Slow Burn

by Heather Graham

  “So, are you glad you came?” he asked her.

  “Yes, but I…”

  “But you’ve lost your taste for Cuban food.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “My nerves are just on edge, I guess. Everything was wonderful. I just wish sometimes that…”

  “That what?”

  “That we could go forward. Sometimes the past seems like a ball and chain.” She shrugged. “Never mind.”

  “The wine talking?” he teased.

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s get you inside.”

  She got out of the car and walked to her door, turning the key in the lock.

  “Don’t forget the alarm, Spencer,” he told her.

  She paused. “Do you really just sit out there in your car all night?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes Jimmy is here, or Juan. You met him tonight—he comes by.”

  “Is he the fellow in the blue sedan?” Spencer asked.

  David frowned immediately. “Blue sedan?”

  She nodded. “I’m not sure what it is. It’s deep blue—dust-covered. Maybe middle to late eighties.”

  “You mean your neighbor’s car?” he said, his frown deepening.

  She shook her head. “You mean the cute yuppies down the street? Are you kidding? She has a Mercedes, and he drives a Volvo.”

  Even as she spoke the words, David turned, and Spencer felt a trickle of unease shiver along her spine. He had heard something. Maybe she had heard it, too. Just a whisper of sound, leaves rustling in the breeze, except that there wasn’t a breeze.

  “Get in the house!” he told her.

  “David, I want—”

  “Spencer, for God’s sake, get in the house. And if I’m not back in twenty minutes, call the police.”

  He opened the door and thrust her inside. “Keep it dark, and switch on the alarm. Now!”

  He pulled the door closed with more force than necessary.

  She stared at it for a few seconds, trembling. She could hear David moving away, into the front yard. She headed into the living room, almost turning on the overhead light, then remembering that he had said not to. She started to draw back the drapes on the front windows, but then she hesitated, turning around.

  She could see through into the family room, and through the family room to the etched glass doors that led to the pool.

  It looked as if something was moving back there. Trees? Shadows in the night?

  She stared to walk through the house, silently, slowly, determined to see whether something was out there or not.

  She stepped under one of the archways, her eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness, allowing her to see the pool, illuminated by soft night-lights.

  Someone was back there, hunched against a bush on the far side of the pool.

  Someone waiting.

  She had to warn David.

  She whirled around, ready to run screaming out the front door.

  But she never made it. She seemed to run right up against a brick wall. A hand clamped down hard over her mouth, and her scream was a silent one that raged in her heart alone.

  14

  “I told you to set the alarm!” David grated in a whisper, his hand easing from her mouth, his hold relaxing. He was staring over her shoulder, into the back.

  The terror ebbed from her slowly.

  “Damn you! You scared me half to death!” she seethed.

  His eyes briefly met hers. “Maybe that will teach you to set the alarm!” he told her. He continued to stand dead still, staring into the yard. She turned to stand beside him in the darkness, looking outside, too.

  The shadow in the bushes straightened slightly. Because of the glow of the lights surrounding the pool, the intruder had the sense to stay in the bushes and virtually out of sight.

  “How can I get behind him?” David asked in a low voice.

  “The cabana bath is just down the hall,” Spencer said. “You can get out that way without being seen.”

  He slipped away down the hall.

  The yard grew brighter as a cloud moved away from in front of the moon. The shadow became more distinct. Definitely a man. And holding something glistening.

  A gun.

  Spencer tore down the hall after David. She caught up with him just as he was about to open the cabana bath door.

  “David!” she whispered fiercely. “Wait! He’s got a gun.”

  He turned to her in exasperation. “Spencer, so do I.”

  “Call the police. Let them handle it.”

  “Spencer, I was a cop. I know what I’m doing. And if we wait, we may lose our chance to get our hands on him and find out what’s going on. Please, Spencer, this once, do as I ask. Stay here quietly out of harm’s way and let me slip around behind this guy and nab him!”

