Night Stalker

by Shirlee McCoy

  “We?” River asked, his shoes tapping against the metal ramp.

  “Figure of speech.”

  “Good. I was afraid you’d forgotten that you’re currently on leave.”

  “That would be difficult to do, seeing as how you and Wren remind me several times a day,” Adam replied. He sounded...older, more confident than he’d been five years ago.

  And why wouldn’t he?

  Time had passed. Life had gone on. He’d created his new reality. She’d created hers. They hadn’t spoken since the divorce papers were signed, their relationship cut off cold turkey as if they’d both understood that was how it had to be if they were going to move on without each other.

  Cold air whipped across the parking lot, carrying a hint of wood-burning fires and pine needles. Winter would linger for another month or two. Then the world would blossom again. Charlotte planned to be around to see it. She planned to bring her dog-training group out on trails, to hike and fish and do all the things she did every spring and summer. She had to stay alive to do that. That was what she should be concentrating on. Not Adam and all the ways things were different. And the same.

  She frowned, waiting impatiently as a black Cadillac drove around the corner of the building. It pulled up at the end of the ramp, and the next thing Charlotte knew, she was being bustled inside, nudged to the center of the back seat.

  “When we reach your place, you’ll have to walk. I don’t want anyone seeing you in a wheelchair. We’re sticking to the story about your vacation. People are going to want to hear all about it. We’ll work on the details together. Okay?” Adam said as he slid in beside her.

  She nodded.

  The doors closed, and Adam grabbed her seat belt, pulling it across her lap and buckling it into place.

  And then they were moving, the SUV pulling around the side of the building and out onto the highway, headlights gleaming on the paved road that led toward home.

  * * *

  He shouldn’t have come.

  That thought was crystal clear in Adam’s mind, and he couldn’t shake it. Not that coming hadn’t been the right thing to do. It had been. The problem lay in the fact he couldn’t make himself leave. Charlotte had turned the corner a week ago. She’d gone from critical to stable to ready for release. The hospital had held her an extra day at the FBI’s request, and Adam had stayed by her side even then.

  She was a habit he’d broken years ago.

  Now he was forming it again.

  That wasn’t a good thing. It wasn’t an acceptable one. He’d come to Whisper Lake because he’d needed to make amends for his failures. He hadn’t come to reconnect with Charlotte or to fit himself back in her life.

  They’d grown up and apart, and he’d been content with that.

  He still was, but he couldn’t help wondering if that would change. Enough time with Charlotte, enough quiet conversations in the middle of the nights, and maybe he’d begin to fall for her the way he had all those years ago.

  Wren took the turn onto the country highway that led past the lake, and Charlotte slid toward Adam. His arm came up automatically, his fingers slipping around her shoulders, holding her steady.

  “Careful,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to tear your wound open and end up back in the hospital.”

  “The wound is healing nicely. Tomorrow, I’ll see the surgeon, and he’ll probably give me the go-ahead to get back to my regular activities.”

  “Tomorrow, huh?” he said, glancing at the rearview mirror. Wren met his eyes. Just like he knew she would.

  “River, you want to contact headquarters and see if they can send someone out to check Charlotte’s injury?” she asked.

  “They don’t need to send someone out,” Charlotte argued. “As I said, I have an appointment with my surgeon. It’s already been set up.”

  “You’ll have to cancel,” Wren said bluntly.

  If the FBI had its way, Charlotte would be on a plane and out of the area before the scheduled appointment. Adam knew that. He wasn’t sure Charlotte did.

  “Look, I know you’re doing your job and trying to protect me, but I really don’t think I should stop living my life. If I do, people who know me will wonder why. They’ll start asking questions. That will lead to speculation and gossip.”

  “Going to a surgeon who specializes in trauma is probably not the best way to keep your friends from asking questions,” Adam cut in.

  Charlotte frowned. “It’s not like I’m going to make an announcement about where I’m going. I have to go into work, and—”

  “You’re kidding, right?” he said, because there was no way she could really think that would be okay with anyone.

  “I teach math at the community college, Adam.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He wanted to add, “Congratulations,” because she’d accomplished the goal she’d been shooting for since they were in middle school. He didn’t, because she was angry. He could see it in the tightness of her jaw, feel it in the tension of her muscles.

  “I can’t just continue to not show up for work. My boss isn’t going to be happy forever with the ‘unexpected family emergency’ excuse you guys provided,” she continued.

  “We spoke to your supervisor and the HR department,” Wren said. “Your job is secure.”

  “I thought you didn’t want anyone knowing what was going on?” Charlotte countered.

  “We make exceptions when we have to. Your supervisor assured us that he’ll keep the information private. He sent you his best.”

  “When did you contact Reggie?” Charlotte asked, her hands fisted so tight Adam was sure she was gouging her nails into her skin.

  “A few hours ago,” Wren answered, turning onto another road, the beams of the car glancing across a raccoon that scurried out of sight.

  “It would have been nice to be informed about it before now.” Charlotte’s voice was tight, her words clipped.

