He stretched his arm out, and his finger clipped her under the chin. “That shiner hid those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
The heat in her cheeks spun out of control; she must look like a ripe tomato. Facing the side window, she discovered her reflection while remembering her mother’s words that beauty was only skin deep. All the women she’d seen him with on TV … Oh, no. He might have saved her life when he found her, but wriggling his way into her heart would be a different matter. She had rules. Prerequisites. And any man she spent alone time with should be a Christian. Period.
A loud muffler next to them drew her attention.
She scraped her fingers through the mist on the window and checked out the noisy car. The driver had a hat over his eyes. Weaving and edging into their lane closer and closer—drunk? She jammed her feet against an imaginary brake pedal.
Then Rochelle pressed even harder as Ed rolled on through a yellow. A quick glance back told her the old beater hadn’t blown through the light with them.
CHAPTER 24
THE CHEAP BURGER SMELLED bad, soured Kyle’s stomach. And didn’t do much to improve his mood.
Reminded of the E. coli scare on the news last night, he gagged, then spewed the wad of food on the floor of the car.
With a zip over to Conant in Hamtramck, then turning two blocks further, he steered his Escort to an abrupt stop in front of the dilapidated duplex he called home. What a dump!
Wood peeling, front light over the door crooked. If only he could afford a condo, at least a better neighborhood. Soon. He slammed the car door. Grabbing the burger bag and keys, he snatched his mail from the box and walked in.
Paint chips, mildew, and an assortment of dead bugs greeted him when he yanked open the front door. He stomped across the floor, leaving a trail of brittle corpses. Mud from his steel toes smeared a green and orange shag rug that he swore must have been here since the place was built in the sixties. He plopped his half-empty burger sack on an outdated coffee table next to half a dozen others which had leaked grease and mustard over the finish. He toed his shoes off and left them on a bed of freshly cracked tile. Yup, a dump.
With one quick flick, his old boom box blared. He shouted the words to his favorite song. A loud rap on the common wall made it clear the older-than-God Polish lady who shared the building didn’t appreciate his choice of music.
Standing at the door in her flowered muumuu, starched apron, curlers, and fuzzy slippers, she took obvious pleasure in reminding Kyle how her husband, “rest his soul,” would never have allowed that kind of music to be played within earshot.
The clean freak should mind her own business. After another loud knock, Kyle flipped her the bird through the wall and laughed. Didn’t matter what she thought.
He sorted through the wad of envelopes—bills, bills, and more bills. A letter with a neatly printed address in the corner that he recognized too well. Jackson Prison. Air squeaked through his lips. He crumpled the envelope in his hands.
With a sigh, he dropped the bills on the counter and slumped into the only chair in the room, a lounger that fell all the way to the floor whenever he forgot and pushed the lever.
His fingers shook as he switched to radio and the evening replay of Rochelle’s show. He’d almost missed it.
“… family. One dad, one mom, and any number of children. All well-cared for. Loved. Isn’t that what we all want? The perfect family as God created it to be. Why, we even—”
He pounded his fist against the arm of the chair. “Shut up! Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Statistics show that children who grow up in—”
Kyle knocked the boom box to the floor, but her words continued even with the bent antenna.
How he hated Rochelle Cassidy and her goody I’m-better-than-you crap. He reached down and turned her off. Shut down her hateful, lying words.
He gripped the arms of the lounger until his nails nipped at the material. A nail bent backward and blood tinged the edge. Kyle jumped to his feet. “Hypocrites! All of you!”
Princess had looked frightened when she stepped into the limo tonight. A limo. That rich boyfriend must have gotten it for her. Then later, when she stared at Kyle from the truck. Made a face as if he was the distasteful one.
Who did Rochelle think was behind the wheel? Ted Bundy? If only she’d have been alone, he might have paid her a friendly visit. Now, he’d have to be more careful. Taking it slow.
