“Todd?” she whispered.
Only the wind under the eaves answered.
She licked dry lips. Was she losing her mind? Had she merely hallucinated? She must have. If not, then Todd was here in the room with her. And of course that was impossible because Todd had been killed in the war.
Then what? Even in the dim light, Katie could make him out, could see the dark outline of his still form in the chair.
Retrieving the lamp from the floor, which, miraculously, was still lit and hadn’t set fire to anything, Katie stepped nearer. The telephone downstairs stopped ringing.
Katie raised the lamp, stifling a gasp as the light threw a great looming shadow on the wall behind it. The shadow quivered as Katie’s hand, holding the lamp, shook. “Oh, my God, why?” she whispered.
Her words hung ominously in the room. She tore her eyes from the hideous sight, taking a backward step, wanting with every instinct in her to run from the room. But she couldn’t let herself do that. She had to know what she was seeing—had to make sure it wasn’t her imagination this time.
Steeling herself, Katie made herself look again, forcing the lamp steady.
The eyes were a pale, icy blue, the whites threaded with tiny veins. As real looking as those in the life-sized figures in Madame Toussaud’s Museum, which she’d toured with her art class two years ago.
There was no doubt in her mind that the eyes that looked at her now were the same eyes she’d seen in her rearview mirror—the eyes that had caused her to lose control of her car.
She lowered the lamp. The throat of “the thing” oozed a dark, sticky substance that looked like blood, as if it had been slashed. Unable to look any longer, her heart thumping in her chest, Katie slowly backed out of the room.
The eyes followed her.
In her studio, fighting nausea, tasting the sour, acidy wine in her stomach, Katie thumbed frantically through the telephone book for the number of the Belleville Police Department. She couldn’t find it, and only later remembered that it was clearly displayed on the front cover.
Frustrated, and trying to quell her panic, she dialed “0” for the operator. Her breathing, as she waited for someone to come on the line, seemed amplified in the silence of the house.
“Operator,” a nasal female voice said at last, and Katie forced her own voice to be calm and even as she asked the woman to please connect her with the police—that her house had been broken into.
After giving the police her name and directions to her house, Katie hung up and went to place more wood on the live embers. Then, wrapping herself in an afghan, she sat on the cot and waited for the police. Seized by a sudden, violent trembling, she hugged herself and tried to stop her teeth from chattering. What if he ’ s still here? What if he ’ s still in the house?
***
When the hammering sounded on the front door, she jumped up grabbed the lamp, and hurried to answer. She threw the door wide to a gust of wind and rain.
But it wasn’t the police.
Katie stared in astonishment at the man towering above her.
“Dr. Shea. I—I was expecting the police.”
“I know.” He pushed his way past her, shutting the door behind him, fading out the sounds of the storm. “I heard the call come in over the police band.” His eyes darted about like an animal sensing danger.
“There’s no one in the house but me, Doctor,” she said in a small voice. “At—least, I don’t think so.” Why is he here? And why is he looking at me with such anger?
“I telephoned earlier,” he said, his voice sharp and cold, and bewildering to Katie. “There was no answer.”
“Oh, was it you? I remember hearing it ring. I…”
“My God, woman, this place is like a barn. Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”
“There’s a fire in the studio fireplace,” she defended, “and the kitchen is comfortable. It’s just these rooms…” Her voice drifted off, and her body convulsed in harsh, wracking sobs. She was appalled at herself, but it was as if a dam within her had burst, a flood she couldn’t stop. She heard herself raving incoherently about something upstairs in her room, and before she could realize what was happening, Jonathan Shea had lifted her in his arms as though she were as weightless as a baby.
“So where’s your studio?” His tone had softened a little.
Katie pointed, at the same time trying to disengage herself from his strong arms. “Put me down, please,” she choked out, ashamed of her loss of control.
“Hold on to the lamp. I can’t carry both you and it.” His voice had lost its steely edge, and Katie let herself sag against him. In the studio, he deposited her gently on the cot and covered her with the afghan. His eyes were questioning.
“Upstairs,” she said numbly. “You’ll know I’m not making it up this time. First door on the right at the top of the stairs.”
He nodded. “I’ll be right back. You stay here. I’ll bring an extra blanket. Is there a flashlight in this mausoleum? The lamp is a damned nuisance. Anyway, you’ll need it yourself.”
“In the desk drawer.”
As he started from the room, Katie flung off the afghan. “Wait, Jonathan. I’m going with you. I’m all right, now.” She needed to see the thing again herself, to know she hadn’t imagined it. Also, she did not want to be alone just now.
“Katherine, no,” he said, turning. “I won’t be long. You’re in no state to…”
“I’m going with you,” she said flatly, and stared him down despite his intimidating manner.
He gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Please yourself. But stay behind me.”
She needed little coaxing to do just that. As they climbed the stairs, Katie followed close at his heels.
“Don’t pull me backwards,” he said, his voice hushed, and Katie dropped her hands, realizing, with embarrassment, she’d had a death grip on the hem of his jacket. “It wouldn’t do if we both fell downstairs.”
