by Jane Blythe
Some days he just didn’t know what to do.
Xavier had to keep reminding himself—and Annabelle—that it would take time. Time for her to recover. Time for her to see for herself that everything he kept telling her was true. But he wished that time was now.
“Xavier.”
He blinked and the conference room floated back into view. His Lieutenant, Robert Hollow, crime scene tech, Diane Jolly, and medical examiner, Billy Newton, were all staring at him expectantly. He realized he’d zoned out. “Sorry, I got a little distracted. What were you saying?”
Rob’s sympathetic gray eyes studied him. “Diane said that you and Annabelle got a letter from Ricky Preston earlier today saying that he was back. That must have been a shock for both of you. How’s Annabelle handling it?”
She isn’t, Xavier wanted to answer. She was withdrawing again, and any progress that she’d made the last few months was fading away. They had to end this. They had to find Ricky Preston whether he was Erica Landers’ killer or not. If they didn’t, Annabelle would never be able to move on.
Rob’s sympathetic eyes turned concerned. “Is she still seeing her therapist?”
“Yes.” He had made it clear from the beginning that Annabelle needed to seek help for the trauma she’d suffered. Julia hadn't and it had eaten her alive. He wasn’t going to get involved with Annabelle only to watch her go down the same path as his ex.
“Good, make sure she keeps going.”
Xavier nodded. “What were you saying?”
Robert gestured at the ME. “Billy was just saying cause of death was exsanguination, not that that comes as a surprise to any of us.”
“Looks like he used an axe,” Billy added.
“Fits with what Garton Landers said.” Xavier nodded.
“Who kills with an axe?” Billy looked baffled. “It’s not the most practical of tools. And whatever happened to a good old-fashioned knife or gun?”
Xavier knew exactly what kind of killer used an axe. The kind who was completely unbalanced, loved the sight of blood, and who probably thought being a real live axe murderer was hilarious. Ricky Preston. But he kept his mouth shut. “Any forensics so far, Diane?”
She shook her head. “I have the footprints, but there’s no database for that, so it’ll only help you with your comparison once you find this guy.”
“What about the closet? Any fingerprints there?”
“No; he must have worn gloves.”
“Fingerprints anywhere else?”
Another shake of her head. “Must have kept his gloves on the whole time. He came prepared, though. No duct tape in the house; he brought his own. This was completely planned and premeditated.”
“Garton Landers said there were no signs of break-in when they returned home, and that they put their clothes away in the closet before going to bed. So, the killer was either hiding out in another room or he came in after they were already home,” Xavier explained.
“Pretty cocky if he did.” Diane raised an eyebrow. “Especially if he did sneak in and hide in the closet.”
Xavier nodded his agreement. Again, this fit with Ricky Preston. The man was arrogant and had more confidence than any killer should have.
“Garton give you anything else?” Rob asked.
“Description was vague: a tall guy with dark hair who maybe had blue eyes. He said that he’d never seen him before,” Xavier replied. “Neighbor gave the same description, minus the eye color. She also said she saw a naked man leaving the house around the time the murder was committed, heading through the Landers’ backyard toward the garage. If he knew their routine, he’d know they never park their cars in the garage, so it would be the perfect place to park and remain unseen.”
Taking a deep breath, Rob asked, “All right, well the big question we have is, do we think that this is the work of Ricky Preston? I don’t like coincidences, but the fact that Ricky sent you that letter and on the same day you receive it we get a crime scene that all but screams his name is a pretty big coincidence.”
“I don’t want to get sidetracked,” Xavier told his boss. “I feel like it’s Ricky, but what if I'm wrong? I don’t want more bodies on my conscience because I was obsessed with Ricky.”
Rob frowned slightly. “There shouldn’t be any bodies on your conscience,” he reprimanded gently. “You're a cop, you’re only human, you're not God. Ricky is responsible for every person that he killed. And so is this killer if it’s not Ricky.”
