Selected praise for
SUZANNE BROCKMANN
“An unusual and compelling romance.”
—Affaire de Coeur on No Ordinary Man
“In No Ordinary Man, Suzanne Brockmann
tells a well-plotted story with a
frightening array of suspects.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Thanks to Suzanne Brockmann’s glorious pen,
we all get to revel in heart-stopping adventure
and blistering romance.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Brockmann’s complex characters
will capture the reader’s sympathy.”
—Publishers Weekly
SUZANNE BROCKMANN
NO ORDINARY MAN
SUZANNE BROCKMANN
lives just west of Boston in a house always filled with her friends—actors and musicians and storytellers and artists and teachers. When not writing award-winning romances, she sings in an a cappella group called Serious Fun and volunteers at the Appalachian Benefit Coffeehouse. Readers can find out more about her and her latest books at her Web site, www.suzannebrockmann.com.
For Melanie and Jason, extraordinary kids
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Prologue
Her apartment building was not very hard to get into. He just rang all the doorbells in the lobby and waited for someone to buzz the inner door open. Once inside, he quickly took the stairs up to the third floor.
He opened the door a crack, just enough to be able to see down the hall to her apartment door.
He had followed her as she did her chores today, as she did every Saturday. He had left her at the video store, knowing that she’d stop to pick up her dry cleaning and then come home. She had no idea he’d be waiting for her.
None of them ever had any idea.
As she emerged from the elevator and approached her apartment, he tensed. The timing had to be perfect. He had to wait until she unlocked the door, and was heading through…
He sprang.
She didn’t even have time to yell. His hand was over her mouth, the knife at her throat. She knew who was in control, who was in charge. She knew not to struggle. They were alone in her apartment, and finally, the game would come to an end.
He could barely wait.
Chapter One
“It was a dark and stormy night,” Doris drawled across the telephone line, “when suddenly a mysterious stranger appeared from the shadows of the mist.”
Jess Baxter laughed and peered out the screen door into the small circle of light thrown onto her back deck by the porch lamp. “First of all,” she said to the older woman who was her day care provider and longtime friend, “It may be night, but I’ve got all the lights on, so it’s not dark. Secondly, it’s certainly not stormy, and there’s no mist in sight. And, Rob’s hardly a stranger.”
“He’s hardly Elmer Schiller, either,” Doris countered, referring to the shy, elderly little man who had been the previous tenant in the small apartment attached to Jess’s house.
“No, he’s not,” Jess had to agree. She heard an odd, slow, shuffling, thumping sound that had to be Rob Carpenter, her new tenant, carrying something heavy up the stairs to the deck and to the door of the apartment.
“I mean, when it comes down to it,” Doris said, “what do you really know about this guy?”
“Oh, come on, Doris,” Jess replied, moving back into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of iced tea. “He’s lived down the street for months.” For the past six months, Rob had rented a neighbor’s house while the family was away in Europe.
“Where’d he come from?” Doris asked. “Where’d he live before he moved into the Hendersons’ house? What’s his family like? Where did he grow up? Any deeply rooted psychological problems? Any tendencies towards violence? Does he prefer to use a knife or a gun when committing murder…?”
“You’ve been watching too many bad TV movies of the week,” Jess scoffed, trying not to glance out the screen door as the subject in question went past, carrying another box.
“Might I remind you that there’s a serial killer on the loose?” Doris persisted. “The fact is, you don’t know anything about this guy.”
“Next time I’ll be sure to put ‘Choice of murder weapon’ on the rental application,” Jess said dryly.
“I worry about you and Kelsey,” Doris stated firmly. “Living all alone. Maybe you should get a big dog.”
“Maybe you should take stress reduction classes.”
“This is the guy who comes to your shows all the time,” Doris said. “Right? The guy you’ve told me about?”
“Well, yes,” Jess said, drawing designs in the condensation on the outside of her iced tea glass. “I’ve mentioned him once or twice.”
“A few more times than that, hon. I’ve heard quite a bit about Mr. Rob Solid-And-Dependable-Businessman. Mr. Rob Polite. Mr. Rob Ordinary-Guy-With-Real-Nice-Eyes. I think you’ve got a bigger role than tenant in mind for this one.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Doris!”
“I think you think this Rob might be good father material.”
“Really, don’t start.”
“Honey, I’m not accusing you of anything wrong,” Doris said. “It’s been two years since you kicked Ian out. It makes sense that you’re a little itchy for some male company. And heaven knows you could use some help both paying the bills and raising Kelsey. But don’t hitch yourself to some guy you don’t really know just to—”
“Doris,” Jess singsonged warningly.
“I mean, if it’s all hot and heavy between you two, if he makes your heart beat harder, then God bless him, but still, make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Doris said, rushing her words in her haste to get them out. “Ian Davis was no prize, but he never got violent—at least not with you or Kelsey. But you always hear about these polite, quiet types who end up taking a machine gun and—”
“Gee, I’m going to sleep really well tonight,” Jess said.
