by Alison Stone
Christina tossed her purse on the couch and was struck by how much she loved her house. She had been excited when she found this cute little place not too far from the center of town, but not too close, either. It afforded her the privacy she needed.
The one-story house with a wide porch was a far cry from the palatial estate where she had grown up. When she was a little girl, she’d envied her friends who seemed to have moms waiting for them with warm cookies when they got off the bus in front of homes like the one she lived in now.
Christina, Nick and their little sister, Kelly, had been loved and well taken care of, but their parents were often gone, leaving them in the care of the housekeeper, Franny Fitzgerald. She and her husband, Henry, took care of the estate. Christina loved Franny, but Christina longed for a different life. One where she felt like she had a family. Not just another obligation. And her parents already had a lot of obligations.
Yet here she was at age thirty, alone. Still. But she loved her cozy house with its brick fireplace that she never used. Why didn’t she ever use the fireplace? Curl up with a good book?
A more rational thought came to mind.
Because she was never home.
She probably wouldn’t be home now, but Nick had convinced her the paperwork at the clinic could wait for another day. Besides, she hated to impose on him. If she had gone back to work, she would have had to ask for a ride home again later. She really should follow up on her car. See if the sheriff’s office had uncovered anything that would determine who had vandalized it. If they weren’t going to release it to her, she should consider replacing it. The car was old, it didn’t owe her anything. But all the events of late had taken precedence. And if she were being honest, she enjoyed Dylan’s company. If she had a car, she wouldn’t be able to see his handsome face each morning and evening.
She realized how selfish that sounded.
Rolling her shoulders to ease the knot between her shoulder blades, Christina strolled to the kitchen and flipped on the light. The pretty drop lighting she had installed illuminated the updated kitchen with its oversized gas stove. She put on the teakettle, more out of habit than anything else.
As much as Christina wanted the vandalism of her car to fall into the neat little box labeled, “Roger Everett is a bad man,” it didn’t make a lot of sense. If Roger was truly worried about her causing him trouble, why would he cause her trouble? Unless he was such a bully that he believed fear controlled everyone.
Hadn’t fear controlled her? Wasn’t it fear that had kept her from admitting to those closest to her that Roger had attacked her on the beach?
Christina shuddered at the memory of Roger’s smug face. How had none of them seen through him from the beginning?
Christina braced her hands on the edge of the counter as she waited for the kettle to whistle. Her mind wandered.
Roger wasn’t seen at the barn party, and an adult male in his thirties wouldn’t exactly blend in. But did he sneak in and spike a few drinks?
But why Naomi’s?
Chance? Or did Naomi’s condition have anything to do with this Aaron Webb kid? The boy who may have gotten her pregnant. Was he feeling trapped by a naive Amish girl and wanted to seek retribution? Put doubt in people’s minds that he was the father? But DNA tests would quickly resolve paternity if there were doubts. Or was Aaron counting on the Amish not to pursue such medical procedures?
She pressed her fingers to her temple to stem the growing thump, thump, thump.
Was she stretching here? It was a web of tangentially related events. Or maybe they weren’t related at all.
Christina’s head throbbed as she puzzled at each piece of this strange situation. She yanked the rubber band out of her hair and ran her fingers through it. Normally, she liked working through a problem—mostly a medical concern—but with this, she was coming up blank.
Dylan had offered to sleep outside, in his truck, to protect her, but Christina surprisingly wasn’t feeling particularly vulnerable. Not at home. This was her safe haven. It always had been. As a single woman, she’d had an alarm system installed. That in itself had convinced Dylan that she’d be okay. She activated the system at night. She wasn’t so much worried about someone breaking in when the house was empty, but she didn’t want anyone entering while she was sleeping. The fear of waking up with someone standing over her had been with her since her teenage years, when watching slasher films had seemed like a good idea.
And why come after her here? Dylan knew as much as she did and if something happened to her, Dylan would go right to Roger.
The teakettle emitted a high-pitched whistle and Christina jumped. Maybe she should have allowed Dylan to play bodyguard.
She lifted the kettle from the burner, then decided maybe she’d skip her evening tea and instead crawl into bed with a good book. That would help get her mind off her troubles.
Christina secured the house, set the alarm and flipped all the lights off as she made her way down a long hallway to her first-floor bedroom. She pushed open the door, flipped on the light and stopped short. Her brain screamed, “Run! Run! Run!” But a warped sense of bravery, or maybe it was plain old curiosity, had her moving toward the shreds of paper on her bed.
With a shaky hand, she picked up one of the pieces and then another. Matching them up, she recognized her old prescription pad, something she seldom used now since scripts were sent in electronically.
The room went black and a sound exploded behind her in the dark. Instinctively Christina jumped back and flattened herself against the wall. A dark shadow ran from the bathroom, right toward her. She ducked and scrambled to the alarm panel on the wall. She slammed her hand against it and the strident sounds of the alarm filled the quiet air.
