02 Turn to Me - Kathleen Turner

by Tiffany Snow

  Chapter Thirteen

  I didn’t sleep well. Kade’s last words echoed in my head and I wasn’t sure if the churning in my stomach was dread or...something else. I couldn’t concentrate. My feelings for Kade were too wrapped up in the anxiety and terror dogging my every move, augmented by what I’d learned about him and the horrors he’d endured when he was young. Were we similar creatures? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I hadn’t wanted him to walk out that door and leave me with no idea of when I’d see him again.

  Yet, I could still feel Blane’s arms around me, holding me tight as he told me how he’d been afraid he’d lost me forever. In the dark, I imagined what might have happened if I’d given in, hugged him back and let him hold me. Would he be here with me now? Was I sorry he wasn’t?

  Tears ran down my cheeks into the pillow as I stared sightlessly at the dark ceiling. I wanted to sleep for a week, a month, waking only when the aching inside my chest became bearable. I was consumed by worry and dread as I wondered if James would try to retaliate, and if whoever had blown up my car would try again to kill me. If women were akin to cats, then I’d used up several of my nine lives. How much longer could my luck hold?

  I was up at the crack of dawn, sighing at the dark circles etched under my eyes as I surveyed my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Too tired to care, I pulled my hair back in a tight twist, pinning it securely. As I pulled on jeans, I noticed the waist was loose. Well, I guess that’s one good thing to come out of all this worry and anxiety – looks like I’d lost a couple of pounds, though I didn't think I'd be recommending the Stalker Diet to my friends.

  Abruptly, I remembered the phone I had stolen. Grabbing my purse, I rummaged until I’d found it. I pressed the buttons and the screen lit, asking for an unlock code. Crap. Okay, well, I could give it to Kade. Maybe the cyber-genius could crack it.

  My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Hello?”

  “Um, hi,” a female voice said hesitantly. “Is this Kathleen Turner?”

  “It is,” I replied. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “This is Stacey Willows. You came by the other day to ask me about Kyle and the mission in Iraq?”

  A hint of excitement bubbled inside my chest. This could be the break I’d been waiting for. “Yes, I remember,” I said, careful to keep my voice calm. “How are you, Stacey?”

  “I’m...not sure,” she said. “I think I’m in trouble.”

  “How can I help you?” Images flashed through my mind of Ron Freeman’s dead body on the floor of his kitchen.

  “I think I’m being followed,” Stacey said, speaking quickly, “and I don’t know what to do.” She paused. “I’m scared.”

  “I can help you,” I assured her, hoping that was true. “Just tell me where I can meet you.”

  “I’m afraid to leave my house,” she said, “Can you come there?”

  “You bet,” I said, shoving my feet into my boots. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I hung up the phone and grabbed my purse and coat, then paused. I knew better than to go somewhere without telling Kade first. I dialed his number on my cell.

  “Morning, princess,” Kade answered.

  “Good morning,” I replied. “Hey, I need to run an errand,” I said. “Stacey Willows called. I think she's being threatened as well. She wants to see me.”

  “I'll come get you,” he said.

  “I can get a ride. I think I need to get there asap. She sounded really freaked out.”

  “Not cool with that,” Kade warned.

  “I'll be fine,” I said. “Isn't this what you're paying me to do?”

  “I'm paying you to investigate, not throw yourself into obviously dangerous situations,” he retorted.

  “What do you think she's going to do to me?” I asked. “Her fiancée is Kyle's commanding officer. Nothing's going to happen. I'll call you as soon as I'm done.”

  “Fine,” he capitulated. “But don't take chances. Get out if it looks bad.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  A few moments later, I was knocking on Alisha's door. When she answered, she was pulling on her coat.

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I was just headed to the store,” she replied. “Bits is out of treats.”

  “Would you mind dropping me off?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  I gave her Stacey's address and she drove me there. I'd figure out a ride home later. It had sounded like I needed to get to Stacey's soon.

  “You sure you just want me to drop you off?” Alisha asked, eyeing Stacey's house. “I can wait, you know. It's not a problem.”

  “No,” I said. “I don't want to keep you. I'll be fine.” The last thing I wanted was for Alisha to get hurt should something go wrong.

  Alisha still looked uncertain, but nodded.

  “Thanks again,” I said as I got out. I walked up the sidewalk to the front door and knocked, watching as Alisha drove away. Stacey answered quickly.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, opening the door wide enough for me to step through. Her face was pinched and white, her eyes red-rimmed as though she’d been crying.

  “I want to help you in any way-” I began, turning back toward the entry just in time to see Stacey swinging something at my head. It was too late to duck, and I watched in stunned horror as whatever it was hit me with a sickening crack.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Consciousness came slowly, and with it, pain. I’d had headaches before, but never before had my head hurt like this. I painfully opened my eyes, then blinked to be sure they were open. I was in total darkness.

  Gingerly, I put my hands out, feeling. I was on something hard, it felt like the floor. My hands came up against a wall. Getting painfully up on my knees, I followed the wall, realizing I was in a small room, probably a closet by the dimensions. I reached upward, my fingers skimming until I found a door handle. Scooting closer, I felt something wet seep into the fabric of my jeans. I reached down, feeling a puddle of water that seemed to be coming from underneath the door.

