by Jo Davis
She sat up straight. “The blond guy?”
“Yes. During the auction, when I was onstage. It was dark, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same man I saw at the strip mall, and I’m almost positive he wanted me to see him this time. In fact, when I changed clothes and went to put my turnouts in the Tahoe, I heard someone in the darkness moving around. Like boots on gravel. I challenged him.”
“You did what!” Her fork clattered to the plate. “He could’ve had a gun or something.”
“I know that,” he snapped. “But I was certain he wanted me to know he was out there, watching, and was deliberately trying to freak me out. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it, and it almost worked. I heard him coming toward me when Julian came outside and asked who I was yelling at. The guy vanished.”
She let out a breath, scowling at him. “Thank God for Julian. You idiot, that lunatic could’ve hurt you, dragged you off, and nobody would’ve known where you were, or found you until it was too late.”
“I’m not going to let him push me around and I let him know it! Fuck that asshole.”
“Terrific. You’ve instigated a pissing contest with a psycho.”
“Hey, I didn’t start it,” he defended. “But I’ll damned well finish it if he comes around again.”
How was the question, when he didn’t know anything about the man. Why he was doing this, what he wanted.
Unless the man was Jesse.
They finished eating and she helped him take care of the dishes. He sneaked glances at her and could tell she was upset with him. Or the situation in general.
“Gonna stay mad at me all day?”
Her frown softened. “No.”
“Good. I have some things to do, but I’d like to see you again tonight. If you want.”
“Of course I do. I just worry about you, that’s all.”
“I know, baby,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. She snuggled into him and he kissed the top of her head. “It’s all going to be fine.”
On his way home, those words echoed in his head. He hoped he hadn’t lied.
The unsettled feeling in his gut nagged at him. Told him that somewhere along the way, he’d missed something. That the puzzle was missing a few pieces in the center to complete the picture.
When had his life gone from happy and fulfilled to simply existing for his children? When had he and Blair begun to drift apart? Because that was the start of his downhill slide.
Two years before the accident, she’d started harping at him. All the freaking time. About every damned thing. Blair had always been spoiled, but happy in their marriage, or so he believed. Gradually, he hadn’t been able to please her no matter what the hell he did. So he began picking up more overtime.
It wasn’t a conscious decision on his part, to avoid his family. But sometimes he’d needed a break from her, and he thought she’d felt the same. It never occurred to him they wouldn’t get through their rough patch. He wasn’t a quitter.
And then the arguments began in earnest. Blair began to work late, leave early. Her cell phone was rarely visible, and once when he’d picked it up to make a call because hers was handy, she’d nearly taken his head off.
The innuendos began, the subtle threats. Her voice rang in his head.
I don’t know why I bother.
Aren’t you man enough to admit when you’re wrong?
Work yourself into the ground if you want. I’m going to have fun while I can.
If you can’t appreciate what you have here, someone else might.
The last words she’d ever spoken, filled with venom. At the time, he’d believed she was pissed because he’d missed Bobby’s game.
And now he was very much afraid those words meant something else altogether.
Bursting into the house, he found the detective’s card from his visit. Dialed the number and waited. To his surprise, the man answered on the second ring.
“Detective Kayne.”
“Detective, this is Sean Tanner. You came out to my house a couple of weeks ago—”
“Tanner, right!” A pause, and some shuffling of papers or something. “My apologies for not getting back to you sooner. I’ve been meaning to call since yesterday, but I’ve been swamped.”
“That’s okay. You have anything?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. As I suspected, there were no prints on the box left at your house, or the contents. But we have an interesting tidbit on the suspicious call you received. The number was registered to a cell phone belonging to a woman in Chattanooga. Stolen.”
That revelation hit him hard.
“I grew up there,” he said quietly. And so did Jesse.
Oh, God. Please.
“No shit? May mean something, or it may not. But also of interest is the fact that the call that was made to your number from the stolen phone was made around the halfway mark between Chattanooga and Sugarland.”
“As though he called on his way here, to get me.” Fuck, he was going to be sick.
“We don’t have any proof he wants to harm you. The hell of it is, he has to try for us to get that proof.”
“I think he may have already.”
“How? Explain.” To the detective’s credit, he didn’t sound cynical or like he was merely humoring a complainant.
“You know the bomb that went off in the restaurant at the strip mall?”
“Yeah . . . oh, wait. Your lieutenant called me about this after you were hurt. I went out and looked at the air tanks and the cut hoses. So, you think the stripmall bombing and the tampering with your equipment is related to the other stuff going on with you?”
“Yeah. I think it was aimed at me, at least indirectly.”
“Let me hear what happened from your point of view.”
Sean told him about seeing a man who looked familiar in the crowd, and how he nearly died of smoke inhalation. Howard and the team finding that the hoses to the air tanks had been cut. He added the recent events, seeing the man again at the auction last night. About challenging his mysterious stalker, who was approaching until Julian interrupted them. He left out the nightmare, and Jesse’s name, related only the facts as he knew them for a certainty.
