The mention of Glen’s name placed a strangled smile on his face. She didn’t want to hurt the man, but he needed to get a hint.
“I see. I’m working late myself. I’ll keep an eye out until Glen gets here.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
He looked beyond her to the broken window. “Looks like it to me.” He didn’t give her more room to talk before twisting and walking away.
Glen woke to his phone ringing. “Hello?”
“I woke you up.”
“Mary?”
Even mostly asleep, hearing her voice was nirvana.
“I wanted to call before I left the office in hopes you’d still be awake. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Don’t you dare hang up.” He pushed himself upright and turned on the lamp in his bedroom. “I haven’t talked to you in forever.”
“Message tag isn’t the same,” she said. “My phone keeps cutting you off.”
“Your last message was sucked into cyberspace, too.”
“I’ve tried calling all day. Was your phone off the hook?”
“About that . . .”
For the next twenty minutes Glen listened, steamed, listened some more. Ten minutes into the full twenty he pulled himself out of bed and started to shove clothes into a bag.
“And you’re still at the office?” He’d caught that before she told him about Crazy Man, Psycho Lady, and the rock pitcher.
“I am . . . I’ve lost at least four clients from all of this. I needed to make up the hours.”
No, she didn’t . . . but he wasn’t going to say that.
“Are you on your way home?”
“I’ll leave when I hang up. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Don’t plan any surprises. I’d just as well watch movies and eat ice cream in my pajamas all weekend.”
He was pleased she didn’t suggest he not come.
“Do me a favor. Call Walt and tell him you’re on your way so he can keep an eye out.”
“You of all people should know they left today. They put off the family as long as they could.”
Mary kept talking, but Glen tuned out. He’d forgotten about Walt and Dakota’s trip.
They were gone, and he was four thousand miles away. And Mary had some psycho . . . maybe more than one crazy . . . fucking with her.
“Call me when you walk in your door and set your alarm. I’ll call you when I’m at the door so you can let me in.”
“You don’t have to rush here, Glen. I’m going home and burying my head in a pillow for twelve hours.”
“And when you wake up, I’ll be there making you breakfast.”
“You don’t cook.”
“I can pour cereal.”
“Glen, don’t be ridiculous. Fly in tomorrow. I’ll be fine tonight.”
He flipped on lights in his bathroom and grabbed the overnight bag he had yet to unpack from London. “You probably will be fine, but I won’t sleep knowing there is a possibility that you’re not. Do you have the gun yet?”
“I pick it up on Monday.”
He would much rather know she had it now, but at least the gun would give him some peace of mind after Monday. “I’m on my way. No use arguing about it.”
“Fine! I don’t have the energy to argue anyway. Me and my monkey are going to sleep like a rock. So knock hard when you get here.”
He liked the thought of her curled up to his stuffed toy. “By the way . . . on your message you said something about flowers and soup.”
“I did. They were thoughtful, thank you.”
“Mary, I didn’t send you flowers and I don’t know of anyone who delivers soup.”
She hesitated. “What about the flowers last week?”
The hair on his nape went to full attention. “The only flowers I’ve given you were on our first date. Did the card say they came from me?”
“There wasn’t a card. There wasn’t a card from the soup either.”
He didn’t like this . . . didn’t like any of it. Who was sending Mary gifts? “Who knew you were sick?”
“About every client I have. I either rescheduled their appointment, telling them I was ill, or they came in and noticed themselves. None of them know where I live. It isn’t like I give out my personal address.”
“That didn’t stop someone from breaking in the first time. Could Dakota have sent you—”
“No. I talk to Dakota almost every day. Told her about the flowers, sang your praises about the soup. If she was the one who put them on my doorstep, she would have said something.”
He heard her sneeze.
“This is freaking me out, Glen. If you didn’t send them . . . who did?”
“Someone who wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Nothing . . . I . . . he doesn’t know where I live either.” She was talking to herself.
“Who doesn’t know where you live?”
“No one. I’m tired. I’m going home,” she said.
“Call me when you walk in the door. I should be at the airport by then.”
“I will.”
“Promise me. In forty-five minutes if I haven’t heard from you, I’m calling Officer Taylor.”
“I promise. Please fly safe.”
“I always do, sweetheart.”
Glen hung up the phone long enough to reset a dial tone.
Trent answered on the second ring.
“I need a copilot.”
“Hello to you, too.”
“Now. I need you now. I don’t have time to see who else is available.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No, I don’t think so. I have a bad feeling that won’t go away. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t—”
“Glen, say no more. I’ll meet you at the airport.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mary’s car was parked all the way around the back of the building. She’d been so overwhelmed with the entire day she’d forgotten to move it after the other staff had left. She chastised herself for inviting problems and took a good look around the empty lot as she approached her car.
