by Jan Coffey
He tested a couple of switches on the wall plate until he found the backyard light. Unlocking the back door, he went out and Emily saw him outside of the window, refastening the shutter.
She was still standing by the refrigerator when he walked back in.
“You’re right. It was the shutter.”
Emily nodded.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, paused and then shook her head.
He crossed over to her and led her to the breakfast nook. Sitting her down at the end of the bench, he placed his large hand against her forehead for a couple of seconds. His fingers caressed her cheek and he crouched down in front of her, looking into her eyes. “Don’t let him shut you down.”
“I feel like somebody’s tied a plastic bag over my head.” She let out an unsteady breath.
“Fight it, Em. Don’t let him suffocate you.”
She nodded. “I’m not going to shut down.” Emily spoke as if she were lecturing herself. “I’m not going to hide or run away, either. I have a lot at stake.”
“That’s the spirit.”
She could hear the emotion thickening her own voice. “Conor doesn’t deserve this.”
“Hey, you don’t deserve it, either.”
“Well, I’m not going to let some maniac ruin the life I’ve worked so hard to make for my son. I’ll get ready for him. I’ll do what I have to. I’ll fight him.”
Ben’s smile was like sunshine. Emily needed that right now.
“I knew you had it in you,” he said, moving to sit across the table from her. His hands were warm as he took hold of hers. “I agree with Simpson, though, about you and Conor not staying here alone. At least, not until you get enough security around you to make you feel safe. Do you have a gun?”
She shook her head.
“Ever fired one?”
“No, but I’ll take Conor out looking for a dog tomorrow,” she said, resolved to dealing with the little inconveniences that went with having a pet. “We’ll make sure to come home with a loud and ferocious one.”
“How about for tonight?” he asked. “Is there anyone you can call to come and stay with you?”
The Eatopia Café was closed on Sundays. Liz had mentioned to Emily last night that she was heading to New York City tonight. No hot dates, only going out to eat and seeing a play with a couple of her girlfriends. She wasn’t coming back until tomorrow.
“No,” Emily shook her head again. “But we’ll be okay.”
“Mind if I camp out here tonight?”
Ben’s question was so unexpected that Emily was at a loss for an answer for a few seconds. “I…it’s just…well, this is a small house and—”
“I can sleep in one of the chairs in your living room.” His thumb brushed the back of her hand. “This is as much for me as for you. I didn’t like what I saw of that jerk today, either. And I’ll feel much better knowing you and Conor are safe tonight.”
Although Emily had been off the dating circuit for what felt like forever, she was still alert enough to recognize a genuine and nonromantic offer when she heard one.
“Aren’t you going a little out of your way to be helpful? I mean, I’ve told you I can’t commit to your job offer for at least another four years, until my son is in college.”
“Actually, this is the standard treatment for prospective employees at Colter Associates.”
She smiled. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I’m really only sticking around because I was hoping to convince said prospective employee to sit in on a brainstorming session on Monday afternoon in the conference room of the Wickfield Inn.”
“The Wickfield Inn has a conference room?”
“No, but they do have a small private dining room that I’ve reserved.”
Emily felt herself floating into safer territory. During the day today, they’d spoken briefly about what Ben and his group were working on right now. Without delving too deeply into the specifics, she was told that the possible causes of the Petersons’ accident were what brought Ben to Wickfield.
“You’ve found something new?”
He nodded. “The call I just got. My two partners will be in town, and we’re going to be comparing some data from a number of accidents, the Petersons’ included.”
“And you think I can help?”
“What do you know about ECMs and DBW?”
“Engine control modules and drive-by-wire technology? Well, I never worked on any design or testing dealing with it, but I understand the concept and know where to go to get specific information about it.”
“Good, that’s more than all three of us together can do. So what do you say, Em?” He squeezed her hands. “Would you just come and sit in on this first meeting? Let my guys pick your brain. We’ll pay you a handsome consulting fee, and you’ll never have to leave Wickfield.”
She tried to look past the hazel eyes and long lashes and the handsome face and make her decision purely based on the business. “I guess I have nothing to lose.”
“And as a bonus, I’ll stay here overnight and protect my interest.”
“Only if you sleep in my bed. I mean…you can have my bed.” His thousand-watt smile made the temperature in the room go up about a hundred degrees. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ll sleep in the extra bed in Conor’s room…and you can have my bedroom.”
Eleven
The two official entrances to the nature preserve closed their gates at sundown. That was, of course, no deterrent at all to anyone who wanted to ignore the posted closing times. Aside from a dozen footpaths, eight unpaved trails that also served as fire roads snaked through the four thousand acre parkland. The entire trail system offered an easy way around the wooded area at anytime of the day, seven days a week.
Lyden was very familiar with these trails. This past July, he had taken a long weekend and hiked every path that passed anywhere near Emily’s backyard. He’d traveled along them at least once every weekend since then. There was one that led to within a hundred yards of her property. From there, it was an easy trek to her backyard amid the trees that provided him shelter.
