Whatever gave him that idea? I keep the sarcastic question to myself and blow my hair out of my face as Francine pulls me up with one arm. A quick glance at the wall clock brings a frown. “We still have thirty minutes?” I’m a lot less excited about this course than I was when we first walked in tonight.
Francine’s grin is even broader. “Yep, but you get to be the attacker now, if that makes you feel any better.”
It doesn’t. No matter what side of the law I’m on in this scenario, Francine takes me down. She seems to enjoy it a little too much. As I don the protective suit, the lights dim. “What’s going on?”
“Everyone take it easy. It’s an old building. The wiring is a bit wonky.” The instructor’s voice does little to reassure me.
“Just breathe, honey. And remember that you’re taking steps to kick this guy’s ass if he comes near you.” Francine reverts to her usual position as my personal cheering squad.
“Not at the rate I’m going.” I rub a sore spot on my butt even though I can barely feel it through all the padding.
“All right, everyone. Take positions!” David bellows, his round face bright red.
I found out early in the class that David likes to yell. Even though there are only seven people in the class, he shouts every instruction.
The overhead lights blink again, and a chill sweeps over me. Maybe I’m being hyper-vigilant, but living so long with Mark gave me one hell of a strong sense of wrong. And something doesn’t feel right here. No one else is paying attention to the minor dysfunction, but my gaze sweeps the small room.
There’s one window that’s blocked by an air conditioner and a rickety faux wooden door that’s ajar. All the other classes have finished by now so we’re alone. I wish having David here made me feel better, but, in reality, the guy is probably better at teaching than he is at taking down the bad guys anymore.
“Emily, it’s your move.” Francine shakes me out of my stupor.
“Wait a second.” My hand grips hers. “Something isn’t right.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Now her head is swiveling in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the imaginary evil I see.
A crackling sound halts my response. It definitely sounds like faulty wiring, but I’ve been watched enough in the past to know when I have an unwelcome visitor. Someone has eyes on me.
I glance around the room. The students are paying attention to David, and he’s focused on yelling. So maybe I’m being paranoid. My instincts are a little rusty, but trying to shake it off doesn’t work.
“I feel like I’m being watched.” I keep my voice low.
Francine’s eyes widen. “How can you tell? We’re the only ones in here, and that unit is blocking anyone’s view.”
“Maybe.” Without asking permission, I walk to the window and begin peeling back the black duct tape surrounding the air conditioner.
“Miss Jacobs, what are you doing?” David’s attention has reverted to me.
“This looks uneven.” It’s the quickest excuse I can come up with.
“She’s a little particular.” Francine quickly backs me up. “Things like that make her nuts. Try being alone with her in a room with crooked pictures on the walls. It’s a nightmare.”
“Clearly,” comes David’s suspicious response.
When I peel off the last of the tape, I stand on tiptoe to get a better look at the parking lot beyond. Headlights flick on and off, and I jump back. “Francine.”
She’s at my side in an instant. “What did you see?”
We both hear an engine come to life then tires squealing on the pavement. I grip her hand. “He was at the window. He must have heard me with the tape.”
“Shit. We need to get out of here.” Her fingers dig into my flesh. “No, wait a second. First, we need to call Adam. Then we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Ladies, calm down.” David hitches his pants up and walks toward us. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“She has a stalker.” Francine’s excuse seems so plausible the instructor doesn’t question it. “He was outside. We need to call the police.”
“There’s no need. Whoever was out there can’t get in here. The front doors are locked with an automatic timer. Only those of us inside can get out. When the class is over, I’ll walk you to your car.” He sounds so sure of himself as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Maybe it is. I suppose plenty of women come to these self-defense courses for stalkers or crazy ex-boyfriends.
“I’m still going to call Adam,” Francine whispers in my ear.
Chapter Five
“Bet this parking lot hasn’t seen this much activity since spring break.” Art snickers though his face wears a worried expression.
“What is he talking about?” I wrap Adam’s coat tighter around me and watch the deputies combing the grassy areas close to the YWCA.
“Teens come here late at night during spring break. They put up a film projector as a pretense of actually watching a movie.” Francine rolls her eyes just as I look at her. “Art only remembers because he used to do it back when he had a real girlfriend instead of an imaginary one.”
He whirls around and pins her with a glower. “I’d have time for a girlfriend if I didn’t have to keep a watch on you all the time.”
“Since when have you ever had to watch me? You’re so full of shit…” Her voice trails off when the door opens.
We’ve all been standing in the main area of the center, exactly where Adam ordered us to stay. It’s a huge, empty space with a few chairs sprinkled here and there and a circular desk in the corner with nothing on it. Now, when Adam walks into the room, it shrinks.
Even in the midst of chaos and fear, he takes my breath away. He walks toward me confidently, though I know this new wrinkle has shaken him as much as it has me. “Are you okay?” I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s asked me that tonight.
“I guess so. Did you find anything?”
