She glanced toward his portrait on her dressing table.
And halted in shock.
There was lipstick scrawled on the glass.
Not long now, my only love .
What on earth…?
Then she spotted the lock of hair curled in the spot beneath where the photo had stood. She knew that hair, so fine and soft and dark.
It was her child's.
She shivered. Who would—
Wait. Something about the words… That handwriting…the small diamond that dotted each i…
Had she seen that before?
Her breath caught. My only love…
That note, the one she'd gotten right before…
Before Tom died. But that was an accident. He'd stepped out in traffic because he hadn't seen—
What had that note said?
You should be mine, my only love.
She grasped for the wall beside her. But the police said…
No. Oh, God, no—
"No!" A terrified moan erupted from her throat. Instinctively she rubbed at the words to make the threat go away. She snatched up the hair and feverishly searched for her purse, grabbing it and racing for the door. She had to get to Grant.
When she burst into the hall, Josh and his brother were approaching.
Josh frowned. "What's wrong?"
"I have to go."
"Go where? Lorie, you're not dressed. What is it?" Josh grabbed her shoulders.
She tried to go around him. "I can't talk now."
He held on. Looked down at the photo. "What’s going on?"
"Not now, Josh. I don't have time to explain, I just—I need to get to Grant."
"Why?"
"There was a note." Panic surging, she swiped at his grip on her.
"What note?"
"Let me go. Oh, God, what if something's happened to him—"
"Wait, wait. Where should Grant be right now?" Josh eased her back inside.
"At playgroup." She cast around frantically in her mind for the location. "Melinda’s—he's at Melinda’s. Please, Josh—"
"We can find out right now. Is she in your phone?"
He was right. She was just so scared. She picked up her cell and tried to pull up her contacts, but the phone dropped from her fingers.
Josh caught it. "Here. Let me." He found the name and pressed the name, waited for the call to go through. "Melinda, this is Josh Marshall. I’m a friend of Lorie’s—oh, you remember me? Listen, could you put Grant on the phone? We’re going to be a little late, and I need to ask him a question before we pick him up. Thanks." He looked over at Lorie and gave a thumbs up.
Relief poured through her so strongly her head went light.
"Sit down." Josh's brother took her arm, eased her to sitting. "Take a deep breath."
Lorie's gaze whipped to Quinn. She'd forgotten all about him.
Behind her Josh spoke, obviously to Grant. "Hey, sport, how’s it goin’? Are you up for a game of Horse? What?" Josh grinned. "You’ll spot me five points because I’m old? Gee, thanks, dude. If I can make it over on my walker, you’ve got a deal." He winked at Lorie. "Listen, champ, your mom and I are coming to get you, but we’ll be a few minutes late. I’m going to hand the phone to her. You ready to meet my brother?" He grinned. "Yep, the cowboy. Yes, he can play basketball, too. First tell your mom where you want to eat, and we’ll see you in a while." He handed the phone to Lorie.
She took it in one trembling hand. "Mom, guess what? Josh’s brother the cowboy is here, and they're gonna play Horse with me after we eat! Let’s have pizza, okay? We could get it delivered to his loft so he and I can get started on the game!" His excitement spilled through the line, blessing her heart with its normalcy. Tears welled, and she willed them to stop, sniffing and clearing her throat.
"Hey, Mom, you okay? Are you crying?" Instant concern replaced the enthusiasm. Lorie despaired at how much Grant had been forced to grow up as a consequence of losing his father.
She infused cheer into her voice. "No, honey, I’m fine. Just got some cold cream in my eyes, and it made them water. I’m taking off my makeup now, and we’ll be there to get you in a bit. What do you want on your pizza?"
"None of those ick vegetables, okay?"
She laughed shakily. "Okay. Just this one time, no ick vegetables."
"Cool! Uh, Mom…?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Jeremy wants to play Star Wars. Are you finished?" His eagerness to return to play tugged at her heart.
"Sure, sweetie. See you soon."
"Bye, Mom!"
"Bye, Grant." She clutched the phone as if to keep him with her even after he had hung up.
"Have you ever gotten a note like this before?" Quinn asked.
Her blood ran cold with the greatest dread she'd known in her entire life. "I…" She couldn't be sure, but…
For a moment she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Then her stomach took a dive.
"You have," Quinn said.
She nodded. "The night before my husband died. It was delivered to my apartment."
"What did it say?"
She rubbed her temple. Her head was splitting. " You should be mine, my only love. I'm pretty sure that was it. And…I'm just about positive there were diamonds to dot each i on that one, too."
His gaze grew more intense. "You gave it to the police?"
"No. It—we laughed about it. Tom had a chat with the doorman."
A muscle flexed in his jaw. "You didn't take it seriously."
She stiffened. "I get a lot of mail from fans."
"May I see that?" Quinn gestured toward the photo frame.
She didn't hand it over immediately, clinging to the photo as though it were her lifeline in a sea of crashing dark waves.
He pulled a tissue from the box on her vanity, then took the photo from her gently, holding it by the edge.
His eyes widened, then his jaw clenched.
