by V.K. Sykes
An insistent, annoying sound penetrated Holly’s sleep, dragging her into consciousness. When she snapped open her eyes, her still-groggy mind identified the jingling ring tone of her cell phone. The bright morning sun filtered through the partly open blinds and fell across the bed, warming her and Nate with narrow strips of heat.
Surely it wasn’t the hospital trying to reach her? All the staff knew she was heading south for a few days.
She grabbed the phone from the bedside table. “Hello?” she said tentatively as she slipped out from underneath the sheet.
“Dr. Bell?”
She instantly recognized the detective’s voice. “Detective Rich?” Her voice sounded thick and wobbly, even to her.
“I’m sorry. It sounds like I woke you up.”
“No worries,” Holly said, glad to be getting a call so soon. Maybe he’d already talked to Arnold.
She glanced at the digital clock. Nine-ten. “I don’t usually sleep in like this. I guess I was really beat.”
“Listen, Doctor, my partner tracked down Lance Arnold at the bar he works in outside Chester.”
“Good,” she said with cautious optimism. She looked down at Nate. He was sound asleep, but she didn’t want to take a chance on waking him. “Could you hold on a minute?”
“Sure.”
Naked, she padded across the room and slipped out the open door, closing it softly behind her. The house had already heated up with the morning sun, so she wasn’t cold. “Sorry. Go ahead, Detective.”
“I’ll fill you in on the conversation with Arnold in a minute. First, I wanted to let you know that we ran a background check on the guy before we went out there.”
Alarm bells sounded in Holly’s head. She didn’t think Rich would be telling her about a background check unless it had produced something relevant. Through the closed door, she heard Nate stir. She had to keep her voice low, or go downstairs, if necessary, because she wanted him to sleep until his healing body told him it was time to get up.
“It turns out our Lance has a record going back more than ten years,” Rich said. “From when he lived in Pittsburgh. Some nasty stuff there.”
Despite the warmth of the house, chills rippled across Holly’s exposed flesh. Rich must have dug up the report on the suspicious death of Arnold’s wife.
“His first conviction was for assault at age twenty,” Rich said. “He was drunk and punched a kid out at a party. Pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor, got two to twelve months, served six. Two years later, he went away for two years on a felony one, aggravated assault conviction after beating up his boss.”
Holly’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Jesus,” she whispered.
Rich made a sympathetic noise. “He got married shortly after he got out of jail, and within a year he was up on domestic abuse charges. There were multiple complaints from the wife, but no charges and no convictions. I guess she must have always backed off. That happens a lot. Battered wives having a change of heart. It makes us crazy, because too many of those women eventually end up dead.”
Holly leaned against the wall to compensate for a sudden rush of light-headedness.
Rich paused for a moment. She really hoped he was finished with Arnold’s rap sheet.
“I can’t say I’m totally surprised,” she said, reaching for calm. “The man reeks of violence.”
“He sure does, but I’m not finished,” Rich said with a snort. “After I saw his rap sheet, I decided to put in a call to one of the detectives who was listed in Arnold’s Pittsburgh file. A guy I’ve known for years. Well, it turns out Arnold’s wife committed suicide. Jumped off a bridge outside the city.”
“Yes, I know,” Holly said. “Her mother, Mrs. Crump, told me that. But she said she wasn’t convinced her daughter’s death was a suicide.”
“Neither were the Pittsburgh cops. My friend told me the wife’s mother—the woman you talked to—was adamant that her daughter wasn’t the kind of person who would kill herself. The sister said the same thing. They both claimed Ashley was so devoted to her son that she’d never have left him, and sure as hell not in her husband’s hands.”
Holly had to agree with that assessment. She didn’t think even a suicidal woman would leave her child in the care of a cold, violent man like Lance Arnold. “So, the detective up there thinks Arnold might have killed his wife?”
“He sure does. He said they leaned hard on Arnold, given his record, but he had an alibi for the night in question. One they couldn’t manage to shake. And in the absence of any physical evidence to link Arnold to his wife’s death, they couldn’t take the case to the grand jury.”
Shit. Hearing the horrifying story spelled out so clearly—from a police detective, no less—filled her with dread.
But it also filled her with anger, especially for poor little Tyler. If ever a child had been dealt a rotten hand…“Tyler must have been just a toddler when all that happened,” she said.