That had always served him well. Formulating each tiny detail.
Kyle’s hands grew clammy, and he wiped them on the paper napkin from Cheap and Ready Burgers. E. coli or not, he had to eat. He took another bite and choked it down.
He pictured her in the shadows of his mind. The way she’d been Friday after Thanksgiving. Alone, frightened. Whimpering in the cold.
He laughed.
“Thanks for the memories.” The old-time actor wasn’t the only one with that thought.
He frowned at the last cold fry and chucked it across the room.
Talk, talk, talk. The family. The perfect little family. It was all her fault he got mad. Her words drummed in his head like a marching band. “The perfect family the way God meant it.”
If she’d just shut her trap! Shut it!
He sucked in a deep breath. Soon, that wouldn’t matter anymore.
Sucking on the throbbing finger and nail, he stared at the picture of his family when he was barely eight. Happy. Forever. But forever only lived in fairy tales. His gaze scoured the picture. The fish his father held high between their hands had put up quite a fight.
The smiles were fake because his father was a fake.
He walked back to the chair and collapsed headfirst onto the floor. Stinkin’ hole!
He’d bet she was sitting quietly right now, enjoying a steak with that rich guy, or a movie. What was she doing?
He grabbed and pitched the wad of bills across the room, shouted a mouthful of obscenities at the neighbor, and cranked the boom box louder.
CHAPTER 25
AS THEY TURNED ONTO Lakeland Street off Jefferson, Rochelle finally broke her silence. “There, the house third from the corner.” She pointed out the window.
Ed would have known which house had she allowed him to take her home from the hospital instead of dropping her off at her church. But he eased the truck into the driveway. She seemed to have enjoyed herself at the game; so why had she grown so silent? Maybe something he said. In spite of what people thought, he struggled with the right words to say to a woman. He didn’t spit out smooth talk like his buddies. In the limelight, playing the part like an actor, he spewed all that was expected of him, but in private, without the mask of his celebrity to hide behind, he stumbled and stammered like a kid.
The snow had begun to fall heavily, screeching and blowing with a fury, different from the night he discovered her. She fought hard that night when he tried to lift her to her feet, pummeling him with icy, dirty fists, proving by her strength she wasn’t a child, but a terrified woman. And tonight, she appeared nearly as vulnerable. Something deep and dark, where he dared not go, frightened her. Controlled her.
He scanned the houses around hers. Plenty of bushes and stone walls where someone could hide.
Stopping in the drive, he couldn’t miss the exterior, burning with lights. The porch had two lamps. The walkway—at least two or three dozen solar lights lining the path. Spots on all the landscaping, more than he’d ever seen on one piece of property. Must be one huge electric bill. He turned and smiled. “Do you always return to such a welcome?”
Immediately, Ed’s throat clamped shut, and he did a mental head slap. Of course, all the lights blazed, probably day and night. They attested to the fact she couldn’t bear a dark homecoming. Frustrated at his lack of finesse, he pressed against the steering wheel, palms tight. But before he had time to jump out and open the door for her, she squeezed the handle.
Her lip trembled in spite of the familiar way she raised he
r chin. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
“Please, Rochelle.”
Silence. She let go of the door handle and sat back against the seat with her eyes tight. He swore she counted to ten. A lesson he’d do well to learn before engaging his big mouth. Finally, her chin came to rest in her hands.
As if an elephant danced on his chest, Ed’s muscles tensed and his heart rate climbed. He could barely breathe. Look what she did to him. He liked his life—for the most part. Always the one in control, he discovered to his dismay words eluded him at the moment. Had been eluding him on a fairly consistent basis since he’d met her.
Just to be able to protect her … but that meant some kind of commitment, and commitments meant families, families meant dysfunction and plenty of heartache.
And she had made it clear on more than one occasion that she was a Christian. A very conservative Christian. He’d changed so much since he met her, but how did he broach that without sounding phony? And had he really changed, or was he fooling himself? Whenever the going got tough, he ran back to what he knew. The women he knew.
