by Rebecca York
“I heard the door slam.”
“The wind took it out of my hand. I was outside.”
“Looking around?”
“Yes.”
“And?” she asked, sensing that she wasn’t going to like what she heard.
“There are fresh tire tracks on an old dirt road that runs parallel to your driveway.”
She nodded tightly.
“It’s good I’m coming back here with you tonight”
“Yes. But not because I was looking for a bodyguard.”
He moved toward her, and she felt the bed shift as he sat down. She reached for his hand; his fingers wrapped around hers and held. He smelled like her soap and the shaving cream she kept in the shower.
“I hope you don’t mind if I borrowed some of your stuff,” he said, and she knew he’d caught her sniffing.
“Of course not. I have a vague memory of your carrying me up here.”
“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”
She leaned forward and found his shoulder with her cheek and then her lips. Tomorrow, she thought with a little smile, she’d wake up beside him. He nuzzled his lips against her hairline.
“Mmm.”
“I’ll get dressed and get you some breakfast.”
“I made coffee. Chocolate raspberry. You have quite a collection.”
“An indulgence.”
“I’ll give you a ride into town.”
“Then I’d better call my van pool before I take a shower.”
He stood, and she climbed out from under the covers.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he said, and she couldn’t help smiling.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m learning to read little changes in your voice. I think you’re as nervous about being in my bedroom as I am about having you here.”
“Right.” His footsteps departed, and she quickly gathered up the things she needed and headed for the bathroom.
JENNY HUMMED while she waited for the printer to finish a batch of mailing labels.
“You’re in a good mood,” Erin said, stopping by the door.
“I’ve got a heavy date tonight.”
“With Ben Brisco?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good for you.”
The conversation was cut off by the ringing of the phone. It was Cameron Randolph. “I’ll let you talk,” Erin whispered. Then her footsteps departed.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Cam got quickly to the point “But I have a little problem.”
“How can I help?”
“I feel rotten about doing this, but I’d like to take back the experimental computer you’re using at home.”
“Oh, Cam. It’s such a perfect system for me. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve heard a disturbing rumor that someone is trying to steal the prototypes and pirate the technology before I can get them to market.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve already had the one at Marianne Blaisdell’s picked up. I’d like to bring yours back here where no one can get to it.”
“I understand. But I hate to give it up.” She let out a little groan as the implications sank in more fully. “All my software’s on it.”
“I’ve already thought of that. So what I’ll do is trade you for the one you were using before. I can send Terry Richardson out to transfer your files to the old machine. But it would help if you could be there and tell him which stuff you need.”
“What time?”
“He’s on a pretty tight schedule. Can you get off around two? I can send a car to pick you up.”
“If it’s okay with Erin. Can I call you back?”
“Sure.”
After clearing her early departure, Jenny phoned Cam back and confirmed the appointment
“You remember Terry has a key to your house,” he said. “Would it be okay if he got started before you arrived?”
“Yes.”
After hanging up, she tried to call Ben. He was out of the office, so she left a message that she’d meet him at her house. Too bad they wouldn’t get a chance to stop at the store, she thought. But there should be enough groceries in the house to make him a decent meal. If he felt like eating. She wasn’t sure she could eat anything until later in the evening.
“WE COULD USE some help with this investigation,” Ben told the woman in the wrinkled housedress. Her name was Sheryl Dyson, and her friend had called the homicide division to report that she’d said she knew something about the dead woman in the backyard across from her house.
“I didn’t see nothing.”
The women’s bony hand clutched at the placket of her dress, and her small black eyes slid away from Ben. Damn it, he knew she was lying.
“Your friend told us otherwise,” he reminded her, trying to strike the right note of firmness and persuasion.
“Nelly? Now what call does she have to blab about me to the police?”
“She wants us to solve the murder. Catch the man who did this. Now, if you know anything about him, you’d better tell me.”
“I don’t know nothing,” Sheryl insisted.
Ben thought about taking her down to headquarters. A half hour stewing by herself in a windowless room or a barrage of questions from him and Diangelo might get her talking. But she looked too frail to hold up under that kind of pressure.
With a sigh, he snapped his notebook closed. “I hope you sleep okay tonight. I hope for your sake another woman doesn’t get murdered.” He handed her his card. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
She slipped the card into the pocket of her housedress, and he saw a flicker of hesitation on her face.
“What do you want to tell me?” he asked.
She crooked her finger, motioning him closer. “You can’t trust nobody these days,” she mumbled.
“You can trust me.”
Silence stretched, and he was sure he wasn’t going to get anything out of her. But she surprised him.
“He was dressed up,” she whispered.
“You mean in evening clothes?”
She snorted. “Not hardly. He looked like one of those guys who comes around and reads the gas meters. In a gray uniform. But I know he wasn’t for real.”
“How did you know?”
