What You Wish For

by Fern Michaels

  His guts churned as he walked across the parking lot. He was halfway to his car when he realized he’d left his jacket hanging in the office. Like he really cared if he got pneumonia or not. He longed for Max.

  Thirty minutes later, Sam pressed the remote on his visor. The garage door flew upward. He drove the Blazer in and cut the ignition. Now what, Tolliver? You had a plan to get you through the night, didn’t you? One step at a time. Change into sweats and go for a run. Maybe the cold air will clear the cobwebs from your brain. Come home, shower, eat that five-day leftover Chinese food in the fridge, and then pack up Helen’s orders. Fall into bed and dream about Helen and Max all night long.

  “Get on with it, Tolliver,” he muttered to himself. “So what if the house is cold and dark. You turn on some lights, and you turn up the heat. If you want noise, you turn on the stereo. Get on with it.”

  Sam waited to be certain the garage door closed tightly before he pressed the button by the door that led into the kitchen. The moment he heard the little snick of the lock going into place, he opened the kitchen door with his key.

  Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the destruction that faced him when the kitchen exploded with light. Cabinet doors hung drunkenly on hinges. The oven door was halfway across the room, the refrigerator door hanging wide open. Water puddled on the floor from the automatic defrost system. Flour, coffee, and sugar were everywhere. The long, trailing fern that Helen had nursed back to health was just a memory—the fronds everywhere, the dirt in clumps on the chairs and top of the table. A mound of it was sitting on one of the oven shelves.

  Sam took a deep breath before he turned on the hall light switch. His beloved beanbag chairs from his early college days were ripped wide open, the beans everywhere. The small television and the stereo system were a mass of black plastic parts on one side of the room, some in the hall, and others crunched into oblivion. He took another deep breath as he marched his way to the bedroom he’d shared with Helen.

  Everything in the room was ripped, slashed, or gouged. Drawers were splintered, the contents destroyed. The drapes hung in tatters, the blinds ripped and bent out of shape. He blinked at the sight of the toilet seat in the middle of what was once his bed. He poked his head into the bathroom to see the shower door off its track, the glass shattered and broken, half on the floor, half on the bottom of the tub. He looked down when he realized he was standing in water almost to his ankles. He stretched his neck farther and saw the tank to the toilet lying next to the vanity, whose sink was overflowing. He sloshed his way to the vanity to turn off the faucet.

  Sam’s shoulders slumped as he backed out of the bathroom. There was one more place to look—Helen’s workroom, where her inventory was stacked to the ceiling. Did the intruder go into that room? “Intruder my ass,” Sam snarled. He knew who had ransacked his house, and it wasn’t a nameless, faceless intruder. It was Daniel Ward. He knew it as surely as he knew he needed to take another breath to stay alive.

  Do it, his mind ordered. Open the damn door and see what the bastard did. Do it, Tolliver. Get it the hell over with.

  Sam’s hand snaked out to grasp the doorknob. He didn’t know if he should pounce, shout a warning, or turn on the light. He did all three at the same moment. “Eiyah!” he bellowed, dropping to a low crouch, his long arm reaching up to turn on the overhead light. He straightened, his gaze unbelieving. Tacked to every inch of wall space was Helen’s Sassie Lassie lingerie with lewd printing on each and every garment. Whore, slut, and bitch were some of the kinder words. He ripped the garments from the wall, hating to touch something Daniel Ward had had his hands on. Sam took a moment to wonder if Daniel Ward always traveled with a staple gun and red spray paint. Then he got sick and bolted for the bathroom.

  When he was finished, Sam sat on the edge of the bathtub contemplating the three inches of water swirling about his feet. What the hell kind of sick bastard had Helen been married to? He felt his stomach start to churn again. He fought with himself to stay calm. Think, Tolliver. Don’t react. Think.

