by Laura Scott
Her stalker!
“Shut up!” he said fiercely, taking a threatening step toward her.
Instinctively, she clamped her mouth shut and took a step back, clutching the clothes tighter to her chest. She stared at the man, looking past the scruffy beard to recognize him. “Dad?” she asked hesitantly.
“Shut up!” he said again, harshly. “I’m not your father.”
No, he wasn’t. Larry Dawson, the man who’d raised her, wasn’t her father. But he was Skylar’s father.
“I know,” she said calmly, trying to judge the distance between where she stood and the front door. Because he was in front of the kitchen door, she didn’t have many escape options. She debated whether or not to run back to her bedroom, but it wasn’t as if the door had a lock. He’d catch her before she could open a window and escape.
“I told you I’d find you alone,” Larry said, stabbing her with a look of pure hatred. “I should have made sure the job was done right the first time.”
The first time? So he’d been the one to hit her on the back of the head. And then she smelled the sick scent of his aftershave. She’d never made time to go to the store to figure out the brand.
Stiffening her spine, she tossed the clothes aside and held up her hand beseechingly. “Please don’t do this. I have something to tell you. Your daughter, Skylar, is alive.”
His expression didn’t change one bit. Instead he took another step forward, and she resisted the urge to back away. If she went any farther down the hall, she’d end up trapped.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she urgently demanded. “There’s no reason to hurt me. I found Skylar! She’s alive and I know she’s anxious to reunite with you.” That last part was a lie, but she didn’t think God would mind, given the circumstances.
“I know where Skylar is,” Larry said with a sneer. “I know more than you do about her life.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. He’d found Phoebe and recognized her as Skylar? No, she found that hard to believe.
Larry must have seen the doubt on her features, because he went on. “She goes by the name of Phoebe and works at the Corner Café Coffee Shop. The café is only two blocks from my auto-repair shop. I stumbled upon her over four months ago, and knew the first time I looked into her eyes that she was my daughter. Skylar.”
Four months ago? Why hadn’t he called the authorities? Because he’d wanted to reunite with her first? And suddenly missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “You killed Brady. Because you knew Phoebe—er, Skylar was falling for him.”
“That young kid didn’t deserve her,” Larry said. “She ran back to the coffee shop, crying on my shoulder about how Brady forced her to leave the party because Anna was due to arrive. So I went back to Brady’s party and waited for the right moment.”
Shanna sucked in a harsh breath. Had he really just admitted to killing Brady? He’d bashed a young man in the back of the head for a daughter who didn’t remember him?
“Skylar is never going to be hurt by anyone, ever again,” Larry continued. “I’m always going to be there to protect her. Always.”
Sensing he was distracted, she took a chance and rushed across the living room, heading for the front door. Her hand clasped the doorknob and she eagerly tugged it open.
But Larry caught her from behind, yanking her painfully backward. She sprawled on the floor, staring with horror at the only father she’d ever known.
“You’ll never escape,” he said in a low voice, hovering over her. “Never!”
SIXTEEN
Shanna shivered with fear, feeling sick as she realized the man who’d raised her truly hated her enough to kill her.
Dear God, please help me! Save me!
She dug her heels into the carpet and used her elbows to try crawling backward, away from him. If only she’d called Quinn to let him know she was here. The last time she’d been attacked, Quinn’s phone calls had saved her. But tonight, her phone was in her purse on the kitchen table. Even if Quinn called her, Larry wouldn’t hear the phone. He wouldn’t know that Quinn was looking for her.
This time, she was on her own.
A firm hand grabbed her around the ankle, halting her progress. Belatedly, she realized Larry was wearing latex gloves. He must have worn them the night of Brady’s murder, too. No wonder he hadn’t left fingerprints on the rugby trophy.
“Oh, no. Not this time,” he said with a sneer. “This time I’m going to finish the job right.”
“Why?” she asked desperately, trying to find something, anything, to use as a weapon against him. At the moment all she had were words. “What point is there in killing me now?”
“I lost my daughter because of you.” The wild glint in his eyes convinced her that his thought process was far from lucid. He was clearly lost in a world all his own. “And you couldn’t leave me alone, could you?” He mimicked her with a high tone. “Daddy, please let me in. I just want to talk to you. Please, Daddy?”
She swallowed hard, remembering the messages she’d left on his voice mail and how she’d called out to him through his front door. She’d wanted desperately to mend the rift between them.
But that was before she’d discovered the truth. That he’d never loved her because she wasn’t his biological daughter.
“I’m sorry. I’ll never call you again,” she vowed, still trying to instill some logic into his warped brain. “I promise to never call you or contact you again.”
“You think it’s that easy?” he demanded, his face twisted in a mask of anger. “Now that you’ve found Phoebe you’ll fill her head with all sorts of sisterly notions. No, there’s only one way for this to end. Once you’re gone, Phoebe will continue to come to me for help the way she has been for the past few months. Her adopted parents don’t care—they’re losers. They fight all the time and kicked her out when she was eighteen. I’m the one who’ll support her. I’m her real father. Her only father. Me!”