The intruder dove toward the door. Footsteps pounded down the hall. He was fumbling with the locks on the front door now. Christina took that as her cue to slam the bedroom door shut, turning the feeble lock on the handle. Knowing full well the flimsy door wouldn’t hold a determined intruder, she slid her cell phone out of her pocket and despite the alarm company’s automated response, she called 9-1-1 and waited.
Christina had been a fool to think she was safe.
* * *
Dylan made a U-turn as soon as he got the call from Christina’s brother. Nick was on his way to Christina’s house, but he took a chance that Dylan might be closer, since when he last spoke to Christina she’d told him Dylan was taking her home.
As it turned out, Dylan reached the small cottage first. He grabbed his weapon from the glove box and jumped out of his truck, not bothering to shut the door. His stomach dropped when he heard the strident alarm and noticed Christina’s front door ajar, but there was no sign of Christina.
Dylan blinked back the memory of Nora’s vacant eyes staring up at him, a pool of blood gathering under her head. He winced and fought to ignore the cord of dread squeezing his throat.
Nora had been as stubborn as Christina, insisting she was ready for a bigger assignment. He had agreed. A decision he’d forever regret.
Dylan shook off the nightmare that haunted him. Swallowing hard, he lifted his gun and shouldered his way into Christina’s dark house, straining to detect any sudden movements in the shadows. The alarm set his nerves further on edge.
He half expected to turn a corner and find Christina in the grip of some crazed lunatic.
What if he was too late? Again?
Nick had said Christina reported an intruder to dispatch, but thought the intruder had vacated the property. Nick advised Dylan to proceed with caution if he arrived on the scene first.
Why hadn’t she called him directly?
Dylan cleared the family room and kitchen, then stalked down the hallway to where he assumed the bedrooms were located. Only one door was closed. When he reached it, he stood off to the side and turned the handle
, in case someone decided to put a few rounds through the doorway. More than one rookie had been caught unaware.
The door was locked.
“Christina?” he called in a harsh whisper. “It’s Dylan. Open up.”
With a slick palm, he readied the gun in case it wasn’t Christina who greeted him at the door.
Through the crack under the door, he noticed the light flick on, then the door slowly opened. Christina fell into his arms in a relieved rush.
Though he was eager to hold her tight, Dylan’s training had him setting her aside. “Hold up. Hold up.” His arm out in a protective gesture, he did a quick canvass of her room and adjoining bathroom.
When he returned, Christina pressed a few keys on a keypad and the alarm went silent. His ears still rang.
She lowered herself into a white chair in the corner of her bedroom. She held up her hand in a what-do-you-make-of-this? gesture.
Shreds of paper covered her bed.
“My old prescription pad.” She answered the question on the tip of his tongue.
Before Dylan had a chance to respond, he heard a commotion at the front door. “Christina’s safe. Back bedroom,” Dylan called. No sense surprising another law enforcement agency.
Deputy Jennings appeared in the doorway. The tense lines around his eyes eased when he saw his sister was safe, albeit shaken up.
Dylan knew the feeling.
“What happened?” Nick asked.
Another deputy entered the room.
“Whoever decided to make confetti out of my prescription pad was still here when I got home. Made a run for it when I entered the room. I didn’t see his face.” She angled her head toward the bathroom. “Must have been in there, then flipped the lights off and bolted. All I saw was a shadow.”
“You’re okay, though?” Nick asked all the questions Dylan wanted to ask.
“Yeah.” She turned to Dylan. “How did you know to come?”
“Your brother called me.”
Christina turned to Nick, a question in her eyes.
“I thought he might be nearby.”
Christina leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her shoulders sagging. The incident had obviously flustered her. “Thanks for coming. Really.”
As if sensing he was intruding on something personal, Nick said, “We’ll collect this and see if we can get some prints. Maybe on the door handles. The paper. Whatever. Don’t touch anything in the meantime. Grab a few things and you can come home with me.”
“Wait!” Christina bristled at being told what to do. “Did you tell Roger about our conversation?” She lowered her voice at the mention of Roger. “Did you confront him? Tell him you knew he had attacked me?”
Nick’s face grew red as he rubbed his neck. “I didn’t go against your wishes. I know how much you don’t want to stir things up with Linda being sick.” He gave his little sister a stern look. “Which I don’t agree with. I think if Roger attacked you, he needs to be held accountable.”
“I agree, but you and I both know you won’t be able to hold him for something he’s going to deny doing and I have no proof of. Our best hope is to catch him committing another crime.” She jabbed a finger at her bed. “If he did this, maybe he was sloppy. Maybe he did leave evidence.”
“I haven’t spoken to Roger about this.” The tight set of his mouth indicated Nick’s strain.
Christina sat up ramrod straight and pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’m so stupid.”
“What?” Dylan took a step forward. “What is it?”
“Roger’s wife Linda was in my office. I asked her if Roger abused her.”
“That’s not unusual. Physicians ask those kinds of questions.” Dylan shifted his stance. “It’s part of the reporting system.”