As the flashlight’s beam paved their way through the darkness, she heard him say, “It’s bad enough you’re living in isolation out here, but to endure this place without electricity or central heating…” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m surprised you have a telephone.”
“I thought it a necessity. How did you find my house, Dr. Shea?” They were on the landing, and her voice had dropped to a whisper.
“I told you, the directions came over the police band. Anyway, most folks in Belleville know where Katherine Summers, the writer, lived. My kid sister has all her books.”
“Oh.”
“You are either a very courageous woman, or you’re quite mad. I haven’t decided which. I’ll reserve diagnosis until we have at least a few sessions together.
“Spare me,” she hissed. “I like where I live. It’s that simple. I’m with people all day in my job. I’m an artist. I need the quiet. Besides, it’s rent free.”
They were standing at the bedroom door now, and talking ceased. Katie heard their combined breathing. She heard the wind outside. Her nerves were as taut as guy wires.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Stay close to me.”
She had no intention of doing otherwise.
“Maybe you should wait out here.”
“No, I’m going in with you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Then she was following the wide-shouldered man into the room. He shone the light around, spotting the flowered wallpaper, her bed. As it came into focus, Katie’s hand instinctively darted out to touch Jonathan.
His back muscles beneath her palm tensed, and she heard him mutter a curse. Moving closer to him, she spoke in a whisper, as if they were in a funeral parlor. “Someone must have put it here while I was in the hospital.” With Jonathan in the room with her, the effigy did not seem quite so terrifying. “And I’d been thinking about Todd lately. I suppose it was the army uniform…”
“Todd?”
“Todd Raynes. We were going
to be married. It was a long time ago. He was killed in Vietnam.”
Jonathan touched a finger to the bloodied throat of the thing, drew back his hand, and sniffed the red substance clinging to his finger. “Paint,” he said. He lowered the flashlight. Her tube of red paint was under the chair. He picked it up. He was about to say something else, when Katie grasped his arm. He followed her gaze to the picture on the dresser. As with the effigy, Todd’s throat in the photograph was smeared with the red paint.
“Todd?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Jonathan studied the photograph a moment, then returned his attention to the thing in the chair. There really was no resemblance to Todd. Even to the blue eyes, Katie thought. Todd had had beautiful brown eyes.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I can see why you thought it was Todd. Our sick friend did a crude job, but effective nonetheless. Your imagination supplied the finishing touches.”
They both turned at the sound of distant police sirens. “They might be able to lift some identifiable prints,” Jonathan said. “I imagine they’ll want to take that photo along, but I’m sure they’ll return it in a few days.”
A shiver passed through her. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt that I’ll ever want to look at it again.”
As the sirens rose in volume, he took her arm. “Come on. Let’s go down and let them in.”
They were halfway down the stairs when the telephone rang. It was still ringing when they reached the studio. Darting ahead of her, Jonathan picked up the receiver.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said in his authoritative doctor’s voice. “Miss Summers is not available to come to the phone just now. Yes, I’ll tell her.”
“Who is it?” Katie demanded, reaching for the phone. “I can…”
But he’d already hung up. “That was your lawyer friend, Drake Devlin,” he said off-handedly. “The guy with the rose garden.”
Chapter 13
“Straw stuffed into an army uniform,” the policeman with the hard eyes and jowly cheeks said unnecessarily. He was down on one knee examining the effigy, which was laid out on the floor at the foot of the stairs.
Katie sat on the bottom step, hands folded together to keep them from shaking. She deliberately avoided looking at Jonathan, still annoyed at him for not giving her the phone, or at least identifying himself to Drake. “Does this mean the person responsible for this could be in the service?” she asked.
The policeman grunted to his feet, hitched up his pants, which stopped just short of his protruding belly. “Maybe. Maybe not.” There was an air of self importance about the man that irked her. “The uniform could have been picked up in any army surplus store,” he said, motioning to the younger policeman, who at once began working the straw form into a plastic bag and zipping it up. “Do you have friends partial to playing practical jokes?”
“No. And even if I did, this is hardly a joke, is it?”
He glanced down at the clear plastic bag, through which the blue eyes were still visible. “Well, then, I’d say we’re dealing with a first rate sicko, ma’am.” He turned to Jonathan, who was standing off a little to one side, hands thrust in his pockets. “Dr. Shea, you’re a shrin…psychiatrist. All that book learnin’ tell you anything about this guy?”
“Well, first of all we really don’t know that it is a guy, do we?”
Jonathan said. “And I really don’t think much expertise is required to deduce that whoever did it is a few bricks short of a full load.” With that, he folded his arms and fixed the slightly taken aback policeman with a steely gaze.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Katie grinned, and caught a matching grin from the blond, young officer standing quietly by, appearing to wait for his next command.
The humor of the moment fizzled as she got to her feet. “Who would want to frighten me like this?” At a wave of dizziness, she sagged back down on the step. “I can’t believe I’ve made such a terrible enemy.”