"What is it?" She clutched at the lock of hair, curling her fingers around it and guarding the fist with her other hand.
"Nothing." Quinn frowned as he examined the words. "You've smeared it. What did it say?"
"It—it said—" Her voice broke. Please…please don't let there be a connection.
Quinn gentled his expression and crouched beside where she sat. "It's okay. Just take a deep breath." When she complied, he smiled, but it never reached his shuttered eyes. "Tell me when you’re ready."
"Not long now, my only love—that’s what it said." She closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears. "But…Tom's death was an accident." She stared at Quinn, hearth pounding so hard she was getting light headed.
His expression was grim.
"But there was a witness. Tom just didn't see the car when he stepped off the curb. It was a hit-and-run, and they never found the driver."
"Where is the other note?"
"I don't…I have no idea what Tom did with it. There was no reason to think—I get mail all the time, professing undying devotion, saying they love me. The only odd thing about this one was that it was delivered to the apartment building instead of to the studio or in the mail."
"How often does that happen?"
"Not…hardly ever. But it's not like no one has ever figured out where I live."
"Was it signed?"
She thought back. "No."
He gestured with the photo. "This one isn't either, right?"
"No, but—"
"You need to call the cops."
"What good would it do? I don't have the other note. Why would they believe me? I don't want to believe me."
"Are you seriously saying you think Tom's death wasn't an accident, Quinn?" Josh asked.
"Sounds crazy, doesn't it?" Her laughter was brief and shaky.
Quinn wasn't laughing. He glared at Josh. "Clarissa didn’t think she needed to report the guy who was bothering her, either." He took her hand, and for a moment her panic subsided.
"You can’t afford not to call i
n the cops," Quinn insisted. "It has to be dealt with—right now."
"But why would anyone want to harm Tom? Or Grant?" She clutched Grant's hair and shuddered.
"Because they're in the way." Quinn's steady gaze held hers, and she clung to his hand like a lifeline.
"If Tom died because of me…" She thought she might be sick.
"Not because of you," Quinn replied. "Because of whoever this sick bastard is. It's not your fault."
"Are you…do you really think Tom's death wasn't an accident?" she whispered.
"I don't know, but you can't take any chances." A muscle flexed in his jaw.
"I want to see Grant," she said.
"You will. Josh can go pick him up, take him to your place. I'll wait here with you. Once we're done, we'll go straight to the loft."
Though she was reeling from the very notion that Tom's death might not have been an accident, she still drew comfort from the strength this man had in abundance.
She held onto his hand and nodded. "All right."
He nodded his approval. Beneath the comforting strength, she glimpsed an almost palpable grief. Those eyes told her he understood losing someone important…losing control.
"Call the cops, Josh." His steady gaze held hers. "Then we'll go shoot baskets with Grant."
***
NEARLY AN HOUR later, Quinn watched Lorie pace the floor of her dressing room, shredding the tissue in her hands. Josh had left, at her request, to pick up Grant and take him to the loft.
The atmosphere crackled in the small dressing room as they waited for the detective to arrive after the uniformed officer who'd responded to the initial call had summoned him. For himself, Quinn wanted to be anywhere but here.
Her son was the boy he'd seen in his dreams.
So that must mean she was the blonde.
God, he hated this. After Clarissa…
To bury the turmoil roiling through him, he stepped back from emotion and looked the scene over like a cop. He’d cautioned her to touch as little as possible. When she’d wanted to change from the flimsy nightdress, he’d insisted that she borrow clothing from the show’s wardrobe. That way, she could avoid touching closet doors or disturbing anything else.
His relief that she would be fully-clothed was short-lived. The pale blue sweater and slacks highlighted the ivory translucence of her skin, the cornflower blue of her eyes. He looked away quickly, not wanting to think about how much she appealed to him. The vision of her in scanty silk, clinging to his brother, still burned brightly in his memory.
He cleared his throat. "While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me more about what happened when your husband died?"
A knock sounded at the door, and a man entered without waiting to be admitted.
No doubt that the man was a cop.
"You Ms. Sawyer?" he asked.
"That's my stage name. My married name is Lorie Chandler."
"Detective Phil Colello," His gaze whipped to Quinn. "And you would be?"
"Quinn Marshall."
"What's your involvement in this?" The rumpled detective looked as though he’d already had a long day.
Quinn could sympathize. He’d been on the wrong end of many a day with too much caffeine and not enough success.
"He's a…friend," Lorie responded. "I'd like him to stay."
"Don't see any dead bodies around here."
Her fingers tangled in her lap. "I have no wish to waste your time, but Mr. Marshall felt it best to involve the police."
"Why is that?" Colello's gaze narrowed as he studied Quinn. "You're on the job."
"Not anymore," Quinn replied. "Former Houston PD. Homicide. Mrs. Chandler received an anonymous threat today, and she believes the handwriting is similar to that on a note she received before her husband died."
"Uniform says your husband was killed in a hit and run."
She twisted a tissue. "That's what everyone thought, and it might be true."
Quinn could see Colello struggling for patience. "Lorie, maybe you could lay out the sequence of events for the detective."
