by Julie Miller
But Daisy didn’t hear the question. She couldn’t hear much of anything over the pulse thundering in her ears. She’d been a fool to think her tormentor would have forgotten her for even one day. There it was, clipped to the bottom of the stack of papers—a plain white envelope with just her name and the usual message, typed onto a Christmas label.
Dear Daisy,
Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa.
“Daisy?”
She ignored both Eddie’s prompt and Bernie’s effort to join the conversation. “You didn’t fill the vacancy at your house? Are you still lookin’ for someone to rent that room? I might know a guy. Strictly short term.”
She hated that her fingers were shaking as she peeled open the back flap of the envelope. She hated that Eddie, Mary and Carol knew enough about the gifts she’d been receiving that Eddie placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, and the two women stopped their work to watch as she pulled out the enclosed card and opened it.
Suddenly, it hurt to breathe. If she’d been alone, she would have screamed.
The graphic sexual act, although drawn in stick figures, left nothing to the imagination. Neither did the caption beneath the picture. You and me, bitch. When you least expect it. Merry Christmas to me.
“You okay?” Eddie asked.
No. She wasn’t. But the words wouldn’t form.
“Is that from your Secret Santa?” Bernie’s height made it far too easy to peer over her shoulder to inspect the defiled holiday card. Daisy crushed it in her fist and stuffed it into the pocket of her coat before he could see the disturbing missive. She didn’t need anyone else knowing her fear and shame. “You don’t like your gift?”
Daisy tilted her face to Bernie’s, thinking for one brief second that his friendly smile was a cruel joke. It took a few seconds longer to realize he hadn’t seen the sick drawing and remember that he wasn’t one of those close friends who knew about the other gifts.
“What’s wrong with it?” Bernie asked. “There’s not a gift card in there? Is it empty?”
“I have to get out of here.” Daisy shrugged off Eddie’s hand and hurried to the door while she wasn’t too blind with terror to see it.
Coach Riley cursed behind her. “I need to call my wife. If that bitch is playin’ another game—”
“Put a sock in it,” Eddie warned before hurrying after her. “Give me ten minutes, Dais. I need to finish entering these grades and then I’ll walk you out.”
“I don’t have ten minutes.” She glanced in Eddie’s direction without really seeing him. “I need to go home and take care of the dogs before I come back for the game.”
“Bernie.” Eddie snapped at the tall man and gestured for him to follow her.
Bernie glanced up from the cell phone at his ear. “It’s still daylight. But if you want me to walk you out, I guess I can.”
“No.” Daisy needed to get out to her car so she could scream, and maybe get a hold of her thoughts again. No one had hurt her. This was just about getting under her skin and scaring her. She needed to get away from this place and these people and remember she was strong enough to deal with the fear again. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Make your call. I’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
HARRY WAS BEGINNING to wonder if anyone in this neighborhood spent much time looking out their windows and butting into other people’s business. Although he knew a lot about staying off the radar when he needed to, he wasn’t about to assume that he didn’t look like some kind of suspicious figure. He glanced into the rearview mirror to study his reflection. Black cap, scarred face, perpetual scowl? Not suspicious—make that threatening. Unless you got to know him. And maybe even then, that was the impression he made on the civilian world.
But clearly, there was no neighborhood watch on this block because he’d been sitting across from Daisy’s house or walking the area for most of the past twenty hours without anyone approaching his truck or calling the police to come check him out. That didn’t bode well for anyone else keeping an eye out for the well-being of the purple-tinted hug-meister who lived alone in that big blue house.
He spotted her in his side-view mirror, turning the corner in a mini-SUV. Lime green. Obviously, the woman loved color and couldn’t get enough of it in her life. Black and khaki suited him just fine. Maybe that opposing difference in their tastes explained a lot about why he was having such a hard time connecting with her. More than the fact she didn’t look like the woman he’d imagined in those letters, her cheerful, touchy-feely, ninety-mile-a-minute personality didn’t match the reserved, ladylike angel he’d hoped was going to save him from himself.
But those differences hadn’t stopped him from looking out for her. He was certain the shrink he’d talked to earlier this afternoon would say he identified with her isolation. Those early years when it had just been him and Hope in a remote cabin in the Ozarks, when they’d had no idea whether their father was going to come home drunk and angry, or not come home at all, had certainly taught him to be self-sufficient. Had taught him to appreciate the comradeship he’d found in the Corps. But what that little boy wouldn’t have given to have a real daddy he could truly depend on, someone who would have looked out for him and Hope. Daisy needed someone reliable in her life. For right now, at least, he was it.
Harry raised his hand to wave as she drove past him. But she didn’t see him and he curled his fingers into a fist and drew it back into his lap. Like everyone else in this neighborhood, Daisy was unaware of his presence. She was singing along with the radio or talking to someone on a hands-free phone, as she turned into her driveway and shut down the engine. Why didn’t she pull into the garage? Was she waiting for the song or phone call to finish? Was this just a quick stop before she went somewhere else? Should he follow her if she left again? Just how far was he going to take this new let’s-spy-on-Daisy hobby of his?
