Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  “Fine.”

  Melanie was in her car in seconds. She switched on her headlights and engine, then backed out of her spot. Waving with one hand, she honked her horn, and it echoed loudly as she tromped on the gas. The little car zoomed to the exit in a cloud of exhaust.

  “Flamboyant, isn’t she?” Ty observed, as they took the stairs.

  “And melodramatic and extremely efficient.”

  Sam’s red Mustang was the only car parked on the second floor of the gloomy lot. Half of the security lamps were burned out, the few remaining concentrated around the elevator and stairs.

  “Right out of a Hitchcock movie,” Ty said, his bootheels ringing on the dirty concrete.

  “That’s a little overly dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “I just hope you never walk here alone,” Ty said, scowling.

  “Sometimes. But I’m careful.”

  His gaze swept the empty spaces. “I don’t like it.”

  She bristled a bit. She hardly knew the guy. He didn’t have to automatically step into the role of protector, or big brother or whatever. “I can handle myself.” Oh, yeah, Sam, like you handled yourself when the woman claiming to be Annie phoned in. You lost it, Doctor. Big-time.

  “If you say so.”

  “I’ve made it this far.” She already had her handbag open and had found her keys—the duplicate set she’d had made since her trip to Mexico. “Look, I appreciate your concern. Really. It’s…it’s nice, but I’m a big girl. An adult.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying ‘get lost.’”

  #x2019; “No!” she said quickly. “I mean…I just don’t want you to feel obligated somehow, or that you need to take care of me because I’m one of those pathetic, weak, porcelain-doll kinds of women.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Believe me, that’s the farthest thing from my mind.”

  “Good. Just so we understand each other.”

  “I think we do.” He stepped closer, and she smelled the scent of his aftershave, saw the way his eyes had darkened with the night, noticed that he was staring at her lips. Oh, God, was he going to kiss her? Her skin tingled at the thought of it, her silly pulse kicked up a notch, and as he leaned closer she braced herself, only to feel his lips brush chastely against the side of her cheek. “Take care,” he said, then stepped away as she unlocked the car door and swung it open.

  Her heart was pounding. Her mind leaping ahead to vibrant images of deeper kisses, of bodies touching, of skin rubbing against naked skin. She started to slide behind the wheel seat when she noticed the piece of paper…an envelope on the bucket seat. “What the devil—?” She picked it up, saw her name scrawled across the envelope and without thinking, slid out the card. “No,” she whispered as she read the words.

  The inscription, Happy 25th Birthday had been circled in red, then slashed through the middle at an angle.

  Sam dropped the card as if it burned her fingers. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “What is it?” Ty reached bent down and picked up the folded sheet. “Jesus, what—?” He opened it and saw a single word spelled out in red letters: MURDERER. “How did this get into the car?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Sam closed her eyes for a second. Remembered the horror that had happened in Houston, the girl who had killed herself. Her head pounded, and she sagged against the back fender.

  “Are you okay?” Ty’s arm was around her shoulders. “This has something to do with the woman who claimed she was Annie. She said something about it being her birthday Thursday.”

  “Yes. Annie Seger.” Who would do such a thing? Why? It had been nine years. Nine years. She shivered inside. “I don’t get it. Why is someone trying to terrorize me?”

  “And how did they get into your car. It was locked, right?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  He looked over the window and door, pointed out the scratches on the paint. “Was this here before?”

  “No.”

  “Looks like it was forced. Does anyone have a spare key?”

  “My extra key is at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean,”

  she said shaking her head. “I lost the entire set when I was in Mexico.”

  “So you only have the one key.”

  “I had a duplicate made. It’s in my drawer at home.” Some of her fear was seeping away as she stared at the scratches on the door and realized Ty’s arm was around her. “David had one, but he gave it back while we were in Mexico—it was in my purse when it went overboard.” There were questions in Ty’s eyes, and she added, “It’s a long story.”

