Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror.

by Linda S. Glaz

  Erik’s breath hitched, and he put a comforting hand on Kirnan’s shoulder. “She’s had some rather strong medication. She’ll be fine once it’s all out of her system.”

  “But, Bobby. You need to listen to me!”

  Turning to the hallway, Erik motioned for Tessa. “A sedative to calm her down.”

  Bobby stroked his wife’s arm. “What do you want, honey? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?”

  Tessa entered, reached for the IV line.

  Brooke struggled against the blanket. “It wasn’t my fault.” She pointed a finger in Erik’s direction. “He killed our baby!”

  CHAPTER 51

  WITH THE SIDE BEDROOM window cracked open a couple inches, Rochelle breathed in the pine scent. The sights and smells, the clean air all week, they’d all made her feel close to heaven. Now the scent reminded her of the long walks in the woods and the choices she’d made as a result. She had plenty of information about the program and couldn’t wait to present it on her show. But was that the only reason she felt good?

  In reality, she had come to some decisions about Ed as well. Soul-searching, digging for answers, scouring her mind … call it what you want, the fact was, Rochelle had examined what she truly wanted from life.

  Giving up the reins of control and allowing her feelings to take the forefront had never been an easy task. And yet, today, her heart convinced her to try and trust again. She wanted to get to know Edward Clinton McGrath better. Time to put judgmental attitudes aside and unfold the true layers of who the man was. No matter how hard she had worked to keep him at bay, he had managed to slide into her heart with or without her permission.

  One thing was fact, she cared for him. Cared? Falling in love with him had taken her by surprise. When she returned, she would have a serious talk about what he wanted, what she wanted, and see if their feelings led them to crossed or parallel paths.

  With a careful eye on her phone, she screened every call so she wouldn’t be surprised by any more frightening messages.

  One rule. Private Number? Don’t pick up.

  Once back in St. Clair Shores, she planned to meet with Donna’s husband again and find out what else, if anything, could be done about these calls. But how did you stop someone when you didn’t know who that person was? And if he was using a burner phone, they had no way of tracking him.

  The police had no clues. Before leaving town, she’d called the detective in charge, and he sadly informed her that no news meant good news. Well, it wasn’t good news to her. She wanted answers. Especially after the phony cop scenario.

  She sighed and pattered on slippered feet into the spacious meeting room where a large flat-screen television tempted her. Maybe it would drown out her problems. At least for a while.

  She put down her book and decided to sneak a few minutes of hockey. To think she’d grown to enjoy the game in such a short time. The now familiar smell of sweat, hot dogs, and pretzels mentally reached across the miles and permeated her senses with a dizzying effect. Hockey was fun, really fun. That realization alone astounded her.

  The game ended in a rarely seen six–zip. Rochelle slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as loud as the rest of the fans when Ed slapped number four in the net, but she was smart enough to keep quiet. Already breaking rule number one at the retreat, no television, she didn’t plan to draw untoward attention. They were adamant that you used the time to refresh your spirit, and TV wasn’t exactly viewed as spiritual renewal.

  Little did they know.

  She smiled at the image of Ed on the screen. The thought of returning home actually caused goose bumps along her arms. A girlish sigh escaped her lips, and she pulled her sweater closer. While the woolly softness warmed her, his muscular arms had done a better job.

  Settling against the back of the chair, she watched the sportscaster rehash the game. As he finished interviewing the team members, Alicia Cardwell from the local station sidled up to Ed and whispered something in his ear. Alicia smiled as they stood next to each other, posing for the camera. She leaned against his arm.

  Of course, Cardwell would be interested in him. She was beautiful. He was handsome. Alicia could use her position as an announcer as an excuse to have coffee with him. After coffee, they might go to a movie or out to a club. And after that … well, why shouldn’t women use every available opportunity to seek him out? She’d known from day one plenty of opportunities strutted his way in low-cut dresses and stiletto heels.

  But he’d smiled back. Rochelle was certain.