“Nothing except some tire tracks on the pavement where the guy skidded out of here. We’re taking some casts, but I doubt it’ll do any good. The tires look pretty ordinary, but we might get lucky.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“Don’t you think she should stay with you tonight?” Worry coats Francine’s voice.
“Where did you think I meant?”
She grins, her shoulders relaxing. “Oh. Well, that’s good then. I just think she needs a big, strong man to watch over her.”
“Francine.” I hate when she makes me sound like a helpless female. I’m working my ass off to shake that image, but it’s obviously going to take some time. She winks at me, and I notice a twinkle in her eyes. Realization taps me on the nose. “You have plans, don’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t, but someone out there is worried about me, too, and he’s kind enough to have offered me a ride home.”
“Uh-huh.” My hands slips into Adam’s like I’ve been holding it all my life. “What other kind of ride do you plan on taking tonight?”
She guffaws, and her face reddens. “It’s not so much a plan as a hope.”
“Oh for the love of…” Art breaks off and stalks to the door. “I’m not listening to this. The last thing I want to hear about is my sister’s attempts to get laid.”
Laughter breaks up the tension that’s been coating the room. With Adam next to me, I feel safe again. As much as I want to be an independent woman, capable of taking care of herself, I need Adam. For so much more than my safety. He’s become intrinsically connected to me. And nothing is as important to me as being with him.
His fingers squeeze mine as though he can read my thoughts. When I look up at him, he’s watching me. The room clears, leaving the two of us alone.
“He was out there watching me.” The thought sickens me, and I draw even closer to Adam. “He’s playing with me. Why else wouldn’t he take the shot? Does he want to see me face to face first? Does he want me to see him pull
the trigger? Is that what’s going to get him off?”
Adam turns me in his arms in an effort to quiet my growing hysteria. He loops his hands at my lower spine, giving me plenty of room to move but no reason to. “I don’t know, but I’m going to feel a hell of a lot better knowing you’re in my bed tonight.”
My hands slide up the wall of his chest. “I was in your bed last night.”
“You didn’t stay long enough.” The complaint comes with a smile.
“I had to work.”
Shifting to take my hand again, Adam begins walking me to the door. “What about tomorrow morning?”
He’s pulling me back to normalcy, distracting me. The thought triggers a response in me I don’t expect. Anger.
Talk about normal things. Take the victim’s mind off their fear. Where had I read those words before? Then I remember. I’d been waiting for Adam to finish some paperwork and had flipped through a book on his desk. A book written by a psychologist detailing ways to deal with women who’ve been traumatized.
I stop walking and tug my hand free. “Don’t treat me like a victim, Adam.”
Though he looks surprised, he doesn’t deny the accusation. “You don’t want me to use what I know to help you?”
“I want you to be normal with me. Don’t pull words out of a shrink’s book and expect that to comfort me.”
“Did they?”
The question throws me for a second. “Did they what?”
“Anything I said, did it take your mind off what’s going on around you even if only for three minutes? Because the way I see it, if it helped, that’s a good thing.” He blows out a loud breath and circles me. “This is all new to me, Emily, and yeah, I might be taking some shortcuts by reading a little, but I don’t want to screw this up.”
“By this you mean…” I let the prompt trail off.
He rakes one hand over his short hair before dropping his hand back down to his side. “This. You and me. Us.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’m sorry. That sounded ungrateful. And that’s not what I meant. I don’t want what’s happening around us to change things…or to come between us.”
His shoulders relax. “Nothing is going to come between us.” He takes my hand again.
“Adam.” I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his fingers. “Does being with me make it harder for you to do your job?”
He looks up, eyes cloudy with confusion. “What? No.”
I plow on before he can say anything else. “I mean to keep a clear head. I’ve seen your anger, and this guy, whoever he is, is cold. Calculating like he knows he’s in control. If you do see him before I do, I don’t want you to get hurt because—”
“Emily, stop.” Adam grips my upper arms. “Stop worrying. Stop over-analyzing. I’m going to find this bastard, and when I do, he’ll have a choice to make. I won’t pull the trigger unless he makes the wrong decision.”
“I’m scared.” The admission costs me. My stomach lurches, and my palms become clammy. “I mean I’m trying not to be. I’m taking this defense course, and I’m getting on with my life, but deep down inside, I’m scared all the time.”
“I know. It’s the not knowing, wondering when he’s going to strike. Anyone would be scared.” With his arm around my shoulder, Adam leads me to the door. “All we can do is take this one moment at a time until he’s caught. And in this moment, I want to take you home and pour you a glass of wine.” He kisses me on the cheek, so gentle it’s more like a brush of his lips against my skin. “And then I want to help you relax.”
I lean into him as we walk out. “You don’t think the wine will do that?”
“It’s a start, but I’ve got something a little more…hands-on in mind.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
Adam slides his hand off my shoulders and down to dip in my spine. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a few surprises in store for you.”
Whatever that book taught him is working.
Chapter Six
“It’s been over three weeks since he’s fired a shot.”
Adam looks up from the paper when I walk into the kitchen with the announcement. “Emily.”