  “You don’t think this David had a copy made?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” she said, but heard the doubt in her words. “Besides, he’s in Houston.”

  “You think.”

  “He’s not a part of this,” she said, shaking her head emphatically, as if to convince herself. Clearing her throat, she stepped out of Ty’s embrace. She didn’t need to be falling apart and into his arms. Her knees were no longer weak, and the horror she felt was slowly being replaced by anger. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let some anonymous creep threaten her or ruin her life. “It’s…it’s over between David and me. Has been for quite a while.”

  “Does he know it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ty’s jaw slid to one side as if he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t argue the point. His gaze swept the deserted parking structure before returning to Sam. “Who’s Annie Seger?”

  “A girl who called in to my radio program in Houston. Nine years ago.”

  “She’s the same one who phoned you tonight?”

  “She claims to be.”

  “But Annie’s dead,” he deduced. “And this pervert, whoever he is, blames you? Is that what you think?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “It must be the guy who calls in…John or whatever his real name is. He’s always talking about sin and retribution, that I’m guilty of some crime, although lately he’s acted like I was a prostitute or something. It…it doesn’t make any sense, doesn’t hang together. Tonight when he phoned in after the show, he told me I was going to die.”

  Ty’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s escalating. His threats are more specific.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.” He raked stiff fingers through his hair. “So you think he called in, pretended he was a woman…is that it…or that…or that he has an accomplice and…that this is what? Some kind of conspiracy to scare the hell out of you?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she admitted and again felt weak, an emotion she detested.

  “We have to go to the police.”

  “I know,” she said, hating the thought. She was bone-tired and wanted nothing more than to fall into a long, hot bath, towel off and fall into bed to sleep for about a billion hours.

  “Let me call.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Sam braced herself for another ordeal. How many times had she already been questioned? Four times? Five? She was beginning to lose count.

  And the stalker was still at large. She rotated the kinks from her neck as Ty talked to the dispatcher, who promised that the officers who had been at the station less than half an hour earlier would meet them at the garage.

  The two uniformed cops made it in fifteen minutes, driving to the parking garage with their siren wailing and lights flashing. They asked questions, checked out Sam’s car, put the card in a plastic bag and called for other officers to dust the Mustang for fingerprints as well as check the interior for other evidence, then looked over the structure of the vehicle to ensure that it was safe to drive.

  By the time all the officers had finished and driven away, it was after three.

  Ty’s mouth was a thin, hard line. “I think I should drive you home.”

  She was touched, but shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can drive.”

  Ty wasn’t having any of it. “Listen, Samantha, whoever did this is sick. We both know that. He broke into your car tonight
, right? What’s to say that he didn’t tamper with it? Drain the brake fluid, or plant a bomb or—”

  “The police checked it.”

  “They can miss things.”

  “I don’t think so, and I’m not going to start jumping at my own shadow. I can’t live my life scared. If I do, I lose, Ty. He wins. That’s what he wants. To scare me to death. Make me nervous and edgy. He’s playing a psychological game with me, and if he killed me, it would be over. And tampering with the car is too…impersonal. This guy calls me up, he sends me letters, he lets me know he’s around. He didn’t like it when I was on the speaker phone. He wants to be intimate with me. To be personal. To get into my head. I know it. I feel it.”

  “And do you ‘know’ or ‘feel’ that he could be a killer? For God’s sake, Samantha, he’s threatened to kill you.”

  Sam was thinking hard now, rubbing her arms despite the heat, biting her lip and starting to understand the man who called himself John. “I know,” she admitted. “But it won’t be until I’ve repented, not until I understand the sins I’ve committed. He’s into some kind of religious thing—sin, retribution.”

  “You can’t take the chance. Isn’t this enough proof that the guy’s unhinged, that he’s going to do you major harm?” Ty asked. “He’s accused you of murder. He’s spouted a lot of biblical mumbo jumbo, maybe he believes in the old ‘An eye for an eye,’ type of retribution.”

