by Sharon Sala
By the time he reached his condo, he was uncomfortably warm. The air-conditioning was a welcome relief as he locked the door behind him, then turned on the television before going to wash up.
Once inside the bathroom, he paused, eyeing himself in the mirror, and then leaned toward it for a closer look. His mustache was in need of a trim and a fresh dye job, and he needed to run the electric razor over his head. Opting for completely bald had been part of the new look, and he didn’t regret it.
He felt his face to check for whiskers. It needed a bit of a shave as well, but that wouldn’t take long. Even though the plastic surgeon had done wonders at minimizing the burn scars on his face from the boat explosion in Louisiana two years earlier and the other scars left from the injuries he’d suffered in the Missouri tornado last year, only a portion of his face grew whiskers. The need for revenge that had turned him into a killer had also done a number on his appearance. Once he’d used disguises to hide his identity; now he hardly recognized himself. But the need for killing was in the past. He had purposefully avenged his wife’s death in brutal fashion. The authorities who’d ignored him and Louise before would, by God, not forget them again.
He backtracked into his bedroom, took off his sweaty clothes and then went to shave and shower. He would tend to the dye job tomorrow.
He emerged a short while later in search of something appropriate to wear. After a quick scan of the closet, he opted for a short-sleeve, button-up shirt with a straight tail. Wearing untucked shirts was common here, and he liked it. He chose a pair of cotton slacks in cinnamon-brown, which coordinated nicely with the pale yellow color of his shirt, and opted for a pair of brown loafers, always striving for lightweight. After the burns he’d suffered, he could no longer tolerate heat, and even though the winter temperatures in this area stayed in the high seventies to low eighties, it didn’t take much for him to feel uncomfortable.
Once he was dressed, he grabbed his keys and headed for the community center. The security lights at every corner marked the distance as he walked, and since the sun was down, the night was already cooler, which was a relief. He could hear the celebration in full swing even before he saw the building, and when he arrived, both doors were wide-open.
He walked in unobserved, grabbed a glass of punch and a piece of cake and then found an empty chair at the far end of one table. One of the residents saw him, waved a hello and then resumed his conversation with the people beside him.
Hershel smiled and nodded, then took a bite of cake. He always thought of Louise when he came to the events. She would have loved every minute of the social life here, right down to the birthday cake. She would have cheated a little on her diabetic regimen just to have the sweets and added more insulin later. Louise always had been one to push a boundary. He took a second bite of cake, washed it down with a sip of punch and made himself quit thinking about Louise. She’d been Hershel’s wife—not Paul’s.
Within a few minutes he got caught up in the party to the point that he went looking for the birthday girl. He wished her a happy eighty-eight years and eighty-eight more, which made her giggle.
When it came time to break the piñata, everyone laughed at her feeble attempts. Finally she handed the stick off to one of the men, who broke it for her. The goodies inside were always something of a joke. This time they’d added individually wrapped condoms along with the pieces of candy, and when they hit the floor, the partygoers erupted in laughter.
A few minutes later they began heading toward the screening room to watch the film. Hershel thought about skipping out but had waited too late to decide. Instead, he got caught up in the moving crowd and soon found himself seated between two couples. He knew them well enough to settle comfortably and leaned back, absently gauging the distance to the screen.
“What’s the movie we’re going to see?” he asked.
One of the ladies leaned forward. “I heard it was Titanic. Patsy always wants to watch it because she claims she had a relative who survived the real Titanic.”
Hershel flinched. The skin crawled on the back of his neck as the food in his belly rolled a warning. He’d never seen that movie, but he knew how it ended and had no desire to watch people drown. He stood abruptly, trying to keep a calm expression on his face.
“I’m afraid I’m going to beg off, then. I had a family member drown. Not a story I want to see repeated,” he said. “Have a nice night, and I’ll see you around.”
He got up while they were all making sympathetic noises, and kept smiling and nodding as he made his way up the aisle and out the door. His stomach was still gurgling, and his legs were shaking as he walked back through the room where the party had been held. He made it all the way to the courtyard just outside his front door before he got sick and threw up.
When the nausea finally passed, he staggered to his condo, relieved to finally be inside. He went straight to the refrigerator for a bottle of beer, popped the top and took a big drink.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he staggered back into the living room and dropped into his favorite chair.
He emptied the beer, went back for another and proceeded to drink himself to sleep.
In his dreams he was standing in a funeral parlor, looking across the room at an open casket. He couldn’t see who was in it and moved closer, then closer still, until he realized the casket was empty. He turned around, and to his horror, someone had filled the room behind him with caskets, all of them empty. When he realized he was trapped, he panicked.