No. It was true. His life had turned inside out. Wasn’t running around … much. Less drinking with the guys, which meant fewer late nights. The guys were talking about it. Even Brett, but in a good way. He had changed. At least he was trying. No one could say different. All because of Rochelle. When he saw the good in her, he wanted what she had, not to be a phony just to get into her—
“I’m sorry.”
Switching off the ignition, he leaned toward her, put a hand on her shoulder. “For what?”
She instantly stiffened and sucked back air.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d startle you. What has the princess in tears?”
“The what?” Her eyes widened. She shook her head and scrunched into a ball. Ed envisioned a child—a lost soul held together by a worn thread. As the snow whipped this way and that, the howling wind created chaos inside as well as outside the truck.
He fought to speak over the noise. “I said princess. I didn’t mean to offend you. Sorry if I sounded sexist or out of line. After all, they call you the talk show princess. I figured you’d heard it before.” Words were his downfall, and he’d picked one horrible time to draw a blank. “And you said not to call you a sweet girl again. Which is what you really are.”
Barely audible she said, “He… called me that.”
“He? Called you what?”
“Princess. The man who…”
Ed’s hands tightened. Her attacker. And he was unknowingly rubbing her face in it. “I shouldn’t have made that crack anyway.” His neck, warm and sweaty, proof he stumbled over his words. “You know, the Motor Mouth Princess thing. I guess it wasn’t so funny.”
If only he and his friends had left the restaurant a few minutes earlier. If only he hadn’t argued so long with Brett about the game. If only he’d run into the parking lot sooner instead of dwelling on how much he wanted to hook up with Alicia Cardwell. So much second guessing.
Rochelle stared over his shoulder with a glazed expression, silent until her eyes cleared. He held out hope she wouldn’t come completely undone. As her face took on an eerie calmness, it frightened him more than her tears. Sort of reminded him of the way his father took on an eerie calm just before unleashing his fury when Ed did something wrong.
“You okay?”
Her words, though tight and throaty, surfaced with unnerving composure, “No harm, no foul,” as if delivering lines from a script. She sat up straighter and dried her cheeks on the backs of her hands. “At least I finally told someone what he called me.”
Her eyes remained cold and fixed. After what seemed liked minutes, she blinked hard, licked her lips, and then wiped her mouth over and over until her hands rested prayerfully before her chin. Then more silence.
Ed brushed his hair with tense fingers. She should have come right out and told him all that happened. Not that she needed to explain. It had been obvious at the time. After his first visit to the hospital, learning she had no family, he had offered to drive her home out of a sense of what—chivalry? None of his past acquaintances would ever have called him chivalrous.
He placed his hands back on the steering wheel so she wouldn’t be afraid of him trying to touch her. He remembered her lying on the ground. His knuckles ached to bleed again … for her sake.
Comforting words should flood his lips, but he wasn’t good at this. He could think of nothing meaningful as the silence dragged on. Finally, he tried. “Well then, it’s out in the open. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
She stared, her gaze bulleting his. No mistaking her body language.
“Are you kidding? I’m afraid when I wake up, when I go to sleep. I’m even afraid to put the garbage in the can if it’s dark outside. I’m afraid when the newsboy misses my porch and I have to search behind the bushes. I’m afraid when my phone plays that stupid song.” Her hands fumbled in her lap. “I’m afraid when the deliveryman comes to the door. Is he really a deliveryman or some monster in a borrowed uniform? I am afraid of everything.” She directed her stare to the lights outside as if looking through the dimness for the monster. And all the while her breath came in choppy gasps.
Her voice rose and cracked, and he felt like crawling in a hole for being so thoughtless. It was obvious his comments violated her all over again.
Did he have the right words? “It’s all right to be afraid. But not of that guy.”