  She stepped back, biting her lower lip.

  He managed to open the door without a single creak. “Lock it behind me. Please, Spencer. Do as I say.”

  Then he was gone, and Spencer prayed that she could close the door as quietly as he had opened it. She didn’t know if she succeeded or not.

  She hurried down the darkened hallway to watch out the back as David slipped through the bushes around the back side of the pool, coming up right behind the shadow.

  A cloud drifted over the moon. Except for the pool lights, the yard was suddenly pitched into darkness. Spencer clenched her teeth tightly together, praying. The seconds seemed to tick by with ungodly slowness.

  Then she heard the sharp report of a single shot, and a strangled cry sounded in the night.

  “Damn you, David!” she mouthed in passionate silence. She could see nothing; she knew nothing.

  Then she fell back. Two shadows had risen into the light. But they were no longer shadows; they were distinct physical forms. David had his weapon trained on a middle-aged, middle-size man with a squarish face, small eyes, a poorly fitting dark suit and a blackened eye. David indicated that she should open the French doors and let them into the house.

  Fingers trembling, heart thundering, she did so. He urged the man forward into the house.

  “Hit the lights, Spencer.”

  She did, and David got his first good look at his prisoner. “Harris!” he exclaimed.

  “Delgado?” the man said, his voice carrying both hope and trepidation.

  “What in God’s name were you doing out there?”

  “Should we call the cops?” Spencer asked anxiously.

  David looked at her, frustrated. “He is a cop,” he told her.

  “Oh!” She stared at the man David had called Harris. “So what were you doing in my backyard?”

  “Trying to watch over you,” Harris said sheepishly. “Lieutenant Oppenheim is trying, David.”

  “Oppenheim sent you out here?”

  Harris shrugged. “Hell, I’ve got the whole neighborhood, but I’m supposed to be keeping an especially close eye on Mrs. Huntington and her place, especially when she’s out of it and you and your men are tailing her.”

  “Do you drive a blue sedan?” Spencer asked.

  Harris shook his head. “An unmarked beige Plymouth.”

  “Where’s your car?” David asked.

  Spencer put up a hand. “Wait. Don’t say anything—until I get back.” She started for the kitchen.

  “Spencer, what are you doing?” David demanded.

  “Since Mr. Harris is a cop, I think the least we can do is to try to keep his eye from swelling any more. I’m getting ice. And I mean it, don’t say a word!”

  Of course they didn’t listen to her. When Spencer returned with an ice bag, the men were deep in conversation. “Last time I try to be a humanitarian!” she warned Harris, seating him on the daybed next to the fireplace in the family room.

  He glanced at her apologetically. “Sorry. I’ll repeat everything. I was in your yard, Mrs. Huntington, because I followed someone else into it.”

  Spencer glanced at David, then back to Harris.

  “Who?”
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  Harris shrugged unhappily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Huntington. I lost him. I usually ride with a partner, but we were really short tonight. Carla called in sick, so I was on my own. I drove by, and I thought I saw someone hopping over the back fence. I didn’t want him to run when he saw the car, so I parked down the street and leaped the fence myself. I heard movement in the back, so I came around and saw someone at the French door right there. Then something spooked whoever it was. The clouds moved, I blinked, and he was gone. So I watched and waited and then…” He paused, shaking his head. “And then David jumped me, and you know the rest.”

  Spencer glanced at David. “Should we call in to police headquarters or something? Couldn’t someone come out and check for fingerprints?”

  Harris shook his head, looked at David. “Won’t do any good. He was wearing gloves.”

  David frowned. “It was dark and you were at a distance. How do you know that?”

  “He was dressed in black, head to toe. Must have worn a ski mask, even. I’m telling you, David, I would have seen a reflection of the moonlight on his flesh—if there had been any flesh to reflect anything.”

  “You keep saying he,” Spencer noted. “It was definitely a man?”

