by Alana Lorens
Her heart racing, she set the paper and envelope on the counter, jerking her hand back like they had been a pair of cobras. Several people might have held these sentiments—Jack Wachowski, who’d confronted her on the courthouse steps, several others in various stages of family disintegration. No clue in the writing or the words who might have done this, but gut instinct gave her a prime suspect. Gregory Morgan.
The threat was beginning to sink in. She felt vulnerable. Despite her income, she hadn’t put the children in private school or taken any special precautions, wanting them to grow up as normal as possible. Even after what had happened to Riviera. If nothing else, this example demonstrated to her that she couldn't possibly protect them every day, everywhere. They were at risk. What if the man had handed her an envelope full of anthrax instead of paper? What if he’d had a knife instead of the envelope?
The progression of evil thoughts scared the hell out of her. She desperately needed a moment. She folded the letter and shoved it into her pocket, then turned off the stove and hurried down the hall to the office, closing and locking the door. She leaned against the door as if to keep out all the bad things in the world, half expecting a huge axe to come slicing through the door panels after her.
What should she do?
The police hadn’t taken the last incident seriously. In the end, they’d reduced the charge to harassment and cited Joshua. His dad had paid the fine, probably with a cocky smile. It wouldn’t serve much purpose to call them again, now, would it?
Besides, she couldn’t prove who’d sent this. This note was handwritten. The one she’d received outside the Benedum had been typed. No way to tell if they were from the same person. Or the emails Riviera had received from that “jonboy.” She’d never verified who those had come from. Maybe Joshua Morgan, now that she thought about it. Would there be a way to prove it? She didn’t know. Maybe it was time to involve the professionals after all. Maybe she could make them believe her.
She picked up the phone to call the police, but then hesitated before she dialed 911. She’d tried to get Nick distracted over the last weeks and hadn’t been able to do it. If anything would grab his attention, this would be it. He had practically begged her to let him go after the bad guys last go-round. Maybe this would help them both—and give her a way back into his heart.
She dialed Nick's number.
“Sansone.”
“Nick, I need your help. Please come over to the house. Please.”
“Suz? Are you all right? Is someone there?” Nick demanded.
She told him only about the note she’d received tonight. “I think Morgan’s back in the picture.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
His sudden click and absence gave her the impetus to wipe her face and collect herself. She checked on the girls. They were upstairs, each of them, chatting on their computers. She double-checked the doors, making sure they were locked. Morgan would have known the letter would strike inside her defenses. She envisioned him at his wide councilman’s desk, slashing the words onto the paper with that angry script.
She stopped abruptly in front of an open curtain. He could be there right now, watching her, waiting for her reaction, wanting to see how much he’d hurt her. Her heart thumping like a loose tire in her chest, Suzanne went from room to room, closing the curtains. Hope came out of her bedroom, stopping to study her mother with a peculiar look.
“Mom? What’s the matter?”
“I’d like you to stay away from the windows, would you?” Suzanne finished the upstairs curtains and hurried to the lower floor to do the same.
“Can I help?” Hope followed her, graceful arms reaching for the wide curtain across the picture window in the living room.
“Sure. Let’s get this done quickly.” They moved through the downstairs, closing curtains, and Suzanne confirmed the doors were locked again.
“Is someone out there, Mom?” Hope hung back from the window, as her mother had instructed, but her eyes were wide with fear. “Are the police coming?”
“I’ve handled it, I think.” Suzanne’s smile was shaky. Her fingers were, too. She moved into the foyer and crossed her arms tight.
“It’s that letter, isn’t it? Was it from that Morgan guy?”
“I don’t know, hon. I don’t know.” It sucked to feel helpless. She hated it more with each passing minute.
“Do you think he sent those emails that Riv got?”
Something in Hope’s demeanor set off a parental alert. What had Hope kept from her? “Is there something else I should know?”
“I’ve had a couple of scary emails too. I didn’t want to give you more to worry about. But I saved them. Come on.” With a defeated air, she led her mother upstairs to her room.
****
Some indefinable tremble in Suzanne’s tone struck at Nick’s heart. She didn’t get rattled often, but she was now. That warning note allowed him to shrug off his self-imposed exile long enough to find his weapon and an extra clip of ammunition. Tucking those inside his jacket, he jumped in his truck and gunned the motor, leaving a black stripe of rubber in his driveway in his haste to depart.
I’m coming, babe.
She hadn’t asked him for a thing until now. In fact, he had to fight to get her to admit even minor vulnerabilities. If she’d called him for help, that note must be worse than she’d let on. Which meant the danger was very real. As he drove, he whipped the police light onto his dashboard and plugged it into his cigarette lighter. People zipped out of his way as they spotted the red flashing in their rear-view mirrors. Belatedly, he remembered he was suspended, and probably not authorized to use any police power. They can call my mama...
“Come on, come on, get out of the way!” he shouted as he swung wide to pass an elderly couple out in the family station wagon.
He made the usual twenty-minute trip in thirteen, anxious thoughts wondering what he’d find at her house. Had Morgan struck at them? If anyone hurt Hope and Riviera, he would personally choke that person’s heart out.