  You have renter’s insurance: It was the first thing you bought when you and Helen moved in here. You can call the Disaster Master people to come and clean everything up. The insurance company will pay for it. File a police report? Don’t file a police report? He couldn’t prove Daniel Ward destroyed his house. He couldn’t even prove Daniel Ward was in the vicinity. Obviously the man had come in through the garage and disarmed the alarm system. Helen said he was a wizard. A real bad-assed sicko from the looks of things. He groaned then when he thought of Helen taking on the man who had been her husband. She’d said right along no one was a match for Daniel Ward, and she was right.

  That night in the deli he’d fallen right into Ward’s hands. He’d been bitter and angry. Maybe that’s why the man hadn’t pursued him. If that kind of thinking was right, then what the hell was this destruction all about? Maybe Daniel Ward thought Helen had left him for good and he was no longer any kind of a threat to his getting Helen back. Maybe the destruction of his house was a kind of warning.

  He couldn’t think there. He needed to get out of that crazy place. Pack a bag, go to a motel. He snorted. There wasn’t anything to pack thanks to Daniel Ward and his knife and scissors. Check into the Best Western and head for the mall to buy some new clothes. When he checked in, he would go to his office and after he called the Disaster people, he would e-mail Arthur King.

  His briefcase in hand, Sam turned off the lights and left the house. He wondered if he would ever be comfortable living in that house again. With or without Helen. He didn’t bother setting the alarm. What was the point?

  “We’re here, Gerry. Kind of seedy-looking, don’t you think?” Artie asked as he looked around at the rusty bicycles, wagons, and trash littering the yards of the apartment complex. He looked upward to the second level to see blinds askew, screens from the windows hanging by one clip. The window frames and the doors leading to the different apartments were dirty and scuffed, the paint peeling in long strips. Everywhere there was the stench of garbage. Rusty cars, some without tires, some without seats, were parked every which way. He found himself shivering at the squalor.

  “Do you think the car will be safe?” Gerry asked anxiously.

  Artie shrugged. “It’s a crapshoot. The only thing we have going for us is the darkness. It doesn’t look like anyone is paying attention to us. I hope that holds once we get inside and turn the lights on.”

  “This is the kind of neighborhood complex where people see nothing and hear nothing. I can’t see anyone living here wanting to get involved. I can almost guarantee that Daniel Ward didn’t know his neighbors. That means they don’t know him either. That’s good for us.”

  “Let’s go and get it over with,” Artie said, climbing out of the car. He cursed his arthritic knees. He did his best to breathe through his mouth as he followed Gerry up the cracked and broken walkway that led to Daniel Ward’s apartment.

  “It’s locked,” Gerry said, trying the door handle. “Do you have my tool kit? How are we supposed to get in?”

  “It’s your standard credit-card door. Places like this don’t worry about their tenants’ safety. Ten bucks tops at Wal-Mart,” Artie said, jiggling his Visa card up and down. “Told you,” he said triumphantly as he pushed the door open.

  “I’ll keep my hand on the light switch while you close the blinds,” Gerry said nervously.

  “Christ Almighty,” Artie said the moment the room sprang to light.

  “Jesus!” was all Gerry could think of to say.

  The two men stared at each other, their mouths hanging open.

  “He papered the whole damn room with pictures of Helen. It’s mind-boggling. That poor woman. Look, Artie, no matter where he sat, no matter where he walked or even if he was standing still, Helen was all about him. Where in the hell did he get so many pictures?”

  “Take a good look. These are almost all the same few pictures. He probably scanned them, making different
sizes. It can all be done on the computer. Speaking of computers, this is one kick-ass machine. I bet he built it himself.”

  “Why’d he leave it behind?” Gerry asked.

  “Because he is so goddamn cocky he didn’t think we’d ever latch on to him. The guy took his laptop with him,” Artie muttered as he pressed the switch to turn on the computer.

  “Maybe it’s booby-trapped,” Gerry said, backing away from the folding table the computer was sitting on.