A shadow on the driver’s door made her stop . . . but after a couple more steps, she realized it wasn’t a shadow at all.
The word slut was written in what looked like a black marker on the driver’s-side door.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Mary was on the fast train to her breaking point. She walked around her car, found the same sentiment on the passenger door.
She swung the door open and threw her purse into the passenger seat.
“Mary?”
She swiveled to find Kent walking toward her.
“Hey.”
“I heard you yelling.”
She stood back and showed him her car.
“Oh, that’s not good.” He did a three-sixty turn. “Do you think whoever did this is still out here?”
“No. I think whoever did this is a coward!” She yelled the last word in case Mr. or Mrs. Golf was within earshot.
“Did you want to call the police?”
“No. I just want to crawl into bed and forget this day.”
“I don’t like this. You should call the police.”
“I think I should go home. But thank you for your concern.”
He stepped back when she slid between her door and the car.
“If you won’t call the police, at least let me follow you home. Make sure you get there without anyone following you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. And your boyfriend will probably be upset, but if you were my girlfriend, I’d want someone looking out after you if I couldn’t be there.”
The mention of Glen reminded her that she was due to call him in less than thirty minutes. It also gave her some faith in knowing that Kent understood she wasn’t available.
“Fine.”
She waited until Kent brought his car behind hers before leaving the parking lot. Mary only lived twen
ty minutes away, and at nine at night, there wasn’t much traffic to deal with.
All the way home she thought about the words on her car and what it would cost to have them removed. The insurance company hadn’t yet settled the last bill for damage. She wouldn’t be surprised if they canceled her plan. At the very least, her rates were bound to go up.
Mary signaled for her garage door to open as she pulled in her driveway.
Kent pulled in behind her and turned off his car.
She didn’t want to be rude but had no desire to be social either.
“Nice neighborhood,” he said when he shut the door to his dark sedan.
“It’s quiet most of the time.” Not at her place lately, but overall . . .
Kent stepped into her garage as she moved closer to the door leading into the house.
“I’m okay from here.”
“You sure you don’t want me to make sure everything is good inside?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, then.” He stepped closer, opened his arms with an invitation for a hug.
She thought about refusing, then figured hugging him and sending him on his way would be the quickest way to get rid of him. On Monday, she’d have a conversation with the man about boundaries.
She tried for the catch and release hug, only Kent held on. “I worry about you.”
“I’m fine.” She patted him on the back and tried to back away.
“I want to check out inside.”
She pushed a little, to see if he was going to let her go without making things awkward. Apparently a boundary conversation wasn’t going to wait. “I’m fine. Thanks again.” Mary pushed this time.
Kent was bigger.
She felt one hand lose its grip but he held tight and slapped it against the button that closed the garage door.
Mary froze.
“I insist.”
“Kent, you’re scaring me. Let go.”
“No. I don’t want that.” He twisted her toward the door, kept a grip around her waist. “Let’s check it out.”
Her heart started to kick and her eyes lost sight of everything that wasn’t directly in front of her. She felt the entire length of Kent’s frame along her backside, tried to put some distance between them. “Stop it. You need to leave.”
He gripped the handle to open the door and gave it a massive shove, pushing her inside with the force.
The second the door opened, her alarm started to beep. The warning to disengage would give way to screaming for the police in less than a minute.
Kent grabbed her shoulders.
Her purse fell to the floor.
“Turn it off.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to scream.
Kent’s firm hand closed over her mouth before one syllable left her lips.
Panic started to give way to common sense when she found it difficult to breathe through her nose.
Kent dragged her through the house to the control panel of the alarm. With his lips close to her ear, he said, “Turn it off!”
Mary looked at the keypad with vertigo setting in.
Think.
Think!
“Now, Mary.”
She lifted a shaky hand to the device and turned off the beep.
Kent pushed her body against the wall and let loose his grip on her mouth long enough for her to suck in a breath.
“Don’t scream.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her words came out chipped and on the edge of breaking.
“You need someone to watch over you. You can’t do that on your own.”
“Kent, please.” She felt tears in her eyes.
“That’s more like it.”
Glen sat in the captain’s seat of the Challenger waiting on Trent.
The time on his phone inched closer to the deadline he’d given Mary to call him and panic started to set in.
“Thank you, gentlemen. We have it from here.” Trent’s voice came from the interior of the aircraft.
The sound of the door being shut and sealed, along with a light on his board telling him they were clear to move, had Glen in motion.
“Hey, big brother. We ready to fly?”
Glen tapped a nervous finger on the controls and looked out at the nearly empty tarmac while Trent slid into the copilot’s seat. “She was supposed to call by now.” It was exactly forty-eight minutes from the time he’d hung up with her.
“We’re talking about Mary.”
