by Jeanne Adams
“Oh, but he is. Never touched an engine in his life until sixty-seven, but now? Up to his elbows in it.”
“Wow. Wish my mom could find some sort of hobby other than calling me. She’s been calling every day. She wants Steven to fly back home. I keep telling her—” Torie suddenly realized how it all sounded, and tried to take it back. “I mean, not that I mind her calling, or anything. I’m glad she can, that she does. It’s just—” she broke off as Paul laughed.
“Oh, trust me, I know. My dad called virtually every night, right around bedtime, for about a year after my mom died. He was heading to bed, you know? Hated to go to sleep, knowing she wouldn’t be there. He’d call and talk for an hour or so, he’d get so sleepy, I’d have to yell at him sometimes.”
“Yell?”
“You know, he’d fall asleep talking to me and I’d be calling to him, ‘Dad, Dad? Wake up and go to bed.’”
“Well, at least I don’t put my mom to sleep.”
“Har, har. I’m guessing you said no to Steven and your mom, about coming, right?”
She knew they were both thinking about how easily her frail mother and her brother could be targets. “Absolutely.”
“Good. You about done there?” Paul reached for the briefcase handle as she did.
She jerked back. “Sorry. Thanks.”
“What is it?”
“I, um…” She looked around, anywhere but at him. “It’s my office. Seems weird to be in here. With you. Under these circumstances.” She hesitated, then continued, “I feel like we’re being watched. That’s weirder.”
Paul nodded. “Weirder. Yeah. Let’s go to dinner.”
“So what made you choose this place?” Torie asked as they sat, sipping a nice glass of red wine while they waited for their meals.
“For what?”
“To celebrate?”
“I like low-key. Making partner’s a big step, you know?” Paul said, buttering his bread, then putting it down to use both hands to gesture. “It’s never been my ambition, though. I wanted to build a company, or take over one that’s really messed up and make it hum, make it profitable.”
“Really? You wanted corporate?”
“Yeah, well more like entrepreneur.” Paul shrugged it off, going back to the bread. “Then life intervened. I needed to get into a firm, get some experience. Who knew it would be eight years?”
“Yeah, time flies, and all that. I certainly never expected to work for TruStructure all this time. And now that I have, I guess I’m sorry I didn’t branch out more.”
“Have you thought about doing your own thing? Everyone knows you. They talk about you a lot at the Chamber, from the board to receptionist. I’ve heard your name mentioned at the leads group.”
“Wow, really? They talk about me?”
Paul smiled at her. “Yeah, they do. I guess you did a talk there about cooperative marketing to build business.”
“Oh. That.”
“I hear it was impressive. So, you have the contacts and the know-how. I saw for myself that they didn’t want you taking potential ideas out of there, especially if they were yours to begin with.”
“Yeah. I have to see if I signed a noncompete clause, or something like that. As you say, it’s been a while. I started there just before…well, you know.”
“Yeah.”
The waiter arrived with their dinners, for which Torie was relieved. She didn’t know how to talk to Paul about Todd. As emotional as they both got over his death, with everything going on between them, how would they?
She wrestled with the thought all through the wonderful dinner. It surprised her that this was his kind of celebrating. They were nearly finished with dinner when she ramped up her nerve to ask about it.
“This has been really nice,” she said, looking around the quiet restaurant, admiring the subdued décor. “Nice to go casual, eat good food in good company. Have an interesting conversation.”
“But?” Paul questioned. “I hear a big ol’ but in there.”
She laughed. “Yep. I’m wondering what happened to the party guy. Back in the day, you would have been dancing on the roof of the McClaren building, shooting champagne corks off the roof.”
Paul threw back his head and laughed, open and free.
“Yeah, you’re right. I would have. Now I wonder who would sue me, and for how much, if I hit them in the head with a cork.”
“Oh, come on, you would not.”
“No, but you have to admit, making partner is a bit more of a sober event than passing advanced law practice and principles.”
“No.” She giggled. “I don’t think so. Bigger milestone. I guess that means you should pick a bigger building and something larger than a two-glass split of cheap bubbly.”
“Hmmm, let me think. Well what about City Hall? Or the new Liberty Bell museum. That would be fairly high. Not the highest in Philly, mind you,” he said, pretending pomposity. “Can’t have that. Got to wait for a bigger milestone to do that.”
“Absolutely. But the bubbly, that can be the good stuff.”
“For the roof? Are you sure?”
They laughed and continued the scenario as they wrapped up the meal with coffee and dessert.
“Lord, this is delicious. Want to try it?” She offered him a spoonful of the tiramisu she was having. It was a date gesture, a comfortable thing to do. When she realized it, she started to pull the spoon back. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t like tiramisu.”
He took her hand, holding it steady as he leaned in, eyes on hers, to take the spoon into his mouth. “It’s nice of you to offer. Thanks. Mmmm,” he said, never taking his gaze from hers. “Tastes good.”
The teasing was gone. The easy camaraderie faded in the intensity of the thoughts written on his face. She could see desire there. Desire for her, for them together.
And she felt a fire well up within her as she was caught, held in place by the lightest touch of his hand. Every need, every nerve vibrated. The spoon quivered in her hand, and he smiled.
