling fingers into another bag of yarn. “Have you seen him?”

  Trixie shook her head. “They said he might be connected to some odd things happening to you.”

  Marbles of ice formed in the pit of Madison’s stomach. The Bare Ewe had been open for 90 minutes, and already she fended off the curious. “They want to ask him a few questions.”

  “Trixie, dear, how’s that scarf coming along?” Liz swept past Madison, linked arms with the young woman, and ushered her to a bin on the other side of the store.

  Madison retreated to her office and entered the latest yarn shipment into inventory. When she ventured onto the sales floor again, Trixie was walking across the square with full Bare Ewe bags in both hands.

  Liz smiled at her. “I think it’s safe to come out now.”

  She hugged her mother. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure, baby.” She took Madison’s hands in her own. “I’m happy to help. You’ve been through a lot the past couple of years, Madison, and most of your trials weren’t things we could share.”

  “You were there. That was enough.”

  Her mother cupped Madison’s face between her soft hands. “Good things are in store for you if you’re not afraid to grab hold of them with both hands.” Liz tweaked the tip of her nose and smiled. “Enough mush for now. Where’s your handsome knight?”

  Heat surged in her cheeks. “If you’re talking about Nick, he’s buying a cell phone for me.” She glanced at her watch again. Where was he? Did it take three hours to purchase a cell phone? “I thought he would be here by now.”

  When her mother didn’t answer, she looked up to find herself under intense scrutiny. “What? Do I have yarn fuzz at the end of my nose?”

  “Nick’s a great man with a heart of gold. You won’t find many men like him these days.”

  Oh, no. Her own mother playing cupid? “We’re just friends, Mom.” Then she remembered the statement Nick made the night before, the one he refused to explain. He came to Otter Creek for her. Madison’s face flamed.

  When the back door to the shop slammed, both women jumped. Megan waded through the tables and chairs near the coffee bar, wiping her hands on a wrinkled cloth. With her faded jeans, Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Meg looked kind of cute, especially with grease smeared on her flushed cheek.

  Megan glanced around the shop. “Nick’s not back yet?”

  Madison’s face burned. “No.” Nick didn’t need to be consulted about a dead battery. Though not helpless, her family treated her that way at times. “Did you figure out what’s wrong with my car?”

  Meg’s mouth twisted. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Well, can you fix it?” Madison said when her sister remained silent.

  “No.”

  Oh, boy. Sounded like an expensive visit to the dealer lurked in her near future. Whatever ailed her car must be bad if Meg couldn’t fix it.

  The bell over her door rang and Nick walked into the shop, guitar case in one hand, cell phone in the other. “Hi.” He studied each woman’s face. “What’s going on?”

  “Looks like I’ll have to take the Jeep to a repair shop.” Madison wrinkled her nose. “Meg says she can’t fix it.”

  Megan shook her head, fists on her hips. “You misunderstand what I’m saying, Maddie. Your car can’t be fixed at all.” She threw the greasy rag she’d been holding on the counter.

  “Hey!” Madison snatched the rag off her counter. “Not where my customers lay their yarn.”

  “You’ve got bigger problems than my grease rag. You ought to sit down for this news.”

  “Cut the drama.” Meg’s theatrics bordered on aggravating. The uneasiness she’d felt since her sister walked in the back door grew to dinosaur proportions. “Just tell me already. What’s wrong with my car?”

  “Someone put sugar in your crank case.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Madison gawked at her sister. “Well, clean the sugar out.”

  “I can’t, Maddie. Somebody put sugar in the oil that lubes your engine. That oil’s now thick and sticky like molasses. The engine’s gummed up.” Meg rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing more grease. “I’m sorry, sis, but your Jeep is dead.”

  The heavy silence lengthened. A warm hand rested on Madison’s shoulder. Someone sabotaged her engine? Had Bates escalated? “Why would someone do this? What have I done to provoke the flowers and now my car?”