"Yeah. Starting with why didn’t you didn't tell the department about a threat at that time—that is, if it really was a threat?"
She recoiled. "Don't you think I would have if I'd had any idea—" Her eyes closed for a second as she visibly gathered herself. "I get a lot of mail, Detective. This one was a little unusual because it came to my apartment, but it's not the only time that's happened."
"Not hard to find anyone these days."
"That's true, and it was only one note. My husband spoke to the doorman about the matter." She glanced away. "The next morning my husband was dead, and I—" Her voice caught. "There was an eyewitness. The driver was never caught. I forgot about the note. There was no reason to think…I was struggling to figure out how I would—" Her trembling lips pressed together. "I had a small child to raise alone. Life was…overwhelming."
"What happened to the note?"
"The last time I saw it, Tom had it. It wasn't in his effects and I never got another one."
"Until today."
She nodded.
"What makes you think it's the same person?"
"The handwriting seems familiar."
"After a year?"
Her eyes sparked. "I remember those diamonds above each i. And the message, that phrase my only love. I'm nearly positive that was in the first one, too."
"But no one can be sure because you smeared the writing on this one."
"So you'll do nothing? My son could be in danger, and you won't do anything?"
"Mrs. Chandler, I'll do what I can." A world of weariness dragged in Colello's voice. "But you're not giving me much to go on."
Quinn could relate. He'd felt the same frustration so many times in his years on the force. Never more than when—
He clamped the lid on the past.
Colello sighed. "I'll need a full statement." He rose to his feet. "And we'll run through the usual forensics. I'll look over the old file and see what's there, but I need your help, too, with anything that helps me find a pattern. If this is the same person, nothing is too small to matter. Every piece in the puzzle counts. If you do indeed have a stalker, these guys are smart. They’re not easy to catch. So if you could start from the top and describe to me what happened here…"
To her credit, Lorie brutally reined in her emotions, sitting still as a statue and going through the day, step by step. After he'd made notes, the detective snapped on latex gloves and took the framed photo and the curled swatch of hair with him, dropping each into evidence bags. He scoured the room, asking questions over his shoulder, then requested that the room be sealed until he could have a lab team in to dust for prints.
Quinn felt certain that neither he nor Colello held out any hope of prints being left. From what he'd heard so far, it was unlikely to be someone close to Lorie. That type of stalker was typically an ex-husband or boyfriend, acting in the heat of emotion. Those who stalked strangers generally fell into the category of criminal known as ‘organized personalities.’ They planned ahead.
Despite his best intentions to stay clear, Quinn found himself asking her questions of his own. Colello was quick to pick up on pertinent information. Quinn couldn’t fault the cop; from what he could see, Colello knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t perform miracles. Quinn knew only too well the toll that awareness could take on a cop’s soul. Sometimes miracles were the only hope you had, and the knowledge could eat away at you like acid.
He wished he could shut out how fragile she seemed, how afraid.
Damn. He wished he'd never come here, wanted to turn right back around and head home to Texas. He didn’t want to think any more about stalkers. Didn’t want to dream the darkness. Yet despite what he wanted, he couldn’t stand aside and let another woman die. Quinn knew, better than most, what a stalker could do.
Colello donned his hat and shrugged his coat back on, turning toward Lorie one last time as he prepared to leave. "Mrs.
Chandler, if there's a next time, please don’t touch anything." He nodded to Quinn and left, a weary line to his shoulders.
When the door closed, Lorie sank into her chair and stared into the distance, the picture of dejection and sorrow.
Quinn cursed silently, wishing Josh were here. He’d never had Josh’s easy way with women, his light-hearted ability to tease and cajole, but he couldn’t let her suffer in isolation. Her slender shoulders had carried more than their share of burden, from what he’d just heard.
He crouched in front of her. "Look at me." When she raised tear-swollen eyes to his face, he steeled himself against the impact of her nearness. "I want you to pull in a deep breath, as far as you can reach. Imagine that you’re drawing the breath from where your feet touch the floor all the way through your body and up through the top of your head. Close your eyes while you do it and think about the most beautiful, peaceful place in the world." Learning to do this had kept him sane during the long months of his grueling recovery.
"This won't protect my son."
"Being hysterical won't help, either."
She stiffened. "I'm not hysterical."
He exhaled in a gust. "I'm sorry. Of course you're worried, but fear gets in the way of thinking straight, and I know you want to make sure your boy is safe." He smiled faintly. "And this probably sounds like a bunch of woo-woo crap, but years of martial arts training has taught me that controlling your emotions is the key to protecting not only yourself but others."
She hesitated, then nodded. "That makes sense."
She was already backing off from the rollercoaster, which was good. "Grant's safe with Josh, and I know you don't want to scare him. This won't take long—or you don't have to do it at all." He made to rise.
"No—no, you're right. I want to." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Good. Feel your connection with the ground. Now pull the breath upward as though you were drawing energy from the earth all the way through your body. Then exhale slowly, and let go. Now again…slow and even."
After a few repetitions, her face relaxed.
Wounded Heroes Boxed Set Page 79