“What do you think?” he asked when he was finished.
“That you’ve got a bigger problem than we first thought. The question is, who is this guy and what does he want?”
“What am I supposed to do? Buy a gun?” He’d never owned one. Blair hadn’t liked guns and he hadn’t dared buy one after his family was killed.
“Fuck, no! In civilian hands, guns cause more problems than they solve. Does your house have an alarm system?”
“Yes, but I haven’t bothered with it in ages.”
“Start setting it. Even if you just go outside for a while, lock up and arm it. And until we catch this asshole or he disappears, don’t go off without someone knowing where you are. Commonsense stuff.”
“And then what?”
“We need more to go on to figure out who this guy is. Can you think of anyone at all who might get a kick out of harassing you?”
His stomach lurched. “I’ve got a couple of ideas, but that’s all they amount to. I’m going to check my wife’s office and I’ll give you a call back.”
“I remember you saying you thought she might be having an affair. Think he’s still around?”
“Maybe. There’s another possibility, but I’d rather get into that only if it becomes necessary.”
“All right. Do some digging and call me back.”
“Will do. And thanks for your help.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
Saying good-bye, Sean hung up and steeled himself to face what he’d been avoiding for so long. Deep down, did he suspect he’d find something incriminating in Blair’s sanctuary, and that was why he’d put off going through it? Yes, if he was honest. If Blair had been involved with someone, the clues would be located where she’d spent most of her time. After all, she’d never
envisioned there would come a day when she wouldn’t be around to guard her secrets.
At the closed door to her office, he stood staring at the polished wood. He hated this, feeling like he was invading her privacy, even though that was no longer the case. But it had to be done, if for no reason than to prove him wrong.
He pushed inside and took a moment, letting the stillness permeate his entire being. Her computer sat on the wide mahogany desk, a neat stack of papers on the right-hand corner. Her BlackBerry had presumably burned in the accident, but he knew she was prone to jot notes first, then input information into the device later regarding lunches, meetings, and such. His wife had been meticulously organized.
No sense putting this off any longer. Deciding to save the computer for last, he tackled the stack of papers first. A glance through them showed they were all work related. Nothing that would be important now, just ideas and notes on projects that had no doubt been long reassigned. The idea made him sad; Blair had been creative, her ad campaigns innovative. Nobody could take that from her, no matter what else she’d done.
A search through the drawers turned up an array of smaller office supplies in one. Notepads in another, unused. He rifled through the typical variety of office stuff. Until the last drawer.
A notepad there had been written on, several pages of shorthand notes and scribbles that were difficult to decipher. Among those writings, however, were a few notations of interest.
Lunch with G, 12:30 p.m.
Investors’ meeting, 8:00 a.m.
Dinner with G, 7:00 p.m.
Jimmy’s Auto, brakes, $450(?)
Sean blinked, reread the last note. The brakes? On the Mercedes? If there was a problem, she’d never mentioned it to him. Had she called Jimmy’s, gotten an estimate on some work? If so, would they remember her?
Shuddering, he laid the notepad aside to show Detective Kayne. The computer was next, and he really, really did not want to check her e-mail. But he was in for the duration, and booted up the machine. It clicked and whirred, as if protesting the sudden prod to life after a long sleep. He knew exactly how that felt.
At the prompt for the log-in and password, he entered the last combination he’d known her to use and hoped it worked. She hadn’t allowed the kids to use her computer and never gave them the log-in information, but he’d used it infrequently. He supposed it would’ve seemed suspicious if she’d refused to give it to him.
He was surprised when the command worked, and he was in. Launching the Internet, he waited for it to come up, and then went to her e-mail program. Belatedly, it occurred to him to wonder if the account would’ve been rendered inactive. If she had her account set up to roll over each year, the renewal charged to their credit card, it should still be there. In his haze of grief, it wasn’t like he’d checked.
The password for the e-mail proved more problematic because he’d never known it. The log-in was simply her e-mail address, but he tried several combinations for the password before hitting the correct one—Mia’s birth date. Tears pricked his eyes and he ruthlessly shoved down his sorrow.
The messages came up and he was startled to find several unopened ones from addresses he didn’t recognize. They struck him like a fist to the gut, almost ghostly. Remnants from a life ended too soon.
He should’ve expected that, but hadn’t. Stood to reason that she’d get e-mails from friends and coworkers before they got word of her death. Hand shaking, he moved the mouse to the first one and began to read.
Not much there among the unopened mail. Two were spam. Three from work, regarding current projects and meetings. An off-color joke from a friend. Nothing.
He started down the list of opened mail, finding more of the same. On the fourth e-mail, however, his luck changed.
Be there Friday. Miss U, sexy. Gonna fuck U so hard U scream. -G
Sean stared at the message for the longest time. Hand on the mouse, stunned in the face of seeming proof of his wife’s infidelity. The last message from her lover, dated two days before she died with their children.
