Midnight Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Post, Carol J.

  She didn’t respond, just stalked to the back of the car and raised the lid. Half a dozen plastic bags lined the trunk, a carton of milk sticking out the top of one of them. She began snatching bags, then grabbed the case that held her steno machine. As she started up the front walk, he removed the other three bags and closed the trunk.

  He caught up with her in the kitchen, where she stood at the pantry putting cans on shelves. After putting the milk and other perishable items in the fridge, he joined her.

  “Missy,” he whispered, but she didn’t respond, just reached into the bag at her feet and pulled out a box of cereal. He rested his hand lightly on her forearm and took the box from her. “I’m here for you, Missy. Let me help.”

  She turned slowly to face him. Tears threatened to pool on her lower lashes, but she blinked them away. She was trying so hard to be strong.

  “Nobody expects you to do this alone. Please let me help.”

  She gave two brief nods and leaned back against the doorjamb of the pantry. “All right. Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “We need to come up with a game plan. He’s left three notes so far, made it clear he’s watching you. We need to get the police to stake the place out, catch him in the act. It shouldn’t be that difficult. He’s slick, but he’s going to get careless eventually.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think Branch will approve expending the resources over a few notes?”

  “Probably not. But I bet Alan would be happy to put in some time on the side. He and I can load up on mosquito repellent and protein bars and camp out in your yard.”

  “Whoever’s doing this is going to stay away while you guys are hanging around.”

  “He won’t know. We’ll slip in from Mrs. Johnson’s and stay hidden in the shrubbery.”

  She seemed to be considering the idea when her eyes suddenly widened. “You can’t be here. He threatened you in the last note. It wasn’t overt, but BethAnn and I both took it that way.”

  “And you think that’s going to stop me from being here to protect you? Not in this lifetime. Look, Alan and I will be armed.”

  “He might be, too.”

  “But there are two of us. And we’re both trained law enforcement.”

  She pushed herself away from the pantry, closed the door and walked to the fridge. She didn’t exactly acquiesce, but she wasn’t arguing anymore. “Would you like to stay for dinner? Nothing fancy. I’m just doing chicken and yellow rice.”

  “I’d love to.” He watched her remove a plastic bag containing two leg quarters, which she rinsed and placed in a pan. There was something intimate about standing in the kitchen with her, preparing to have a meal together. He shook the thought from his mind. That wasn’t what he was here for. She was stuck with him hanging around to see to her safety. Anything beyond that, he would respect her wishes. “Can I help you cook?”

  “I’ve got it. But if you really want to do something, you can feed Smudge.”

  He crossed the room, trying unsuccessfully to coax Smudge to follow. But as soon as he opened the pantry door, the big white cat was beside him.

  “You are ready to eat. So what’ll it be?” He picked up two cans. “This one, or...this one.”

  Smudge responded with a hearty meow.

  “Okay, savory turkey and vegetables. Good choice.” He bent to pick up the empty food dish and popped the top on the can. “And are you a half-can or full-can kind of kitty?”

  “Half can,” Missy answered, in chorus with another meow from Smudge.

  “No, Mommy says half can, and we have to do what she says.” He put the dish on the floor, and the cat dug in amid satisfied smacks and purrs.

  When he straightened back up, Missy eyed him with an amused smile.

  “What?”

  “I was just listening to your conversation with my deaf cat.”

  “Well, he answered every question I asked.”

  “No,” she argued, “he was protesting because you didn’t get his food down fast enough.”

  He leaned back against the cabinet. The chicken had begun to boil, and an unopened package of rice lay on the counter. “So where’s the smudge? I haven’t seen it.”

  “He doesn’t have one. When he was a kitten, he had two on top of his head, but they disappeared as he got older.”

  “So now you have a solid white cat named Smudge.”

  “Yep.” She grinned up at him. “By the time the smudges disappeared, it was too late to change his name. Not that he minded.” She opened the fridge and straightened with several kinds of salad ingredients in her arms.

  While she finished dinner, he retrieved Alan’s number from her phone and proceeded to lay out his plans. Alan was totally on board, eager to assist in any way he could.

  “Well, it’s set.” He pocketed his phone. “Tomorrow night we’ll show up shortly after dark. Alan’s off Wednesday, so he doesn’t mind staying up all night.”

  She placed a steaming bowl of chicken and rice between the two place settings already on the table. “And what about you? You’re not off Wednesday.”

  “I’ll grab some sleep in the morning and go in late.” He sat at one of the places in the little nook, and she took the chair opposite him. And he was once again struck with that same sense of intimacy he’d felt watching her cook. At one time, they had been so close to a lifetime of meals just like this one. Then it was gone, all his dreams up in smoke, and he was left holding the ashes of a tomorrow that would never be.

  “I was planning to watch a movie tonight.”

  Her words cut into his thoughts, which was good. Because his mind had started down a path it had no business being on. “What are you going to watch?”