He didn’t believe his boss, but he was not in the mood to argue. “I'm going to speak with family and friends of the Landers, see if there’s anyone with a grudge against them. But this doesn’t feel personal.”
“I have a possible avenue that may help,” Billy announced. “Blood tests on Garton Landers show that he was injected with sodium thiopental.”
“Which is?” Rob prompted.
“It’s a rapid-onset, short-acting barbiturate general anesthetic,” Billy explained. “It knocks you out for maybe five to ten minutes and starts acting almost immediately upon injection. You’d be out cold within maybe forty-five seconds.”
“Is it hard to come by?” Xavier asked.
“It used to be commonly used for general anesthesia, although it’s largely been replaced by propofol,” Billy replied.
“So that could help us.” Xavier was pleased they had an avenue to pursue. If they could track down where the killer sourced the drug, it could lead them right to him.
“Okay,” Rob stood, “we meet back here tomorrow morning; hopefully, we've made some progress by then.”
* * * * *
5:16 P.M.
Her leg was aching.
Aching badly.
Sofia knew she’d overdone it, but once she’d taken those first terrifying few steps, she hadn't been able to stop. It felt so wonderful to be able to walk almost normally again that she just kept going.
Now she was paying the price for it.
She should go and sit down, prop her leg up and let it rest for a while, but she wasn’t sure if Ryan was going to be home for dinner, and if he was, then she should make something.
Sofia couldn’t wait until she could go back to work. Before she’d gotten sick, she had run a charity—a women’s shelter—that had been financed by her family’s money. Now that her entire family, bar Isabella, were deceased, she had inherited everything. Money, businesses, properties—they were all hers now. She didn’t care about being rich, though; she just wanted to decide how best to use the expansive resources now at her disposal to help as many people as she could.
As soon as she was well enough, she was going to put that money to work. Right now, though, she had to focus on her recovery and regaining her strength—both physically and emotionally.
Yawning loudly, Sofia glanced at the clock; it was only five in the afternoon. Even if Ryan came home for dinner, it wouldn’t be for a few hours yet. Maybe she should take a nap. She was exhausted; good sleep had been something that she hadn't had since Isabella’s murderous rampage.
Limping toward the living room, she caught sight of a delivery truck pulling out of the driveway. It had to be the package she’d been waiting for. Something special for Ryan’s nephew, Brian. Sofia empathized with the child in a way no one else in his family could. Brian had faced, and beaten, leukemia. The seven-year-old knew what it was like to think that you were going to die. And so did Sofia. She had quickly grown close to the little boy and was guilty of spoiling him.
Deciding that she would get the parcel and then take a nap in the living room, she made the slow trek to the mailbox. Retrieving the parcel, Sofia had to pause halfway back up the path to the door, taking a moment to just enjoy the fresh air. It was chilly, and she wasn’t dressed properly for outdoors, but Sofia didn’t mind. After weeks of being cooped up in the hospital and then in her house, it was such a blessing to simply stand in the waning sunshine and enjoy the winter afternoon.
She couldn’t wait until she was strong enough to go
back to doing all the things she’d loved doing before: hiking, camping, skiing, and rowing. Sofia had loved everything about being outdoors, and she knew Ryan did, too. As soon as she was able, they were going to do all those things together.
When she’d recovered a little strength, she resumed her walk back indoors. The hammering pain in her leg was too much for her to bear right now, so she hobbled for the kitchen where painkillers were waiting.
A sigh of relief was just escaping her lips as she stepped into the kitchen, when she froze.
Something was wrong.
The kitchen was cold.
Colder than it should be.
The back door was open.
Sofia always kept the doors and windows closed and locked.
Her gaze fell on the table.
A bouquet of flowers sat there.
A small envelope was propped up against them.
Her name was written on it in an all too familiar script.
On shaking legs, she walked to the table. With hands that shook just as much, she picked up the envelope and slid out the card. And her worst nightmare was confirmed.
Yanking her phone from her pocket, she dialed Ryan.
“Sofia?”