  “Sure,” Harris began, then frowned. “At least, I thought it was a man. I still think it was a man, but…” He sighed. “Like I said, he—or she—was wearing a ski mask and dark clothing. All I can really say with any certainty is that the figure was covered from head to toe and wearing gloves. You’re not going to get any prints.”

  “Not fingerprints. But maybe there’s a shoe print or something out there. You never know what the lab guys might find. I’m going to go ahead and call this in.”

  Harris sighed.

  Spencer soon knew why.

  She was grateful to the police; she knew they were overworked and underpaid, and that most of them were dedicated, loyal, diligent—and laid their lives on the line daily.

  But the night stretched on very tediously.

  She answered questions, but with David and Harris there, she was spared the bulk of them. Her house was gone over and over; fingerprints were lifted from the doors, and the yard was combed for footprints.

  Most of what they found belonged to David and Harris, but a smiling young technician told Spencer that he might have one good heel mark, and who knew, it just might help.

  Still, they had come home late, and by the time the scene the crime team finished up, it was past four o’clock.

  Spencer had acquired an acute headache. Some of it came from drinking too much wine, some from being up for so many hours. She had taken some aspirin when she’d made coffee for the police, but all it had done was make her stomach queasy.

  She was getting an ulcer, she told herself mournfully. She was too young for all this stress. Or too old for it anymore.

  She wasn’t sure which.

  But finally she was standing behind David at the door as the last police car drove away. He would be next, she supposed. “I know,” she said, exhausted. “Turn on the alarm. I promise. I won’t forget it again.”

  He shook his head, staring out. Amazingly, a tiny shaft of pink light was just beginning to show up in the east.

  “I’ll take care of it. I’m going to sit up tonight on the daybed.”

  “David, you don’t have to do that. You must be ready to keel over yourself. Get someone else.”

  “Spencer, go to bed.”

  “David, I can’t just let you sit up. I do have a guest room. I can—”

  “Spencer, damn it,” he said, running his fingers raggedly through his hair. “Go to bed! I’ll be fine.”

  “But you would be more comfortable—”

  “The last thing I want is to be comfortable right now,” he said irritably.

  “Fine! Suffer!” she told him, and started for the stairs. At that moment she felt as if she would melt like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz if she couldn’t just lie down and close her eyes. “Go right ahead and suffer!” she repeated when she reached the landing.

  David watched her go, frowning slightly. He winced when he heard her door close sharply.

  “I’ve been suffering since you walked into my office, Spencer,” he said softly. “Since you walked back into my life.” He headed to the family room and stretched out on the daybed, staring at the patio.

  Harris! Who would have thought?

  David was glad that Oppenheim had taken him seriously and was doing his best to look after Spencer. As the weeks passed, David had become more and more convinced that she was in danger, that the “accidents” that befell her weren’t accidental. David wondered why Oppenheim hadn’t told him he’d assigned guards to Spencer, but he thought he knew. Oppenheim hadn’t wanted to promise manpower he might not have.

  Harris had seen someone come into the yard. And they had a heel print. Of course, it might belong to one of the garbagemen, or a meter reader. Still, it might be a legitimate clue.

  At the moment there was powder all over Spencer’s immaculate house. She would have it cleaned up by morning, he was certain.

  Who the hell had been in the yard? And why? Maybe just a sneak thief. David loved the Grove, just as Spencer did, but the area was far from crime free. Breaking and entering was a fairly common crime, unfortunately. Maybe someone had just been looking for a new TV or stereo.

  No. He knew in his bones that someone had wanted something in this house. Or someone.

  Spencer.

  Her car had been here; someone might have thought she was at home. Alone. Sleeping soundly upstairs. It was easy to discover a person’s habits. He knew that well enough.

  The pool glistened in the moonlight. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight. He’d sometimes come here with Danny in the afternoon. Danny had loved the water. Loved the sun. They’d sat and drunk beer and talked about the latest Dolphins game and the Florida Panthers. Mostly, they had talked about the Marlins. Danny had loved baseball most.

