Son of the Enemy

by Ana Barrons

  “The guy who’s stalking you was also stalking your mother. And I’d bet even money that he’s also the person who killed her.”

  Hannah felt her insides go cold. “No,” she whispered. “He’s… Her killer’s in prison. There was no stalker. No one ever said there was a stalker.”

  “Maybe not back then. But I have new information. There was a stalker, but the only people who knew about him were your mother and the man who’s sitting in prison. Sam Daly.”

  Hannah pulled back. “He’s the one who claims there was a stalker? Gee, there’s a credible source.”

  John took a breath and let it out slowly. “I believe him, Hannah.”

  She was incredulous. “Why? The man is a convicted murderer. Maybe he’s tired of being in prison and dreamed up this stalker so he could get some media attention and force the FBI to reopen the case.”

  John was shaking his head. “This isn’t an FBI case, at least not yet, and he’s not looking for media attention. The only person he’s told about it is me.”

  She was speechless. John had spoken to him? The man who took her mother away from her? “I can’t believe this.”

  “I know you think Daly’s the scum of the earth, but he’s actually—”

  “He’s the devil.”

  “He said the stalker gave your mother an opal ring.”

  “There are lots of opal rings.”

  “And he left roses on her porch. And scarves. I know, there are lots of roses and lots of scarves.”

  “He really sucked you in, didn’t he? Well, I’m not going to be sucked in. Not by that slimy, evil bastard.”

  “He called her Belle.”

  For several long moments she just stood there, staring at him. How could this be? Sam Daly killed her mother. She’d known that for twenty-three years, and had hated him for it every single day. Why, suddenly, all this talk about a stalker? Even if there had been someone stalking her mother, how could the same man be stalking her all these years later?

  “Why did he tell you all this?” she asked hoarsely. “Why did you talk to that…that lying, murdering son of a bitch?”

  “Because he’s my father,” John said quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Philip watched the taillights disappear around the trees before he climbed into the old Mercedes. He knew Bradshaw was going to see her, and he wanted to be around in case she needed him to protect her again. He felt in his pocket for his knife and imagined the blond giant clutching at his neck, bright red blood spurting through his fingers as he stumbled backward and slid down the wall, dead, with his eyes open.

  He smiled.

  Good thing he had that rock in his pocket when he saw that man attack Belle. It had felt so good to put himself on the line for her, to risk his own safety to keep her safe. She must have gotten away, because Bradshaw’s Neanderthals had searched all around the grounds for her, inside and outside the fence, but she had disappeared. Now he had to make sure she’d made it home.

  He stopped the car at the gate and waited for the guard to come around. The man’s breath stank of alcohol.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the guard asked. “Mr. Bradshaw doesn’t want anyone leaving the grounds tonight.”

  “Ty called and wanted me to bring him his iPod.” He held it up for the guard to see. “He’s bored at his grandmother’s house.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, Mr. Bradshaw didn’t say anything about that.”

  “Why don’t you just call him and ask him? I’m sure he won’t mind being interrupted for such an important question.”

  The guard snarled. “You know what, fish face? You’re really starting to get on my fucking nerves.”

  “Or I can just call him myself. You don’t need to trouble yourself.” Philip reached into his pocket, but the guard was already walking back to his little gatehouse. He pressed the button and the gate swung open. Philip smiled and waved as he drove past him. The guard flipped him the bird.

  Once he was out of sight of the gatehouse he pressed down on the accelerator. He wanted to get to her house as quickly as possible after Bradshaw arrived, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He would park at the school and run through the woods, then circle the cottage to her bedroom window. At the thought, his breathing quickened and his palms felt damp on the steering wheel. Tonight would be his first time looking through the tiny peephole he’d dug into the wall just below the window, facing her bed. He rubbed a sweaty hand over his erection and sent up a prayer that she hadn’t discovered it.

  “Very soon now, my love,” he whispered as his tires splashed through the wet snow.

  John pulled a small, black rolling suitcase out of her closet and tossed it on the bed. Christ, she looked totally shell-shocked, standing there clutching her robe together, her gaze unfocused.

  “I’ll explain it all to you when we get to Marblehead,” he said. “For right now, though, I’m asking you to trust me, even though that’s the last thing in the world you want to do.”

  “Trust you,” she echoed, looking through him rather than at him. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “I’m John Emerson Daly. That’s my real name. My mother is an Emerson.”

  “John Emerson Daly. Sam Daly’s son.” She moved to the bed and flopped down, saying the name over and over like she was in a trance. Suddenly she put her hand to her mouth and raised her eyes to him—and burst out laughing.

  It was hysterical laughter, out-of-control laughter. She fell onto her side holding her stomach, laughing like a maniac. He felt skewered by her laughter. Humiliated.

  “Help me out here, Hannah,” he said, wanting desperately to end this fit of hysteria. “You need clothes for at least a couple days, maybe three or four. Toiletries, whatever.”

  She was still laughing, swiping at her eyes, but after a minute or so it came in bursts that were beginning to sound a lot more like sobs.