At the sound of his voice she felt a calm rush through her.
“Sofia?” Ryan repeated, alarm inching into his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s back,” she answered softly.
He was confused. “Who’s back, cupcake?”
“My stalker.” Her calm was beginning to crack. Ryan’s voice wasn’t enough. She was scared; she wanted him here with her.
“What?” Ryan demanded, panicked now. “How do you know?”
“He was here, in the house, while I was outside getting the mail. He left me flowers and a note that says not to worry, he’s back.” It all came tumbling out in a rush, her calm was quickly turning to blinding panic.
“Is he still there?” Ryan was frantic.
“I don’t think so, the back door is open,” she assured him.
“I want you to leave immediately. I want you to go next door to the Barretts' and wait for…”
Sofia stopped listening to Ryan when the doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door,” she whispered into the phone.
“Stay on the line with me, Sofia,” Ryan ordered.
Her heart was hammering painfully in her chest as she supported herself with the wall as she headed for the door.
“Sofia? I mean it, don’t hang up,” Ryan insisted. “Stay on the line.”
Pain in her leg forgotten, she was shaking so badly she could hardly slide the deadbolt undone. “I'm about to open the door,” she informed Ryan.
“Just don’t hang up,” Ryan commanded again. “Whatever happens, stay on the line.”
Barely breathing, she pulled the door open and gasped, her knees going weak, she pitched forward.
“Sofia? Sofia?” Ryan’s voice screamed from the phone. “What happened? Who is it? Sofia? Answer me!”
Unable to answer Ryan, she was too breathless to speak. Strong arms caught her as she started to collapse.
“Sofia? Honey, what’s wrong?” Jack Xander, Ryan’s older brother, asked her, his concerned blue eyes darting from her to the hall behind her.
“Sofia? Answer me,” Ryan continued to yell. “Come on, talk to me.”
She leaned heavily on Jack. “It’s okay,” she told Ryan. “It was just Jack at the door.”
Ryan’s breath whooshed out in relief. “Let me talk to him.”
Sofia handed Jack her phone. He took it but didn’t raise it to his ear; instead, he kept his attention focused on her.
“What happened? What freaked you out?” Jack asked.
“My stalker, he’s back, he left me flowers and a note,” she gaspingly related to Jack.
He held her up with one arm, and with his other he pulled out his gun. “Is he gone?”
“I think so.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks and she shivered violently.
“Okay, let’s get you inside.” Jack guided her gently away from the door and closed and locked it behind them. Without Jack’s supporting arm, Sofia knew she couldn’t remain upright. As it was, her trembling legs gave out halfway down the corridor and Jack picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the kitchen, depositing her on a chair and setting his gun and the phone on the table.
“Jack? Jack? Come on, talk to me,” Ryan’s panicked voice floated from the phone.
He snatched the phone back up. “I’ll talk to you in a moment,” Jack calmly told his younger brother. “Right now Sofia is my priority.”
“Is she hurt?” Ryan’s panic ratcheted up a notch.
“She’s in shock,” Jack told Ryan. “You don’t sound so good either, so try to calm down. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Once more setting the phone down, Jack crouched in front of her, his gaze appraising. “Did you see him?”
“No,” she hiccupped through her tears.
“All right, I’ll be right back, okay? You're shaking, I'm just going to grab a blanket.” He stood, closed the backdoor, and briefly left the room. He returned moments later with a thick woolen afghan which he wrapped around her shoulders. Then he rummaged through the cupboards and pulled out a glass, which he filled with water, then grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the counter, handing her both.
When she’d swallowed the pills, Jack knelt in front of her again, perching the phone between his shoulder and ear, he took her freezing hands in his warm ones and began to rub them. “Did you calm down?” he asked Ryan.
“Of course not,” Ryan snapped, although from what she could hear he did sound a little calmer. “Don’t leave her alone, Jack,” Ryan begged.
“I’ll be all right,” Sofia assured Jack, trying desperately to calm her ragged breathing. “He’s never tried to hurt me before.”