With his hand clamped around her ankle, she couldn’t crawl backward any further. Desperately, she reached behind and realized she was up against the end table next to her sofa.
“I’ll go away and never contact Phoebe—er, Skylar again,” she said. “I promise. There’s no reason to hurt me.”
“You deserve to die for what you did,” he muttered. He lifted his hand, a heavy glass picture frame in his latex-gloved grip.
“No!” she cried. She lunged upward and grabbed the cord of the lamp sitting on top of the end table, knocking it down at the same moment he brought the heavy picture frame toward her head. She ducked, and the picture frame whizzed past her ear, hitting her hard on the shoulder.
Pain zinged down her left arm, leaving her impaired. But she was strangely calm as she picked up the lamp with her right arm and swung it at Larry’s head. God must have been with her because she hit him square in the face. He howled and reared backward, blood spurting everywhere from his mashed nose.
Without his hand holding her ankle, she was able to scramble to her feet. She held up the lamp, prepared to swing again, when Quinn came barreling through the living room from the kitchen.
“Leave her alone!” he shouted, rushing Larry and tackling him around the waist. The two of them hit the floor with a horrible thud.
“Quinn!” Shanna helplessly watched them roll around on the floor, each vying for the upper hand. Of course Quinn was younger and stronger, so it didn’t take long for him to pin Larry down.
Within moments her father gave up the fight.
“Lawrence Dawson, you’re under arrest for attempted murder,” Quinn said harshly, pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket. He slapped one of the handcuffs around her father’s wrist and then flipped him over so he could cuff the other wrist behind him. “You have the right to remain silent…”
As Quinn went through the rest of the Miranda rights, Shanna closed her eyes and lowered the lamp to the table, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You for
sending Quinn. Thank You for sparing my life.
Quinn hauled her father to his feet and then walked him over to a kitchen chair, forcing him to sit down. She followed more slowly as Quinn stepped back, keeping a wary eye on his prisoner.
“He admitted to killing Brady,” she said, rubbing her sore shoulder, “because your brother treated Phoebe badly. He recognized Phoebe as Skylar and has established a rapport with her. He’s been trying to protect her!”
Quinn’s expression darkened, but he nodded. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I believe he tried to kill Anna Belfast, too.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Anna? What happened?”
“She was mugged on campus. She’s in the hospital with a concussion and has just started to wake up. I eventually remembered how Anna said some creepy old guy was following her. Once we’re able to take her statement, we’ll add that violation to the list. Don’t worry, he’s going to have so many charges filed against him, he’ll go to jail for a long time.”
The wail of sirens could be heard growing louder and louder. Quinn had obviously called for assistance. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression grim. “I don’t honestly know, but when you didn’t answer my phone calls, I suspected something was wrong. I thought maybe you were upset after visiting your mother, and if so, the most logical place for you to come would be here.” His questioning gaze was full of reproach, and she knew he’d wished she’d called him.
She wished she had, too.
“I’m so glad you came when you did,” she murmured, wanting to rush over and hug him.
But the sirens pulled into her driveway, and seconds later four armed cops came in through both doors.
“I have the suspect handcuffed,” Quinn said loudly. The officers pulled up short, looking disappointed that their firepower wasn’t needed.
Of course, the police wanted a statement from her, so she went through the entire chain of events, from the information she’d learned from her mother to coming home and finding him standing in her kitchen.
When she got to the part where he’d tried to hit her on the head with the heavy glass picture frame, Quinn abruptly stood up and came to stand beside her. He placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
“I hit him in the face with the base of the lamp,” she explained, leaning on Quinn for strength. “I think I broke his nose.”
Quinn muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “He’s lucky that’s all you broke.”
She frowned at him before turning back to the officer. “Quinn came in before I had to hit him again.”
The officer looked at Quinn, who took up his side of the story. “I tackled him, cuffed him and read him his rights.”
The brevity of Quinn’s explanation made her smile. “Quinn arrived just in time.”
“Okay, I don’t think we need anything else at this time,” the officer said, rising to his feet. Two of the other cops had already dragged her father out to the squad car. She was glad because she couldn’t bear looking at him and seeing the seething hatred reflected in his eyes.
Quinn walked the cop to the door, and when they were finally alone again, he turned to face her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded, rolling her shoulder experimentally and trying not to wince at the pain. “I’m fine. Maybe a little stiff and sore, but nothing that a dose of ibuprofen won’t fix.”
Quinn stared at her for a long moment. “Why didn’t you call me?” he finally asked. “I was right about you being upset after visiting your mother, wasn’t I?”
She sighed and nodded, feeling foolish. In hindsight, her reasons for coming here alone didn’t make much sense. “Yes, I was upset. My mother told me she had an affair. Larry isn’t my biological father, and that’s why he never forgave me for Skylar’s kidnapping. All these years, he’s hated me because I was here and Skylar wasn’t. It all makes so much more sense now that I know the truth.”