  “No, it’s not booby-trapped but he might have crashed his files. Who the hell knows the way that guy’s mind works. He’s probably got some intricate password we’ll never guess,” Artie said. “I was right. It wants a password.”

  “I knew it! Now what are we going to do? It smells in here. Guess that guy wasn’t big on cooking,” Gerry said, pointing to takeout food containers, paper bags with half-eaten fast food, and numerous pizza boxes. Beer and liquor bottles littered the grimy floor. “What are we going to do, Artie? What the hell are we doing here anyway?” Gerry asked as he stepped on a fat cockroach.

  “We’re trying to find out how Ward found Helen. The answer is in this computer. Daniel Ward is not a leg man, which means he wouldn’t demean himself by going out there physically trying to find her. He knows, more or less, how the program works. I’m telling you the answer is right here. This is going to take a while, Gerry. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

  Gerry snorted. “You’re sitting on the only chair.”

  “Then lean against the wall.”

  While Artie clicked away on the computer, Gerry wandered out to the filthy kitchen and the equally filthy bathroom and bedroom. Helen’s face was plastered on all the walls. He wondered if he was going to get sick. Would the police consider something like this stalking? Obsessive? Or would they say a man had every right to paper the walls of his home with his wife’s picture. What would the police say when they found out he had broken into the man’s home? They’d lock his ass up is what they would do. Artie would be his cellmate. He started to shake then and felt every one of his seventy-odd years.

  “Any luck, Artie?”

  “No. I’m having trouble trying to think like Daniel Ward. I tried every word I could think of that might have some meaning to him. I came up with zip. It’s probably a very simple word, something we would never think of. Do you have any ideas, Gerry?”

  “Me? Maybe he changed his old password to something more timely to coincide with what’s going on in his life now that Helen left him. He never expected that, and when it happened he didn’t know how to deal with it. You said he was cocky and arrogant. He lost his job and his wife finally got out from under his control.”

  “Keep leaning on that wall and while you’re there, think,” Artie ordered.

  Artie threw up his hands. “I give up!”

  “You can’t give up. That guy is going to find Helen and hurt her. What was his passion in life? Do you know that?”

  “Money.”

  “Let’s work with that. You said he was the one who sent all those different computer viruses to your company’s computers. You said he wiped Izzie’s out, too. We know he was diddling with Izzie’s computer once Maggie Eldridge gave him her e-mails. He probably picked up on the Boots password real quick. That means he had to know about her will. You’re the computer whiz, Artie. How could he have found out about her will?”

  “By tapping into her e-mails. She sent me quite a few, you too, about her will and what she was doing. I think you might be on to something here, Gerry. He’d view it as getting the jackpot. All he had to do was find Helen, convince her he’d mended his ways, and like all arrogant male abusers, thought she would fall right into his arms along with that big jackpot of money.” He shrieked, “That’s it, Gerry!”

  Gerry leaned over the table and watched Artie’s gnarled fingers type in the word, jackpot. He blinked when the screen exploded to life.

  “Gerry, you are a genius!” Artie preened.

  “Can you copy whatever it is you’re looking for? We have to get out of here.”

  “Let me open up the files and see what we have. I’ll copy what I think is pertinent.”

  “How long is that going to take? I’m getting jittery. I hate this place. I hate looking at all these pictures of Helen. I want to go home. How’d he do it? Do you know?”

  “Not for certain. I think I have an idea, though. I think the son of a bitch hit every single database in the country to find out which vet Helen took her dog to. She must have switched vets recently and used the dog’s real name. The foundation takes care of that sort of thing and always uses the number-letter combination. I’m not sure, Gerry, but right now it’s what I’m thinking. The bastard would have had to work around the clock, seven days a week, scouring every state, every city, every vet he could find. If my hunch is right, it finally paid off for him. It’s just a guess, but I feel confident enough to say that’s what he did. Helen stayed out of fear. Look at you, you didn’t know him, and yet being here in his quarters he is still capable of scaring the bejesus out of you. Fear is a terrible thing, Gerry. So is mind control. Put the two together, and I think you’ll understand why Helen didn’t leave.”

