by Kate Douglas
“Well? Are you going to tell me what it is Frank’s reformatting?” Kat leaned casually against the door as Seamus negotiated the narrow streets.
“Frank thinks I’m gay. It didn’t bother him a bit to run into me in a bookstore in Guerneville, but it really threw him for a loop when a very pregnant, gorgeous blonde stepped into the picture and called me ’darling.’”
“I see. Blew your cover, did I?”
“Big time.” He turned and smiled at her.
She didn’t return his smile. “You’re not, are you? Gay?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, uncertain how to explain himself.
“A simple ’no’ would suffice.” Now Kat was the one who sounded uncertain. He couldn’t blame her, the way he’d ached to hold her one moment, then pushed her away the next.
Did his sexuality matter to her? He’d only thought of how much he was attracted to her and how wrong it was. He hadn’t really considered she might actually be interested in him.
“No, Kat. I’m not gay. I am very definitely heterosexual.” He slowed the Jag, then turned left into the parking lot surrounding a large grocery store. He found a space near the back of the lot and parked under a tree.
“Then why? Why let your agent and even Mrs. Andrews assume you...”
“Hazel, too?” He sighed, wondering how to answer her questions without coming off like a complete idiot. He turned and studied her a moment, noting the flush to her cheeks, the questioning look in her eyes. “A lot of reasons, most of which you won’t like, most of them having to do with Riley. He was outgoing and a little crazy, I was shy and withdrawn. We both reacted to our parents’ deaths in our own ways. He got wilder, I became quieter. Girls flocked to him, they scared me to death. Unfortunately, if they couldn’t have Riley, they wanted me. I was tired of being second best. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, so it was just easier to let them think I wasn’t interested.”
Kat grinned broadly. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, haven’t you? Lots of hours in therapy? You know, flat out on the couch with the shrink asking you to delve deeply into the workings of your tortured soul? Gettin’ to know your feminine side?”
Suddenly Seamus saw himself from an entirely new perspective. She was right. He’d spent way too much time self-diagnosing his hang-ups, his longings and desires. He’d been hashing it over like the whole universe depended on his knowing why he did what he did...and all that time Riley’d been out living life to the fullest.
Once again the sassy blonde in his front seat was forcing him to reevaluate his manner of living life versus Riley’s...and once again he was finding Riley’s approach a lot more sensible.
His short bark of laughter sounded bitter even to Seamus. “No shrink, Kat. I managed to do it all on my own...but you’re right. I did spend too much time thinking about it. Face it...what else do you do when you’re sitting home alone on a Saturday night? The truth of the matter is, I wasn’t ready to get involved with girls when I was young, avoided them to the point my friends tagged me as gay, but since no one seemed to care if I was gay or straight and it ended all the hassles with women, I just let the tag stick. Unfortunately, it made it difficult to find dates when I was finally ready...”
He let the sentence drag, accompanied by what he hoped was a doleful grin.
“I take it you’re ready.” Kat’s eyes darkened to an intense shade of blue, and her voice, soft and breathy, rasped over his senses like a physical entity.
“Oh yeah...” No! Geez, what the hell am I thinking? He swallowed, caught his breath, smiled brightly in her direction. “Yeah, one of these days I’ll meet someone willing to put up with all my hang-ups. Now that Frank suspects I’m as hetero as he is, he’ll be parading every single woman he knows past my door. At least he will once he figures out where you fit in the scheme of things. C’mon. Let’s stock up and get back to the cabin.”
Kat threw back her head and laughed. “You really are something, Seamus O’Rourke.” She opened the door and swung her legs out, then glanced back over her shoulder and grinned at him. “When you figure out what that is, let me know, okay?”
He grunted, climbed out of the Jag and slammed the door. Kat was still laughing at him when he hauled her to her feet and led her into the grocery store.
“THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE! I know the Russian River is a long river, you idiot! There are not that many resort areas. It should not be difficult to find a couple as distinctive as Seamus O’Rourke and Kathleen Malone. They couldn’t blend into a crowd if their lives depended on it.”
He chuckled, laughing at his own wit. Of course their lives depended on it. He’d see to that.
“Find them!”
He slammed the phone down and felt the rush, the power within surging through his veins, filling his muscles with an almost superhuman strength. Suddenly he looked around, realized he was standing inside a phone booth and laughed out loud.
He was invincible. He had the power. He was Superman.
Chapter Seven
KAT SHUFFLED THE DECK one more time, then dropped the cards in a pile on the kitchen table. “I can’t do it, Seamus. I cannot play another game of cards, I don’t want to even look at the chess board, and if you suggest we take one more leisurely stroll down the drive and back in this godawful rain, I’ll bean you with your walking stick.”
She glared at him, daring him to disagree.
“You could always read a book.”
“I’ve read all my books. Every damned one. I’ve even read your dumb cop stories.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes flashing, and jabbed the air between them with her finger.
He thought of his seventh grade math teacher, the one he’d had such a terrible crush on. She’d made her point in exactly the same way.