After checking his watch, Harry huddled down inside his coat and waited to get a better idea of her immediate plans before he made that decision.
Maybe this need to keep an eye on her had something to do with the unexpected curiosity that made him want to understand her better. Or maybe his fractured brain needed to resign itself to the differences between imagination and reality so that he could put that ideal Daisy to rest and get on with a new plan for getting himself fit to return to active duty.
Ten minutes later, he sat up straight behind the wheel, wondering how long she was going to sit inside her car.
At fifteen minutes, he got out of his truck and jogged across the street.
Harry walked up her driveway, assuming she’d see him approaching in one of her mirrors. But when he reached the driver’s side window, he saw her clutching the steering wheel, resting her head against it. There was no music playing. No phone that he could see. She was unaware of his presence. And he could see her lips moving, muttering something over and over. Was she praying? Angry? Crazy?
Already uneasy with her just sitting in the parked car, Harry rapped his knuckles against the window. “Daisy?”
She screamed in response, sliding toward the center console. Harry stepped back, but pointed to the lock on the door, asking her to open it. He retreated another step into the snow as she shoved the door open and climbed out.
“Damn it, Harry, you need to announce yourself.” She slammed the door and swatted his shoulder. Now that she was standing and facing him, he could see she’d been crying. Even her glasses—blue this time, a shade lighter than her eyes—couldn’t hide the puffy redness behind the lenses. With a noisy harrumph, she grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him out of the snow bank before venting her emotions with another painless swat. “This is the second time your surprise visits have nearly given me a heart attack. Why don’t you call first?”
“I was worried.” The suspicion that had brought him out of his truck twisted in his gut at the s
ight of those crystallized tears drying on her cheeks. “People don’t sit in their car for fifteen minutes without going someplace unless something is wrong. Besides, I couldn’t call. I don’t have your number.”
He wasn’t going to get it, either. Her little fit of temper vanished with an unladylike curse. “Fifteen minutes? It’s been that long?” She opened the door again and reached inside to drag her heavy pink bag over the console. “I have to let the dogs out and then be back at school in an hour. I’d like to eat something and change out of these clothes.”
She looped the bag over her shoulder and hiked it onto her hip so she could reach back inside to pull her keys from the ignition. But the bag slipped and the door tried to close, and when she jostled between them a wadded-up card fell out of her pocket and bounced across the concrete to land beside his boot. Harry bent down to pick it up, catching a glimpse of green sparkles in the shape of a Christmas tree and... “What the hell?” He smoothed the wrinkled card stock in his palm, ignoring the pornographic artwork to read the threat typed underneath it. “First you’ve got some guy peeking in your bedroom window and now this crap? Is it the same guy? Have you gotten other garbage like this from him?”
Dots of pink colored her cheeks and she snatched it away. He’d take that as a yes. She stuffed the card into her pocket and hurried through the back gate.
Harry followed right behind her, demanding answers. “Daisy, where did that come from? Who sent it to you? An angry student?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who sent you that filth?”
She spun around to face him when she reached the deck. “If I did, don’t you think I’d put a stop to it?” She looked down on him from the top step. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a life?”
He didn’t, actually. A wry sigh clouded the air around him. “I’m home on leave for six weeks. I don’t have anything to do except hang around Hope’s apartment and make her worry. The Corps gives me a job to do every day. Here in Kansas City I’m going nuts. Nothing to do but think and walk and think some more.”
“I’m a project for you? A hobby to keep you busy?”
He wondered if that hurtful note of sarcasm in her tone was aimed at him or herself. “You’re a friend.” The women in those letters was even more important to him. “Something’s going on and I can help by keeping an eye on things.”
“You’ve been watching my house all day?”
Except for that hour he’d met with Dr. Polk. “Pretty much. I walked around the neighborhood a little bit. In the daylight, I found where the guy was standing when he used your house for target practice last night.” He moved past her up the steps and pointed over to the neighbor’s house. “That guy’s backyard. I missed the tracks last night because of the shrubs, but once I got over the fence—”
“You trespassed in Mr. Finch’s yard?” She joined him at the railing.
Could the threat be that close to home? “You got issues with your neighbor?”
“No. It’s just—he’s so compulsive about his yard and taking care of things. You didn’t knock any leaves off his boxwood bushes, did you? Or dent the top of the fence? Patch dug under the fence last summer, tore up some of the roots—”
“You’ve got somebody stalking you, Daisy.” He pounded his fist against the top of the railing. “I wouldn’t worry about the damn shrubbery!”
His outburst shocked her. Hell, he hadn’t raised his voice like that for weeks now. Watching her clutch the strap of her bag over her chest and retreat from him, he wished he’d been able to control his frustrated concerns. The dogs were barking inside the mudroom and her back was pressed against the door. Her eyes never left his. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is be the person who scares you.” That muscle ticked beneath his eye as he buried the useless rage inside him where it belonged. He put his hands up and stepped back, suspecting where her mind had gone and hating himself for taking her there. “I remember you said your ex was violent. I swear I would never hurt you.” He shook his head as he heard the words leave his mouth. “That’s probably what your ex said, too.”