“I see.” Quinn tucked his hands in his pockets as he came closer. “But that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me.”
“I should have called you, Quinn,” she said softly. “I was upset with my mother because she’d kept my biological father a secret all this time. And since he died three years ago from cancer, I’ll never have the chance to know him. Meet him. See him…”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Quinn took her hand, gently tugging her to her feet. “Don’t cry, Shanna. I’m here for you.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. That he was here for her was amazing. Didn’t he realize his brother’s death was indirectly her fault? “I know,” she said in a low, muffled voice. “It’s stupid of me to be so upset. I don’t even know that my biological father would have wanted any sort of relationship with me, even if he was still alive. But I was so angry at my mother, even though I knew it was wrong.”
Quinn stroked a hand down her back, holding her close. After a few minutes, she lifted her head to gaze up at him. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. Your brother died because of me. Because of Skylar’s kidnapping.”
“Shanna, don’t. That man’s actions are not your fault.” For an instant his expression turned fierce, but then it was gone. “Just knowing he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail is enough for me.”
She tried to smile. “God always wants us to forgive those who act out against us, so I will forgive him. But I have to admit, after everything he’s done, I’m glad I don’t share any of his genes.”
Quinn’s expression turned grim, and he immediately released her and stepped back. “It’s getting late. I should leave.”
What? She stared at him, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong. “I feel like I need to apologize. Are you still upset with me? Because your brother was killed by the man who raised me? Or because I didn’t call you? I’m sorry, Quinn. Please forgive me.”
He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “No need to apologize, Shanna. As you said, God always forgives our sins, and I promise I don’t hold any sort of grudge against you. But I really do need to leave.” He looked around the kitchen, everywhere but directly at her. “I’m sure you’ll be all right alone here now that Larry is in custody.”
Quinn was pulling away from her, and Shanna instinctively knew that if she let him go now, she’d lose something infinitely precious.
“Please don’t go,” she begged. “Talk to me, Quinn. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
He hunched his shoulders, and she thought he was going to simply walk away until he slowly turned back to face her. Stark regret flickered in his green eyes. “Did I mention my father was a Chicago cop?”
She shook her head. “No. I know your parents are divorced, but you haven’t said much about your father.”
Quinn let out a harsh laugh. “No, I haven’t. Because it’s not a pretty story to tell. My parents divorced when I was young, and of course they shared joint custody of me, so I went back and forth between them. But once my mother met James and remarried, she didn’t have as much time for me. So I ended up staying with my father for longer and longer periods of time. Soon, I was living with my father full-time.”
Shanna couldn’t help a flash of anger toward Quinn’s mother. What sort of woman abandoned her own child? Especially since she sensed that living full-time with his father hadn’t been a good thing for Quinn.
The way he stood in her kitchen, so isolated and alone, made her heart ache. She walked toward him, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Sounds like your childhood left a lot to be desired.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He paused, and she was glad he didn’t pull away from her touch as he continued, “My father drank. A lot. At first he managed to drink only on his days off work, but then he was drinking more often until I knew he was likely drinking on the job. I called his partner and best friend on the force to let him know. Luckily, they took him off the streets before he c
ould hurt anyone.”
Thank goodness, Shanna thought.
“But being off the streets only made him drink more. They did their best to get him into a program, and he played along for a while, but he always went back to drinking. And then it was too late. One night I came home from work to find him lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood.”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “Oh, Quinn.”
“The doctor told me he had esophageal varices, distended blood vessels in his esophagus, and one of them blew. He ultimately bled to death. I called 911, but he was gone before the paramedics arrived.”
Suddenly, she understood what she’d said wrong. She’d been glad she didn’t share Larry’s genes, but Quinn certainly shared his father’s. “Quinn, listen to me. Just because your father drank too much doesn’t mean you’ll make the same mistake.”
“How do you know?” Quinn challenged. “Being a cop is a high-risk job. Some women can’t handle knowing we’re constantly in danger. My mother couldn’t. And neither could Leslie.”
A stab of jealousy speared her heart. “Who’s Leslie?”
“No one special,” he said quickly. “We dated for a while, that’s all. I thought maybe one day our relationship would turn serious, but she couldn’t put up with my career so she found herself a nice, safe accountant.”
The relief was overwhelming. At least he wasn’t still in love with Leslie, who was nuts if she thought some accountant was a better catch than Quinn Murphy.
“Good for Leslie. But I don’t want a nice, safe accountant,” she said boldly. He visibly reacted to her statement, throwing his shoulders back and straightening his spine. “There’s nothing wrong with your chosen career, Quinn. I work in law enforcement, too, you know. Granted, as a crime-scene investigator I’m not often in danger, but we are trained for the possibility.”
Quinn stared at her for so long she felt her cheeks grow warm. Was he thinking of a graceful way out? Had she been too forward? Too bold?
“Shanna, I know I said this once before, but I don’t deserve you.”