“Head down, deep breaths,” was all Jack said, his hand on her shoulder bending her over. “Of course I won't leave her alone. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with her until you get here.”
“I don’t know when that will be,” Ryan sounded desperate.
“I can't get warm,” she told Jack, her teeth chattering relentlessly. Try as she might, she couldn’t control the tremors racking her body.
“You’re in shock, sweetheart,” Jack reminded her gently, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“Jack?” Ryan prompted.
“Don’t stress, Ry.” Jack remained calm. “I'm not going anywhere. I’ll get her to eat and then rest, and I’ll make sure CSU comes, and I’ll make sure she gives her statement to whomever worked her stalker case before. Really, Ryan, I’ve got her.”
Sofia wanted to protest that no one needed to ‘get’ her, that she would be perfectly okay on her own. But the truth was, she wouldn’t. She was terrified. She didn’t want to deal with her stalker all over again. And didn’t stalkers sometimes escalate to violence? It had been a year since he had last left her anything. Who was he? Why would he come back now? And what did he want from her?
Tears starting all over again, she rested her head against Jack’s shoulder and let him take care of her until Ryan came home.
* * * * *
6:45 P.M.
“Did you hear from Jack?”
“Uh huh,” Ryan confirmed. “Jack knows that if I don’t hear from him every ten minutes I'm jumping in my car and driving home. I just got a text; Jack called Edmund and got the name of the detective who worked her case before and Sofia gave him her statement. Then he called Stephanie to come and collect the flowers and card and check for fingerprints, because he thought someone Sofia knew would be less stressful for her right now. Jack made Sofia eat, and he’s given her a sleeping pill so she can get some rest.”
“Knowing all that’s not enough, though, is it?” Paige asked sympathetically.
He sighed deeply. “Not even close. I'm not going to feel better about this until I see that Sofia’s okay with my own eyes and I’m holdin
g her in my arms. Scratch that, I’m not going to feel better about this until we find out who the stalker is and he’s in jail,” he amended.
“Jack sounds like he has everything under control,” Paige attempted to console him.
“I know,” Ryan couldn’t agree more. “If I can't be with Sofia, then the people I'd trust her with the most would be Jack and you. I know Jack won't let anything happen to her. And I'm not even sure if her stalker is a threat to her yet—at least a physical threat. But she has enough to deal with without having him pop back up in her life.”
“You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that someone can't be with Sofia twenty-four hours a day,” Paige reminded him gently. “You work, I work, Jack works, Edmund works, and as soon as she can, Sofia intends to go back to work. And even if you could work something out so one of us can be with her all the time, I don’t think she’d like that. She wants to get her life back; she’s not going to let you lock her up like some sort of prisoner until we can find her stalker.”
Ryan didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to believe that they could find her stalker before there were any more incidents. Why would he leave for a year and then suddenly return now? The possibility that he had been in jail on unrelated charges seemed the most likely. And the most terrifying.
“Ryan, how’s the situation at your house?” Belinda entered the room.
“Jack has everything under control,” he replied tightly.
“Of course he does,” Belinda smiled.
“Did the warrant for Eve Hitacheel’s arrest come through yet?” Ryan asked.
“Should be any second now,” Belinda answered. “Are we sure it’s her?”
“We spoke with every family member, friend, and colleague of Roman that we could find, and when pressed, several of them admitted that they knew that Eve was aware of Roman’s affairs,” Paige explained, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.
Concern for Sofia was briefly inched aside as worry for his partner took over. Paige looked terrible—tired and drawn. Ryan needed to get her to tell him what was going on with her. “We spoke with Eve’s sister,” Ryan expanded. “She was reluctant at first to tell us anything, but after we threatened to arrest her with obstruction of justice, she finally opened up. She said that Eve found out less than a year after their marriage. She got suspicious of Roman being gone so regularly at night, so she followed him. Found him at a hotel with a prostitute. Ever since, she kept track of his mistresses.”