“He was barely two at the time his mother died. Arnold packed him up later that year and moved to Chester.”
“So, you said you met with Arnold yesterday?” she prompted. If Rich didn’t tell her the outcome of that meeting soon she’d jump out of her skin.
Even through the closed bedroom door, she heard the unmistakable sound of feet hitting the floor. With a tentative turn of the handle, she eased the door open and peeked in. Nate was sitting on the edge of the bed, already into some kind of stretching exercise. When he saw her on the phone, he gave her a quizzical smile, then slid back onto the bed, propping himself up on his pillows. Holly returned his smile with a weak one of her own, but stayed outside the room.
“Uh huh,” Rich said. “We confronted him with what you’ve told me, but he denied that he was threatening you.”
No surprise there. “Can you tell me exactly what he said, please?” Holly glanced at Nate. He patted the bed, indicating she should sit down. She waved him off with a little hand signal. She was far too wound up to sit. She stepped back into the bedroom and began to pace back and forth across the huge room. Nate’s eyes tracked her from one side to the other, concern darkening his gaze.
“He said you must have completely misunderstood him. He acted apologetic as all hell, and said he felt really bad that you’d taken him the wrong way. The jerk sounded halfway sincere, but cons like him know how to put on a good act. They’ve been around the horn with cops multiple times, and they all figure they know how to play us.”
“That’s what I expected to happen,” Holly said. She slapped her hand against the wall in frustration, then shot an apologetic grimace at Nate. He mouthed it’s going to be okay. He looked so sympathetic she wanted to cry.
“He’s obviously not going to admit to harassing you, Doc,” said Rich. “But I want you to know we gave it to him straight and hard. Told him we didn’t believe a word he said, and that if he kept going after you, we’d arrest him. We made it clear we’ve been cutting him a bit of slack, given the rough situation with his boy, but this was the end of it. No more phone calls, no more following you around, no more threats, period.”
But would Arnold listen? “Thank you. I really appreciate that. But do you really think he’ll stop now? What was your sense?” She gripped the phone tightly against her ear, almost desperate to hear the answer she wanted.
Rich kind of snorted. “I’ve learned not to make guesses when it comes to trash like Lance Arnold. All I can say is we told him we’ll be watching him, and if there’s another complaint from you we’ll have him in cuffs before he knows what hit him. I guarantee you that he got that message loud and clear.”
“Great,” Holly breathed, a little relieved. “I can’t tell you how stressful this has been, Detective. But thank you so much for following up on my complaint. I really appreciate it.”
“Dr. Bell, if the guy calls again or if you see him anywhere near you, I want you to call me right away. Any time, okay?”
He sounded totally sincere. “Thank you again,” she said. “You can be sure I will.”
“Try not to worry about it too much. I know how upsetting it all is, but if it’s any comfort, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, these threats turn out to be nothing but smoke and hot air.”
Holly wasn’t ready to take that off-the-cuff statistic to the bank. Not when she knew what Arnold was capable of doing to a woman. “I’ll try. Goodbye, Detective Rich.”
She hung up and shifted her gaze to Nate. The sheet had pooled around his waist, highlighting the line where his flat, tanned stomach met the white cotton of the sheet. His eyes overflowed with concern as he stretched out his hand to her.
When she sat down on the edge of the bed, he put his arm around her and drew her into the warmth of his body. As Nate held her, Holly filled him in on everything Rich had said, and she finally told him about the threatening message Arnold had left on her answering machine. He wasn’t happy that she’d withheld that bit of information until now, but he let it slide, listening patiently.
By the time she got to the end of the story, tears had welled up in her eyes and she’d started to tremble. Nate folded her deeper into his arms, stroking her all over. As he kissed her neck and whispered soothing words in her ear, she bit down on her lip, struggling to hold back a flood of tears.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “It’s okay to cry. I’m not a guy who takes off at the first sight of female tears.”
She gave a choked laugh that sounded more like a sob, and let him pull her back into bed. Curling into a ball, Holly pressed her face into Nate’s chest and slid her arms underneath him, gripping him hard as she tried to force herself to calm down. Her hair and her tears mingled against the warmth of his chest.
Soon, his rhythmic breathing and soothing murmurs settled her, and she found herself drifting off, safe in her man’s protective arms.