But he answered it anyway. “Yes.” He looked up at her, miserably. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Tell me why.”
He shook his head.
“Please?” The tears had appeared again, and she pushed them impatiently away.
But still he was silent.
She held his gaze several long moments. His blue eyes were beautiful, such an unusual shade, and she could easily picture his hair golden instead of brown. He had been good-looking before, but with those extraordinary eyes he was startlingly, breathtakingly, noticeably handsome.
With brown contact lenses and his hair a nondescript shade of brown, with his glasses on, hiding the handsome lines of his face, with his understated, average, yuppified clothes, he could blend into any crowd. He could hide.
“Who are you hiding from?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He didn’t answer—wouldn’t answer.
She spun on her heels and went out into the kitchen, into the laundry room. She pulled his clothes from the dryer, welcoming the burning heat from the jeans’ brass rivets on her hands. It cut through the numbing anger that had enveloped her.
Back in the bedroom, she threw the clean clothes at his head, then stormed back into the kitchen. She piled a plate with pasta, vegetables and sauce, and carried it back to the bedroom. Suppressing an urge to throw that at him, too, she put it down on the bedside table, and turned to walk out.
He caught her wrist.
She looked at his hand pointedly, but he didn’t let go. Please, Lord, she thought, don’t let him feel the way my pulse speeds up when he touches me….
He didn’t release her until she met his eyes.
They were so soft, so remorseful…. So blue.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She turned and left the room, closing the door tightly behind her.
JESS STARED DOWN into her own plate of pasta as she sat at the kitchen table.
Connor Garrison.
Did he call himself Connor? Con for short?
But it didn’t matter.
In a few minutes, she would drive him out to the Key, and then she’d never see him again.
She could hear him moving around in the bedroom, getting dressed, she supposed.
Without warning, the front doorbell rang, and Jess jumped. In the bedroom, Rob was still.
It rang again.
Slowly, Jess stood up and went to the door. She opened it, keeping the chain on.
She sighed with relief. It was only Frank.
There was also a man, a stranger, standing on the front walk, down by the sidewalk.
Jess took the chain off and opened the door.
“Everything all right?” the man called. He was the FBI agent Elliot had left to watch the house. Jess could see the dark shape of his car out on the street.
“Yes,” she replied. “Thanks.”
A wind was starting to pick up, and Jess glanced at the night sky. She could see only a few stars directly overhead and to the east, and they were hazy from high clouds. The rest of the sky was black, stars covered by the storm front rolling in from the gulf.
“Heavy rain’s coming in,” Frank said. “Yes, sir! I beat it into town by just a few hours.”
Jess stepped out onto the porch. “Frank, I’m sorry about the other night.”
He shrugged and smiled. “That’s okay. I got beeped and had to get right back to the job. We wouldn’t have had time to talk anyway. Can I come in?”
Nervously, she glanced down at her watch. Five after eight. “I don’t know, Frank, I’ve got to go pick up Kelsey from the sitter’s….”
Frank opened the screen door as if he hadn’t heard her. “I was shocked when I heard about Rob,” he said, going into the living room. Helplessly, Jess followed him into the house. “I mean, I knew he had some problems, but—”
“Rob isn’t a killer!”
“His picture is in all the papers. The drawing they made doesn’t look very much like him at all.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Jess said, crossing her arms.
Frank sat down on the sofa, but Jess stayed standing. “You’re lucky they’ve managed to keep you out of it,” he continued. “Not a single one of the papers mentions you.”
“Why would the newspapers want to mention me?”
Frank took off his sport jacket and loosened his tie. When he glanced up at her, his pleasant face was apologetic. “You know how reporters can be. Anything sensational or titillating… And Rob living next door to you—” He broke off. “But I didn’t come over here tonight to talk about Rob. I came over…well, to find out if you’ve, you know, thought about that conversation that we had. Maybe we could have dinner tomorrow night—you know, make it a real date.”
Jess slowly sat down in the easy chair. “Please Frank, can we talk about this another time?”
He looked at her, his eyes wide and earnest. “A simple yes or no is all I’m looking for.”
She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. “Then, no, Frank. No, I can’t go out with you. Not now.”
He sighed. “That’s too bad.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t have time to explain right now,” Jess said gently. “But really, Frank, it’s not you. You’re very sweet—”
“It’s Rob, isn’t it?” There was a spark of anger in Frank’s normally serene eyes.
Jess shook her head. “No—”
“Don’t lie!” Frank’s voice rose. “I’m not stupid, Jess. I know you were close to him before. I just hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten again.”
“Frank—”
“Two weeks, I stayed with you. I took care of you, I made sure that you were safe. I never touched you, even though I wanted to. God, I wanted to… You’re so beautiful, Jess….”
There were tears in Frank’s eyes as he reached for her hand. But she stood up, moving away from him. Lord, she’d suspected he had a crush on her, but she had no idea the extent of it.
“It’s not fair.” Frank pulled himself to his feet, his voice getting louder.
