It was difficult to be flattered by words that obviously caused him so much pain, but somewhere deep inside her, new warmth spread through Ashli’s heart and gave her hope. “Maybe ...” she said slowly, quietly, “... maybe you should go with me to the banquet.”
“No, you were probably right.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with such a beautiful blue that Lange knew she could hear his heart thundering. In a purely tactical move, she touched him. She reached out and laid her own small hand upon his on the bar. Looking straight into his eyes, she said one simple word. “Please.”
It didn’t matter then if she asked him to take her to the banquet or to the moon; if humanly possible, he would do whatever she wanted. Under her gentle touch, he was as pliable as pie dough.
“Do I have to wear a tux?” he asked a bit gruffly, not wanting her to see how deeply her touch affected him.
The thought of him in a tuxedo brought a hint of pink into her cheeks as she drew an unsteady breath. No matter what he wore, he would be the most handsome and exciting man there. “Not - Not if you don’t want to,” she finally answered.
He looked down at her hand still covering his own, resisting the urge to curl his fingers around hers. Hell, what he really wanted to do was curl his fingers into that gorgeous hair of hers and pull her into his arms. He wanted to pull the apron and that horrid brown dress away from her body and he wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, to make love to her. He wanted to wake up in the morning with her in his arms, and he wanted to come home to her again tomorrow night. And the night after that, and the night after that. Damn it, he wanted to be here a year from now, ten years from now.
A knock on the door broke whatever mood had been created. Lange pulled away quickly, almost guiltily. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No,” she said, frowning. Whoever it was had lousy timing. And they hadn’t used the intercom.
“Wait before you open it,” Lange cautioned. He hurried to the door, slipping behind it so that he could not be seen.
Ashli peered through the peep hole, relaxing when she saw the familiar face on the other side. Despite Lange’s frown, she swung the door open.
“Mr. Parnell, what a surprise! How are you this evening?”
“Fine, missy, fine. Just wanted to bring up this mess of okra.”
“Oh, from your garden?”
“Grew it myself,” he beamed proudly. “Thought you might enjoy a fresh mess for dinner.”
“How sweet! And I’ve been wanting some okra, but refused to pay such a high price for it at the supermarket. You couldn’t have brought me a nicer gift, Mr. Parnell.”
Clearly pleased with her reaction, the old man gave a cackle of delight. “Seein’ that smile of yourn is all the thanks I need, little darlin’. Think of me when you eat it, you hear?”
“I promise, I will. Wait here just a second while I go get something. There’s a berry cobbler sitting on my counter right now, just begging to be had for supper. You wait right here.” Her own eyes twinkled as she thought how his gift had come at the perfect time, when she could reciprocate immediately.
As Ashli scurried off to the kitchen, her neighbor wandered inside the apartment. Lange remained behind the door, watching as the old man strained his neck to see into the other rooms where Ashli had disappeared. He lingered at the hall table, idly fingering through her mail, then wandered over toward the dining area. When he glanced up and saw Lange standing behind the door, a startled expression came to his wrinkled face.
“Young man! You gave me a fright!” he chided, his voice taking on a hardened tone.
“Sorry about that, sir.” Lange extended his hand in greeting.
Mr. Parnell studied him for a long moment before taking the proffered shake. “Why are you hiding behind the door, young man?”
“I wasn’t exactly hiding,” Lange defended himself. Again, he felt like a high school boy, being confronted by an overprotective father on prom night.
“Then come on out here so we can see you. Doris don’t like people sneaking up behind her.”
“Doris?” Lange asked in confusion.
Ashli came back into the room with a generous helping of cobbler in a disposable container. “Here you go, Mr. Parnell. That should be enough cobbler to last you a couple of meals.”
“Thank you, missy. Thank you. Sure does look and smell delicious.” He threw Lange a withering look as he moved slowly toward the door. “You best watch out, little darlin’. Always check behind doors and around corners. You never know what’s on the other side.”