“Because he had on the wrong kind of shoes. My boy Roger had that job, and he used to complain to me that they wouldn’t let him wear tennis shoes. Or whatever they call them now. Running shoes, I guess. Whatever they’re called, they’re not part of the uniform. But that was what this guy had on.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Ben said. “Can you describe him?”
“He had one of those gas-company caps pulled down over his eyes, so I didn’t see his face. I guess he was a big man. Tall. Wide shoulders.”
“His hair didn’t stick out of his cap?”
“Not so you’d notice.”
Ben asked more questions, but didn’t get much of a description. “Thank you for helping,” he finally said. “I appreciate it.”
“I don’t want anyone else killed,” Mrs. Dyson mumbled.
He walked back to his car. She hadn’t given him much to go on, but it was more than he had expected.
His face was grim as he started downtown. But his expression softened when he allowed himself to think about Jenny. A quick glance at his watch told him he had three more hours before he could pick her up. Three more hours before he could forget about murders and lying witnesses and lose himself in her sweetness. Last night she’d tempted him to the brink of his resolve. He’d come within a breath of accepting her offer. Now he was glad he hadn’t. Because he wanted the real thing with her. Hell, he wanted everything. But there was still a chance he could lose her. If he didn’t handle things right.
JENNY WAS DOWNSTAIRS and waiting for her ride at the appointed time.
A car pulled up in front of the building, and a window hissed down. “Ms. Larkin?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Rich Maz
el.”
He didn’t sound terribly friendly.
“Thank you for helping us out,” he said as she climbed into the comfortable sedan and fastened her seat belt.
“Well, I’m sorry to lose the computer,” she admitted as they headed out of the city. Then she thought about the cigarette butts Ben had seen on her property and wondered if someone was casing her place for a robbery. “But I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it while it’s in my possession.”
Mazel murmured something in the affirmative.
“So, do you like being a driver for Randolph Electronics?” she asked to make conversation.
He gave a sardonic laugh. “Actually, I’m an executive in the research division. I’m just pinch-hitting.”
“Oh.” So that was it. He’d been pressed into service to drive the blind woman home.
The radio was turned to an oldies station, so there was no need for more conversation. At least they kept up a steady pace. As they pulled into the parking area in front of her house, Mazel made a little noise of approval. “Good. The van’s already here.”
“Well, thanks for the ride,” she said as she reached for her cane. Then she hesitated. She hated being uneasy about going into her own house. But after last night, she was nervous.
“Do you need any help?” Mazel asked.
“Uh, could you come with me? I’d like to verify that it’s really the technician from Randolph.”
“It’s our van. Who else would it be?”
“Yes, I understand, but—”
He heaved a sigh. “I really have to get back. I’ve got an important meeting in half an hour. But if you want me to go check out the place for you, I will.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. He obviously wanted to get back to work now that he’d fulfilled his driving assignment. And she was probably being overly cautious. After all, there was no one here but Terry Richardson.
“No. I’m fine. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to bring me home,” she said, trying to keep any trace of sarcasm out of her response.
He grunted, and she thought about informing Cam of his rudeness. Maybe she would. Almost as soon as she stepped out of the car, he pulled away. And she was left standing uncertainly in the parking area.
BEN’S PORTABLE PHONE beeped, and he reached to press the button. “Brisco.”
“You have a call from Erin Stone,” his secretary informed him. “She says it’s important.”
Erin? Had Jenny changed her mind and gotten Erin to call him with the bad news?
His fingers were clammy as he punched in the number. It seemed to take an eternity for the call to be transferred.
“Mrs. Stone? This is Ben Brisco,” he began.
“Detective Brisco. I’m worried about Jenny.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s on her way out to her house to meet a technician from Randolph Electronics. They phoned here a few minutes ago to see if she’d left. He was supposed to call the office from her house, but he didn’t check in.”
“She’s on her way out there?” he asked, stepping on the gas.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Hands gripping the wheel, he made a U-turn and headed out of the city. It was nothing, he told himself. She was all right She had to be all right But he couldn’t stop his pulse from racing as he turned on his siren and floored the accelerator.
JENNY SLOWLY CLIMBED the steps, her footsteps ringing hollowly on the old boards. Almost reluctantly, she felt in her bag for her key.
Then she pushed against the front door and found it ajar. Wishing Terry had locked it behind himself, she called his name.
He didn’t answer.
“Terry?”
As she stood in the doorway, a sense of uneasiness gathered around her like a storm about to break. Something—
Something was wrong. It took a moment to realize what was bothering her. Then it hit her with the force of a wrecking ball shattering a brick wall. The air was tainted with the acrid smell of cigarettes. Here, in her house. Did Terry smoke? She was sure he didn’t.
Her mouth went as dry as cotton. As quietly as she could, she started to back out the front door. But it was already too late.