“I know I shouldn’t be keeping track, but other than another cryptic note last week, we haven’t heard anything from this guy. Nothing has happened¸ and there’s been no weirdness. Does that mean he’s gone? Did he get arrested?” That thought has some merit. “That’s a possibility. Maybe he shot at the wrong target.”
Each day that had passed without an incident or attack, I’d hoped harder that the sniper had disappeared, that some unknown force had intervened on my behalf and just eliminated him. I hadn’t talked about it with Adam because I know he’s still aggressively tracking the guy. But I’d prayed so hard the nightmare was over.
“I’m not sure what it means.” Adam folds the paper and places it next to his mug of coffee. “But I thought you were focused on moving forward anyway. At least that’s what you told me a week ago.”
I slide into a chair across from him. “I am moving forward, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t continually think about the one person who’s been paid to kill me. I want to know he’s gone for good.”
“We both do.” He gets up and treks to the coffee maker with my mug in his hand. As he pours the steaming brew, he continues talking. “And I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with thinking about it, but dwelling on it is another story.”
“I’m not dwelling.” I reach across and snag his last piece of toast. When I bite into it and realize it’s cold, I return it to his plate. “Classes start in January, and I was hoping this would all be over by then.”
In one of my determined to forge ahead moves, I’d enrolled in college last week. Afterwards, I’d felt slightly sick, but having a plan gave me hope for the future. So I’d pushed the nausea away and remained focused. With doubts.
He walks back to the table and sets the mug in front of me. “And it still might.” After a quick kiss, he returns to his seat.
“Well, last week’s note was so generic he sounded almost bored. So maybe he lost interest. It’s possible he’s already gotten paid, knows Ike and Mark are dead, and has decided he’s got some free money.”
“Yeah. It’s possible.” The doubt in his voice brings a frown to my face. “We just need to…” His cell phone rings before he can finish the sentence.
I sigh. Finishing a conversation with him is rare, especially since petty crimes had picked up in town. Francine blames it on the winter months and teenagers with too much time on their hands. But no one has been caught so the calls continue, usually at the most inopportune times.
Adam ends the call I wasn’t listening to and gives me a grimace. “Sorry. I have to run. Disturbance at Johnson’s Pharmacy. Call me when you get to work.” Back on his feet, he leans over and kisses me. After taking one more swig of coffee, he digs his keys out of his pocket, gives me a wink, and heads out the front door.
Not eager to get to work any earlier than I have to, I take my time getting ready, but I still arrive before Francine. Which is beyond strange. I’ve never beaten her to the diner. And it’s crowded, Art is shouting obscenities, and pouring coffee which he never does.
“Art, have you seen Francine?”
“Tall broad with freckles, too much hair, and mouth? I’ve seen her just not this morning, and she’s not answering her damned phone, either.”
“Where’s Jessica?” The timid waitress with mousy brown hair and a soft voice usually worked the days I didn’t…except for Saturdays. We all worked on Saturdays.
“She’s in the back getting some more coffee. Can you go see what’s taking Francine so long?”
“Sure.” Coat still on, I pause on the way out the back door. “Gary isn’t with her, is he?” I don’t want to interrupt anything, but that certainly could be the reason for her tardiness.
Art snorts. “Like I want to know if he is.” He fakes a shudder or maybe it’s real. “Just go get her and get
back here as quick as you can. I don’t belong out here.”
I silently agree with his assessment. While Art is one hell of a cook, he lacks customer service skills, and I can see him running off any unfortunate diner who happens to piss him off.
The lights aren’t on at Francine’s house, and the door is locked. I use my key and stamp my feet on the inside door mat to make my presence known just in case Gary had stayed over.
“Francine! Art sent me over here to get you. He’s up to his eyeballs in customers.” Talking at the top of my voice to give any overnight guest plenty of time to get clothed, I head down the hallway, ready to tap on her bedroom door. It’s ajar so I peek inside. The bed’s still made. But her car’s out front.
Frowning, I cross the hall to my bedroom, push open the door, and come to a shocked standstill. Francine is lying atop the mattress in a blood-soaked gown. My heart begins to pound wildly. I scream and race toward her, dropping to my knees beside the bed.
“Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive.” Fumbling, I check for a pulse, not even sure what I’m doing. The steady flutter against my fingers pours relief through me. “Just hold on, Francine. Hold on.”
“’m okay,” she mumbles.
“No, you’re not okay. You’re nowhere near okay.” My hands are shaking so hard it’s difficult to pull my phone from the front pocket of my jeans. I’m already calling Adam before I even think about 911.
“Hey, I’m in the middle of—”
“Francine’s hurt.” I don’t give him a chance to cut me off because I need him.
“What? How?”
I hear the truck engine roar to life even as I answer him. “I’m not sure. I…” When I turn and see the hole in the window, my teeth start to chatter. “I think…she’s been shot.”
I didn’t think the bedroom could fit this many people. With the paramedics, cops, Art, and several patrons from the diner, there’s little room to move until Adam begins shooing people out.
Being Lovers Page 5