  “My team has been busy making sure your property is secure. We’ve also been putting together a backup plan. In case this doesn’t work.”

  “This?”

  “You staying at home.”

  “I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

  “Did you ever see yourself as the victim of a serial killer, Charlotte?” River finally cut into the conversation. As usual, when he spoke, what he had to say was right on point.

  She shook her head, some of her tension easing, her hands relaxing. She understood what he was saying—that anything could happen in life, and that it was best to be prepared for it.

  Adam could have explained that she already knew that.

  Losing their son had taught them both the lesson.

  The car fell silent as Wren navigated the deep curves. The darkness of the road made it difficult, and she drove slowly, easing around bends that Adam knew like the back of his hand. He knew the hilly areas, the blind entrances. He’d driven along this stretch of rural highway every day for nearly a decade. He hadn’t forgotten it. Sure, the forest seemed lusher, the trees taller. Everything else was the same. The glint of lake in the distance. The pinpricks of house lights through dense foliage. Not many people lived out this far. Those who did liked their privacy.

  Charlotte stared out the front window, her hands resting on her thighs, her gaze focused.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

  She met his eyes, and he was caught in her gaze. Caught in that look of rebellion and pride that had drawn him to her when they were both outcast kids in a community that didn’t quite understand them.

  “That the road looks a lot darker than it ever has before,” she responded.

  They were nearing the crossroad that led to the cottage. She had to be remembering the way it had felt to see the truck, to hear Bethany scream.

  He reached for her hand, the gesture more muscle-memo
ry than planned. Her fingers curved through his, her palm as smooth and silky as he remembered.

  He squeezed her hand gently, forced himself to release it.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and she nodded.

  “That’s the thing to say, right? When tragedy happens? How many times did we hear it after Daniel died?”

  His entire body tensed, his blood seeming to freeze in his veins. He thought about Daniel plenty, but it had been years since he’d heard his name spoken aloud. Hearing it was like hearing the saddest melody ever written, reading the most heartbreaking ending of the most beautiful story ever penned.

  “Too many,” he managed to say.

  The crossroad was just ahead, and he made himself focus on that—on the stop sign still strung with caution tape, the abandoned orange cones that had closed off the road after the shooting.

  Something darted out from the trees, a blur of fur and legs, zipping toward the Cadillac with so much speed Adam was certain they’d hit it.

  Wren slammed on the brakes, and he put his arm up to keep Charlotte from flying forward. As if the seat belt wouldn’t hold her, as if it were somehow still his job to protect her.

  The Cadillac skidded to the right, bumping a couple of sapling trees. Adam had his gun in hand before it stopped, his arm pressing Charlotte down and out of the line of fire.

  He knew how quickly safety could turn to danger, and he knew how desperate the Night Stalker must be. The local papers had run the story. So had the Boston Globe, the Providence Journal and a half dozen other New England newspapers.

  Guardian Angel Saves Tenth Victim of Notorious Night Stalker

  Adam had seen that headline and a variation of it. The reporters might not have Charlotte’s name, but they were speculating that she was someone local to Whisper Lake.

  How long would it take the Night Stalker to figure out who she was and where she lived?

  Would he try?

  That was the question Adam had been asking himself. It was one he knew the team had been discussing.

  “Holster your firearms,” Wren said. “It was a dog.”

  “A dog?” Charlotte pushed his arm away and straightened, peering out the window. “What dog?”

  “It ran off into the woods.” Wren gestured to the left. “Probably someone’s pet got off the chain.”

  “We can’t leave him. There are predators around here,” Charlotte said.

  “Yeah,” River agreed. “And some of them are human and want you dead. How about we worry about that and let the owner find his own dog?”

  “Or we could unroll the window and call to him,” Charlotte argued. “It’s not like we’d be out in the open. We’d just be sitting here exactly like we are. Only, we wouldn’t be abandoning someone’s pet to his fate.”

  “Fine. I’ll give it two shouts. If he doesn’t come, we’re out of here.” Wren unrolled her window. “Fido! Come!” she shouted.

  Leaves rustled. A twig snapped.

  A dog appeared.

  At least, Adam thought it was a dog. It looked more like a giant ball of curly red fur. Floppy ears. Bearded snout. Dark eyes.

  “Clover!” Charlotte shouted, and then she was scrambling over him, opening the door, tumbling out onto the road.

  He grabbed the back of her soft pink sweater, hauling her up and into the SUV. Not caring about the injury or the incision. Not caring if they ended up back in the hospital getting her stapled up again.

  All he cared about was keeping her alive.

  If the dog loping toward them was hers, someone had let it out. Someone who might be waiting for her to return, waiting for her to go looking for the dog she obviously loved. Waiting on the road with a gun in hand, ready to finish what he’d begun.

  Adam wanted to believe the Night Stalker didn’t know Charlotte’s identity, but he wasn’t going to be foolish enough to ignore the possibility.

  Wren obviously felt the same.

  She shouted for River to jump out and get the dog, and then she was speeding toward the lake and the cottage and the memories Adam had tried so hard to forget.