“For all you know, this Rob could be the guy everyone’s looking for—the serial killer,” Doris persisted.
“He could also be Elvis Presley,” Jess said, “alive and in disguise, hiding from his adoring public.”
“Jess, I’m serious.”
“Rob needed a place to live,” Jess interrupted her friend. “There’s nothing going on, and I have no plans for there to be something going on. I needed a tenant. Fast. Both for the money, and for the fact that if Rob didn’t move in, Stanford Greene was going to.”
That silenced Doris. “God,” she finally said.
“Yes,” Jess agreed, pushing open the screen door and carrying the cordless phone out with her onto the deck. “God.”
“That creepy guy who lives next door with his creepy parents?” Doris asked.
“Yes,” Jess said, glancing over at her neighbor’s house. It was in dire need of a paint job and some serious repairs. Creepy indeed—both the house and the people who lived inside. Stanford Greene’s mother had decided that since her baby boy was pushing forty years old, it was high time he got married. She’d
also decided that Jess would make the perfect little bride for her baby. When Mrs. Greene had heard that Elmer Schiller was moving out of Jess’s apartment to live with his daughter in Fort Myers, she’d thought that Stanford’s moving in would be a perfect way for her darling son to get to know Jess better. But perfect wasn’t quite the word Jess had in mind. She could just picture pudgy Stanford with his ear pressed to the paper thin walls, listening to every phone conversation Jess had. She could just see him staring at her all day from the deck, rather than from the other side of the wooden fence that separated their two yards.
“I take it all back,” Doris conceded with a shudder. “Well, some of it anyway.”
Jess leaned on the rail of the deck, looking down at the driveway below. The trunk of Rob’s car was open, lit by the dim garage light, but her new tenant was nowhere in sight.
“I’m sorry, am I making too much noise?” a soft voice said, and she spun around, heart pounding. “Maybe I should move the rest of the stuff up in the morning,” Rob added. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to wake up your daughter.”
Rob must’ve been inside the apartment. But Jess hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of his footsteps on the deck. It was as if he’d suddenly appeared, instantly standing next to her, conjured up by her vivid imagination.
He was taller than she remembered. And even though he was a good five feet away from her, it seemed as if he were standing much too close.
“You startled me,” she said breathlessly.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.
His eyes were brown. They were average brown—neither deep chocolate nor tawny amber. Just…brown. They were level and steady and mostly hidden behind circular wire-rimmed glasses. But every time Jess met his gaze, something very hot and very dangerous sparked. This time was no exception.
His hair and face were slightly damp with perspiration. But he hadn’t bothered to roll up his shirtsleeves, and his tie wasn’t even loosened.
Despite the protestations she’d made to Doris, Jess found Rob Carpenter incredibly attractive. She wouldn’t admit it to her friend, but she couldn’t deny it to herself.
On the surface, he seemed so…average. He had conservatively cut brown hair, brown eyes, a medium build. He always dressed the same way—like a computer programmer. Tonight he was still wearing his work clothes—khaki slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt with a bland tie. In an elevator full of businessmen, he would blend into the crowd—nondescript, nothing special.
Unless you looked more closely.
His shoulders were broad beneath his crisp white shirt. His body was slender, and his pants hugged his backside almost sinfully. Undeniably, the man had a great butt. And a great smile. His teeth were straight and white, and his cheeks crinkled charmingly at the edges of his mouth. He was much better than average-looking. In fact, behind those glasses and that unremarkable haircut, he was remarkably handsome. His face was lean, with a strong jaw and a straight, nearly perfect nose. His lips were beautifully shaped, and his smile made his brown eyes sparkle with amusement. Yet there was always a tinge of sadness behind that smile, a hint of tragedy in his eyes.
Maybe that was what Jess found so attractive. Maybe it was the mystery that seemed to linger around him.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that outwardly Rob was a polar opposite to Ian Davis, Jess’s ex-husband. The truth was, from his short brown hair to the tips of his well-polished businesslike shoes, Rob appeared to be everything that manic and out-of-control Ian, with his Hawaiian shirts, his long, curly blond hair and his ice blue eyes had never been.
“Jess, are you still there?” Doris asked.
She was staring at Rob. Jess knew she was staring, and she forced herself to pull her eyes away. “Doris, I’ve got to go,” she said into the telephone.
“Just remember what I said, hon.”
“Goodbye,” Jess returned firmly and punched the off button on the phone. She turned back to Rob. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” he said in his quiet, accentless voice.
“You’re hardly making any noise at all,” she told him. “I heard you pull into the driveway while I was on the phone and I meant to come out and ask if you needed any help. Can I give you a hand with the rest of your things?”
“No, that’s all right.” Rob looked over the railing at his car in the driveway below. “I don’t have that much stuff, and I’m almost done. There’re just another couple of boxes.”