“That’s good advice, Mr. Parnell,” Ashli said, but her brow was creased in confusion. The old man ambled through the door, missing the frown she threw to Lange, who merely shrugged his shoulders in reply. “Thank you again for the okra.”
“Anytime, little darlin, anytime. Take care now, you hear?”
“Yes sir, you too. Enjoy that cobbler.”
“I will, I will. I’ll be thinking of you when I eat it for supper.”
“Good night, now,” Ashli called, then closed the door behind him. Turning to Lange, she asked, “What was that all about?”
“Who the hell is Doris?”
Ashli sighed. “Doris is his late wife. Poor thing, what did he say now?”
“He accused me of lurking behind the door. Said Doris didn’t like people sneaking up on her.”
“I guess seeing you startled him so badly, he got confused again.”
“That, or the way you flirted with him got him flustered. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. He’s old enough to be your grandfather.”
“Flirted? I did no such thing!” Ashli denied with shocked indignation.
Putting a dramatic hand on his hip, Lange imitated her Southern-belle voice and batted his eyelashes with blatant exaggeration. “‘There’s a pie on my counter, just begging to be had for supper’!” he mimicked.
“I didn’t say it like that!”
“You most certainly did. ‘Begging to be had’? It sounds like you’re offering more than a pie!”
“How dare you?! Mr. Parnell is just a kind old man who enjoys doing nice things for others. He’s always bringing me fresh vegetables and flowers from his garden, doing little odd jobs for me. I like to repay the favor by cooking for him, running some of his errands, dropping in to visit once in a while. It’s what friends do, and I was not flirting!”
“Yeah, I bet he went down and took a cold shower after your idea of ‘not flirting’,” Lange muttered.
“Lange! He’s an old man!”
“He’s breathing, isn’t he? You seem to have that effect on every man, young or old. Don’t think I didn’t notice the same kind of reaction out of Detective Sullivan. By the way, why did he come by here this afternoon?”
Stunned by Lange’s accusation and then by his angry demand for an explanation, Ashli spun on her heel and went back into the kitchen. She chose to ignore him as she busied herself, turning off pots and taking the last of the cobblers from the ovens. Lange sulked from his perch on the stool, watching her every move. She worked with her back toward him, her movements jerky and stiff. He finally grew tired of her cold treatment and turned his attention to his uneaten cobbler. Still slightly warm from the oven, it was both sweet and tart, and it melted in his mouth the way Ashli melted in his arms when he kissed her. Lange made a supreme effort to think only of the cobbler, and not the woman who made it.
When she finally finished banging her way through the cupboards and had the pots emptied and the cobblers cooling on the counter, Lange figured her anger had run out of steam. Pushing his emptied plate away, he caught her eye as she finally turned toward him.
“If you’ve finished, can you take a look at these files now?” he asked.
“I guess,” she said reluctantly, in no real hurry to look at the faces of criminals. She made them each a cup of coffee as Lange logged onto the data base and entered his clearance credentials. “Take your time
and look at the faces. If anyone looks familiar, click on them to bring up more information.”
For an hour, Ashli dutifully looked through face after face of known criminals. Many of the faces had scars and cuts and visible signs of a violent lifestyle, but just as many, if not more, were just ordinary faces of what appeared to be ordinary people. It was perhaps that fact, the hidden danger that lurked behind the average eyes and the average faces, that sent a shiver of apprehension rippling through Ashli’s slight frame. She thought of Mr. Parnell’s warning about not knowing what lay hidden behind a door; apparently the same held true for inside a person’s soul.
“You okay?” Lange asked, seeing her shudder. He cupped her shoulder in a show of moral support and returned to the stool beside her.
“Yes. It’s just that.... there’s so many. So many faces, so much evil.” She shivered again.
“Maybe you should take a break.”
“No, I want to get this over with,” Ashli said with determination. She clicked on a new page, bringing up a dozen more faces to consider. She swallowed hard when her gaze fell upon one particularly horrid face. Unconsciously, she leaned closer toward Lange and grabbed the hand that still rested on her shoulder. She squeezed his fingers as she stared at the deep, jagged scar where an eye should have been.