“Maybe you haven’t,” the older policeman replied, his eyes sweeping over her. “Could be someone you don’t know—a secret admirer.” There was a trace of a smirk on his face. “Anyway, we’re as much in the dark as you are at the moment, but we’ll do our job. If we come up with any answers, Miss Summers, we’ll be in touch.”
When they were gone, taking the effigy with them, Katie said, “That was rather rude of you. And not terribly professional.”
“Really? Well, I’m not my charming self these days. And I’m also no longer practicing the profession of psychiatry. Besides, I didn’t like the son-of-a-bitch.”
“What do you mean, you’re no longer practice psychiatry?” she asked, ignoring his remark about the policeman. No doubt because it reflected her own opinion of the man.
“It’s a long and boring story.” He moved toward her. “Are you thinking there was a strawman in your car that night?”
“I know there was. Whoever put it there must have been following me in their car and removed it before the police and ambulance arrived on the scene.”
He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you leave here with me tonight? I’ve only got a small apartment, but there’s a spare bed. You’re welcome to stay. Or if you prefer, I’ll check you into a hotel.”
Touched at his offer, for the moment Drake’s call to her was forgotten. Frankly, she didn’t know what she would have done without
Jonathan Shea here tonight.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep in the studio,” she said, knowing that no amount of persuasion in the world could convince her to go back upstairs tonight. Her thoughts curved back to his comment about not practicing psychiatry anymore, and she wondered if it had something to do with the young girl who had committed suicide. Though tragic, Katie couldn’t help thinking that tragedies could hardly be an uncommon occurrence in Jonathan’s line of work.
“Have you had any supper?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“No, I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re a maddening woman, Katherine Summers,” he said, giving a sigh of exasperation. “You don’t eat. And I know you conned Dr. Miller into letting you come home far sooner than he thought wise. He was under the impression, as I was myself, that there would be someone staying with you.”
“Then I don’t know where you got that impression. I never lied to Dr. Miller. Or you.”
“No. You just conveniently hid the truth.”
Katie’s annoyance flared to anger. “I have a job to go to, Dr. Shea.” Obviously, he hadn’t lost his arrogance at all. He’d just misplaced it.
“Do you remember what I told you about there being a fine line between courage and martyrdom?” he said, as if speaking to a dull-witted child.
“I’m not one of your adoring nurses, Doctor, hanging on your every word.”
Seeing the anger leap to his eyes, Katie was more than a little pleased with herself.
“Where’s the kitchen? Never mind, I’ll find it myself.” With that, he picked her up bodily off the step and carried her into the studio, with Katie fighting him every step of the way. He stood her on her feet. “There. Now lie down.”
“You’re crazy,” she snapped, straightening her clothes.
“So you’ve said. Now I’m asking you nicely—lie down.”
“Look, I said I’m not hungry. Now I really do appreciate all…”
“Lie down,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He leveled his gaze at her. “Or would you like a little assistance?”
She lay down on the cot, glaring up at him.
He smiled. “Good girl.” He covered her with the afghan and, as he leaned close, Katie caught the spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with a faint, darker scent that was Jonathan.
She lay still and stiff as a mannequin while his hands moved deftly over her body, pressing here, smoothing there.
“I’m not cold, for God’s sake.”
“Be quiet.”
Her muscles tensed. Did his h
and linger just a little longer than necessary on the curve of her waist? Before she could decide, it had slipped lower, pausing dangerously near her thigh. She darted a look at him, but his face was impassive, revealing no hint of lecherous intent. How little she really knew about men. In particular, a man like Jonathan Shea. Where did the doctor end—and the man begin?
He tugged the edge of the afghan up over her breasts and, as he did, his fingers brushed her nipples, sending a jolt of electricity through her. To Katie’s horror, her body quivered involuntarily. Their eyes met, and she writhed inwardly. She tried to look past the thatch of black hair that had fallen over his brow, past his firm, sensuous mouth. She fought an almost overpowering impulse to reach out and draw him down to her. My God, what was wrong with her? And she knew it wasn’t Jonathan Shea she didn’t trust as much as she didn’t trust herself.
His eyes held hers in bold challenge. “Comfortable?” he asked innocently.
To her deep shame, she saw the tiniest play of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and knew that the policeman had not been the only son-of- a-bitch in the room. Jonathan had known exactly what he was doing, just as he now knew what she was feeling. And he was laughing at her.
Had he done it simply to pay her back for her remark about his ‘ adoring nurses’? To show her she wasn’t immune to his charms? Don’t you dare cry, Katie Summers! Don ’ t you dare.
“You really do have wonderful green eyes,” he said, before turning from her and leaving the room.
Katie lay there seething, and hating Jonathan Shea almost as much as she hated her own treacherous body.
It was a good half hour before he returned carrying a tray, from which wafted a familiar tomato aroma. She’d had sufficient time to regain her composure. She thanked him, realizing with some surprise that her hunger was greater than her wounded pride.
“Compliments of Campbell’s,” he said.
“I don’t think I can eat all this,” she lied, biting into a piece of buttered bread.
Listen to the Shadows Page 9