  “I don’t remember the name. It’s a romantic comedy I just got in the mail. Would you like to join me?” She seemed hesitant to see him go. He really couldn’t blame her.

  He flashed her a crooked smile. “You’re going to make me sit through a chick flick, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not that chick flick-ish. So it shouldn’t compromise your masculinity too much.”

  He didn’t care. He would watch Steel Magnolias with her if it would take that haunted look from her eyes.

  * * *

  By the time she walked him to the door, it was almost nine o’clock. He turned to face her in the foyer. “Thanks for dinner. And the movie. I enjoyed it.”

  She grinned up at him. “Even though there weren’t any car chases or dead bodies?”

  “Even without the car chases and dead bodies.”

  “Well, thanks for taking care of Smudge. I’m sure he appreciated it.”

  “It was my pleasure. He’s a good conversationalist.”

  She continued to look up at him, lips parted. And all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her. The scent of her perfume, probably applied early that morning, was almost gone now, shadowed remnants of citrus and spice that whispered past the edges of his consciousness, tantalizingly out of reach.

  He mentally shook himself. He was here to protect her. Nothing else. “I would say see you tomorrow night, but you won’t see us. We’ll be there, though.”

  “Good. You don’t know how reassuring that is.” She smiled again, appreciation shining from her eyes.

  He needed to leave—step back, walk out the door and drive away. But his body wouldn’t obey his brain’s commands. Something held him rooted to the spot, and he knew exactly what it was. It was that vulnerability that she always kept hidden except in moments like these, when the facade of strength and stubbornness fell away.

  Then she moistened her lips, and that was all it took. He leaned forward slowly, and her eyes fluttered closed. When his lips met hers, the shock went all the way to his toes. Warmth flooded him—tenderness and total contentment. This w
as where he belonged.

  Her arms sliding around his neck had all the effect of a dousing with cold water. Kissing her like this was wrong. She was afraid and vulnerable, and he was taking advantage of the whole situation.

  He backed away, letting her arms fall from his neck. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d give you your space and not put any pressure on you. And I’m going to do my best to keep that promise. When and if we move beyond where we are right now, it’s going to be in your time, not mine. The next kiss, if there is one, will be initiated by you. I love you too much to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

  Her gaze fluttered to the floor, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Was it the admission of his love that had shaken her, or his kiss? He mentally kicked himself. If he didn’t rein in what he felt, he was going to push her away.

  He reached up to cup her cheek. “Be careful. And wish us luck tomorrow night.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his and drew in a steadying breath. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll pray for you.”

  He pulled out of the driveway, worry coiling deep in his gut. He was leaving her completely unprotected. But what else could he do? She wouldn’t let him move into the house, and she insisted the stable was uninhabitable. If only her neighbors lived closer.

  His gaze followed his thoughts, roaming in the direction of old Mrs. Johnson’s place. At the edge of the road, illuminated in the beams of his headlights, was a sign: For Rent, Garage Apartment. He jammed on the brakes, heart singing.

  He couldn’t have come up with a more perfect solution if he had orchestrated it himself.

  * * *

  Melissa padded up the stairs, feeling more confused than ever. Why did she let him kiss her? That would only give him false hope, silent promises she had no idea if she could even keep. But she still had feelings for him, feelings that had only grown stronger since she learned the truth of what had happened five years earlier. And that was why she had let him kiss her. Her hesitancy to let down her guard and trust him didn’t do anything to lessen what she felt for him.

  With a sigh, she stepped into her room. Smudge bounded past her. It was bedtime—his favorite time of day, next to meal time. Actually, it was one of hers, too, when she would sit propped up against several pillows, a good book in her hand and a warm, purring body against her hip. That thirty minutes was her brief respite, her escape from the uneasiness that always wrapped around her as darkness blanketed the house.

  A few days ago, she’d started sleeping with a night-light, something she had never done in her life. It hadn’t helped. And yesterday she bought a second litter box and set it up in the bathroom so she could close and lock the bedroom door. That made her feel a little more secure. Of course, an interior lock could easily be picked with nothing more high-tech than a bobby pin.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, face washed and teeth brushed, Smudge was already stretched out on the bed. She pulled her nightgown from the drawer, but before she could shed her clothes, the ringing of the doorbell jarred the silence. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Who would be ringing her bell at almost nine-thirty at night?

  The moment the lingering tone of the bell faded to silence, seven raps followed, a familiar rhythm that she would never forget as long as she lived. It was their special code, a knock as personalized as a desk name plate. She hurried down the stairs and, as a final precaution before opening the door, checked the peephole. As expected, it was Chris.

  He flashed her a crooked smile. “I came back for another kiss.”

  Before she could respond, his expression grew serious, and he brought his hand out from behind his back. In it was an envelope. He held it as if it was something too vile to touch, his middle finger against the top edge and his thumb against the bottom.

  “This was on your door when I came back. I checked all around your yard, but he was gone. He probably hightailed it out of here the instant I pulled in the drive.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I haven’t opened it. We need to turn it over to the police.”