Help! Help! I can’t get out.
In the dream, a woman came to the door. The only way out of this room is in one of those, she said, pointing to the caskets.
He woke up with a gasp. The sun was just coming over the horizon. He had dried vomit on his shoes, a headache of massive proportions and he needed to pee.
* * *
Cameron woke just before daylight to find Laura curled up behind him, molded to the shape of his body like one puzzle piece fitted into another. Her arm was around his waist, and he knew her nose was buried against his back because he could feel the soft warmth of her breath against his spine.
God, what an amazing way to wake up.
And if he had anything to say about it, he was going to wake up that way every morning from now on.
On the heels of that thought there came another. Before this day was over, he would be engaged to Laura Doyle.
He glanced at the clock. It was just after six. He was going to have to check in with work today and let them know when he would be coming back. Laura was capable of being on her own now, but he wanted to make sure she had everything she needed beforehand.
He was still planning the day when he realized she was beginning to wake up. He eased out from under her grasp and turned to face her just as she opened her eyes.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said softly.
She smiled. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”
“It’s real, and so am I.”
She eyed his sleepy look and the tousled strands of dark hair across his forehead, then reached for his hand.
“I like waking up to see your face.”
Cameron’s pulse was racing, but to no avail. He threaded his fingers through her hand and lifted it to his lips.
“There is nothing I want more than to make love to you right now. But you, my love, still have a lot of healing to do, and I have no intention of making things worse.”
“You wouldn’t ma—”
He put a finger on her lips before she could finish.
“Yes, I would. Not on purpose, but it would hurt you, and abstinence won’t hurt me. So I’m going to get dressed and make coffee. Go back to sleep if you want.”
“No. I’m so grateful to be home, I just want to walk through the house and center my world, you know?”
; “Yes, I know,” he said, and then kissed her.
Her lips were warm and soft, and when she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer, he groaned.
“We’re so not going there,” he said, then kissed her again to underscore the warning. “Since you are getting up, make a list of things you need, including groceries. I’ll get everything before I come back.”
“Okay,” she said, and then smiled to herself as she watched him walk into the bathroom. He was naked except for a pair of gym shorts, and she did love to look at those long legs and broad back.
* * *
Cameron had already shopped for groceries and dropped them off at Laura’s house before stopping by FBI headquarters to check in. After a short visit with his boss and an update on Laura, it was decided he would report for work in two days. He was more than ready to resume a regular routine.
It was just after ten in the morning when he reached his apartment building. There were no surprises as he entered the apartment. It wasn’t any cleaner than it had been when he left. When he got to the bedroom, the clothes he’d tossed aside were still on the unmade bed and the light was still on in the bathroom.
He’d been so scared while packing to go search for the downed plane, praying Laura had survived, that neat and clean had been the last things on his mind.
Whatever.
He refolded, then put away the clothes he’d left behind, took the dirty ones out of his suitcase and repacked it with clean things, ready to stay over again tonight and, he hoped, forever.
He stepped inside his closet to open his private safe and took out the small black-velvet box sitting on top of his passport. He dropped it in his pocket, then took it right back out and opened it, imagining how it was going to look on Laura’s hand.
Two carats of square-cut diamond winked as it caught light from above. He shut the box and dropped the ring back in his pocket, took the suitcase into the living room and added his unopened mail and his laptop before heading out.
As he got in the car and drove away, it began to snow.
* * *
Laura was going through mail and paying bills when she came upon a letter from two sisters who had worked as on-site volunteers with her in Louisiana, where she’d first met Cameron when he and his partners had arrived on the trail of a serial killer known as the Stormchaser. She smiled, remembering how funny Peg and Mary were together, like a comedy duo. One played the straight man, and the other always followed up with the funny remarks. They’d been in charge of cooking for the displaced residents. She remembered Peg was taller and Mary was the redhead.
When she opened the letter, some snapshots fell out. She let them lie in her lap as she read the letter.
Laura, we heard about the plane crash. Very sorry for your coworkers, but we were thrilled to learn you had survived. Always thought there was a tough cookie beneath that pretty face and blond hair. Peg sends her love, and I’m sending love and pictures. We took them at the gym when we were helping out. Get well soon.
Love, Mary
She smiled, then picked up the pictures and turned them to the light for a closer look. Some of the names she remembered, some she didn’t, but the faces were all familiar. She often formed special bonds with volunteers while working together during disasters—some, like Cameron, were more special than others.
When she got to the last picture, she gasped. Of all things, there was a picture of the man she’d known as Bill Carter, who’d turned out to be Hershel Inman, aka the Stormchaser.