“Hello again.” The harsh voice was grating. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
The hairs on her arms stood on end as footsteps came across the floor straight toward her. It was someone heavy. Someone walking on his heels. Like the man from Marianne’s house.
For an awful moment her body seemed paralyzed. Then she turned and dashed down the steps, almost stumbling when she reached the parking area. She no longer had her pocketbook, but her hand still miraculously gripped her cane. Swinging it in front of her, she banged against something large and metal. Probably the van. Dodging to the side, she caught her leg on the edge of the bumper and cried out in pain. But she didn’t slow her pace as she veered toward where she expected to find one of the paths through the garden. She knew she was moving much too fast for safety, yet the footsteps following her drove her.
They crunched behind her. Keeping pace. But they weren’t gaining on her. Maybe he couldn’t run very fast Maybe she had a chance. But where could she go?
Misjudging the path, she plowed into the branches of a small tree and cried out as the twigs snapped against her face, then caught in her hair. With a little sob, she pulled away and corrected her course, veering toward the woods, she hoped.
She was running through a nightmare landscape where rocks moved into her way and trees reached to grab her. But she had to keep racing on.
Behind her, she heard him laughing, and a sick, strangled feeling rose in her throat, almost choking off her breath. She knew in that terrible moment that he was playing with her, enjoying the chase, because he could catch her any time he wanted.
Yet she couldn’t give up.
“Haven’t you had enough?” he called out. Suddenly the steps were closer. A hand plucked at her shoulder. Screaming in terror, she sped up, stumbled, and caught herself with the cane.
“Careful. You don’t want to hurt yourself,” he taunted, his voice swelling with satisfaction. Her breath came in little sobs. He laughed again and let her get a little farther down the path before tangling a hand in her hair and pulling her roughly to a stop.
She screamed again, this time in pain. “No! Let me go.”
“You didn’t really think I’d let you get away, did you?” He spun her around to face him.
She didn’t waste her breath on more pleas. With all her strength, she turned and struggled in his grasp, beat her fists against his chest. This time she had no weapon. And her blows fell on a body that was as solid as an oak tree.
Reaching up, fingers curled, she scratched aside thick, straight hair and tried to get at his eyes. He caught her hands in one of his.
“Not this time, you don’t, you little hellcat,” he spat out.
His body had the same distinctive smell of sweat and smoke she remembered from Marianne’s. But this time he wasn’t in a panic. This time she hadn’t taken him by surprise. Because he’d been watching her, planning this.
“I let a blind woman make a fool of me once. You’re not going to do it again,” he snarled.
Chapter Eleven
All too quickly he brought her struggles to a halt. Her body was immobilized, but she could still twist her head. Shifting to find a better angle, she found the edge of his palm and sank her teeth into his flesh. With a low curse, he delivered a swift blow to the side of her head. The impact brought a galaxy of stars showering down in a black void. In the moment before she blacked out, she realized it was the first thing she’d seen in years.
She woke slowly, in stages, too disoriented to think clearly. There was a ringing in her ears, and time drifted past her like water flowing through a brook. She was in some sort of hot, cramped space where it was almost impossible to move. By shifting her body, she finally brought her han
ds together and touched her watch face. To her relief she found it was probably only about fifteen minutes since she’d first walked in the front door of her house.
She’d only been unconscious for a few minutes, but that was long enough to have drenched her body in perspiration and turned her limbs to lead. In fact, even the effort to find out the time sapped her strength. For long minutes she lay curled on her side, panting, her head still ringing from the whack the intruder had given her. The air around her was close and stale as well as hot, and her cheek rested against a scratchy surface that smelled like oil. Lifting her hand, she felt a curved ceiling inches above her head. It was marred with several large indentations.
At first, her fogged brain failed to put the sensory data together. It came to her suddenly that she was in the trunk of a car, probably an older American model. Testing the theory, she felt with her feet and hands and found the wheel covers. When she pushed against the roof, it wouldn’t budge, nor could she work the catch from the inside. Panting, she fell back against the coarse blanket on which she was lying. It was hard to breathe, harder to move. She was trapped. But at least she was alive.
God, what if he’d left her here to die?
A scream rose in her throat. Somehow she kept it locked inside her. He might still be out there, and she didn’t dare risk letting him know she was awake.
Her worst fears were realized when she heard footsteps crunching on gravel. A convulsive shudder racked her. He was coming back to finish what he’d started. Well, she wasn’t going to let him do it without a fight. With deadly concentration, she scrabbled over the floor of the trunk, trying to find something she could use as a weapon when he lifted the lid. But there was nothing.
Agonizing moments ticked by as she lay in the stifling heat. He was playing with her again. Waiting for the right moment to open the trunk. Instead, she heard the left rear door of the car open. The vehicle shifted as he set something heavy on the back seat. Again, she tensed, but he only went around to the driver’s side. The engine started, and the car moved forward.
Where was he taking her?