  “I have to know what it says.”

  He raised his brows at the urgency in her tone. But she had to know. If anything happened to him while he was trying to protect her, she would never forgive herself.

  He hesitated for several moments, indecision in his eyes. Finally, he shook the contents of the envelope onto the Bombay chest and carefully unfolded the single sheet, touching only its edges. That was why he had held the envelope the way he had. He was trying to preserve any fingerprints left behind. She had handled each of the prior three notes, never once thinking about prints. Of course, that was his job.

  She stepped up beside him to read the page now spread out on the chest.

  Melissa, I see he is still coming around. He was here when you came home, and he stayed all evening. It’s not right. I am the chosen one but must love you from afar while he is loving you openly. You need to make him leave. Fate will not allow any interference. If he continues, it won’t be pleasant for him. You better heed my warning.

  As for me, this is but a test, one of many obstacles I must overcome. But I will triumph. Whatever test is put before me, I will succeed. Our time is coming. And when it does, I will take you away. You will be mine forever.

  She lifted her eyes from the page, panic pounding up her spine. Each note was getting more bizarre than the last, a written record of a headlong plunge into insanity. “You can’t keep coming around,” she insisted, no longer concerned for her own safety. “He’s threatening you.”

  He shook his head. “I already told you, he’s not keeping me away.”

  “Chris, please. I’m worried about you. If you get hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Look, I’m a cop. I carry a gun. I can take care of myself.”

  She shook her head, worry tying her stomach in knots. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He reached up and cupped her cheek. “Enough of the worrisome thoughts. I came back to give you some good news. You now have a new neighbor.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you’re talking about the stable, no, I don’t.”

  “I’m talking about Mrs. Johnson’s garage apartment.”

  She stared at him for several moments, conflicting emotions tumbling through her. She was afraid for him—he wasn’t staying away from danger; he was plopping himself down right in the middle of it. But she was also relieved. He was going to be next door, with an almost clear view of her bedroom window. The thought brought with it a surprising sense of security.

  It would be the first good night’s sleep she had had since this whole ordeal started.

  FOURTEEN

  Chris sat in the straight-backed chair, shoes on and fully clothed. He wasn’t comfortable. His feet were dying for a few hours of freedom after being imprisoned in tennis shoes since 7:00 a.m., and his butt and back had begun protesting hours ago.

  But he wasn’t looking for comfort. Comfort would only put him to sleep.

  He had left Missy’s at nine-thirty, fully intending to spend the night at home. But thoughts of her all alone in that huge, old house, some shadowed threat lurking just outside, chipped away at his peace of mind. By the time he reached the outskirts of Lakeland, he knew what he would do—throw the bare necessities into an overnight bag and head right back to Harmony Grove.

  Now it was almost two-thirty. For three and a half hours, he had kept vigil at the apartment window, watching for any sign of movement next door. But the only prowlers he had spotted were a couple of cats and a raccoon. His post offered him a clear view of one end of the house, the same end where Missy slept. He had watched her light go out shortly after he arrived. The view of the front wasn’t so clear. Two low-hanging tree limbs waved ominously back and forth, hiding, revealing, and on
ce again hiding the walk.

  He stood and stretched both arms skyward. He should probably get some sleep. Maybe he and Alan would have better luck tomorrow night. He cast one last glance through the window and stiffened, adrenaline pumping through him. Did he see something? Or was it just a shadow? He couldn’t be sure because the dangling branches once again obstructed his view.

  He waited for several moments, muscles taut and every sense on full alert. With the next gentle gust, he had no doubt.

  Someone had just stepped onto Missy’s front porch.

  He flew into action, snatching up his nine millimeter from the table in front of him and dropping the spare clip into his pocket. Then he sailed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The creep wouldn’t get away this time. There would be no headlights to tip him off, nothing to warn him that he wasn’t alone.

  He slipped soundlessly out the back door of the garage, pistol drawn. As he made his way toward the gate separating the two yards, the rustle of branches masked his footsteps, the crunch of twigs beneath his feet something he felt more than heard. His heart pounded in anticipation. In a few short moments, it would be all over.

  He slipped through the gate, and the moment he rounded the front corner of the house, he stopped dead. No one was there—not on the walk, the porch, or anywhere touched by the soft glow of the front light. If he didn’t know better, he would think he imagined the shadowy figure.

  But he did know better. Just moments earlier, someone stood on her porch. He was sure of it.

  He slipped deeper into the shadows, scanning the yard for any sign of movement. The sky was clear, the moon three-quarters full. But the dense oak canopy blocked its silvery glow. And the same steady rustle that had masked his own stealthy approach was now helping his prey slip silently away.

  But it didn’t make sense. Not more than half a minute passed from the time he left his post at the window until he stepped into Missy’s front yard. Maybe enough time for the man to move from the porch, but not enough to completely disappear from view.