  “Is this where he lived when he was seeing Maggie Eldridge?”

  “Not according to the private detective’s report. He was renting a rather nice furnished condo at the time. I don’t think the nurse would have given him the time of day if she’d seen this place. I’m assuming his money was running low and that’s why he moved here.”

  “I’d like to take a picture of this place, but it would only prove we broke into it. It is something the police should have if Helen ever wants to file charges. I keep a Polaroid in the glove compartment. What do you think, Artie?”

  “Go get it! I have two more files to download and copy and we can leave. As long as you’re going to take pictures, get them from every angle. Nobody will ever believe this otherwise.”

  While Gerry finished the last of the film, Artie packed up the disks and slipped them into the envelope with the gun. “I think we can leave now.”

  “Artie.”

  “What?”

  “He has Helen’s picture pasted on the toilet seat. Top and bottom.”

  “Tell me you got a picture of that, Gerald.”

  “Yep.”

  “Then we’re outta here as the young people say. Don’t look back, Gerry. I don’t want you to remember this place. Let’s go to Izz’s place so I can play with all these disks.”

  “The plan worked, Artie. I hope you plan on e-mailing Sam Tolliver to tell him so.”

  “I have to think about that.”

  “Okay. We’ll both think about it.”

  21

  She felt warm and cozy in her cocoon of blankets even though every bone in her body ached. While her eyes were open, it seemed as though a film of some sort dusted everything in the room, reducing the contents to gray indistinguishable shapes.

  “You’re awake! Wonderful! You had me worried, Helen,” a cheerful voice said, from someplace far away.

  She knew the voice, had heard it many times but she couldn’t put a name or a face to it. She wished the haze would go away.

  Something warm, wet, and somehow comforting was on her face, her neck. Then she heard the sound she recognized—Lucie’s whimpers and then an even deeper whimper, Max. “Hi, guys,” she managed to croak. Her rusty-sounding voice startled her and the dogs, who were suddenly everywhere on the bed.

  “It’s Julia, Helen. Are you feeling any better? I must say, those dogs of yours are devoted. They wouldn’t leave your side. It still amazes me that they would do their business on the newspaper I managed to slide into the room. As a matter of fact, for the first day they wouldn’t even allow me to do that. I had to pitch the newspaper and hoped they knew what it was for. They did.”

  “First day?”

  “You’ve been more or less out of it for three days, Helen. You had us all worried.”

  “Th
ree days!” Helen gasped.

  The voice was so cheerful, Helen cowered under the blankets.

  “You were running a very high fever. It broke last night. That’s why your lips are so dry and cracked. How do you feel? Do you think you can eat some Jell-O or soup? Some tea would probably taste good. I have a special blend you might like.”

  “Are you telling me the dogs haven’t been outside in three days?”

  “We tried, but they wouldn’t leave your side. The newspapers worked. In the scheme of things, it simply isn’t important,” Julia said soothingly.

  Helen struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. “I feel like a wet noodle. Okay,” she said to the dogs, “go with Julia. Now! I’m all right. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Lucie eyed her mistress and then turned her gaze to the big Lab, waiting to see what he would do. Helen nodded and whispered hoarsely into the dog’s ear. He was off the bed in the blink of an eye, Lucie right behind him. At the door, both dogs turned to look at Helen, who said, “Shoo, go outside and get some air. I’ll be right here when you get-back. Julia will give you a cookie.”

  “Can you make it to the bathroom on your own?” Julia called over her shoulder.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Is it yes to the Jell-O and soup?”

  “Yes.”

  It seemed like the struggle of her life to roll to the side and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Helen felt a head rush when she sat upright, her body trembling. What in the world had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was Julia offering to get her an electric blanket and a hot toddy for her scratchy throat. She vaguely remembered having the chills and a fever at the same time. Had she eaten during the three days she spent in bed? She simply couldn’t remember.