  “But not yet.” As weary as she was, she was certain that she wasn’t in immediate danger. John wanted to terrorize her. He got his thrills by trying to scare her out of her wits and then communicating with her. He wanted her to beg for forgiveness. She glanced at her car. “Don’t worry, I—I’m going to be fine. I’m starting to understand him.”

  “Believe me, no one understands this creep. Come on, let me drive you home.”

  “It’s nice of you, really, to be so concerned, but I’m okay. A big girl, you know,” she said, though she wasn’t certain she meant it any more than she thought it was a good idea to let Ty take on the role of bodyguard. She barely knew the guy. He seemed sincere enough, and she had a sense of safety around him, but his timing, showing up when she’d started getting the prank calls made her second-guess his motives. God, she hated this…this newfound fear. John had stripped her of her independence, but she intended to fight back.

  “Okay, then I’m going to check out the car again, and I’ll follow you. All you have to do is drive me to my car, and I’ll make sure you get into your house all right.”

  “Promise?” She was too tired to argue any longer. What would it hurt for him to see her to her house? It wasn’t as if it was out of his way. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is. Now, I don’t suppose you have a flashlight.”

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” she said, and opened the trunk.

  “Not funny, Sam.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith and humor.” She pulled out an emergency roadside kit—flares, matches, reflective signs and a flashlight. For the next few minutes Ty checked under the hood and the body of the car, lying on the grimy cement, shining the flashlight’s small beam across the wheel axles and exhaust system. He tested the lug nuts on her wheels and looked over the ignition and steering column. By the time he’d finished his forehead was damp, sweat running down the sides of his face.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out for sure,” he said and snagged the keys from her hand. “Stand back.”

  “No way. I’m not going to let you—”

  “Too late.” He slid into the bucket seat. “Back off in case I get blown to smithereens.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Humor me—the one of little faith and humor—okay?”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Seeing that he wasn’t about to budge, she backed up a few steps, her stomach tightening. He jabbed her key into the ignition, twisted and the Mustang’s engine caught on the first try, firing to life. Ty stepped on the throttle, gunning the engine. Exhaust spewed out of the tailpipe, the roar of six cylinders deafening. But there was no explosion. No flying glass. No twisting of metal.

  “I think it’s okay,” Ty said through the open window. “Hop in.” Leaning over he opened the passenger door. Since there was no changing his mind, she crossed the short span of grease-dappled concrete and climbed into the passenger side of her car.

  “You don’t have to baby-sit me,” she said, as he drove down the ramp to the first floor and out into the street, where streetlights glowed watery blue and there was little traffic.

  “Is that what I’m doing?” He slanted her a glance as he slowed for a traffic light and her heart nearly stopped. There was something about him, something she didn’t quite understand that warned her to be wary, yet she couldn’t resist him, couldn’t help but trust him. As the interior of the car glowed red in the reflection of the stoplight, she caught his eyes, saw promises in his gaze she didn’t want to understand. “I’m baby-sitting?” he asked again.

  “Seems like.” Forcing her accelerating heartbeat to slow, she held up one finger. “You called the station after I got the weird call from Annie.” Another finger jutted upward as the light changed and she watched his profile—strong jaw, deep-set eyes, high forehead, bladed cheeks, razor-thin lips. In an instant she wondered what it would feel like to kiss him…to touch him…The car shot forward, and she realized she hadn’t finished her thought. “You waited for me at the station door.” A third finger joined the first two as Ty rounded a final corner and pulled into a spot behind his Volvo. “You walked Melanie and me to the parking garage.” Her pinky straightened. “You checked out the car and drove me here. And” —her thumb raised and she splayed her fingers in front of his face as her car idled—“and you’re going to follow me home.”

  He grabbed her hand. Hard warm fingers wrapping around hers. “And,” he vowed solemnly, “when we get back to your place, I’m gonna walk you inside.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to, okay?” His eyes, dark with the night, held hers and his fingers tightened. “I would never forgive myself, Samantha, if something happened to you. Now, we can sit here and argue semantics all night, but I think we should go. It’s late.”