Jess nervously moved a few steps back. He was so tall…. “Frank, I’d like to talk about this, but not right now. I have to get Kelsey, and—”
“There’s nothing to think through,” Frank nearly spat the words out. “I lose. Again.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not—”
“If she says she’s sorry, she’s sorry.”
Frank froze, looking over Jess’s shoulder.
Slowly, Jess turned to see Rob standing in the doorway. He’d put his brown contact lenses back in, and was wearing his jeans. He’d found one of her oversize T-shirts in her dresser, and the big, old hooded sweatshirt in her closet, and wore them in place of his ripped shirt. He hadn’t shaved, and the two-day growth of beard on his face glinted almost reddish in the living room light.
“Well, well,” Frank said. “Look who’s here. I should have known you’d be lurking around somewhere.”
“Sit down, Frank,” Rob instructed calmly.
Frank had four inches and probably seventy-five pounds on Rob. He took a step forward, menacingly. “No.”
Rob barely moved his fingers, and suddenly his knife was in his hand, blade open. He took a step toward Frank. “Yes.”
Frank’s eyes were on the knife as he backed up and sat down on the couch.
Rob came farther into the room, his movement smooth and sure. Jess frowned. She’d seen his swollen ankle and the sprain had been a nasty one. By all rights, he shouldn’t even be able to put his weight on it…. Rob moved closer, and Jess could see a film of perspiration on his face. He was in serious pain.
Realization hit her. He didn’t want Frank to know he was hurt. He didn’t want Frank to tell the police he’d been injured. And they could count on Frank going straight to the police after… After what?
What on earth were they going to do with Frank while Jess drove Rob to the be
ach house?
“Get some rope,” Rob ordered her.
She stared at him blankly.
“I said, get some rope, dammit.” His voice rough, he brandished the knife in her direction.
Jess stared at the knife, then back up at Rob. “Rope?” she asked faintly.
“Rope,” he repeated, giving her a look that Frank couldn’t see. Please, his eyes said, imploring her, begging her, their softness belying the edge in his voice. “So I can tie Frank up.”
Jess understood. This was part of Rob’s plan to be sure that she wouldn’t be accused of helping him escape.
“I think there’s some out in the garage,” she said, glancing at Frank. He was sitting quietly, his eyes watchful.
Rob nodded. “Get it.” His eyes hardened as he looked back at Frank.
Jess headed for the door to the garage, but Rob’s words stopped her.
“And if you try to leave, or escape… I’ll kill him.”
She glanced back at him, and the look on his face was so strange, so terrible, she could almost believe it.
But he’s just pretending, she told herself, as she turned on the garage light. He’s just playacting. Isn’t he?
A rope was hanging on a hook on the garage wall, next to a length of orange outdoor extension cord, and a roll of speaker wire. Jess pulled the rope down. There was about ten feet of it. It was nylon, sturdy and bright blue, the kind of rope used for grappling or mountain climbing.
She carried it into the living room and handed it to Rob.
“Get a chair from the kitchen,” he ordered her, and silently she complied.
“Sit there,” Rob told Frank, pointing at the chair.
Frank didn’t move.
Rob grabbed Jess, hard, pulling her against his chest, holding the blade of his knife dangerously close to her throat. She gasped, her fear not entirely feigned.
“Move!” Rob said.
Frank moved from the couch to the kitchen chair, his face expressionless.
Rob let go of Jess, pushing her away from him with enough force to make her stumble. He tossed the blue rope down at her feet.
“Tie him.”
Jess’s fingers were shaking as she pulled Frank’s hands behind the back of the chair. She started to tie them together using the only knot she knew—a square knot, but Rob stopped her.
“Use a slipknot,” he commanded. Then, because she hesitated, he impatiently told her how.
She put Frank’s hands in the loop, and pulled, tightening it.
But not tight enough. Rob reached down and jerked the rope hard enough to make Frank flinch from the pressure.
“You don’t have to hurt him,” Jess protested.
Abruptly, Rob pushed her aside, holding his knife in his teeth as he secured Frank to the chair.
Frank’s hazel eyes looked at Jess worriedly. “You’re going to die,” he said. “Just like the others.”
Jess shook her head. “No.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a big heave, Rob turned the entire chair around, so that Frank was facing the television. He turned the TV on, flipped to the sports channel and cranked the volume. A baseball game was on, and the announcers’ lazy voices were at a near deafening volume. If Frank tried to shout for help, he wouldn’t be heard.
Jess was relieved. She hated the thought of having to gag poor Frank.
Rob grabbed her arm roughly. “Come on.”
She took one last look back at Frank. Now that Rob’s back was turned, he was struggling, trying to get free of the ropes.
His face was frightened, eyes wide, nostrils flared. She saw his mouth form her name before Rob pulled her down the hall to the garage.
Chapter Eighteen
Out in the garage, Rob leaned heavily against the car, putting his head down and favoring his injured leg. He closed his eyes and swore softly and steadily, finally letting his pain show.
The switchblade had disappeared—back up his sleeve, Jess assumed.