Seamus bit his lips to keep from grinning. He figured Kat wasn’t in the mood for a nostalgic walk down memory lane any more than she was for a walk down the hill and up again.
“Those authors haven’t got a clue what a real cop’s life is like. There is no glamour in stakeouts, undercover work is usually scary and exhausting, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve actually had to fire a weapon. If I shot as many perps as those storybook cops, I’d spend the rest of my life writing reports and or explaining myself to the captain, the media and half a dozen lawyers out for my throat!”
“Then why do you do it?” He reached out and grabbed her finger, momentarily holding it immobile. Kat jerked it out of his grasp.
“Do what?”
“Why did you choose to be an agent? Why not a...” He paused. “Why not a truck driver?”
“I hate driving. It’s boring.”
“How about a school teacher? You said you like kids.”
“Low pay, long hours and it’s too political.” She jabbed her finger at him once more. Seamus decided she was a lot cuter than his math teacher.
“Do you know you can’t even hug your students now if they really need a hug? You can get fired for ‘inappropriate contact.’ That would drive me nuts.”
“Did any of your teachers ever hug you?” He tried to imagine Kat as a little girl, hurting enough to be needy. He thought of her now, of everything she held inside.
If only she’d recognize she needed him.
“Oh, yeah.” Kat’s smile was wistful. “I was forever in need of hugging. I didn’t get it at home, but thank goodness I had teachers who cared enough to recognize what I craved...who cared and had the freedom to act. It would kill me to know a child needed that human touch and not be able to give it. No, I could never be a teacher, not in today’s society.”
Seamus stared at her a moment, then slapped his palm on the table. “I’ve got it. You could’ve been a secretary?” Now that was pushing it!
“Yeah, right.” She mimicked a prissy voice. “Yes, sir, I’ll make that appointment, sir. And you’d like coffee with that? Of course. Right away. I’ll pick up your cleaning on my lunch hour. Shine your shoe
s? Whatever you want.” She made a face. “Not in this lifetime, buddy.”
“A chef then?”
“I can’t cook.”
“Won’t argue with that.” She’d proved that with her few feeble attempts at cooking dinner over the past few weeks. He paused, put a finger to his lips in thought, thoroughly enjoying this game of words that was telling him so much about Kathleen. For all the time they’d been together, he hardly knew her. He just hadn’t known where to start.
“I know,” he said. “A housewife. You could stay home and make babies. You’ve got a good start.”
He expected a quip, not the look of longing that crossed her face or the subtle withdrawal, as if she’d just pulled the shutters closed on her life.
She stared down at her hands. Her fingers spread across the surface of the table for a moment, then curled into fists. When she raised her head, her expression was closed, cool. “I think I’d really like to go to town.” She looked away, then pushed her chair back from the table. “I want to pick up some more books and a few personal items.”
“How do you feel about seeing a doctor?”
“Go back to San Francisco? My doctor there? Do you think it’s safe?”
The look of anticipation on her face made him wish it was. He knew better. Knew Sandy Wilson had reported sightings of someone resembling Tim Anderson near Seamus’s home. He hadn’t told Kat because he hadn’t wanted to worry her.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think it’s safe to go anywhere near the city yet until we know where your buddy Anderson is. I’ve got a friend who has an obstetrics practice in Santa Rosa. I was thinking I’d call Sharon, see if she would agree to see you after hours, at least make sure everything’s all right with the baby.”
Silence filled the space after his sentence.
Finally, Kat struggled to her feet, indignation evident in every cumbersome move she made. “Don’t want to take any chances, right, Mr. O’Rourke? Here I thought we’d reached a kind of truce, you working on your writing, me staying out of your way and going nuts, but still a truce. I thought maybe you’d started thinking of me as something other than a means to an end, someone besides a way for you to get that child you’re so set on.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I thought...” She closed her eyes, left the sentence dangling.
“You thought what, Kat?” Seamus fought the urge to jump to his feet, grab her up in his arms and shake the answer out of her. Instead, he gripped the edge of the table with both hands and stared intently into her sparkling, tear-filled eyes.
She blinked, brushed her face with the back of her hand and turned away.
Seamus repeated his question, keeping his voice purposely low. “Kat? What did you think?”
She spun around and glared at him. “None of your damned business. Now are you going to take me to town or do I go by myself?”
Seamus stared back at her, willing Kat to tell him what he hoped she’d almost said. Tension crackled between them, tension and anger and a sense of desperation at all the words unsaid, all the wrong ones spoken. Finally, after an interminable moment in time, Seamus sighed then rose slowly to his feet. “I’ll take you to town, but we’re going to Santa Rosa and you’re going to the doctor. You’re eight months pregnant. I know for a fact you should’ve been under regular medical supervision all along, so don’t argue with me.”
Kat spun around and stalked out of the kitchen.
Seamus called out to her, sharper than he intended. “Kathleen.”
She paused in the doorway, but didn’t look at him.
“It’s not just the baby I’m worried about, Kat. It’s you, too. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He moved around the table but stopped just short of touching her. Only inches away, he was aware of her body trembling, of the rigid set of her muscles. He reached out, tentatively, and barely touched her shoulder.