He started shaking his head. “It’s bad, Trent. I’m telling you . . .”
“Then call her.”
Glen looked at his phone as if it only had one direction of communication.
Then it rang, and he nearly dropped the thing on the floor. “Mary?”
“Is this Mr. Fairchild?”
Male voice that wasn’t Mary. Glen wanted to scream. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m in the middle of an emergency and need to leave this line free.”
“Don’t hang up. This is Essential Securitas calling. Your name is first on our list of people to call if a distress signal comes from the residence of Mary Kildare.”
The blood from Glen’s head threatened to drop to his feet and render him unconscious.
“Distress signal? What do you mean?”
“You are Mr. Fairchild?”
“I am.”
“Good. We just received the distress code from Miss Kildare’s home. The one she would put in during a possible hostage situation.”
This is bad. This is bad!
“Mr. Fairchild, listen to me carefully. We need to respond quickly. There is a chance Miss Kildare mistakenly put in the wrong code. She’s only had the equipment for a few weeks. We need you to remain calm and follow my instructions to ensure Miss Kildare’s safety.”
Glen was vaguely aware that Trent sat watching him. The lights on the control board were blinking. The air that would take him to Mary was just feet above him.
He sucked in a breath and unbuckled his belt. He signaled to Trent to switch places, which his brother didn’t question and simply did.
“What do you need me to do?”
“You need to call Miss Kildare’s home. I’ll be on the line the entire time. If she answers the phone, I need you to talk to her. Do not, under any circumstances, say that I’m on the line or that I’ve contacted you. Do you understand?”
Glen knew he looked like a deer in the headlights when he rolled his free hand toward Trent to encourage him to move.
As the motion of the plane began, Glen concentrated on the man on the phone. “I understand.”
“If in fact there is a hostage situation in progress, we need to do everything in our power to keep the hostage in place until the authorities can arrive. Do you understand?”
He sucked in a breath, felt his heart beating too fast for his chest to contain. “I do.”
“This is often a false alarm, Mr. Fairchild. But even if you believe it is, do not say a word about our current conversation. Do you understand?”
“I get it. Are the authorities on their way?”
“Yes.”
There was some comfort in that.
“When you’re talking to her, I might talk to you. Understand she and whoever might be listening will not hear me. Do you understand?”
“I under-fucking-stand. Let’s get on with it.”
“Hold the line while I connect with the house with your phone calling.”
Glen put his hand over the receiver and looked at his brother. “LA. Hurry.” Yet even he knew the word hurry meant nothing in an airplane. There was only so much power they could use, with only so few hours in the air to make their destination.
Glen closed his eyes while he heard the phone tick off each ring as if it were a death bell toward a cemetery.
On the fourth one, she picked up with a tired voice. “Hello?”
He tried to stay calm. “Hey, Mary. I thought I asked you to call me when you got home.”
“I, ah . . .
just walked in the door.” She hesitated. “There was traffic. LA, ya know?”
“I’m on the plane, just about ready to take off.”
The sound of sniffles made him cringe. “I wish you’d reconsider. It . . . it’s late.”
They’d already discussed this.
“I told you I was coming.”
“Uhm . . . I know. I’m just really tired.”
She did sound exhausted.
“Are you crying?”
She sniffled over the phone. “Bad day with the rock thrower. I’m still sick.” He heard her choke back another tear and Glen bit his lip to keep from mentioning it a second time. Mary didn’t cry . . . he hadn’t seen her shed one tear since he met her.
“I’ll be there in a few hours. I have my key, I’ll let myself in.” Glen waited for her response, knowing what she said next would tell him if she was in trouble.
“Okay. Thanks again for the stuffed giraffe.”
Glen squeezed his eyes shut and forced his hand to relax on his phone to avoid breaking it.
“You’re welcome, baby. You’ll feel better by morning. I promise.”
“Okay. Good-bye, Glen.” Oh, fuck!
He heard the click on the phone and waited until the security guy said something.
“Mr. Fairchild?”
“She’s in trouble! Get the police there. Now!”
“Are you positive?”
“I’ll bet my life on it.”
Glen dropped the phone in his lap and stared down the runway. “Get this fucking bird in the air.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kent’s lips were close enough to her ear she felt his breath on her cheek.
Pull yourself together, Mary!
Think!
She blinked her eyes several times, pushing away tears she never let fall. Without Glen’s voice making her soft, she tried to pull up the walls to deal with the man who was crushing her against the kitchen counter. She’d learned to live without emotions pulling her down at a young age; she didn’t need tears clouding her actions now.
He could overpower her unless she could get him off guard.
“Why are you doing this, Kent?”
“Because you need me. You’ve needed me all along.”
His grip around her waist, and his fingers digging into her chin, kept her from moving anything but her eyes.
Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) Page 25