  I paused and took a deep breath before trying the knob. I wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Reaching into my pocket, I silently cursed when I discovered my cell phone was no longer there.

  I put my ear to the door and listened for several minutes. I heard nothing, no sound to indicate someone might be inside the house, if indeed that’s where I was.

  Turning so my back was braced against the back wall, I lashed out at the door with my legs, gritting my teeth at the sudden pain radiating in my knees and my head. I paused, waiting to see if the loud noise would alert anyone that I was no longer unconscious. When nothing happened, I kicked again, gratified to feel the door shudder slightly. It took several more kicks before the door jamb finally gave, the splintering enough for me to push the latch open.

  I hurriedly stood and stepped out of the closet, only to stumble over something on the floor and fall, landing in more water. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a dark heap on the floor.

  Alarmed, I scrambled up, searching for a light in the dark room. Finally, I found the switch and flicked it on, barely stifling a scream.

  Stacey’s body lay on the floor, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The water I’d fallen in was actually blood, a large pool of it stemming from the gash across her throat.

  I looked down at myself, horrified to see I had her blood all over me, my hands, clothes, everywhere.

  For a moment, I couldn’t do anything – couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I was paralyzed. All I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest.

  I closed my eyes, blocking out the scene for a minute. I had to get a grip. I had no idea how much time I’d been unconscious, but Stacey looked like she’d been dead for hours. Whoever had done this was probably long gone. What to do now? The police. I had to call them.

  Stepping carefully over Stacey’s body, I lef
t the empty room, realizing it must be a bedroom in her house, and walked to the kitchen where I picked up the phone and robotically dialed 911.

  I sat perched on the edge of Stacey’s sofa while I waited, unable to get her image out of my head. Why had she knocked me out? Who had killed her? Why hadn’t they killed me, too?

  The police were there within minutes. I haltingly told my story while a paramedic checked the huge bump on the back of my head. The cop took notes, asking me questions about why I’d been there, and why Stacey would hit me over the head.

  “I have no idea,” I answered honestly. Looking down, I again saw the blood on my hands. I wanted it off. “Please, can I wash my hands?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” the cop answered.

  When I looked up at him, it was to see that he was regarding me with suspicion in his eyes. My stomach dropped. Oh, God. What if they thought I had killed Stacey?

  “Who's in charge here?”

  Both the cop and I looked up at the sound of a new voice coming from the other room. I knew immediately that it was Blane. I heard the other cop talking to him.

  “Where's the victim? I want to see the body.” Blane demanded, stepping into the living room. His gaze landed on me and I had to physically dig my nails into the couch to stop from jumping up and running to him. His stark expression relaxed infinitesimally, the fists at his side loosening.

  “Let's go, Kathleen,” he said, moving toward me.

  “Not so fast,” the cop next to me said, standing and blocking Blane.

  Blane's eyes narrowed. “Why would you detain her?” he asked. Dressed casually in jeans and long-sleeved pullover, his demeanor was no less authoritative as he addressed the cop.

  “She's a witness,” the cop said, “as well as a possible suspect. She's been present at two murders in as many days, though she maintains that she only found the victims.”

  “She’s my employee,” Blane dismissed. “She had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh, really? Why is your employee here?” The cop crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Blane through narrowed eyes.

  Blane turned to me, and I told him the same thing I’d told the police, that Stacey had called and asked me to come see her. When I arrived, she’d hit me over the head. Blane’s hands clenched into fists at that part, his jaw tightening into steel bands as I explained how I'd woken up, escaped from the closet and found Stacey’s body.

  “Have the paramedics examined her injury?” Blane asked the cop, his voice no-nonsense.

  When the cop answered in the affirmative, Blane then asked, “And have you found the closet from which she escaped?”

  Again, the cop gave a grudging affirmative.

  “Do you have the murder weapon?”

  I could tell the answer to that one was a no by the way the cop’s lips pressed firmly together, before he gave a quick shake of his head.

  “Then you have nothing to hold my employee on,” Blane said, reaching for my arm and pulling me to my feet. “If you need to speak to her, call me.” He handed the cop his card and walked me out the door into the night. We didn't stop walking until we'd reached his car parked on the street.

  I stood in silence, watching from afar as police drifted in and out of the house, most of them leaving as the ambulance drove away with Stacey's body.

  Blane opened the passenger seat of his car and leaned inside. I was startled when something cold touched my hand. Looking down, I saw that Blane had taken one of my hands in his and was gently and methodically wiping the blood off with a wet cloth. I couldn't look away from the white cloth that was slowly turning red. When Blane had finished one hand, he got a new cloth and started on the other.

  “I'd ask if you're all right, but I already know what you'll say,” he said roughly.

  I didn’t reply.

  “You should probably go to the hospital,” he continued, “but I know what you’ll say to that as well.”

  I swallowed. “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

  “Kade,” Blane answered. “When he didn't hear from you, he called me.”

  “Why didn't he come?” I asked, wishing for the first time ever that it had been Kade to show up instead of Blane.