“I can help you with them.”
Rob shook his head. “No, really. They’re both too heavy. They’re my free weights. I didn’t pack ’em real well—I just threw all the plates into a couple of crates.”
Free weights. Rob lifted weights. Funny, she would have never known. If he had a weight lifter’s physique, it was hidden underneath his loose-fitting shirt. At first glance he looked so much like a computer nerd, barely capable of lifting a too heavy briefcase, yet here he was, bringing weight-lifting equipment into her apartment.
Her apartment? His apartment now. He’d signed a six-month lease just this afternoon. For the next six months, Rob Carpenter was going to be her closest neighbor.
As she gazed up into his eyes, Jess felt again that spark of awareness, that whisper of heat.
But he turned away. “Well…I’ll, um, get the rest of my, uh…”
“I’ll get some iced tea,” Jess offered, heading for the door to her kitchen. “You look like you could use something cool to drink.”
“That would be nice,” Rob said, stopping at the top of the stairs and looking back at her, smiling very slightly. “Thanks.”
He moved silently down the stairs as Jess pulled open her screen door.
Doris was right about at least one thing. Rob did make Jess’s heart beat harder. Just one little smile, and her pulse was pounding.
She got another glass from the cabinet and pulled the ice cube tray from the freezer. She added several fresh cubes to her own glass, still sitting out on the counter, as Rob moved quietly past the door, carrying a large, heavy-looking box filled with free weights. The box looked awkward and unwieldy, yet he carried it easily, as if it weighed almost nothing.
He moved silently past the door again, heading back toward the stairs as Jess took the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator and filled both glasses.
What did she know about this man?
Jess knew that Rob worked as a software consultant for some local computer company—she couldn’t remember the name—and that he traveled rather extensively throughout Florida and the southeast, sometimes taking as many as eight or nine business trips in a single month.
She knew that he had moved to Sarasota from up north—which city or state, Jess couldn’t say. She didn’t think he’d ever mentioned it.
She knew he had nice eyes, that he was polite and quiet, maybe even shy.
And that he drove a staid, dark gray Taurus sedan.
He liked to listen to folk music, and he’d attended nearly all of her gigs. He’d come when she played her guitar and sang at local clubs, often bringing along one of the guys from his office—a friendly man named Frank—but never showing up with a date.
She knew Rob liked the food at the China Boat, the small restaurant three blocks south. She’d seen him carrying bags of takeout as she’d driven past, after picking up her daughter from Doris’s after school day care. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean he liked the China Boat’s food. Maybe it simply meant that he didn’t like to cook.
They’d really only spoken a few times. Unlike his friend Frank who was very chatty, Rob never stuck around her gigs long enough to talk, as if he were somehow afraid to impose.
That wasn’t a lot to go on, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture Rob Carpenter fitting easily into Jess’s life. Her life and Kelsey’s. Her six-year-old daughter actually knew Rob better than Jess did. Kelsey’s best friend lived next door to the house Rob had been renting. Kelsey had told Jess that Rob
had often come into her friend’s yard to play baseball with the two children and her friend’s dad. Rob apparently had a natural way with kids. Kelsey—who was usually so reserved around men, thanks to Ian—adored Rob. He’d given both children nick-names—her friend was Beetle and Kelsey was Bug.
Sure, Doris was right. Jess didn’t know much about Rob’s past. But Kelsey liked him, and that was worth quite a bit in Jess’s book.
As Jess put the iced tea pitcher back in the refrigerator, Rob moved past the door again, carrying his last box. Moments later, he tapped softly at the screen.
“Come on in,” she said.
He opened the screen door quickly and came into the kitchen without bringing in any of the bugs that were circling the light—not an easy feat. He carried in her evening newspaper. With a quick smile, he handed it to her.
“I was wondering which side of the driveway you wanted me to leave my car on,” he said. “Or if you’d prefer that I parked on the street.”
“The driveway’s fine,” Jess said, putting the paper down on the kitchen counter and handing him one of the glasses of iced tea. “Just don’t block the garage in case I have to get out before you leave in the morning. And if you ever have anyone stay overnight, any…” She was about to say girlfriends, but she paused, suddenly uncertain. What if he was gay? He couldn’t be, could he? No, from the way he always looked at her, she had to believe that he wasn’t. Still… “Any friends,” she continued, “Just have…them…park on the street.”
Rob noticed her carefully genderless sentence, and he fought hard to keep his reaction from showing. Jess actually thought that he might be gay. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel insulted. Or feel relieved.
Because here he was, standing in Jess Baxter’s kitchen. She was not more than six feet away from him, dressed in a short-cropped T-shirt that didn’t quite meet the waistband of her cutoff jeans. Although she wasn’t very tall, her legs were long and slender, and standing there like that in her bare feet, with a narrow strip of smooth, tanned stomach showing between her shorts and her shirt, she looked like something out of a beach boy’s fantasy.
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