“But she got angry.” Christina flattened her lips into a thin line. “Really angry. I don’t think she’s in Roger’s corner as much as she’s worried about her son hating his father.” She looked out into the middle distance as if she were trying to remember what she had actually said to Linda. “Considering her frail health, I don’t think she’d ever tell the truth about Roger. Her son needs a father.” Her lower lip quivered. “As much as I can’t stand Roger, my heart goes out to Linda.” She discreetly wiped at a tear.
She looked up at her brother, then Dylan. “What if Linda told Roger that I asked her if he abused her? Something like that could set him off. He promised he’d make my life miserable if I caused him problems.” She held up her palm, indicating the mess.
“You’re not safe living alone”
“How did he find the prescription pad?” she asked, as if to herself.
“Where was it?” Nick asked.
“I have a few at home and a few at the office. But I don’t use them anymore. We use e-prescriptions.”
“You can’t stay here,” Dylan said.
She shot him a wary gaze. “This is my home.”
“I think Dylan’s right. You can come and stay with me and Sarah,” Nick said.
“I can’t impose. You and Sarah have the baby.”
Nick smiled. “More like you don’t want the baby keeping you up at night.”
“Well, there’s that, too.” A corner of her mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.
Another deputy called for Nick from the other room. Nick held up his finger. “Give me a minute.” Then he gave them both a pointed stare. “Don’t touch anything.”
Dylan studied the determined look on Christina’s face but he could tell it was a brave front. She looked like she was ready to collapse.
“Your brother’s right. You really can’t stay here.”
Christina straightened her spine. “I let Roger silence me with fear. I will not let him run me out of my house. I think it’s time we confronted Roger. See what the big bully has to say.”
SEVEN
The night of the break-in, Christina’s big brother convinced her to hold off on confronting Roger. And he had been right. Nothing productive would have come from pointing her finger at him.
Again, they had no proof.
Or maybe that was her brother’s way of keeping her out of harm’s way. In any event, a few days had passed and she was working at the clinic, a little tired from sleeping at her brother’s house. Who knew babies cried so much? Especially at midnight, two in the morning, four in the morning...
She stifled a yawn. She was grateful for her job. It kept her mind focused on something other than her own concerns.
Right now she was escorting an elderly lady who had come in for a simple blood pressure check to her waiting husband’s vehicle. Christina watched as the car pulled away.
She paused and filled her lungs with the sweet air of the beautiful spring day. The sound of the wind rustling the leaves made her want to take a walk. What she wouldn’t give to play hooky. It was a strange thought, considering never in her life had she played hooky.
But spending a lot of time with Dylan had created a subtle shift. There were other things to life.
And now she had Georgia to help run the clinic.
She smiled at the notion.
Another yawn snuck up on her and she knew she’d have to find other living arrangements if she hoped to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe she should go to her parents’ home, but she hated to put out Franny and Henry who took care of the estate. They would surely make a lot of fuss over her.
Or maybe it was the past she didn’t want to face.
Christina was opening the door of the clinic when the sound of gravel under tires caught her attention. She spun around to see Georgia in her zippy new red car. Maybe Christina’d get one like that.
Nah, she liked the anonymity of a nondescript car. Function over form.
Christina paused in the doorwa
y and held the door open for Georgia. “Good lunch?”
“Yeah, it was. It was nice to get out for a little bit.” She held out her hand, indicating the gorgeous day. “Why don’t you go for lunch?” Georgia glanced around Christina into the empty waiting room. “I think I can handle things around here. Go, it’s a beautiful day.”
“I don’t know...” Christina was lost in thought.
“You know I can handle this,” Georgia assured her. “And I know how to reach you if something comes up.” The competent young woman held up her cell phone. “It’s all good.” She flicked her hand at her boss in a shoo-shoo gesture, the bangle bracelets on her wrist jangling.
Christina was about to protest when her stomach grumbled. She could go for a sandwich and the exercise that came with walking the short distance to the diner. Christina peeled off her white coat and walked in to hang it on a hook. “I’ll be back in an hour and—”
“If anything comes up, I’ll call you.” Georgia laughed. “I’ve got this.”
Christina pushed through the front door and smiled as the sun warmed her face. Her feet crunched on the gravel as she crossed the parking lot. This was the first time she’d walked to the diner since the night Ben Reist had almost run her over.
She took a deep breath. That had been an accident. A panicky kid trying to do the right thing by bringing a sick young lady to the clinic. A kid who didn’t want to risk his college scholarship by being associated with a young woman who had been drugged.
Christina quickened her pace. Ben nearly running her over. Running into Roger after all these years. Her car being vandalized. Her prescription pad getting shredded and left on her bed...
How were these events connected? How...?
She quickened her pace, hoping the pieces would magically click into place.
The sound of cheers floating from the nearby park pulled her out of her racing mind. Christina glanced over, comforted that she wasn’t alone on the country road. A bunch of teenage girls were playing softball. The local schools must have had a half day, today. Christina continued walking when her eye was drawn to a man yelling instructions to the girls.