  THREE

  The cottage door was open.

  No lights on in the house.

  No sign that anyone was there, but the door was wide-open and swaying slightly in the breeze. Charlotte had about two seconds to register that, and then Adam was moving, dragging her down onto the seat and covering her with his muscular body.

  “What—” she began.

  “Stay down,” he commanded. “That door should not be open.”

  “You’re right about that. We were here a couple of hours ago, and the place was clear and locked up tight,” Wren said, her voice barely audible over the steady beat of Adam’s heart. Charlotte could hear it thudding softly, feel the vibration through the soft fabric of his shirt.

  She wanted to burrow in close, to take a little of the comfort she used to get from him.

  But those years were over, and she tried to ease away, to put a little space between them.

  “Stop,” he said quietly, the words ruffling the hair near her temple. “Just wait until we’re sure there’s no one inside. Where’s Sam, Wren? Wasn’t he supposed to be here?”

  “At the airport picking up Honor. She brought the security equipment I wanted. I figured between you, me and River, we’d be fine until they arrived.”

  “I shouldn’t be included in that. I’m on leave,” Adam said, and Wren snorted.

  “Now you realize it? Stay here. I’m going to check out the interior of the house.”

  She didn’t sound very concerned.

  Maybe Charlotte shouldn’t be, either, but her pulse was racing, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  “That’s not policy,” Adam responded, his voice vibrating through his chest and straight into Charlotte’s ear.

  “And?” Wren said, opening her door.

  Cold air swept into the vehicle, carrying the sound of leaves whispering and water lapping against the shore. Home, they seemed to say.

  “If you break policy, I’ll have to write you up. That’s one of your rules, remember? We all follow protocol. It’s the only way to assure the safety of the team,” Adam said.

  “Since when do you quote my rules?” Wren muttered.

  “Since you spent nine days reminding me that I was on leave and not a working member of the team,” he responded.

  “Here are the facts. I’m here. You’re here. That door is open. One of us needs to check the house. Since you’re currently in the back seat protecting our witness, that will have to be me. My guess is Bubbles was here after we left. She probably fed the dog and accidently left the door open.”

  “Bubbles would never leave a door open,” Charlotte offered. “She’s paranoid.”

  That was a slight exaggeration, but Bubbles really did worry about someone breaking into her house. She locked her doors and windows and checked them five times before she went to bed at night. She’d told Charlotte to do the same.

  You can’t be too careful was one of her favorite sayings.

  Careful didn’t mean leaving a door open.

  “She’s also elderly,” Wren said. “Sometimes that brings a little bit of forgetfulness. Even to the sharpest mind. You two stay here. I’ll check out the house.”

  She probably would have closed the door and walked away, but a dog barked, the sound mixing with twigs snapping, paws scrabbling, feet pounding on packed earth.

  There was a flurry of movement, a half second when Charlotte wondered if they were under attack, and then Clover was springing over the front seat, his furry face pressed close to hers, his tongue lolling out.

  “How did you get here?” she asked, and he smiled in the way only a dog could.

  “He must have known you were in the car. He took off through the trees and headed
this way. Never veered from his course,” River said, opening up the passenger door and peering in.

  “Since you’re here, I’ll go inside with Wren.” Adam moved away, taking all his warmth with him.

  “Good idea. You’ve lived here. You know the house. I’d like to see it through your eyes and get an idea of where the most likely security breaches will be,” Wren said. She was moving away from the vehicle, heading for the front porch of the cottage with a confident stride that seemed to say she really did think the house was empty.

  Charlotte hoped she was right.

  She wasn’t as convinced.

  She knew Bubbles. Age hadn’t made her more forgetful. It had made her more obsessive.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Adam said quietly as he climbed out of the car. “Stay here and do exactly what River says.”

  He walked away quickly, his long legs eating up the ground way faster than hers ever could. He’d been six inches shorter when they’d met, but still taller than every kid in seventh grade. She’d noticed him because of his height and because he was the only biracial kid in school. Whisper Lake wasn’t known for its diverse population. Nor was it known to be tolerant of people like Adam’s mother. Darla Whitfield had ended up in Whisper Lake by default. Her then-boyfriend had moved there when he’d taken a job for the United States Forest Service. When he’d left for another job, she and Adam had stayed in the single-wide trailer they’d been renting. Darla had worked as a waitress and changed boyfriends faster than she’d changed hair color. Which, according to people who’d known her back then, had been a lot.

  That had been years before Charlotte had met Adam, but she’d always imagined him as a scrawny five-year-old, running wild on the ten-acre property that the trailer sat on. By the time she’d moved to town, he’d gotten a part-time job to help pay the bills and was working almost as much as his mother.

  He’d wanted better for his kids. He’d wanted them to have happy childhoods, to grow up feeling secure and safe and valued. He’d told Charlotte that long before she’d found out she was pregnant. After, he’d been even more determined. He’d applied for and gotten a job with the Whisper Lake Sheriff’s Department; he’d attended college. When he hadn’t been doing either of those things, he’d been home being the best father anyone could be.