  “Because I said I would,” Blane said stiffly.

  “Well, thanks,” I said, trying to sound grateful. After all, I was certainly glad I wasn't still in there with the suspicious police. Spending a day or two in jail was not on my schedule.

  “What were you doing here?” he asked, getting another cloth and gently swiping at my jaw and cheek. I looked up at him, both wishing he wasn't standing so close and wanting him to come closer.

  “Working,” I answered simply.

  The cloth fisted in his hand.

  “Then you're fired,” he ground out.

  My mouth fell open in dismay. “What? You can't fire me! I was just doing my job!”

  “A job you have no business doing,” he retorted, his eyes flashing in anger. “That could have been you in there with your blood all over the floor.”

  “Well, it's not,” I shot back. “And it doesn't matter if you fire me, because I'm not stopping. Whoever is behind this has tried to kill me three times. It's personal.”

  The anger seemed to drain out of him at my words, and he bowed his head with a sigh. He looked down at my clothes and frowned. Stepping back slightly, he surprised me by pulling off his shirt. Underneath, he wore a white t-shirt. It fit him like a second skin, stretching tightly over his chest and shoulders.

  “Here,” he said, offering me his shirt. “Take that off and put this on.”

  “I can't just strip out here,” I protested. It was dark, but a streetlight nearby still cast too much light for me to comfortable taking off my clothes.

  “I'll shield you,” Blane said. He opened his arms and pressed his hands against the car, trapping me between him and the door. He was close enough for me to smell his cologne and feel the warmth from his body, but he was right – no one could see me.

  “Close your eyes,” I demanded. I didn't wait to see if he complied. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it down my arms, letting it drop to the ground. I pulled Blane's shirt over my head and tugged it down over my skin. The smell of Blane enveloped me and I flinched at the sharp pain that produced.

  My hair was in complete disarray, half the pins gone, so I took the rest out, letting the heavy mass fall past my shoulders. When I was once again presentable, I looked up to see Blane's eyes on me, his jaw like granite. Of course he hadn't closed his eyes and they burned with a familiar intensity, but something else was written on his face, an emotion I couldn't name.

  “Kathleen, I-” he began.

  “How's Kandi?” I asked, interrupting whatever he'd been about to say. I couldn't withstand an explanation – something that might offer me an excuse to forget about her.

  Blane's expression shuttered.

  “You're not going to listen to me, are you?” he replied flatly.

  “Listen about what?” I knew I was being a stubborn pain in the ass, but I didn't care. Call it self-defense, call it keeping my sanity, call it whatever you want, I just knew I had to keep my emotions at bay.

  “Kandi is serving her purpose,” he said carefully.

  I frowned at his odd choice of words.

  “Kirk! What the hell is this?”

  Blane spun around, one arm behind him to keep me in place and out of sight. I peeked over his shoulder and wanted to faint on the spot when I saw James striding across the lawn toward us. He hadn't seen me yet, his furious gaze on Blane.

  “Another witness turns up murdered? How convenient for you.” James stopped a foot or two from Blane, his lips curled in a sneer of contempt.

  This was so not a good time for James to pick a fight with Blane. I curled my fingers around Blane's bicep in what would no doubt be a futile attempt to hold him back if he decided to tackle James. I could feel the coiled tension in his body. He couldn't go after James, not here with cops aroun
d. I knew without a doubt that James would press charges, and tomorrow it would be all over the papers.

  “Get the fuck away from me, Gage,” Blane growled.

  James suddenly spotted me. In an instant, he was enraged.

  “You fucking whore!” he yelled, lunging for me.

  Before I could even react, Blane had grabbed James by the neck and slammed him up against the car.

  “I should rip you to shreds,” Blane threatened him, his voice dripping with menace.

  James was clawing at Blane's hand, trying to free himself. Unable to do so, he swung his fist, connecting with Blane's jaw.

  The blow seemed hardly to faze Blane, though he released James, only to sink his fist into James's gut. James doubled over, coughing and retching. Blane stepped back.

  “Give it your best shot, Gage,” Blane taunted James, and I realized he wanted James to attack him, just so he'd have an excuse to beat him up.

  James exploded outward, swinging wildly at Blane who easily sidestepped him and landed a punch to James's ribs. James stumbled, then swung again. This time Blane landed a solid hit to James's face and I heard the crack of bone.

  Bent at the waist, James took a moment to recover before he stood upright. Blood dripped from his nose and I thought it might be broken. He glared at Blane with hatred in his eyes.

  “You know I fucked your girl there, Kirk,” he said, smirking in spite of his injuries. “Not a bad lay. But she could use a few more pointers on how to give a decent blow job.”

  I gasped, aghast at his lies, then realized too late what he was doing.

  “Blane, no!” I cried, but it was too late. Blane attacked James with a furious energy that sent a jolt of fear through me. I ran forward, throwing my arms around Blane's waist and tugging.

  “Blane, stop!”

  I pulled with all my strength, calling his name and trying to reach him through his haze of rage. To my relief, Blane finally released James. He was breathing heavily, sweat dampened his t-shirt and his skin was hot beneath my hands. James stumbled, barely keeping to his feet.