  CHAPTER 52

  DESPERATE TO GET OFF his injured ankle, Ed hinted to Alicia that it might be time for him to go home. She wasn’t buying his tale of woe. She attached herself to his arm like a blood-sucking mosquito, but he doubted a swat would work.

  “Ed, honey. You haven’t called me in weeks. Baby, you need to get rid of some of that nervous energy. Look at you, all bottled up.” Alicia shook her shoulders like maracas.

  Like one of those cartoon characters, he had to keep his eyes from shooting out like stars. The girl had charm. No doubt about that. But not now. Not when he was trying to turn over a new leaf.

  “You know that’s what causes accidents on the ice.” She twirled the hair on his forehead.

  His resolve diminished whenever Alicia turned up the heat. Memories clouded his promise to leave this lifestyle, this overly available woman. Oh, she had her good points, but weren’t they exactly what he did his best trying to avoid? He brushed at her hand and the inviting warmth and swallowed hard. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing you home, give you a little TLC.” She pouted in a way that used to intrigue him, but now…

  “No thanks, Alicia. Not tonight.” Not ever again. He stumbled as the door to the locker room opened. Jesse Flynn entered, a bag tucked under her arm. With a casual wink and a nod, she held a set of crutches aloft and signaled for him to follow. Saved!

  He grimaced at Alicia. “As you can see, I’m on my way out.”

  “I guess the same rules don’t apply to Jesse. What’s she got”—she indicated her perfect form head to toe with her hand—“that I haven’t?”

  “Crutches.”

  #

  As Jesse slid through the gears of her ’Vette like a lightning strike through a soupy sky, Ed pulled out his cell and read the Spartan email from Rochelle again. Was he missing something?

  Congrats. Good game, Rochelle.

  Not one iota of affection or sentiment in the text. Might have been from another player.

  Tomorrow and she’d return. What would he do? His behavior of late stumped him with respects to women. Just when he figured she might be interested, she turned and ran.

  He’d grown used to women dropping at his feet in every town where he played, they always had. And the mail! Who wrote about things like that? Yes, he could have his pick. His grandmother would have told him he was spoiled rotten. And he was when it came to the fairer sex, but his heart no longer lingered over casual relationships.

  So what made this girl special? What kept her wriggling into his mind twenty-four-seven?

  When he found her, he had merely wanted to protect her, felt obligated to put her safety first. Now, all he thought about was the way she gave her head a little shake to move the curls from her eyes, the way she tucked the one stray strand of hair behind her ear when she talked, the way she blinked over and over again when nervous, and the way she was always on the move, especially when problems needed solving.

  Brett had even mentioned Ed taking care not to let her affect his game. So he must have been acting like a jerk about her in front of the guys or Brett wouldn’t have brought the subject up. Ed liked Rochelle. He more than liked her.

  But he had to face facts; a temporary crutch was all he was to her. There had been no suggestion of brotherly affection when Alicia Cardwell licked her lips and pressed into him. Not one little bit. He pulled Alicia’s number from his pocket—as if he had to be r
eminded of the ten digits.

  Turning the paper over, he gawked at the lipstick kiss on the back, remembering all the times the two of them had partied after a game. The memory brought a smile to his face, but he quickly tamped down the old feelings. Air filtered through his lips, and he leaned back still holding Alicia’s number.

  Jesse shifted at his side.

  She glanced at the lipstick stain and her lip curled.

  “Are you kidding me, McGrath? Is this junior high? You’ve almost been a human the last couple months. I thought you’d had—what do they call it—a yah-ha moment or something? Changed for the better. Was I wrong? Or are you the same stupid jock you’ve been since I met you over an ice pack the first time.” She made a face. “Was I your first, McGrath? Was I gentle?” Then she laughed out loud.

  His face warmed as he gazed again at the hearts over Alicia’s name. Jesse was right. He was being stupid. Been there, done that, and it hadn’t filled the void in his life. Only Rochelle had even come close. He had changed.