She moved closer, and he opened his eyes, looking at her. “I’m sorry I had to be so rough,” he said. “But—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “We should get going. If Frank manages to get free…”
“He won’t,” Rob stated. “Not the way I tied him.”
His face was pale, with beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
Where did you learn to tie someone up like that, Jess wanted to ask. Where did you learn to act so ruthlessly, so cold-bloodedly matter-of-fact about taking a prisoner?
Silently, she opened the car door and helped Rob into the back seat. She covered him carefully with her beach blanket.
Then she got into the car, closed her eyes briefly, and pushed the remote control that opened the garage door.
A turn of the key, and the engine roared to life. She backed out of the garage, turning around in the driveway. Praying that they wouldn’t be stopped by the FBI man, she pulled onto the street.
Oh, no, the FBI agent got out of his car, motioning for her to stop. If he got close enough to look in the back seat, he’d surely see Rob….
Quickly Jess rolled down her window, leaning out slightly. “I’m going to pick up my daughter from the baby-sitter’s,” she called to him.
He waved, moving back to his car.
Thank God, Jess thought, and tried not to speed as she drove out of the FBI agent’s sight.
For fifteen minutes, they drove in silence. Jess made their way across town, turning frequently to take smaller side roads. There weren’t many cars out even though it was still early. Everyone was staying home on account of the storm’s imminent arrival.
The wind was much brisker now, and a large gust tugged at the chassis of her car, blowing them slightly to the left until she compensated for it.
Just as suddenly as the wind gusted, it died down, and the release of the pressure on the car made Jess swerve slightly to the right, hitting a pothole with unexpected force.
She heard a muffled exclamation from under the beach blanket.
“You all right?” she asked, glancing again in the rearview mirror. The road behind them was empty. They weren’t being followed. “We’re clear, if you want to sit up.”
Rob pulled back the blanket. “I never noticed what an incredibly nonexistent suspension system this car has until now.”
“So sit up.”
“I prefer bumpy to apprehended, thanks.”
“But we’re not being followed.”
“Why take a chance?” Rob asked.
Jess shook her head. “If that was my philosophy, I probably wouldn’t be in this car with you right now.”
Rob was silent.
“I would never hurt you, Jess,” he finally said, very quietly.
From out of nowhere, Jess could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she willed them away. You will not cry, she told herself fiercely. You were doing so well up to this point….
“I didn’t think you would,” she said, downshifting as she approached a red light. “Can’t you tell me—” her voice broke, and she struggled to get it back in control. “Won’t you tell me one thing, just one thing about…Connor.”
She heard him sigh very softly.
She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking slightly as she made the right turn onto the causeway that led to Siesta Key. They were only a few minutes from the beach house now…. “Tell me…” she said. “Tell me what you did for a living when you were Connor Garrison.”
He didn’t answer for a solid sixty seconds. And when he did speak his voice was low. Jess had to strain to hear him. “It’s not important.”
“What?”
Louder now. “I was insignificant. I worked in an office, in the mail room. It was meaningless. But my roommate Chris, now, he had a job. He made more money in a week than I made in a month. He was a deliveryman. He worked for his uncle, he told me. I didn’t ask any questions, which was pretty stupid, but I was young, God, I was barely twenty years
old. Then one night Chris was in a bind and he needed me to help him make his deliveries. That was when I found out his Uncle Frank was head of a crime syndicate. Chris was distributing cocaine, and I was helping him. I was helping him run drugs.”
Jess felt sick. Crime syndicate. Drugs. Parker Elliot had been right. Rob—Connor was a criminal.
He sharply drew in a breath in pain as they went over the edge of the driveway and the car bounced. “Back then I was saving every cent I made,” he said, as Jess pulled to a stop outside the beach house. “I had this dream. I wanted to travel, and write books about exotic places. Well, I got the traveling, but I haven’t written a word in over eight years. Check to make sure we weren’t followed. Please?”
She dragged her eyes up to the rearview mirror. No one behind them. Getting out of the car, Jess walked to the edge of the driveway and looked up and down the street, trying to be casual. There were no other cars in sight, and the shrubbery and bushes shielded them from the neighbors’ view. She opened the door and looked at Rob…Connor.
Connor Garrison—the drug runner.
She helped pull him out of the car. Lord, he was heavy. He managed to bump his injured ankle on the car door, and he stood there for a moment, balancing on one leg, swaying slightly from the pain.
The wind was stronger coming in off the water, and a large burst swirled around them. Jess was afraid the gust would knock Rob over, and she put her arms around him.
He held on to her tightly, and she could hear his heart pounding in his chest, even over the roar of the wind and the rising surf.
Lightning crackled out over the gulf, way in the distance, and thunder rumbled ominously.
The hell of it was, Jess thought, she loved him. Connor or Rob or whatever he wanted to call himself, brown-eyed, blue-eyed, green-eyed… It didn’t matter.
She loved him.
So he’d made a mistake when he was twenty—that was how old she’d been when she’d married Ian. And talk about mistakes…
She could forgive Connor for his mistakes. She did forgive him.
Could she forgive him for the brutal murders of fifteen young women?
Never.
No Ordinary Man Page 22