Nick squealed into the driveway, throwing rocks right and left under his tires as he barreled toward the house. He jammed on the brakes and grabbed his pistol, checking to make sure the extra clip was in his pocket. Making a 360-degree scan, he found nothing that didn’t belong. No other car here besides Suzanne’s sedan. His gun at the ready, he moved, cat-like, toward the house, watching behind him for an ambush.
At the front step, Nick surveyed the area once again and prayed that when he opened the door, he wouldn’t be greeted by a tragic scene. He took a deep breath and twisted the handle. It didn’t turn, so he knocked.
Several long seconds passed before the door opened, during which he imagined a dozen bloody scenes he could find inside. As the door swung inward, movement caught his eye; someone on the stairs. He registered that it was Riviera at just about the second she shouted, “Mom, Nick's here, with a gun!” Instinct spun him to face her. She eyed his gun with a frightened peep and ran back upstairs.
Nick pointed the weapon toward the ceiling, annoyed he’d scared the girl. “Suzanne!”
Suzanne stepped out, Hope half hidden behind her, both their faces pale and drawn. Their eyes, too, were on the gun.
“Is anyone here?” he asked.
“No. I checked and locked it up.” Suzanne’s hands were clenched into fists. Hope patted her shoulder. Nick found it odd that the child was doing the comforting, but he could see the emergency, if any, had passed. Nothing else looked amiss.
He tucked the gun back into his jacket, and all of them seemed a bit relieved. “Let me see the letter.”
Suzanne pulled an envelope from the pocket of her sweater. “Sorry about fingerprints. We all touched it.”
Nick shrugged. “It happens.” All the same, he held the paper as little as possible, just by the corners, while he read it. The heavy black letters and the red splotch alarmed him, just as they had Suzanne. He was no handwriting expert, but the person who’d created th
is was angry, at a minimum, and perhaps unhinged as well.
He folded it again and returned it to the envelope, stepping close enough to put an arm around Suzanne’s shoulders. A split second later, Hope slipped under his other arm, seeking comfort. He held both of them, feeling them tremble inside the safety of his embrace. No matter how disgraced he might be, they still counted on him. That means so much…
“I think I scared Riviera,” he said, with a gesture toward the steps. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Hope said, and she gently detached herself. “Thanks for coming, Nick.” She ran lightly up the stairs after her sister.
“I don’t want them to be frightened,” Suzanne said. “It’s not fair. No one should take out what happens in a legal case on a lawyer’s family.”
“Some fear is healthy, Suzanne. If they aren't scared enough, they can be hurt. Or dead. That's not a better choice. It’s unfortunate, but the world isn’t made up of nice people. They need to be aware.”
She nodded. “You know I trust you with our lives.”
“Then we’ll do this by the book.” Nick took his cell phone and reported the threat to the police. It galled him to have to call in like an average citizen, but his name still carried enough clout to get the call noticed, since the dispatcher agreed to send someone immediately.
“The situation’s a little more complicated than you know,” Suzanne said.
He knew her well enough to guess what she meant. “Something you haven’t told me.”
She sighed. “A couple of somethings.” When his frustration came up to the level of his eyes, she took a step back, her hands spread in a gesture of surrender. “I know. I probably should have told you. But you’ve had so much to deal with, I wasn’t going to bother you with any of this. But it’s getting too close and too big for comfort.”
Torn between scolding her and holding her safe in his arms, he opted for neither. “Tell me.”
“Hope’s computer may be compromised.” She explained a little about the emails that both girls had received, all anonymous, but with the same threatening bent. Then she told him about the episode with Morgan’s son. By the time she was finished, she was in tears and he was livid.
“The guy is digging himself a hole. I swear to God I’m going to bury him in it!”
Pacing to release some of the murderous energy circulating inside him, he calmed enough to think like a detective. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll get it documented the right way, so we can nail him. Let me talk to the girls before the police get here, to see what else might be important to let them know.”
The two went up to Hope's room, where the girls had composed themselves and were in what appeared to be careless attitudes across Hope’s twin bed with its lilac chenille spread. Their frightened eyes, however, betrayed them as they looked immediately at Nick's right hand to see if he were carrying his weapon.
“I put it up,” he said, hands in the air to show they were empty, as if he were in a police action movie. “Sorry I scared you. When your mom called, I thought the worst.”
“Exactly how bad is it, Mom?” Hope asked. Her tone suggested she thought her mother had previously withheld information from them.
“It’s Joss’s dad, isn’t it?”
“We don’t know, Riv. Maybe.”
Nick interrupted. “If it is, this just shows how dangerous he is. He’s injured his own wife and children, and clearly he won’t hesitate to hurt you if he felt it would get him what he wants.” When Suzanne bristled, he cut her off. “I’m not bound by your rules of confidentiality, Suz. I need to know. Hope, can you describe the man for me? The one who gave you the letter?”
“He looked pretty normal. Taller than me. He had a long coat, like a raincoat, and it was…” Her face scrunched up as she tried to remember. “Black, or gray or something. I couldn’t see his hair—he had a black pull-on hat. He wore boots. And his eyes were blue.”