The old weeping beech had become a familiar place for Lyden. Its trailing boughs formed an open space, the leaves and branches creating an arching canopy over his head. It was cool and silent there. Even in the summer, before the leaves began to thin out, he could look out and see the moon rise above the peak of the house. From there, on many nights, he could see Emily through the large windows of her bedroom.
Sometime during the summer, an erotic ritual had begun to evolve in his mind whenever he came here. The breeze blowing through the branches made them sway in an undulating motion. Silvery leaves caressed his skin as he watched Emily peel off the layers of her clothing. He let himself imagine that she was preparing herself for him. He would see her come to the bright window, her skin glowing, her limbs and breasts perfect, her hair lustrous, black and flowing. He could see her offering her body through the glass as a gift.
She wanted him. She loved him.
Tonight, it was dark and solemn beneath the beech branches. The foliage surrounded him, covered him, but there was no erotic dance. The million tiny leaves, like the digital curtain of the Matrix, cut him off in a solitary world that contained him, Lyden Gray, and no one else.
He was alone. And it was Colter’s fault.
Lyden had seen the pickup truck backing out of the driveway. He didn’t care about that. He knew Jeremy Simpson. Just a detective on the Wickfield police force.
Lyden had made it his business to know everyone Emily dealt with in town. The people she spoke to after church. The regulars at the café. The local clients she dealt with. He knew everyone she went to meetings with. Everyone she walked with, had lunch with, socialized with.
Last night, he’d made a point of learning everything he could about Ben Colter, too. The Aston’s license plate had given Lyden the man’s name. It hadn’t taken long to tap into his social security records and the th
ree major credit bureaus’ databases. That and a few newspaper headlines had given him the man’s worth and a good idea of who he was.
A rich playboy. A shrewd businessman. Colter was smart with his investments. A know-it-all, do-it-all-well asshole. Lyden hated him. And he wanted Ben Colter away from Emily.
But he was still there. In her house. With her.
Lyden refused to back away into the woods when Colter came out the kitchen door and fiddled with the shutter on a back window. The breeze had become occasionally gusty, churning the leaves, tipping over one of the aluminum lawn chairs Em had left by the edge of the vegetable garden. Just before Colter came out, a dead branch on another tree had broken free and crashed to the ground.
He was still inside. With her.
Lyden’s mood soured even more as time ticked away. Nothing. No sign of the Aston coming to life.
The kitchen window was small. There was only so much Lyden could see from this angle. He began cracking his knuckles, methodically, with great care. Meanwhile, his anger continued to build.
Finally, the light in the kitchen went out. Lyden left his place and started around the house. He kept to the murky edges of the property. He wanted to see Colter go. He wanted to see him disappear forever from Emily’s life.
The living room lights went off as he passed by those windows. Darkness met his gaze. He moved quickly, deciding on the shadows of a great pine tree on the opposite side of the driveway. Hidden by the night, Lyden waited for Emily to push Colter out.
Again, long minutes ticked away in his head. The lights in the front hallway went off. He looked up at the second floor, the taste in his mouth becoming bitter.
He didn’t want to believe it. She wouldn’t betray him. Not his Emily.
Panic, anger, hatred—other emotions that his mind couldn’t decipher—turned his stomach. Fury washed down his back, and thoughts of murder crowded his head. Thoughts of righteous vengeance. Retribution. He looked at the Aston Martin sitting in Emily’s driveway. Sitting at his beck and call.
Lyden retraced his steps to the backyard. He waited until he reached the weeping beech tree before he looked back toward her house. The gusts of wind were coming hard now. The only light left on was in her bedroom, and he saw Colter walk right to the wide windows and look out. Gloating.
“You’re dead,” Lyden whispered through clenched teeth. He glared up at his nemesis for a moment more, and then turned and disappeared into the woods.
Twelve
As far as Conor was concerned, it was a hassle having to go to church every Sunday. The priest’s sermons most times were too long. Sunday school was a waste of precious sleep. In short, Conor couldn’t wait to get confirmed this year and be done with it.
Besides, he did believe there was somebody up there. He even conversed, on a more or less regular basis, with the Big Guy.
Before he turned twelve, the gist of his secret prayers and promises had to do with his parents somehow falling in love again and getting back together. Turning twelve, though, had coincided with being asked to be best man in his father’s wedding, so those prayers had come to a screeching halt.
He still had conversations—albeit one way—with God, but Conor hadn’t bothered getting into any requests about relationship-mending since then. His father seemed happy with Anne, his new wife. And his mom…well, she was all his now, and that wasn’t so bad. She was always there. She never missed a game, or a concert, or a parent-teacher conference, or anything else that involved him. And Conor was actually perfectly happy with being the center of her attention. Still, he was old enough to know that it wasn’t really enough for her.
Things were happening, though. A person would have to be blind not to see it. So tonight, he’d felt pretty motivated to ask again for some help with a relationship. Not for himself, but for his mom.
