by Donna Fasano
~*~
The first suspicious incident happened the following Saturday. Luanne was coming home from her library job—they hadn’t fired her despite the murder charges, miracle of miracles. At the intersection at the end of her street, a yellow moving truck barreled by her, not stopping for the stop sign, nearly wiping her out. Only some quick maneuvering saved her, landing her on the sidewalk. The jerk didn’t stop to make sure she was okay. Everything happened so fast, she didn’t even see the driver’s face.
Thank God, Jen had the girls. She’d volunteered to watch them for free on Saturday afternoons until Luanne could afford to pay for babysitting. Jen was a good friend. She might not have kept Luanne’s confidence with the whole Chase-is-bad-in-bed thing, but they’d been teenagers at the time. She’d apologized a hundred times, and Luanne had long ago forgiven that misstep. God knew she’d made plenty of mistakes of her own.
Not at the intersection, though. She had the right of way there, the moving van clearly in the wrong. But, at the time, she didn’t think much of the almost accident. Plenty of bad drivers drove the roads. She’d had other near misses over the years.
But two days later, when she walked to her car in the morning, half-asleep, for her cell phone she’d forgotten in the car the day before, she nearly fell into the sewer opening next to the curb. Somebody had stolen the grate. She could have broken her neck for sure. The thought that Mia or Daisy could have fallen down into the dark hole made her break out in a cold sweat. She called the township to complain.
The idea that someone was trying to kill her didn’t occur to her until the following day at the supermarket, where a soda tower of twelve-packs fell on her, knocking her to the ground. She banged her head on the floor, getting knocked out for a second.
At least her health insurance was still good until the end of the month, so she could go to the emergency room and get checked out for a concussion.
“You’re lucky one of those twelve-packs didn’t bash your head in, falling from ten feet high,” the nurse told her, an older Hispanic woman, Juanita, according to her name tag.
The display had been massive, Luanne thought. It’d appeared well built and completely steady, but obviously it wasn’t. She had been lucky.
And with the sewer grate too. And the moving van at the intersection.
Oh God.
In a split second, sitting in the ER on a hospital bed behind faded green curtains that smelled like bleach, the girls playing at her feet, everything fell into place. Click, click, click. She broke out in cold sweat. The accidents were no accidents.
Who? Why?
She was in so far over her head here. For a long time now, she’d been treading water, paddling to stay afloat, but this time the waves were truly closing over her head. She felt as if she was sinking into dark, murky waters she could no longer navigate alone, sinking fast.
She thought of Chase. He was the detective on the case. He had offered to help. Were they really friends? She had to take the risk.
She called him as soon as they were back in her car in the parking lot.
He picked up on the first ring. “Everything okay?”
Just hearing his voice—strong, sure, steady—made her feel a little better. That voice was her lifeline for the moment. Since she’d been on the verge of hyperventilating, she drew a longer, slower breath, allowing her lungs to fill all the way.
“I think somebody is trying to K-I-L-L-M-E.” She spelled the words. She didn’t want to worry the girls.
Chapter 6
Chase met her at her house, sat in the tiny kitchen—the TV turned up in the living room for the kids—and listened as Luanne recounted her wild theory. She kept her voice down, glancing at the girls from time to time to make sure they weren’t listening.
He wasn’t the paranoid type to read danger into everything, but Chase had to admit that three potentially deadly accidents in one week… “Okay, suspicious. Why do you think somebody is trying to kill you? Revenge for Earl?”
He’d yet to meet a single person who liked the guy. In fact, he’d been conducting second interviews with the staff about the way they’d been treated, files he hoped the defense would put to good use at Luanne’s trial.
She sat silently, her shoulders stiff, her eyes filled with worry. And she still looked so pretty that he could have just sat there and watched her all day.
He’d tried not to think about her much over the years. Thinking about her either got him horny or wincing in embarrassment that he’d disappointed her back when he’d had his chance. Of course, when you didn’t want to think about something, you thought about it that much more. Like when someone said, Don’t think about an elephant, and all you could think were trunks and tusks. Except, in Luanne’s case, it’d been whiskey-color eyes and perfect breasts.
He leaned back in the kitchen chair. “I can’t help if you won’t level with me.”
She pressed her lips together. Which, of course, drew his attention to that sexy crease in her bottom lip.
“Just tell me everything, exactly as it happened.”
She stayed silent.
That she didn’t trust him frustrated the living daylights out of him. Except, he told himself, she must trust him a little, since she’d called him.
He made a point to relax his shoulders, stretched his legs in front of him, in the hopes that she too would relax a little. “I’m not out to get you. I don’t want to see you go to prison. Why don’t you tell me what happened that night? You’ve already been charged with murder. It can’t get much worse.”
“I can get convicted.”
“Maybe there were extenuating circumstances.”
She sat there silently for several long moments before finally speaking. “I had a drink when I got to the bar. Then I met Gregory, and he bought me another. I can’t remember anything beyond that.”