  He closed his eyes, suddenly remembering with painful clarity the day Danny had been attacked.

  If only he had said something helpful! Given him a clue to his attacker instead of whispering Spencer’s name. Spencer…

  David rose restlessly. “Damn you, Danny!” he said softly to the moonlight. “I’m doing my best. Honest to God, I’m doing my best. If you could just have given me more to go on, just a little more…. What is it that I can’t quite see? I’d do anything, old buddy. Anything. I love her, too….”

  He clamped down hard on his jaw. Yeah, well, that was it. He loved her. Always had, always would.

  The sun was rising, and he knew that nothing else was going to happen that night; he had just been too unnerved to leave her.

  He started to lie down on the daybed, but hesitated and then found himself silently climbing the stairs. He paused again, then carefully opened her door.

  She was out for the count, sleeping in a big old T-shirt.

  One of Danny’s.

  Her hair was spread out like spun gold on the pillow. Her features, even in sleep, remained tense, as if she was dreaming, troublesome dreams. He wanted to walk into the room, touch her softly, smooth away the tension in her face.

  He almost did it.

  Then he saw the picture on the bedside. Her and Danny. Not a wedding picture. A vacation shot. Her and Danny together in a petting zoo, laughing because a goat was trying to eat Danny’s collar while someone else took the shot.

  David closed her door softly and started down the stairs. He sat wearily at the foot of them.

  He’d thought that maybe…maybe she was getting over Danny. Over the guilt. That maybe she’d even come close to admitting to herself that…

  Old emotions might fade, but they never died. And the emotions between them had burned so brightly!

  The picture had probably been there for a long time. She probably slept in Danny’s shirts out of habit.

  He just wished…

  He wished it had been his shirt.
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br />   He needed to get up, to at least stretch out on the sofa. But he couldn’t seem to move; he was too damned tired. He leaned his head against the wall at the foot of the stairs.

  And that was where Spencer found him when she finally awoke, sometime the following afternoon.

  Spencer knew she was overly tired, and that her nerves were just about raw. Maybe that was what caused the trouble that day. Or maybe it wasn’t her fault at all—David woke up growling like a bear.

  When she came down the stairs behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, she thought she had seldom—under any circumstances—come closer to death. He spun on her like a commando, ready to kill.

  “Spencer!” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, why did you sneak up on me like that?”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. I just walked down the stairs.”

  He backed away from her, teeth clamped together, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I did tell you to go home,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, and I told Sly that I’d keep you alive.”

  “I would have remembered the alarm.”

  His look assured her that he doubted her capabilities. She decided to put a little more distance between them and edged against the railing to make it down the last few stairs.

  “I’ll make coffee,” she murmured. “You’re welcome to take a shower,” she said uncomfortably. “I’m sure I’ve got something up there that would fit you if you want a clean shirt. I—”

  “You still have all Danny’s clothes?” he asked her.

  “I just haven’t had a chance to get rid of his things,” she said defensively.

  “It’s been more than a year,” David said. “There are lots of organizations that would make good use of his things. Let them, Spencer. It would have mattered to him.”

  She stared at him stonily. “Thank you. I’ll keep your advice in mind. And if it makes you uncomfortable to wear something that was Danny’s, I think there’s a Dolphins shirt up in the closet that’s actually yours. He must have borrowed it from you at some point.” She turned and walked into the kitchen.

  She spilled the coffee as she tried to make it, but finally she got the pot brewing. She wandered out to the back, looking into the yard. It was absolutely beautiful, peaceful and serene. Lush foliage and crystalline water that danced in the light of the sun. It was going to be another really hot day. Ninety in the shade, as the old-timers like to say. She could already see the heat dancing in the air above the brick patio. She would miss this house if she did sell it. The back was completely enclosed by a wooden fence. Of course, Harris and someone else had jumped it last night, but most of the time it seemed like a very private Eden. She and Danny had spent lots of time together there.