  “Hannah. Are you listening?”

  She took a couple of deep breaths, then reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand and blew her nose. “Listening to what?” Her voice was rough. Monotone. She was no longer looking at him, just staring down at her hands, occasionally wiping tears off her face.

  “We have to go,” he said slowly. “I wanted to give you some space, but I waited too long. We’ve wasted too much time. Now, what do you need?”

  “I have school on Monday.” She stared at the suitcase, then at the closet, back to the suitcase. “I can’t go anywhere. I have appointments. I have a school to run.”

  “We’ll say one of your relatives died and you had to leave. We’ll call Larissa from the road, okay? She can hold down the fort for a few days, change your appointments around.”

  Hannah was shaking her head. “If any of my relatives died, I probably wouldn’t even know about it.” He could see the hysteria threatening to bubble up again and squatted in front of her, his hands on her knees.

  “One of your relatives did die, and that’s why we’re going there.” She focused on him then. “Your mother. She died. We’re going up there to figure out who killed her.”

  She frowned. “If it’s the same guy who’s stalking me, why not look for him here?”

  “Believe me, I plan to. That’s what the cops are supposed to be doing. But let’s face it—we need help from the FBI, and the only way I can convince them to help is to establish that Sam Daly was not the man in your mother’s bedroom that day. That her real murderer is in this area, and that he’s a threat to you.”

  “And just how exactly are we going to do that?” She had broken eye contact, and the flat tone of her voice told him she was still on the edge of losing it.

  John sat beside her on the bed but didn’t touch her. She really didn’t know the role she’d played in putting his father in prison all those years ago. “I’ve read all the newspaper accounts of your mother’s murder. They all say you were in the bedroom when she was killed.”

  “I already told you. The memory is gone.”<
br />
  He risked touching her hand where it lay on the bed, but she jerked it away. Damn, that hurt. “I’ll tell you everything on the way, I promise. Please, honey, let’s just—”

  “I’m not your honey.” She stood and crossed to her dresser, moving slowly, like an old lady. She opened a wooden jewelry box and pulled out the opal ring, then twisted it between her thumb and fingers. “I would have known if she’d gotten this from an evil person. I wouldn’t have worn it all these years. It’s not possible that I—”

  They both heard the car splashing up the drive at the same time, but the blank expression on her face didn’t change.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “That’s probably Thornton.”

  John flipped off the light and peeked through the curtains. The black Mercedes had come into view between the trees. Definitely Bradshaw, but he appeared to be alone.

  “Say as little to him as possible. Just get rid of him.”

  “I won’t answer the door.”

  Fuck. He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “You have to snap out of it.” That sparked a hint of anger in her eyes. Good. Anything was better than that awful flatness. “If you don’t respond, he’ll bust the door down, or get one of his goons to do it.”

  She pushed him away. “Where’s your motorcycle?”

  “The tech guys picked it up and brought it to my apartment after they dropped me off. I came in my car and parked it at the school. Bradshaw won’t know I’m here.”

  She took a deep breath, tightened the belt on her robe and walked into the living room. He positioned himself beside the bedroom door with his back to the wall and pulled his gun out from the back of his pants, where he’d shoved it so Hannah wouldn’t spot it. The mirror opposite him provided a view into the living room. He could see the tension in Hannah’s body as she stood there, waiting for Bradshaw to knock. When the knock finally came, she took another deep breath and waited a few beats.

  “Go away,” she called through the door.

  “Let me in!” Bradshaw called back. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “I don’t want to see you right now, Thornton. Please go away.”

  “Let me see that you’re okay and I’ll leave.”

  She hesitated a moment and then opened the door a tiny bit. “Satisfied?”

  Bradshaw pushed his way in and she stepped back.

  “Don’t you ever pick up the phone?” Bradshaw asked. “My God, you’re all scratched up. What did you—?”

  “I’m fine.” Her tone was flat again. “But I’m exhausted and cranky, and I need to get to bed, so please just go.”

  “What happened?” Bradshaw grabbed her upper arms. He was coiled tightly, John could see. “What did Nick do? No, don’t turn away. I need to know what that bastard did. Did he touch you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Holy— He didn’t rape you, did he?”

  If he had, he’d be dead now, John thought. His fingers tightened around his gun.

  “Not quite. But he would have if that alarm hadn’t gone off when it did.”

  Bradshaw tried to wrap his arms around her, but she shrugged him off.

  Good girl.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that that happened,” Bradshaw said, controlled anger in his tone. “That punk will regret the day he laid a hand on you.”

  “No! Don’t hurt him. Not on my account. I knocked his balls into his throat anyway.”

  Bradshaw stared at her. “What did you think I was going to do? Kill him?”

  John tensed when she didn’t answer right away.

  Christ, Hannah, say something.

  “Why do you have a man at your gate checking for weapons?” she asked.

  “I’m a prominent man. There are a lot of wackos out there who would like to steal from me, or take photos or whatnot. I’m protecting my privacy.”

  Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. Her body language said, Bullshit. “I see. And your guard just assumed I was a wacko? Most people don’t run their friends through metal detectors when they drop in unannounced.”

  “The man made a mistake. He’ll be dealt with.”

  “For a man who has a teenage son, I’d think you’d keep better company. The men I saw in your house, like Nick, looked like thugs, frankly. And they act like they’re afraid of you.”

  Jesus Christ, John thought. She’s giving him a friggin’ lecture.

  “I had some important clients with me tonight,” Bradshaw said. “They’re the kind of people who like to have protection, so I gave them protection. But that’s not why—”

  “Why did you send dogs after me?”

  Bradshaw remained remarkably cool, even though he had to be exasperated. “The dogs are a part of my security plan. Something hit the window, hard, and set off the alarm. When the alarms go off, the men who keep the dogs are immediately alerted. It takes time to call them back. I didn’t send them after you.” He stepped closer and laid his hands on her shoulders. “My God, Hannah, I was frantic when I realized you’d left the house. Why didn’t you just run out of the room? What made you run out of the house?”

  “Nick made me run. And the alarms. They scared the hell out of me.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Bradshaw again tried to pull her into his arms but she shoved against his chest. “What—? Why are you acting like this? I told you I was sorry. What more can I do?”

  “You can leave.”

  “Why did you come to my house tonight?”

  Was there a note of suspicion in his voice? John couldn’t see his face anymore, and Hannah was completely out of sight.

  Damn, move back toward the door.

  “It was an impulse. Stupid. I never should have gone there. If the cab hadn’t already taken off, I would have left as soon as that creep tried to frisk me.”

  “If only you’d come on a different night, or called first.”

  “Oh, believe me, I wish I’d called.”

  “When you kissed me like that, it was all I could do not to take you upstairs and forget about that meeting.”

  John could hear the blood pounding in his temples. How did she kiss him? God damn it! He shifted his position so he could see a part of Hannah’s back. Bradshaw’s hands were on her shoulders.

  “I had a little too much wine,” she said.

  “I know, I could smell it on your breath. But I didn’t care.”

  “Thornton…”

  “You’re not the kind of woman who would do something she really didn’t want to do just because she’d been drinking. That first night in the limo, you claimed—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “You told me later that was all about the booze, too, but you and I both know it was because we’d had a great time with Emil and his wife.”

  “Oh God,” Hannah groaned. “Why did you have to bring him up?”

  “I know, I know, but it’s true. You wanted me that night. And even if the alcohol loosened you up, that doesn’t explain the other times.”

  John’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. If Bradshaw got any more graphic, he might have to just walk out there and blow his fucking head off.

  Hannah stalked to the door and pulled it open. “I will not have this discussion. Please, just go.”

  “Fine. I’ll go. But I plan to finish what we started tonight. It can be good between us.” He lowered his voice. “I know what you like and how you like it, Hannah. If I can make you scream in the back of a moving limo, just imagine what I could do to you in a big, soft bed.”

  “Just go,” she whispered.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Plan to have dinner with me Monday night. We’ll take the scenic route home.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  John didn’t move until he heard the car pull away, then stuck his gun in his coat pocket and dropped the coat on the floor. As he turned to join Hannah in the living room, she surprised him by ap
pearing in the doorway. They made eye contact briefly, but her expression was closed. She flipped the light back on, walked past him to her dresser and started pulling out underwear.

  “I need to be back by Tuesday afternoon,” she said. “And we’re staying in separate rooms.”

  The hell they were. “I’ll book something at a nearby hotel.”

  She opened another drawer and pulled out a couple of sweaters. “Nearby what?”

  “Nearby the house in Marblehead.”

  She looked up.

  He nodded.

  She frowned and became suddenly very irritable. “And I’m just supposed to trust you. What are you going to do? Stick me under the bed and try to make me remember?”

  “If necessary.”

  She unzipped the suitcase and dumped in the underwear and sweaters. “I’m sure whoever lives there now will just be thrilled to have us poking around the master bedroom.”

  “It’s a bed and breakfast. Has been for twenty-one years.”

  She turned to the window, as though she could see the past reflected there. “I’m not ready for this. And I don’t automatically accept what a convicted murderer has to say about anything.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t care who he is. I hate that man. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him. He took everything from me.”

  “You hate the man who killed your mother,” John said, absorbing the pain her words inflicted. “Whoever he is. My father is not capable of murder. Not then, not now.”

  Hannah squinted up at him, as though she had trouble seeing him. “Putting aside all the ways you’ve deceived me, how could you manipulate a sick old man into believing you were writing a book about him and his baby? Other than Bebe, the Grange School was the most important thing in Arthur’s life, and you exploited that for your own purposes. I’ll never forgive you for disappointing him.”

  John scrubbed a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. “Fine, I’m a heartless bastard, okay? I’m not going to hold a gun to your head, Hannah. Either decide you want the truth about your mother’s murder or not, but either way you’re not safe here.”

  “Oh, please. Let’s just acknowledge that this is about saving your father’s ass and drop the bullshit about my safety.”