She flinched. Looked away. “Don’t touch me. Please. It’ll only make it worse.”
He jerked his hand back. If her words had been said in anger he might have forced the issue. He might have spun her around the way he wanted, wrapped her in his arms. Grabbed on to her and held her until the trembling stopped.
Her quiet plea stopped him as anger couldn’t. Seamus stepped back. He had no choice. He gave her the space she seemed to need so desperately.
“I’ll call Sharon. Maybe she can fit you in this afternoon. You’ll like her. I’ve heard she’s an excellent obstetrician. It doesn’t hurt to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Kat slipped quietly out of the kitchen and disappeared into her bedroom.
Seamus stared at the vacant doorway, much too aware of his empty arms, the painful knot in his gut. He’d done it again. It must be a particular talent of mine, he thought. To always say and do exactly the wrong thing.
Someday, maybe he’d get it right.
THE RAIN FELL IN a steady torrent, overflowing the small creeks, turning the long gravel driveway from Seamus’s house to the main road into a muddy ribbon bordered by rushing currents from the heavy run-off. The forest seemed darker, the ferns more lush, the humus-rich soil almost black.
Kat stared out the window and concentrated on the fat drops sliding down the glass rather than the silent man sitting so closely beside her. How could she have misjudged him so? These last weeks, they’d settled into a comfortable co-existence. Seamus wrote for about four hours a day, locking himself away in his upstairs bedroom where he kept his computer. He sent his columns off to his editor by e-mail, handled his other business affairs and communication, worked on a book he refused to discuss, then put his work away by noon.
Kat had used those quiet hours to teach herself to crochet, finding an unexpected pleasure in the repetitious work. Amazingly, the tangle of pale yellow yarn she’d started with was fast becoming a warm little blanket.
With each loop and knot, her confidence grew.
With each passing day, her love for her baby deepened.
She and Seamus spent the afternoons taking quiet walks when weather permitted, or like today, playing cards or board games. Seamus knew as much about the flora and fauna of the coastal redwoods as any science teacher. He’d taught her the names of the flowers and trees and the birds that filled the forest around his home.
She’d learned little about Seamus. He talked easily about politics and plants, his love of cooking and even his columns, but never discussed his personal life even when Kat had tried to tease him into it. He rarely mentioned his childhood and absolutely refused to say a word about the book he was writing.
More telling, neither one of them ever mentioned the baby. It’s like the proverbial elephant in the parlor in more ways than one.
Kat blinked back tears. It was her own damned fault. She’d let herself dream, creating a fantasy world with each loop of her crochet hook.
Stupid idea, Malone . Seamus O’Rourke had no more interest in a street-smart field agent than she did in an uptight writer. Who was she kidding with her daydreams of the two of them settling down together and making a real home for the baby?
Seamus had been an absolute gentleman—polite, entertaining, and as aloof as he could possibly be. It was obvious he wanted their relationship to stay as impersonal as it could with the two of them living under the same roof.
Makes it easier to try and take you away from me. At least Seamus meant her baby no harm. Kat ran her hand over her taut stomach, more aware than ever of the life growing inside. She felt a connection so intense it frightened her, a vulnerability from a love stronger than she’d ever imagined possible.
She hadn’t truly understood the power of her stalker’s threat. Not at first. Now fear hung over her every movement. She knew Seamus hoped to take her child and raise it as his own, but there was someone else out there, someone who wanted to kill for the sheer pleasure of killing.
An involuntary shudder wracked her body. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Are you okay?�
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She snapped her head around and looked directly into Seamus’s eyes.
She’d been so lost in her fears, she’d almost forgotten him! Kat coughed, cleared her throat, then merely nodded.
“If you’re cold, I can turn up the heat, or there’s a blanket in the back seat.”
“I’m fine.” Kat watched as he turned his attention back to the rain-swept road. “The storm seems to be letting up a bit,” she said. Rain was no longer falling in sheets, but the steady drizzle appeared to have settled in for the long haul.
“It’s supposed to blow over this afternoon, but there’s another front due in later tonight.” Seamus glanced in her direction, then back at the road. He stopped the car at the end of the drive, looked both ways, then slowly pulled out onto the highway. “We’ll get groceries and stock up on batteries in case the power goes out or the river floods. If this storm is as big as they’re saying, we could have some flooding and not be able to get out for a few days.”
“I guess I’d better stock up on plenty to read.”
Seamus returned her brief smile, then turned his attention back to his driving.
IT WAS JUST AS well he hadn’t found them. Let them become complacent and soon enough they would come to him, bringing the baby with them. The longer he waited, the more time she’d have to bond with the child. The more power he would draw from the killing.
He rubbed his thumbs across the tips of his fingers, relishing the death. He imagined her face, her terror when she realized he’d won, and the image sent the power surging through him.
He’d never realized how addictive the power would become. Addictive enough to take him on a most enjoyable journey home.
Memories...such wonderful, wonderful memories...thanks for the memories...he swayed with the silent tune, hearing the applause of the ages.
The screams. He’d actually been sorry when the screaming stopped....