Entwining his fingers with hers, Lange leaned in so that she could rest against him. Ashli continued with the perusal of each photograph, studying each thoroughly before moving on to the next. Periodically a truly repulsive photo might cause her to cringe, and she would squeeze his hand for support. She never said a word, merely leaned closer bit by bit, until she was cradled beneath his protective arm, seeking security against his warm chest.
Finally she spoke. “No one,” she sighed. “No one looks even vaguely familiar, besides those three men I clicked on.”
“One’s dead, one’s in prison, and the other is now a quadriplegic.” His sigh matched hers. “There’re still a few more pages to go. Maybe you’ll see someone in them.”
“I’ll probably have nightmares tonight,” she mumbled with a shudder.
He bit back the offer to stay with her and keep the evil dreams at bay.
“Does this happen often?” she asked, absently rubbing a thumb across his fingers as she clicked on another set of photos.
Distracted by the feel of her huddled against him and the gentle way she caressed his hand with her thumb, Lange found it difficult to concentrate on her meaning.
Did she mean this wonderful chemistry that existed between them? No, it happened rarely.
Did she mean the way his body reacted to hers, the way he hardened as he thought of holding her throughout the night? Yes, is happened every time she was near.
Did she mean the way his mind whirled and his heart quickened, the way his thoughts and his feelings and his basic survival instincts warred within him, leaving him totally vulnerable to her special kind of charms? God, it happened all too often.
“Does what happen often?” he finally choked out, trying desperately to think straight. With her in his arms, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“Are many people like me?”
“I have never, ever, met anyone quite like you,” he admitted honestly, his voice low and raw with emotion.
But Ashli hardly noticed. Her mind was still troubled with the thought of so much evil in the world, particularly her own little corner of it. “I mean, are many people stalked? Do you see this sort of thing often?”
“Unfortunately, yes. With the internet and social media and the constant flow of information and interaction, stalking someone has actually become easier. There’s no such thing as privacy anymore. There are thousands of people, primarily women, who have to go through the same kind of hell you’re going through.” The seriousness of the matter sobered him, causing him to forget his lustful wanderings for a moment. “But in a way, you’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Because I have you?” she couldn’t resist asking, her mouth curving into a smile as she bumped her shoulder against him.
“That, too.” He couldn’t resist smiling back. He then grew serious once more as he answered in earnest. “Because your stalker has made no actual threats, no actual attacks. Sending a dead goldfish and buying you gifts and a dozen roses is disturbing, but hardly menacing.”
“Unless Jasmine’s ... dismemberment really is connected to my case. That’s certainly more than a threat.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m still having trouble connecting your neighbor’s detached foot, found in her own apartment, to you. If your stalker was trying to send you a message, I think he would have placed the foot in your apartment, or someplace he knew you would be sure to find it. You just happened to be the first person to find Jasmine.”
“Maybe,” Ashli said skeptically. She sighed, pulling her fingers through her hair. “I don’t mean to be making this all about me. What happened to Jasmine is so absolutely horrible, so inconceivable, and you’re right, all I’ve had so far are a few harmless gifts. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that I have a stalker at the same time my neighbor comes up ... you know ... but somehow I don’t think so.”
“So we have to find some connection. Something that ties her dismemberment to your Peeping Tom.”
Just the thought sent a shudder through her narrow shoulders. With new resolve, she took a deep breath and turned back toward the computer screen. “Okay, let’s get this over and done with. Maybe I’ll find the missing link in the last of the mug shots.”
Lange nodded to the stack of files beside the laptop. “Those are the old case files you asked about. Who knows, maybe the answer is somewhere in there.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“It has been over thirty years since the last crime,” he pointed out. “Finish with the mug shots, and I’ll leave these files with you. They’re my copies, so there’s no hurry to go through them tonight.”