Conor liked Ben Colter. And it wasn’t because he had the coolest car of anyone he’d ever met, or that he used to be a race car driver. He liked him because he was different than just about anyone else they knew. He was also showing the same kind of interest in Emily that Conor himself had in Ashley, his lab partner at school. Ben talked about Emily like what she did was so important, like she was one of the smartest people in the world. Conor knew that already, but it was nice to meet someone else who thought so, too, and appreciated her for it.
Conor had to admit that part of wanting to get their relationship cooking was for himself, too. It was nice to have a guy around. Conor loved Aunt Liz and his mom, but it was fun to be around someone who didn’t fuss over you or treat you like a kid. He smiled, remembering all the trash talk that had gone on in the paddock today when his mom was out of earshot. Ben didn’t have any problem with it. He’d acted like Conor was old enough to be able to handle it. Heck, he was old enough.
What he was really praying for tonight, though, was that his mom would just relax and let it happen. For so long, it’d been only the two of them. Conor understood her moods. He knew when she was scared or worried. He also knew when she was on the edge and it was a mistake to push her. All day, she’d been so tense, even tonight when they’d first got home.
She definitely hadn’t done her part in encouraging Mr. Colter. Maybe Aunt Liz should sit her down and give her a lesson or two about how to get herself a boyfriend.
Sex. He winced. Even though it would probably be a good thing for her, he really didn’t want to think about his mother having sex. No, he definitely didn’t want to go there.
As Conor climbed into bed, he got chuckling about how that talk with Aunt Liz would go. On his fourteenth birthday, she’d brought him two packages of condoms and handed them to him with a warning not to use them till he was ready, but to use them when the time came. She really was pretty cool.
Detective Simpson’s truck was gone, but the Aston was still in the driveway. Maybe there was hope yet, he thought.
Soon, he was thinking of cars speeding along the racetrack. Crowds cheering. Images of everything he’d seen and experienced during the day filled the teenager’s mind. Lying there, he could feel the raw power of the car he’d ridden in, flying around the banked turns and pressing him back in the seat as they accelerated down the straightaways. That was what he was feeling as he finally fell sleep.
It could have been five minutes later or maybe five hours, he had no clue. Conor woke up with a start as he heard someone closing the bedroom door and pulling back the blankets on the other bed.
“Mom?” He peered into the dark. She was wearing her flannel pajamas.
“Go back to sleep, hon.”
“What’s going on?”
She climbed into the bed. “There was a problem with Mr. Colter’s room at the inn, so he’s staying here for the night.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. He looked at his clock radio. It was only 11:30.
“Come on. That’s not why.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Mom,” he pressed. “What’s wrong?”
Conor knew there was something wrong. He could hear it in her voice.
“Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” She turned to face the wall.
He sprang out of the bed and plunked himself heavily on the edge of her bed. “I might be four foot eleven and a half and not look like I’m fourteen, but I’m old enough to know what’s going on here.”
She partially turned to him. “Conor, people have house-guests all the time. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”
Even in the darkness, he could see she was about to cry. Something twisted inside of him. “Do you know how you’re always giving me those talks about telling the truth? The importance of trust? How, without honesty, we lose the special bond we have between us?”
She raked her fingers through her hair.
“That stuff goes both ways, Mom.” He sat there, unrelenting, now really worried that something serious was wrong.
It took her a minute to pull herself together. She sat up and punc
hed the pillow, fluffing it and putting it behind her back. She stared at him for a couple of seconds. “You’re too stubborn.”
“You made me this way.”
“Okay. For your own safety, you probably should know. To protect yourself.”
Conor sat quietly, hiding his nervousness.
“I was going to tell you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“It seems like…like I might have a stalker. Someone who’s following me around.”
“You mean someone who likes you? Someone you know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I know him.”
“Is he dangerous?”
She again ran her fingers in frustration through her hair. “Detective Simpson wants me…us…to assume that he is. He says we’ve got to play it safe.”
“What has this guy…your stalker…done so far? I mean, how do you know about him?” Images from horror movies were flashing through his head.
“We think he was the one who broke into the café last night. And this morning, he was at the racetrack.”
Conor was really scared now, but he hoped his mother didn’t notice the shiver running through him. “Does he live in Wickfield?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“What are the police doing about it?”
“Right now, they’re trying to find him. Detective Simpson is working on it. They’ll arrest him when they find him. Whatever needs to be done, they’ll do. In the meantime, they want us to be careful. You know, be aware of strangers. Don’t make ourselves vulnerable. Don’t be alone. Don’t walk alone.”
“Is that why Mr. Colter is staying here tonight?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow, you and I are going to go out and get ourselves a dog. On Monday, I’ll have a good security system installed on the house.”
None of this made Conor feel better—not even a dog, which he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. “Is Mr. Colter staying here tomorrow night, too?”
She shook her head. “We’ll be all set by then. In fact, if it makes you feel better, we’ll ask Aunt Liz to come and camp out with us for a few days. She’s a good sport about adventures.”