“Well, thanks for the consoling sentiments. Gee, all’s well that ends well, right?” She raised a brow. Her teeth clamped so tightly, he barely distinguished what hissed out. “I don’t remember the police calling me and telling me they caught him.”
She did a one-eighty, shoved the passenger door open, slammed it, and tripped over her feet, scrambling toward the house.
Nice. Ed’s forehead hit the steering wheel.
Way to go, genius.
CHAPTER 26
BLOOD RUSHING IN HER ears, Rochelle swooped inside the house, cranked the deadbolt until it clacked, rammed the code into the alarm system, and snapped the chain lock into place. She flattened against the door, sucked back a sharp breath, arms out, antenna up. With her heart blanching on the inside, she flipped the switch for the only light in the house not already blinding with a hundred watts.
Tears followed.
Frustrated from feeling sorry for herself, she sobbed even harder. It had been years since she’d wallowed in the kind of self-pity that consumed her today. Yet, her strength wasn’t enough to keep the fortress of protection safely about her without gentle nudging. Ed had tried; she understood that he’d really tried, but it hadn’t been enough.
What bothered her the most was that she knew God. Knew Him in a very personal way that should have allowed the burden to fall on Him, but she’d never been good at giving up the reins. Anal and struggling for control, she breathed a sigh and looked around at a room normally filled with comfort. Cozy—that was what she’d striven to have in her life after … But what did it matter now? Her life was anything but cozy and safe.
The living room now mocked with shadows, even groans emanated from the furnace when it suddenly kicked on. She straightened, wiped her eyes, and pushed away from the front door, tiptoeing around each nook and cranny. Looking for what? A hideous monster? A hairy half man, half creature? No, the real man was scarier still. More frightening because she couldn’t turn off the TV or DVD player and have him disappear.
He was out there waiting—watching for her to be alone. Those cold, green eyes targeting all her senses. She didn’t have to see him. She simply knew he waited with the patience of Job.
Unless she wanted to be carted away in a straitjacket, she had to calm down, prove more to herself than the rest of the world that she was still a strong, commanding female.
So she pulled her arms from her wool coat and redirected her steps to the closet. When she reached for the handle, she stopped. Panic kicked from frightened to terrified, b
reaths plunging against her ribs. Rochelle sucked back air, remaining motionless, listening. Cautiously, she peeked. With a swipe, she yanked clothes from the center to each side. Then she bent and inspected the floor.
Nobody in the closet. Only boots too dusty ever to be worn again.
She rose from the floor and pulled out a hanger when a loud bang sent her heart hurtling toward the finish line and the hanger skittering across the polished wood floor. She spun toward the front window, crept over the antique Persian runner. She listened at the window, but all she heard was the thumping of her heart. Probably her neighbor’s teenaged son’s truck backfiring as it exited the street. Hand across her chest, she stepped back. Then, she bent to retrieve the hanger to put her coat away.
Something shining on the floor. On closer inspection, she examined a fleck of the ultra-thin German tinsel she had draped on her pathetically tiny Christmas tree last month. A tree she shouldn’t have put up in the first place. Left with nothing but her childhood memories, Christmas had reaffirmed the fact she was utterly alone. Except for a man who continued to follow her, to score her soul with fear. And another man who scared her just as much, but for different reasons.
Rochelle snatched the tinsel from the floor and tossed it in the trashcan. She put her coat in the closet where it belonged and slammed the door.
She should have contacted the police when the first call came in, but the embarrassment of it all. Plus, they might not have believed her. No, it was better left alone. He’d eventually tire of harassing her and she could move on.
Now, all she wanted was sleep.
Once in bed, emotions flip-flopping, she adjusted the pillows a second time and snagged the glass of water on the nightstand. Though Ed acted interested, she had always promised herself a man of faith, like her father. Who was she kidding? Handsome, single men of faith were as scarce as honest politicians. Her breath caught. Councilman Bennett.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 8