“Shall we?” he said softly. The words were laden with meaning, with passion.
She wanted it. Badly.
“Yes.”
He watched them leave her office, followed them to Paul’s house. Paul had let the bodyguard go before they went to TruStructure, which was helpful.
It was amusing to think of the time and energy Paul was wasting on watchers. He knew who they were, too. He had his own reasons for hiring them from time to time. It had been child’s play to watch Torie leave the building, see what kind of car followed her. Of course, if Torie knew she was safer during the day, it would ruin some of the fun.
He hoped they were coming back out. He didn’t want to sit out all night in yet another trashy rental car. They always smelled so used somehow.
He saw lights go on in several rooms. It amused him to imagine Torie stripping out of the snug pants she’d had on. He liked thinking of her, standing naked before him. Desperate, helpless. He wanted her that way. Again. And again.
His breathing quickened, and he could feel himself harden under his own seeking hand. It wouldn’t do to take care of that now. Not in a car that might be traced to him in some way.
No. Later, he would picture her behind those windows, weeping and helpless, ready for him to come for her.
He would be able to take her as he wanted to. Paul would be dead. Maybe, just maybe he’d keep her alive. See where things went from there. He could always kill her. Later.
The lights changed, with the outside lights coming on. It pulled him from his imaginings, and he eased down in the seat so he wouldn’t be seen.
The garage door opened and they pulled out. If Paul were leaving alone, ah, then Torie would be alone. How…convenient.
But, no. Irritation washed over him as they passed. He could see that both of them were in the car. He brightened a bit, though, thinking that they’d been in the house such a short time that Paul wouldn’t have had time to touch her again. He knew Pau
l couldn’t leave her alone. And Torie was a tease, a woman, after all. He knew Paul would want to have her. Besmirch her.
Unless he had a short fuse. He giggled at the thought of the infamous Paul being an early shooter.
He tamped down the amusing thought as he turned the car on and followed them. Not too close. As interesting as it was to speculate, it didn’t help him focus. He had to be cautious, keep his cool. Watch for opportunities.
The restaurant was small. The parking lot was dark, with shadowy corners. Even better, there was a lot above it, rising about six feet to one side. From there he could see the whole building, including Paul’s elegant Mercedes.
He curled his lip. As if buying a sleek car made the man better, made him more worthy somehow. Yeah, right.
Pulling the notes from his pocket, he reviewed the distances. If he used the nine millimeter as he had for the hired sedan, he might have enough of a clear shot to hit either Torie or Paul. The twenty-two was too wimpy for this, and it was safely disposed of anyway.
He squinted in the low light, scanning for more details. He wasn’t that far away, but he could easily leave the lot and go onto the side street without being seen.
Almost perfect. He would have liked to plan this out more thoroughly. He didn’t like chance. It messed things up. Everything that had gone wrong for him had been by chance. More time, and he would have had Torie. More luck, and it would have been him, not Todd, rolling in the millions. If he’d won, if he’d had the money, then all his father’s maunderings could have been cast aside like the drivel it was.
Well. Water under the bridge, as his dear old mother would have said. Hmmphf.
She should have known better, too. It had been so easy with her, after all. She couldn’t swim.
The doors to the restaurant opened, and a couple came out. He cursed himself for sitting, wallowing in the past. Nothing could be done about it now. Nothing that he wasn’t already doing, that is.
He’d never get the shot planned, get the silencer on. His palms began to sweat as he fumbled for the sections of the gun.
“Damn it all.”
He froze at the sound of his own voice. Silence was the rule. You couldn’t…
The couple was getting into another car. Some kind of SUV. It wasn’t Torie and Todd…Torie and Paul. Todd was dead. Already dead. He’d been to the funeral. Yes.
Now, to get his aim down pat before his real target came out.
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re sure?” He slid his hand over the nape of her neck, deliberately repeating the gesture he’d used to bring her closer before, when they’d only kissed the first time.
“I’m not sure of anything right now, Paul. I can’t help it, I want this.”
“That’ll do.” Paul pushed the door of the restaurant open, resting a hand on her back to keep her close, feel her. He also registered the cool night air, the feeling that rushed over him as he contemplated taking Torie home, making love to her again.
He helped her into her seat. It was impulse that made him do it, bend to kiss her.
He barely heard the thwick of the bullet whizzing over his back, but the window next to him shattered into a million glittering shards.
“What the—”
“Get down,” a voice called out of the darkness. Another windshield exploded into fragments, over where the voice had come from.
“Shit!” a different voice yelled.
He heard the sound of an engine, heard the shuffle of moving feet, but all he could see was the glass. It covered his feet, covered Torie’s lap. She’d thrown herself sideways, a wise move.
“No.” He pushed her back down as she started to shift. “Stay there.”
“You okay?” Detective Tibbet appeared seemingly out of nowhere, peering through the blasted window.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You okay, Ms. Hagen?”
Torie turned to look at him. Nodded.
“I heard a car—” Paul began.
“Yeah. I think he beat it. Harry, my partner, radioed for black and whites, but he’s probably gone.”
“Damn.”
“Tell me about it.”