Be there Friday.
The day they were killed.
G. Who was he?
Numb, he checked the incoming e-mail address. From one Gsparks. His heart pounded in recognition. Where had he heard that name before? Where? And then it broke over his head like ice water.
“George Sparks,” he whispered.
Amelia Marshall’s new neighbor. The one who’d just moved here.
What the fuck? What the fuck?
Whipping out his cell phone, he scrolled to Kayne’s number and punched it.
“Detective Kayne.”
“It’s Sean Tanner again. I need to show you something, right fucking now.”
Kayne’s voice perked up with interest. “Whatcha got?”
“Not over the phone.”
“I’m here. Just come to the front desk and tell the officer there I’m expecting you.”
“See you soon.”
Holy God. What in the fuck was going on?
He had a bad feeling more puzzle pieces were about to fall into place.
12
1991
Sweat streamed down Sean’s face as he fired. Took down the enemy, one by one.
Over the next rise, Connors was busy with his own fight. Doing pretty well.
But he didn’t see Jesse sneaking up on his five o’ clock.
Sean ran.
The pounding on her door caused Eve to start. Cautiously, she approached, peered out the peephole, and let out a breath.
“You’ve only been gone a couple of hours,” she said as she swung the door open to smile at Sean. “Miss me already?”
Instead of the happy greeting she expected, he was fidgety, out of sorts. “Would you come with me to the police station?” he asked hoarsely. “I need you.”
His urgency, the look on his face, forestalled her questions. “Hang on. I’ll get my purse.” She fetched it quickly and locked up behind them. He took her hand, gripping it like a lifeline as he practically dragged her to his Tahoe.
“Thanks,” he said as they jumped inside. “You’re the only one who knows everything that’s going on with this bastard who’s harassing me. Blowing up buildings. God knows what else.”
“What’s happened?”
He fired up the SUV, pulled away from the curb. “I went through Blair’s office. Her desk, computer. She was having an affair. Shit, I can’t believe this.”
“But you already suspected she was,” she pointed out gently.
“Yes, but it’s not the what—it’s the who.”
She studied him, trying to make sense of what had him so agitated. “Who she was seeing, you mean?”
“Yes. I found e-mails,” he said breathlessly, grabbing a sheaf of papers from between his seat and the console. “Look.”
She took them, scanned the sender’s and recipient’s addresses, and began to read. The sleazy contents both sickened her and filled her with sadness for him. Sean was a hardworking, good, and loving man. And the bitch had been cheating on him. She hated to think ill of the dead woman, but he hadn’t deserved to have his wife sleeping around.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at his stark profile. “This is bad, but I still don’t see, why the police?”
“Check out the guy’s name.”
“He signed them G. That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“No, look at the top. His e-mail address.”
“Gsparks at . . .” The name teased her brain. “That sounds familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“George Sparks.” She stared at him blankly. “Your mother’s new neighbor.”
Instantly, she felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh my God! She was seriously freaked-out by that man! But she said he just moved here. How could it be the same guy?”
“Sparks just bought her neighbor’s place, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t in the area before then.” He blew out a tired breath. “You’re right. He could be a different G. S
parks, but what are the odds? Either way, Detective Kayne can find out. I hope.”
“Even if he is the same man, that doesn’t mean his being here indicates anything sinister. He could simply be her ex-lover, nothing more.”
“There’s something else that gets me. From the stack of e-mails, this affair went on for almost a year,” he said tightly. “It was hot and heavy, right up until two days before—before she died.” The last he got out with difficulty, and cleared his throat. “After her death, the e-mails stopped. Just like that.”
“I’m not following.”
“If you’re having a clandestine affair and your main communication is e-mail, and your lover suddenly dies, would you necessarily know of the death right away? Wouldn’t you keep sending messages until you investigated and finally learned what happened? Where are his e-mails saying, ‘Hey, I haven’t heard from you’?”
A chill went through her. “That would seem logical. So, if his messages stopped immediately, it might be because he knew right away that she was gone.” This kept getting more horrible by the day.
“That’s what I’m thinking.” He banged his fist on the steering wheel. “This whole thing has a gaping hole in the middle and it doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.” She laid a hand on his thigh. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or not.”
At the police station, they hurried inside and Sean politely asked for Detective Kayne. They were told to wait because something had come up, but he’d be with them as soon as he could.
Sean paced the lobby like a caged tiger, papers in hand, glancing at every cop that came in or out. She was about to urge him to sit down when a familiar face walked through the door. Sean stopped his pacing and actually smiled, approaching the man and sticking out his hand.
“Shane, it’s good to see you.”
She recognized him as Detective Shane Ford, Shea’s twin brother. The man Tommy had gotten to help them with Sean’s problem.
“Same here,” the man greeted him good-naturedly. “You’re not here regarding that matter Tommy called me about, are you?”