  He really had.

  He needed serious help to sort out his life, and going to church as an obligation on Sunday didn’t serve any purpose. Aware of what had to be done, he crossed his arms. His entire life he had been in charge. Had not needed another person to make his life complete, and he certainly didn’t need to be dependent on anyone else.

  Not even God.

  Almost immediately he laughed at the absurd reaction. Only three weeks ago, he had been thinking about his lack of relationship with God, with his faith, but as soon as a problem was solved, Ed took back control. Like a tired trout after a long fight on the line, he understood he’d had enough fighting. He pulled his gaze away from Jesse and shut his eyes.

  Who am I kidding? I can’t do this alone. My life’s a mess. I’m sick of being bombarded by people who don’t care about me, only my money or my job. What am I missing? What do I need to do?

  Jesse glanced out of the corner of her eye. “Well?”

  One more look at Alicia’s phone number and he offered it up to the trashcan god on the console of the ’Vette.

  Then he smiled at Jess. “I don’t need attitude. But you’re right. Like always.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “PLEASE—DON’T LEAVE ME.”

  “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’ll help you.”

  “Ed. Where are you?”

  Green eyes in a pinched face ballooned larger and uglier. A curled lip. A sneer. “Nooo!”

  Rochelle snapped awake.

  Fear. Confusion. At first unaware of her surroundings, she struggled to remember where she was. Sweat trickled across her face until her hair stuck to her forehead and she clawed at the air. “What?”

  “Rochelle! Wake up.” Hands jiggled her shoulder.

  She couldn’t stop the out-of-control breathing that built in momentum like a freight train without brakes.

  “No! Let go of me!” She clutched her chest and forced her eyes wide to adjust to the dark.

  Those hands again. “Hey, are you all right?” Sara, her roommate, spoke louder. “Rochelle? Do you know where you are?”

  She blinked and refocused.

  “I’m so sorry. I guess I was having a nightmare.” Rochelle sat up and reached for the light. “I thought you were … well, it doesn’t matter now.” She nipped the edge of her lip. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.”

  Rochelle thought of his call at the airport. Where did he get her cell number? No one at the station would give it out. His voice. His words. I can’t believe you forgot the sound of my voice again, Princess.

  “You sure you’ll be okay?” Sara smoothed the quilt with a look of uncertainty.

  With the light on low now, Rochelle tugged the comforter over her shoulders and sucked in a deep, settling breath. “Absolutely. Sorry I woke you.”

  A flush of warmth covered her face and neck, a reaction she hated. She needed to hear the comforting sound of Ed’s voice. Before she could change her mind, she threw on her robe and escaped to the lounge where she drew her cell from her purse. How silly. She should wait until she got home. But she didn’t want to.

  Three. Four rings. Almost midnight—too late to be calling.

  “Hello.” A female voice answered. Had she punched in the wrong number?

  “Is Ed … McGrath there?”

  “Sure. Can I ask who’s calling?”

  “Tell him, Rochelle.”

  “Ed, you know a Rochelle? She’s on the phone. Give ’im a minute, he’s just climbing out of the shower.”

  #

  Ed continued calling, but Rochelle didn’t pick up. Jesse said she had sounded upset.

  On the fifth try Rochelle answered with a whisper. “Do you know how late it is?”

  Oh yeah. She was upset all right.

  “Early enough that you called me. Are you okay?” He struggled to maneuver his position on the sofa as he motioned Jesse to close the door on her way out.

  “Ed, I’m tired.”

  Oh. Oh. Jesse couldn’t forget this. “Just a sec.” He lifted a backpack from the floor. “Yo, Jess. Don’t forget your bag.”

  Jesse walked over and shook her finger under his nose. “Do what I told you.”

  “We can talk another time.” Rochelle’s words cut with icy indifference. Not his imagination.

  “No, let’s talk now.” He hefted the bag and handed it off to Jesse. “Thanks again for coming. I owe you.”