Tibbet grilled them about what they had been doing, what they’d heard. He helped Torie out of the car, but asked them not to touch anything else. Within minutes, he had a team out searching for the bullets or any casings.
“What are casings?” Torie asked Paul as they sat together on the tailgate of an ambulance. A crowd had gathered, of course. The owner of the other car, the one hit by the bullet, was protesting the need for his car to be impounded, towed back to the city lot for examination. Torie didn’t blame him.
“What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“What are these casings they’re talking about?”
“Shell casings,” Paul answered the question, but gave her a funny look.
She looked exasperated. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Gunshots mean bullets. Bullets mean shell casings. It’s what holds the shot while it’s in the gun.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“You don’t watch the news? Or TV?”
How irritating. “Of course I do. I simply don’t watch a lot of violent TV. I can’t sleep when I do.”
“Ah.” He sounded odd. And a little condescending.
She scooted away from him, just a little. She needed distance. Even that much helped.
How could this still be happening?
“Ms. Hagen. Mister Jameson.” Tibbet came over to where they waited, his ubiquitous notebook open and ready for more squiggly notes.
“You were following us,” Paul said. She could tell he was a little angry, a little embarrassed.
“Yeah. Obviously someone wants to kill your client. Possibly you, too. You don’t torch a house, and shoot a guy, and then stop, ya know?” Tibbet didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it looked like he wanted to. “My partner and I had some time, so we’ve been watching over Ms. Hagen. Saw the bodyguard bug out. Guess we’ll have to tag you, too. Now, if you separate…” he said to Paul.
“Separate? Tag him, too? What do you mean?” Torie jumped in.
“That shot wasn’t meant for you, Ms. Hagen. Whoever this guy is, he had a clean shot at you through the back window. Or while you were walking to the car. Nope.” Tibbet looked at Paul, his expression quizzical. “That one was meant for Mister Jameson here.”
Torie’s heart squeezed in painful understanding. She had gone to dinner with Paul. That had painted a big fat target on his back.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, horrified at the implications.
“Torie,” Paul said sharply. “This could as easily be someone after me for other reasons.”
“No, I don’t think so, Mister Jameson,” Tibbet interjected, cutting off Torie’s reply. “We’ve checked your cases. Pretty much none of your work has been controversial. No divorces, nothing that’s big press. Those being the usual causes of a grudge,” he explained. “I think your friend, Todd, is the unifying factor, but I can’t get a handle on it.”
“But why Torie?”
“She dumped him. Or was dumped by him.”
“But the accidents…” Torie began.
“Were deliberate. Look,” Tibbet said, leaning in, foot on the bumper. “I don’t pretend to know what this guy’s thinkin’, okay? But seems to me that the common denominator is your friend Todd Peterson. He wins money, and goes gallivanting off into the wild blue, right? Leaves you behind. If your time line’s right, the one you gave me a rundown on?” He directed this toward Paul, who nodded.
Tibbet turned to Torie. “Then the accidents and incidents your friend had began the first time he returned to the U.S. for a visit. You put down on your time line that you were on a date with—” Tibbet references his book—“a guy named Trey Buckner?”
“Jeez, you dated Trey?” Paul shot her an amazed look.
“Yes, I did. He was very nice, but we didn’t click,” she said defensi
vely, and nearly cursed at how it came out. She’d have preferred to be cool and calm about the whole thing.
“Yeah, that’s the guy who had the nuisance complaint, right? Where someone canceled all his stuff.”
“Yes. I only found out because he thought I might have done it.”
“Why?” Paul asked, turning to look at her. She could see the knowledge in his face. Knowing Trey’s reputation, Paul could guess why.
“Because I said no.” Torie left it at that.
Tibbet, of course, wouldn’t let it rest. “No?”
Torie sighed. “No to his advances, which were fairly aggressive. We got into a shouting match involving a lot of bad language on his part.” She felt so prim saying it that way, but she wasn’t about to tell them Trey had called her a cocktease, and Todd’s throwaway whore of a bride. With the way Paul was already looking, Trey might get a visit, and she didn’t want that.
“Bad language, I see,” Tibbet scribbled again. “Any pushing or shoving?”
“It’s been more than four years, Detective. But none that I remember. Not on my part anyway.” She remembered the bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed and shaken her, but mentioning them did no good.
“I’ve read the notes from the complaint. We weren’t very smart about internet stuff or the whole identity thing, even that short time ago.” Thankfully Tibbet let it go, but the look he gave her told her he knew more. “And Mister Peterson lost four tires, hubcaps, and a windshield.”
“He did?” Torie was aghast. “Wow, he never told me.”
“He laughed it off,” Paul said, his voice tight. “Said it was probably kids.”
“Not in that neighborhood.”
“Yeah.”
Tibbet nodded, and returned to questioning Torie. “All the other intersecting events took place when Mister Peterson was in the country. I couldn’t find anything in our files that you reported or with which you were connected in between those times. Do you remember any?”
Torie thought about it, but was so tired she couldn’t dredge up a single thing. “I don’t know, Detective. It’s not that nothing happened, I just don’t know if I can say for sure. Not tonight when all this is going on.”