“What do you mean you can’t remember?” He watched her closely for any sign of insincerity, but he didn’t see any. She spoke earnestly, with an open body language, her eyes never leaving his.
“I was having a drink at the bar, then I was home, waking up in the morning.”
His muscles tightened. “Roofie?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he—” Did the bastard touch her?
“I don’t think so, but I don’t remember.”
And a rape kit would be way too late. More than a week had passed since.
“I wish you’d told me right away.” Frustration buzzed through him, along with an overwhelming wave of protectiveness.
“I didn’t figure it out right away. I just thought I had too much to drink. My brain barely worked, everything fuzzy.”
“So you really don’t remember hitting Earl?” He wanted to believe her, but wasn’t sure how much she was doing, saying because she was scared of being convicted, petrified of what would become of the twins. He had no doubt whatsoever that Luanne would do or say absolutely anything to keep her sisters safe.
But whatever she had or hadn’t done the night in question, he wished she’d just trust him and come right out with it already. He couldn’t help if he didn’t know exactly how much trouble she was in.
She sucked in her bottom lip and raked her teeth over it, drawing his attention to the crease again. He seriously had to get over that.
“I don’t remember anything.” She held his gaze, her eyes holding desperation he didn’t think could be faked.
Okay, she was telling the truth about that. His fist clenched as he finally accepted the idea that she’d been drugged. He wasn’t a violent man, but he sincerely wanted to punch something, preferably Gregory’s face.
“Maybe I hit Earl under the influence,” she said, biting her lip now, the small gesture sending heat to his loins. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”
Chase considered her words for a second. “So you were under the influence but remembered what time Earl went home at night and what route he followed, you planned how, when, and where to run him over, e
xecuted the hit without clipping the garbage containers, then drove home and parked nicely by the curb, let yourself in? I’m not buying it.” A couple of new ideas readily presented themselves. He rather liked them. “Maybe you weren’t driving.”
“Who was?”
“My best guess is Gregory. The guy who gave you a roofie is usually the last guy you remember offering you a drink.”
“Why would Gregory want to kill Earl?”
“Could have been an accident. He put you in your car, drove you to the back alley to have some fun. Maybe he was paying you so much attention, he didn’t see Earl in the dark. Or maybe Earl saw him doing something to you, so Gregory ran Earl over, not wanting a witness.”
“And then he drove me home?”
“It’s not half-bad as a frame for a murder. Worked so far. You’ve been charged.” He was going to get the bastard. Luanne wasn’t going down for this.
“How would he even know where I live? I just met him.”
“You keep your registration and car insurance papers in your glove compartment? Have your driver’s license with you?”
She braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, her golden hair sliding forward, hiding her from him. “I feel so stupid.” Her voice came out muffled.
All he felt was mad. “Don’t,” he told her. “Somebody set you up for rape, and then he set you up as a murderer.”
She drew big gulps of air, as if trying to stave off hyperventilating. He got up and filled a glass with water, set it on the table in front of her, placed a hand on her shoulder for support.
A shoulder that felt too slim under his hand. “How about if I stay for a while and we strategize a little? Would you mind if I ordered some food again? I’m starving.”
When she shook her head, he ordered pizza and breadsticks, enough for the two of them and the girls. Then he sat back down across from her.
She looked up. “So Gregory killed Earl for some reason, framing me. But why come after me now? If he’s behind the accidents.”
Chase thought for a few seconds. “Have you been asking questions about him?”
She nodded, suddenly pale. “I’ve been showing the police sketch around.”
“Me too. Nothing so far.” He folded his hands on the table. “So maybe he was counting on you not remembering, that you’d assume you hit Earl drunk, then drove home. The police would have plenty for an arrest. The court would have enough for a conviction. He didn’t count on you figuring things out. He needs to silence you before you finger him.”
Her gaze filled with a whole new level of desperation. “Can the girls and I get some kind of police protection?”
“I’ll talk to the captain. Protection won’t be easy to justify. We have pretty severe budget restrictions. I believe you, but other than your say-so, we have nothing to corroborate your three accidents. Even if I can get you protection, first round’s twenty-four-hour surveillance. If nothing suspicious happens, the captain has to call it off. Budgets these days don’t spring to longtime protection unless there’s proven, imminent danger.”
She nodded, casting a worried glance toward the twins in the living room. Her entire heart was in her eyes, the love she felt toward those little girls practically radiating out of her. She took very good care of them. But who took care of Luanne?
He followed her gaze. “I can hang out in my car outside your house and keep an eye on things. If somebody comes to do you harm, I will catch him.”
“You can’t put your entire life on hold for me.”
He made some noncommittal noises. He could and would make sure that nothing happened to Luanne and the twins. Damn right, he would. He was going to keep them safe. And she was going to trust him, and not do anything else stupid like hitting the hydrant to destroy evidence.
They were going to have to address that at some point, but not now, not when she’d just realized that someone was trying to kill her. She had enough stress for today.
She linked her fingers together on her lap. He wanted to take her hand. He wanted to take more than her hand. Hell. He pushed to his feet. “How is your security? I’ll walk around and make sure the locks on the windows and the doors are up to snuff.”