“Did he look familiar?” Suzanne asked.
She thought a moment. “I might have seen him before. But I have no idea where, or who he was.”
“Wait,” Riviera said, seeing a silver lining in the making. “Does this mean we don’t have to go to school anymore?”
Suzanne hardly missed a beat. “Um, let me think about that. NO.”
“I can pick you up and drive you,” Nick volunteered. His general duty to protect and serve the public could be fulfilled on a small scale. After all, in his eyes, this family was a particularly important segment of the public. No matter what his predicament, he didn’t intend to let them down.
Suzanne said, “You don't have to do that.”
“Of course I do. I’m not letting my girls deal with this alone.” There. He’d said it. She could protest all she liked about how Hope and Riviera were her responsibility and she could take care of them, but when the worst had happened, she’d called him. He was ready. “Besides, it gives me something to do.”
Her eyes widened in understanding, and she nodded.
“So, valet service,” Hope murmured, eyes narrowed. He could almost see her weighing the benefits and disadvantages.
“Police escort,” Riviera added. “Like that reality-show family with an undercover identity from the FBI.”
“You won't do anything embarrassing like turn on the siren, will you?” Hope asked.
“Not unless you deserve it,” Nick replied. They were taking this much better than he’d hoped. Which probably meant they weren’t scared enough yet. He thought about what Suzanne had said, the bruises on this young girl’s face and arms, and rage bounced around inside him like a silver ball in a pinball machine. This had to stop. It would stop. One way. Or another.
Suzanne still looked nervous. “But make sure if you're home before me, that you keep the doors locked, and call me or Nick with any suspicious thing that happens, okay?”
“Of course, Mom. We’re not idiots.” Riviera rolled her eyes.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Suzanne stiffened. Nick crossed to the window. A police cruiser had parked in the driveway behind his car. “Come on down and talk to the officer,” he said.
Suzanne opened the door, and let in a young, sandy-haired officer in a Pennsylvania State Police uniform. He smiled when he saw her and introduced himself as Tim Jennings. When he saw Nick in the foyer behind his complainant, his brow furrowed in surprise.
“Lieutenant, I didn't know you were on this case.” It seemed like the young man’s voice climbed half an octave.
Nick remembered this kid—well, not such a kid anymore. He’d served his first six months under Nick’s command on the city’s force, then when an opening presented itself, had transferred to the State Police. Jennings had started out fresh-faced and a little gullible, but some time on the streets had polished him well, if what Nick saw before him was any indication.
Nick smiled to reassure the young man. “I'm not, Jennings. I just happened to be here. This is my good friend, Suzanne Taylor. Let me catch you up on the situation.”
As the officer took notes, Nick gave him a condensed version of the story, withholding Greg Morgan’s name, as they had no proof of his guilt. Yet. Nick took the letter from Suzanne. The officer slipped it into a plastic bag as evidence. When Nick had finished, Jennings asked Suzanne a series of questions about her practice, about any potential persons who might have done this.
She tiptoed around many of the confidential issues, which irritated Nick. He did his best to pull back. So damn frustrating that he couldn’t just handle the matter himself. He couldn’t even go after Morgan, if that’s who it was, as a private citizen. While he was being investigated, any actions he took would be examined under a microscope. The most he could do was orchestrate others’ interventions. This galled him to his depths.
Jennings also interviewed the girls, who handled the situation with a little wide-eyed caution and a bit of flirtation on Hope’s part. When Jennings finished, he put his notebook away. “Now the computer intrusi
ons—”
Nick spoke up. “I’ve got that under control, Jennings. An expert’s ready to look over the computers and tell us what we need to know. If we find something of note, I’ll be sure to forward you a copy of the report. But the sooner we get a definite ID on the letter, the better. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.” The officer replaced his broad-brimmed hat and returned to his car. “Expert?” Suzanne asked.
Nick nodded. “I’ve got a friend who’s the best at this kind of investigation. We’ll get the computer analyzed. Maybe all of the computers in the house, just to be safe, since they have the same line in.”
“All the computers? I never opened any suspicious emails!”
“It may not matter. If they’ve infected one of the girls’ computers with some sort of Trojan horse, they might be able to tap into any other computer on the network.”
Suzanne’s face froze. “Oh, my God.”
“Just the sort of thing that our prime suspect would be aiming for.”
Hope frowned. “That’s outrageous. Will your expert be able to find out who sent the mail?”
Riviera chimed in, “How do they do that?”
“Well, they’ll look at the email headers for the sender’s address, and the message ID generated by the email client that sent the message. The server chain shows the return path of sender to receiver, and the last bit will give us the IP address—the exact Internet point from which the email was sent. Then we should be able to get a warrant to find out from the company that provides Internet service exactly what computer it came from.”
Suzanne sighed. “So you have to take our computers to the lab?”
“Not at all. Charley can come download the messages, or make a copy of the hard drive so he can analyze it more thoroughly back at the lab. But we’ll leave them untouched till then.” He read all the furrowed brows around him and put an easy smile on his face. No use in upsetting them more than they were already. “It won’t be hard on you at all. I’ll have Charley do a full overhaul when he comes out.”