It was strange that her memory of him was of a hard worker with a ready smile. She searched his expression for clues to the cunning and madness that lurked behind his smile, but she saw nothing that would have given him away. He’d had the perfect cover, helping those displaced by disaster, to keep him in close proximity to people in need of rescue, the same people who had become his victims.
His complete lack of compassion was horrifying. And from the way the picture had been taken, it was as if he was looking straight at her. She knew he’d been off the FBI radar since last year in St. Louis, and no further deaths had been attributed to him. Someone had made the suggestion he might have died at last, after cheating death more than once by living through an explosion and a tornado, but until they found a body, the case would remain unsolved. She shuddered and laid the picture aside.
She was still going through mail when she heard a car slow down and then come up her driveway. Her pulse jumped when she saw it was Cameron, and she got up to let him in.
“You’re back!” she said as he came up the steps, his arms loaded with groceries, and stomped snow off his shoes on the mat.
“And you’re gorgeous,” he said as he bent down and gave her a quick kiss.
He’d brought the scent of winter in with him, which quickly dissipated as he carried the sacks into the kitchen and shed his coat.
“You sit and tell me where stuff goes, and I’ll put it away,” he said, and then proceeded to empty the bags.
The ring was burning a hole in his pocket. Before, he’d planned on a romantic dinner and finding the right moment to propose, then he’d nearly lost her. Waiting for a better moment didn’t seem so important anymore. As soon as everything was put up, he turned around and looked at her.
Laura smiled, but when he kept looking, she shifted nervously in the chair.
“What? Is something wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
He started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat and started over.
“Nothing is wrong.”
She relaxed. “Thank goodness. For a moment there I was afraid you were about to tell me the Stormchaser was back.”
He frowned. “What would make you think of him?”
“Wait until you see what came in the mail,” she said, and went back to the living room, got the pictures and quickly returned.
“Remember Peg and Mary...the two sisters who cooked at the shelter we set up in Louisiana?”
“Yes, they were great ladies.”
“So they heard about the crash and sent me a nice little letter, and included some pictures that had been taken there. Look at this one. Who do you see?”
It was the first face he focused on.
“I’ll be damned. Hershel Inman.”
“Who I knew as Bill Carter, and honestly, the picture gave me the creeps. We still don’t know what happened to him, do we?”
Cameron frowned. “No.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
He sighed. “There’s no way in hell to know that unless a body turns up.”
When she frowned and looked away, he hesitated. This had turned awkward really fast. Not the most perfect moment to propose.
Then Laura looked up. “I just remembered something!”
“What?” he asked.
“You said we had something to talk about and you told me we’d talk about it once we got home, right?”
He grinned. Yes. There is a God!
“Why, yes, I believe I did say that.”
She put her hands in her lap and looked up.
“Am I going to like it, or is it going to piss me off?”
He laughed. “Why do you think I would ever discuss anything with you that would piss you off? I live to see a smile on your face, not a frown.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just not like you to be so secretive, and the past two weeks of my life have already left me in something of a pissy mood.”
He took the box out of his pocket and dropped to one knee.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth made a perfect little O.
He struck while she was still in shock.
“I had plans to do this on Valentine’s Day at your favorite restaurant. What happened to you changed my view on making plans. Now I’
m more of a ‘there’s no time like the present’ kind of guy, and I’m counting on you to agree.”
He opened the box and watched her expression go from shock to awe.
“Cameron! Oh, my Lord!”
He took the ring out of the box.
“Laura Doyle, the luckiest day of my life was walking into that high school gym and seeing you behind the desk. You have become the most important thing in my life, and I want to spend the rest of it with you. I love you most. I love you madly. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” she said.
He slipped the ring on her finger, then stood up and pulled her into his arms.
“Right now, I am one seriously happy man,” he said, and kissed her senseless.
Laura’s head was spinning, her heart pounding, when he finally pulled away.
She stopped him. “Now I have something I want to discuss with you.”
He smiled. “I can assure you the answer is yes.”
She put a hand on his chest. “Don’t say that until you hear me out. I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready to do.”
He frowned. “If it involves you, I’m ready.”
She rolled her eyes. “At least let me ask.”
His smile widened. “Sorry. I’m listening.”
“This house belongs to Sarah and me, but I know she’s never moving back here again, so how would you feel about moving in with me? It’s not because I’m afraid or anything, so if you aren’t comfortable making such a big change so quickly, please, don’t say yes just because you think I need to be taken care of or something.”
He laughed.
“What?” she asked.
“My suitcase is in the car.”
She threw her arms around his neck.