“Actually...” He held himself still as he waited for her to finish that sentence, praying she didn’t believe he was as messed up as the man who’d stabbed her. He prayed even harder that she’d be right. “Brock promised that he would hurt me if I left him.” She pushed her glasses up at her temple, the action making him think she wanted to make sure she was seeing Harry clearly, evaluating him. “He was too controlling. Obsessive. I had to break it off so I could have a life. Rescue dogs. Stay after school with students. Visit my parents and friends. He was drunk that night he broke into my apartment.” She dropped her hand to clutch the strap of her bag again. “He kept his promise.”
Harry’s hands curled into fists again. With the violence he’d seen, it was far too easy to picture how she’d been hurt. But knowing his response should be his issue, not hers, he blanked the images—both real and imagined—and drew in several breaths of the cold winter air to chill the anger simmering through his veins. “Could he have anything to do with those messages?”
“Brock is in prison.”
“You know that for a fact? He doesn’t have friends on the outside who might be willing to do some dirty work for him?” Daisy was wilting, like a colorful flower that he’d just sprayed with pesticide. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and leaned his hip against the railing, hoping the relaxed posture made him look a little less intimidating, a little more like the friend he meant to be. “Look, I know I’m short on tact and charm, and I’ve got issues with PTSD that I can’t always control. But I protect people for a living. I know how to get a job done. I’m trained to assess the enemy. I know how to scout a perimeter and keep the people I’m guarding safe.” He looked away, needing a break from those searching blue eyes. “Right now, I’m trying to protect you. I’m not bothering anybody by keeping an eye on your place. And clearly, somebody’s trying to bother you. Let me do this.” When she didn’t answer, he faced her again. “You said you didn’t have anybody.”
“You feel you owe me this protection because of those letters?” He wouldn’t deny it. But he was here for other reasons, too, ones that were too difficult to put into words right now. “I can’t have somebody around me whom I can’t trust.”
“I’m the man in those letters, Daisy. I promise. You can trust me with your life.” Maybe he couldn’t promise her anything else, but that much he would guarantee. If she’d let him. “I’m here now. Use me.”
She considered his vow for several moments before she nodded. She turned away to unlock the door. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired, and I have no time to rest. I’m probably extra sensitive to probing questions and hot tempers.” Not to mention receiving that message, which had clearly unnerved her. The dogs darted out, circling around her with wagging tails for a warm greeting. Once they’d been sufficiently petted by their mistress, they trotted over to greet him. Seeing Patch prop his front paws against his thigh and Caliban push his head into Harry’s hand while Muffy tried to squeeze between the other two dogs seemed to reassure Daisy more than any words he could utter. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate you keeping an eye on things. I felt safer last night after you left.”
Instincts took over the dogs’ need for affection and they trotted down the steps to explore the yard. Harry followed Daisy inside the mudroom and stomped the snow off his boots while she hung her coat and bag on a hook.
But when he pulled off his gloves and watch cap and followed her into the hallway, she stopped him with a hand at the middle of his chest, straightening her arm to keep him from coming any farther into the house. He wasn’t used to Daisy needing space. In the twenty-four hours since they’d met face to face, she hadn’t once been this eager to put some distance between them. He should relish her backing off from all the
touchy-feely stuff that bamboozled him.
But now, it only made him worry. “I thought you were okay with me being here.”
She pulled her hand away. “Would you make sure the dogs do their business and get some exercise while I change my clothes?”
Harry hesitated a moment, both in leaving her and in being alone with the dogs. But he’d made a career out of doing what needed to be done. “I can do that.”
“Thanks.” She reached for his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner that she had a beautiful smile?
He reversed the grip to hold on to her when she would have pulled away. “And then you’re going to tell me what’s going on. I want to know how many other threats you’ve received and when they started. I need to know your schedule, where you’ll be and when, and I need to know if there’s anyone you suspect.”
Smile killer.
Seemed he had a habit of doing that with this woman.
“Daisy, I...” Another verbal apology didn’t seem sufficient. And he couldn’t just tell her things would be okay because he knew far too well how not okay the world could be. Obeying an impulse that felt as right as it was unexpected, Harry tugged on Daisy’s hand, pulling her up against his chest and wrapping his arms around her in one of those hugs she seemed to like so well. He turned his nose against the clinging static of her hair and breathed in that sweet scent that was hers alone.
He patted her back a few times, until he thought he heard a soft giggle. Daisy relaxed against him, slipping her arms beneath his coat and flattening them against his back. She rubbed her palms up and down his spine in strokes that warmed his skin through his sweater and soothed the guilt and concern tensing every muscle. Harry stopped patting and started mimicking the caressing motion up and down her back. He felt pretty lame for not having much experience with comforting embraces, but he felt pretty lucky, too, that Daisy was making the effort to help him improve his skills. And he was a quick study, down to the curve of her hip, up beneath the silken weight of her brown and purple hair.