While Ashli finished searching through the criminal data base, Lange wandered into the kitchen. A disaster like this meant at least an hour or so of cleanup, and it was already late. He knew it was his fault for detaining her this evening, and she had to be tired. She was being such a trooper, bravely looking through face after face, searching for anyone vaguely familiar. Some of the faces were evil enough to make even him squirm.
In an act of caring that was totally foreign to him, Lange drew up a sink full of sudsy water and started washing dishes. He didn’t give himself time to think of the implications; he simply went to work cleaning up the mess. He glanced up every so often, making certain she was alright. Even though she sat just on the other side of the bar, she was so engrossed in her task she didn’t realize what he was doing.
When she did, her undoubted look of pleasure would be worth the pucker of dishwater hands.
An hour later, Lange paused in the doorway before leaving. “There’s just one last thing,” he said. “Why did Detective Sullivan come by here today, Ashli?” he asked quietly. The question had been eating at him all night.
“Routine follow-up, he said. He wanted to make certain I was alright, after ... after everything.”
“And?” He could tell she was hiding something by the way her eyes avoided his.
“And what?” she hedged.
“He could have called you on the phone - again - to check on you. What else did he want?”
Ashli paid close attention to the doorknob beneath her hand. “He asked me if I would like to go to dinner some night.”
“And?”
“And I thanked him for the invitation, but I told him I couldn’t think about dinner dates just now.”
“But later?” he pushed.
“I- I don’t know.” She looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the look of thunder upon his face. “I made no promises.”
Without warning, Lange’s hand came out and cupped around her neck, pulling her face in close to his. “Just remember,” he murmured against her lip
s. “You’re going with me to prom.” And then he kissed her, slow and deep and sweet, with just a faint taste of desperation. She was so dazed by the intensity of his gentle kiss that he was already gone and out the door before his words settled into her befuzzled brain.
“Prom?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With the catered banquet behind her, Ashli took a few minutes for herself on Sunday morning. Since the incidents with the Peeping Tom, she avoided spending time outside, but this morning she chose to make an exception. It was still early, before the sun heated up and the city came fully awake, and was the perfect time to enjoy a few moments of fresh air. Surely there was a rule somewhere that said even stalkers had to take Sunday mornings off.
As she stepped onto the smaller balcony off her bedroom, coffee in hand, she realized how much she had missed the simple pleasure of being outdoors. Later, she would be angry that the stalker had taken this from her. Right now, she was just going to enjoy the sights and sounds of the early summer morning.
Birds flitted through the trees, singing to one another in greeting. She watched a couple of squirrels run among the treetops, jumping from one limb to another, making their way across the lawn, one tree at a time. A light breeze ruffled the leaves and teased her hair, and carried the sweet scent of dew kissed flowers.
Ashli smiled as she looked out over the gorgeous grounds of Daisy House. The grass was lush and green, randomly interrupted with bursts of color from one of Mr. Parnell’s many flower beds. From so high up, she had a better view of the far gardens than of the pergola and the flagstone patio that lay closer to the house. She could easily see the carriage-house-turned-potting-shed, the delightful goldfish pond, the stone benches at the edge of the tree-line, and the little trails that led off into the profuse floras at the back of the property. She missed wandering through the maze of trees and shrubs and flowers that crisscrossed through the estate, so badly it was almost a physical ache.
Ashli made a second cup of coffee, then hurried back up to the balcony. She needed to be at the airport in an hour to pick up Rachel and Kevin, which left only a few more minutes to indulge in nature’s vista. In just the few short minutes that she was gone, the morning had heated up, promising to bring a warm day. And the peaceful quiet of morn was now broken by the sounds of Mr. Parnell, tinkering in the gardens below. She could see him moving around near the potting shed, spraying some dark colored concoction over the flower beds. Between the fertilizer and the weed killer, his concoctions always had a foul odor, but he was conscientious enough to spray in early morning, when normally no one was outside. Luckily the wind was blowing away from him, keeping the morning air sweet and fresh from where Ashli soaked up the last few moments of solitude.
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 15