  She swallowed hard. Retrieved her hand. “Fine.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “I’m holding you to it.” Then he was out of the car, jogging to the Volvo, and sliding inside. His brake lights flashed as Sam crawled over the gearshift and landed behind the steering wheel. After she adjusted the position of her seat, she punched the accelerator, watching in her rearview mirror as the Volvo pulled away from the curb and followed her.

  Ty Wheeler seemed to have appointed himself her bodyguard.

  Whether she wanted him to or not.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the way home Sam punched the first button on her radio, caught the end of the Lights Out program and drove through the deserted streets toward the lake and the small community of Cambrai. She met a few cars, the oncoming headlights bright, but, for the most part, her attention was focused in the rearview mirror and the twin beams from Ty’s Volvo. What was he thinking? Why was he making her problems his? What did he want from her? She turned onto her street, and she couldn’t help but second-guess him. Did his boat really break down?

  “Stop it,” she growled as she pulled into her driveway and pushed the button on her automatic garage-door opener. She was tired, her nerves shot, paranoia taking hold. As the garage door cranked upward she pulled inside. It had once been a carriage house but had been converted to house a horseless carriage sometime in the nineteen twenties. Later a breezeway had been added, attaching the garage to the kitchen. As she climbed out of the car, Ty’s car wheeled into the drive. He was out of his car in seconds and following her into the house.

  “No arguments,” he advised when he noticed she was about to protest. “Let me check the place out.”

 
“It’s been locked.”

  “So was the car.”

  He walked ahead of her through the door and strode along the glassed-in breezeway as if he’d done it all his life. Inside the house, Sam shut off the alarm that she’d activated for once. She’d forgotten it time and time again, just wasn’t used to setting it. Thankfully, tonight, the troublesome thing seemed to be working, but Ty wasn’t satisfied. he walked slowly through the kitchen and dining area where, perched on one of the chairs, Charon watched with wide, suspicious eyes.

  “It’s all right,” she mouthed to the cat.

  With Samantha on his heels, Ty did a room-by-room search of the house. He didn’t bother to ask her permission as he opened doors to cupboards and closets, even tested the locked trapdoor of the crawl space tucked under the stairs. Then he took the steps two at a time to the second floor. Without a word he walked into the guest room, with its lacy curtains, daybed and antique dresser, through the shared bath and finally ended up in her bedroom.

  Following after him, she felt uneasy and exposed. Naked. All the private corners of her living space bared. He slid one glance at the oversize canopy bed, then proceeded into the walk-in wardrobe where her clothes, shoes and handbags were strewn haphazardly.

  Within seconds he emerged. Sam was leaning against her armoire. “Satisfied?” she asked. “No bogeymen?”

  “Not so far.” He tested the lock on the French doors leading to her balcony, gave the lever a shake, then grunted as if he finally was convinced that the house was safe. “Okay…so I guess I can give you the all clear.”

  “Good.” She stretched and started for the door, but Ty didn’t follow.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Annie Seger?” he asked, leaning against one of the bedposts. “I know you’re tired, but it would help me to know why someone is blaming you for her death.”

  “That’s a good question.” Sam shoved her fingers through her hair and thought for a second. “I can’t really tell you the answer as I don’t understand it myself.” She lowered herself into the rocker by the French doors and wrapped the faded afghan her great-grandmother had knitted decades ago around her shoulders. Ty had been kind to her, interested. The least she could do was try and explain. “I was hosting a show like the one I’m doing now, only at a smaller station. I’d only been out of college a while and was separated from my husband, so I was on my own for the first time in my life, and the show was enjoying quite a bit of success. Jeremy, that’s my ex, thought it was going to my head, and tried to make it an issue, like the catalyst for the divorce, but it was more than that. A lot more.