  Rochelle said, “You’re way too busy. And I’m too beat to be playing games.”

  He inched his leg onto the footstool. “I’m sorry. You did call first.”

  “A slight problem, but I’m fine now. Really. All I want is to curl up and sleep.”

  “Are you still returning tomorrow afternoon?” He could pick her up at the airport and maybe she’d open up.

  “That shouldn’t affect you.”

  “Rochelle, what on earth is wrong?”

  The tone didn’t leave her voice. “Don’t worry. Donna’s meeting me.”

  “How about a late dinner then?”

  “Ed, I’ll be busy.”

  Okay, two and two still made four, but what made sense here? What was it Jesse and Donna told him? Guys were dense. “We could shoot for the night after.”

  “Still busy. Thanks anyway, Ed.”

  “Then I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  “Not necessary. Good night.”

  CHAPTER 54

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, WHILE waiting in line to catch her flight, Rochelle kicked her bag along the floor. And it felt good.

  Men were all alike. Kick.

  Acted like they cared when they didn’t. Kick.

  An older man in the next line offered her a disgusted grimace. So what?

  She fell for their lines every time. Kick.

  Why was she always attracted to bad boys? There must be something innately wrong with her. Kick.

  She stopped and stared at the poor bag scrunched along the tile squares. A harsh sigh ripped through her. If she didn’t stop, all her mini toiletries would be broken into little pieces. Rochelle nodded apologetically to the old man and reached down. No sense everyone thinking she was crazy.

  After picking up the case, she trudged to the gate, her feet like lead bedroom slippers. Not many people yet. She glanced up to check the board. A delay again, of course. When you pray for patience, you have to learn the hard way that God will teach you.

  At least she would be in her own house tonight, her own bed, her own poufy pillow to hug. She could fix her favorite tea, take a hot bath, read part of the new novel, and put her feelings in their proper perspective. All her intentions had gone away when that woman answered his phone. Thank goodness she’d realized before she made a fool of herself.

  She was behaving like a child. Had she learned nothing at the retreat—the week meant for closing the faith gap? The week where God had jumpstarted her on the road to trusting once again?

  So why was she having such a hard time with the fact
Ed had his life and she had hers? That was exactly what she had said she wanted. She let him know in no uncertain terms she was strong, didn’t need a man to take care of her. Then changed her mind again … and again … and again. No wonder they were both confused about what she wanted.

  Her eyes drew to the flight board one more time, and she hoped it wouldn’t be much longer. The book she’d brought along, a novel by an author she planned to interview in a week, still hadn’t been opened. She read the cover, read the bio, and banged the book shut. A love story. Why didn’t the woman write mysteries? All of a sudden she hated romance novels. Jamming the book into the side pouch of her case, she leaned back, daydreaming.

  She heard a door open at the end of the gate and a small gust of air refreshed the room.

  Oh, no. It couldn’t be.

  Not him.

  But Rochelle smelled the fragrance and shuddered.

  Michel Germain’s Deauville cologne. Ed’s scent. She spun around. No one there. Foolishness again. What an imagination.

  She finally allowed her lids to droop, but the enticing odor wafted on the wisps of air choking her senses a second time. She breathed deeply and opened her eyes.

  This daydream too real to be ignored, she searched the room. Why would he be in Traverse City? Training camp. No, he told her camp took place in the fall. Well, she didn’t want to see him, anyway. Let Alicia Cardwell smell his stupid cologne. Besides, hundreds of men wore that same scent. It was probably the three-martini-lunch businessman in the pinstripe suit three seats over who kept smiling at her and winking. Blerggh.

  Attitude fit for a queen, she stood and headed for one of the plastic and metal seats nearer the gate door where no one would bother her. They were all covered in indescribable stains, but she found one. This close, she would board the plane before most of the others. Traveling first class, a luxury she didn’t normally indulge in—delicious for a change. No crying babies. Leaning back, she resumed her rest and wished on a star like she used to when she was a child.