He had to get moving before he pulled her into his arms or did something equally idiotic.
~*~
Chase wasn’t halfway to his car when Luanne began packing.
If she’d learned one thing over the years, it was that she could count on nobody to save her but herself. She’d never been able to count on her father. Her mother had been flighty at best. No family had ever been there for her. She was used to having to solve her own problems.
She rushed for the giant cloth grocery bags they used to avoid plastic, and started filling the first with what food she had in the cupboard: bread, peanut butter, animal cookies.
Gregory had killed already. And had almost gotten away with it. Obviously, whoever he was, he was good at this. For all she knew, he was some serial killer, rapist.
Maybe the police could protect her. But for how long? A day, Chase had said. And he couldn’t sit outside her house forever. For one, if he was on duty and got a call, he’d have to leave.
She did trust him, she realized. She’d told him everything she knew about the night of Earl’s death. But trusting him with her life, and the twins’ lives, trusting him to save them…
Keeping her sisters safe was her job, nobody else’s. She had to do whatever it took. Bottom line—she couldn’t keep them safe here.
At least she had her severance money.
She closed her eyes against the feeling of impending doom that threated to drown her. Was she really so desperate that she was considering skipping out of town?
Yes, she was, she decided. Better to disappear than to be killed.
~*~
The blue Ford pickup Luanne had on loaner wasn’t in front of the house. Chase walked up to the front door anyway and knocked. No response. He walked over to the window and looked in, saw one of the couch pillows on the floor, a couple of kitchen cabinets open in the back.
He dialed her cell phone. He’d missed Bing at the station, and he wanted to talk to him in person about setting up protection. So while he was waiting for Leila to let him know that Bing had returned, he’d come back to convince Luanne to move to his place with the girls for the time being.
He had better locks, for starters. His windows actually locked all the way. And he had a security system. Plus, nobody would think to look for her at his place. She’d be safer there. He wanted her and the twins safe.
He held his phone to his ear, but the call didn’t even ring out. Luanne’s phone was out of service.
If he didn’t know that someone was after her, he wouldn’t have thought much of her absence and her house being out of order, her not picking up the phone. But as it was, he looked for a key, found it under the second flower pot he tried, and let himself in.
“Luanne?” The open kitchen cabinets stood empty. Unease crept up his spine.
Either she was even lower on groceries than he’d thought, or someone had taken food. None of the kitchen chairs were turned over. Nothing spilled. No sign of struggle.
He tried to keep that in the forefront of his mind as he headed back to the bedrooms. He walked around slowly, examining everything carefully. The girls’ room was about as spacious as a bunk bed on a submarine; even the scant furniture filled it to the brim. The dresser drawers stood open. The basket of clean clothes he’d seen earlier when he’d walked around to check windows was now missing. So were the dolls and horses from the bed.
His neck muscles tightened. He didn’t think a kidnapper would pack toys.
Dammit, Luanne.
His concern switched to anger and disappointment in a millisecond. She’d run.
Did she plan on skipping bail? If she didn’t show for her scheduled court appearance, she’d be in bigger trouble than ever. Didn’t she understand how much worse she was making her situation?
Why in hell couldn’t she just trust him?
He called the station, got Leila on the phone. “Hey, I’m going to need a cell phone triangulated for location.” He rattled off Luanne’s number, then repeated it. “Call me as soon as you have something. Thanks.”
He left the house and drove down the road to Jen’s place.
She answered on the first knock. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Luanne?”
The smile slid off Jen’s face. “No. I’m not watching the girls every day now. Just when she goes to clean the library. Isn’t she home?”
“No. Where could she go?”
“Grocery store? Playground?
Chase watched her for any sign of lying, covering up for Luanne. Didn’t see any tells. “Where would she go long-term?”
Jen’s eyes widened. “You think she ran?”
“I need to find her. Anything you could think of would be helpful.”
“Let me try her cell.” She pulled a phone from her back pocket and dialed, concern drawing her brows together.
Chase waited. Luanne might not be taking his calls, but maybe she’d take Jen’s. But a few seconds later, with her phone to her ear, Jen shook her head. “The subscriber can’t be reached at this time.”
She shoved the phone into her back pocket, her body language clipped, her voice tight as she said, “Why would she run? How could she even think that going on the run with the girls would be a good idea?”
Chase could understand the anger. Watching a friend mess up big-time was no fun when you cared about them. “Family?”
As far as he knew, Luanne had none, at least not around town.
“Her mom died,” Jen said. “Well, you know that. She doesn’t know where her father is.”
“You think he got back in touch?”
Jen shook her head. “I wouldn’t think so. He was…” She gave a pained shrug. “You know.”
Yeah. An abusive alcoholic. Chase thought for a second. “How about the library job? Any close friends?”
“She cleans after hours. Nobody’s there but her. You can’t run a vacuum cleaner in the library when it’s open. It’s supposed to be quiet.”