  Nick slipped his arm around her shoulders, embraced her. “You didn’t cause this, Madison. You’re a victim of someone else’s rage.” He turned to Megan. “Show me.”

  He followed Megan through the back door of The Bare Ewe. Madison bit her lower lip. “I guess we should call Ethan.”

  “I’ll do it.” Liz tilted her chin, a battle light in her eyes. “And while I’m on the phone, I think I’ll call your father.”

  “No, Mom.” Madison tossed the dirty rag in the trash. “If you call Dad, he’ll think he has to come home.” She leaned behind the counter and grabbed a cleaning cloth and a bottle of cleanser. “He can’t do anything.”

  Liz smiled. “What he needs to do takes a phone call, honey.” She turned on her heel and crossed the floor to Madison’s office.

  While Madison cleaned the counter, she raked her brain for answers and came up with nothing. The harassment didn’t make sense before, either. Weren’t stalkers spurned old boyfriends or groupies craving recognition from celebrities? Seven months pregnant when the stalking nightmare began two years earlier, she looked like she’d swallowed a basketball and waddled when she walked. Not a professional-grade beauty who inspired stalking, except by an adoring husband.

  Madison stashed the cleaning supplies, then raised her hand to her face and traced the scar. She doubted a man would be obsessed with her looks now, and she wasn’t a celebrity. Could Bates be obsessed, enough to come after her now that Luke was dead? Did he shoot Nick? And where did all these unanswered questions leave her? Puzzled.

  “All right, my sweet, you’re all set.” Her mother’s smile seemed smug. “Ethan’s on his way to look at your car.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “He’s furious and in his ‘take charge’ mode. He’s transferring money into your checking account as we speak so you can buy another car.”

  The thought of car shopping made her queasy. She loved her ten-year-old Jeep. Luke had dickered with the salesman to get her a good deal. She foresaw several dreary, eye-straining hours scouring the Internet, arming herself with information for car negotiations.

  Madison breathed a prayer of thanks for high sales and popular classes. She’d need both to pay off the car and keep herself busy. After the accident that took her husband and son, she’d wanted to give up on life.

  Her gaze fell on Nick�
��s guitar case. Nick and her family refused to let her quit. The Cahills had taken turns keeping her occupied during the day at the hospital while Nick had stayed with her at night. When pain skimmed the outer edges of her endurance, he had played his guitar for her.

  “Let’s call Serena.” Liz glanced at her watch. “She should be finished with the Kendall’s meals.”

  Madison frowned. “She doesn’t know anything about cars.”

  Liz chuckled. “She’s our best bet for lunch delivery in the next 30 minutes.” She folded her arms, her smile fading. “It’s time for a family round table discussion.”

  Ethan let the hood drop into place, a hot breeze brushing across his face. “Did Madison leave her car unlocked yesterday?” He wiped his hands on the white rag Megan handed him and faced his companions.

  “No chance.” Megan pushed her hands deep into her pockets. “Luke dogged her about car safety. She always locks her car.”

  “Thought that might be the case.”

  “Someone with access to her keys sabotaged the car,” Nick said.

  Meg’s mouth gaped. “You think one of us would do that to Maddie?”

  “That’s not what Nick said, Meg.” Ethan threw the greasy cloth in the trash can beside The Bare Ewe’s back door. “Someone who came into Madison’s shop yesterday sabotaged her car or slipped her keys to the person who did.”

  “Are most of her customers women?” Nick asked Megan.

  She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her, but I’ve never seen male knitters in the store. Her knitters drag their husbands and boyfriends in as pack mules.”

  Ethan watched Nick process Megan’s answer. His lack of expression set off silent alarms in Ethan’s head. He’d learned something new while in Knoxville? “Think out loud, Nick.”

  The corners of Nick’s lips twitched. “Talked to Bates’ father this morning. Seems our man’s seeing a woman. Care to guess where she lives?”