Catch a Shadow

by Potter, Patricia;

  She shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything. He left almost immediately.”

  “If you hear from him, call us. He might have seen something.”

  “I don’t suppose I can expect an arrest anytime soon,” she said dryly.

  “Now that’s cynical,” Patrolman Pat Harris said with a grin. “But probably accurate. We don’t have that much to go on. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, Nikes. Fits half the population of Atlanta.”

  “Sorry,” she said, “it was so fast that I just got a brief glimpse.”

  “We’ll drive around for a while, see if we can’t spot someone matching the description. Think you would recognize him?”

  “Probably.”

  The patrolman turned to the paramedic. “She’s all yours.”

  She hesitated, tempted to refuse and try to make it home on her own, then realized how foolish that would be.

  The headache was worsening. So was the pain in her cheek. Her clothes were stained with blood from the several cuts. She didn’t have a car with her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk home. She also knew that she could have a slight concussion.

  “Going to East Memorial?” she said.

  He nodded.

  If there weren’t really serious cases, they would work her in. “Okay,” she said. She would ask Sam to drive her home. She started to look for her phone in her purse when she remembered it was gone. She borrowed Tom’s cell instead.

  Sam answered immediately.

  “Hi, home yet?” she asked.

  “Just got here. Saw your message. What happened yesterday?” His voice was full of worry.

  “Burglar, but Merlin scared him away with his siren imitation.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “In front of our favorite restaurant. Someone snatched my purse and knocked me down. I have to go to the hospital for stitches. Can you meet me there and bring me home?”

  “You know you need merely to ask, landlady.”

  “I’ll call you when I get through. I don’t think it will be very late.”

  She hung up and stepped into the ambulance. Tom came with her. He’d already taken her vitals, but now he put a bandage on her cheek. “Is it deep?” she asked.

  “No. Just a stitch or two, but you’ll have the black eye for a week.”

  Just what she needed.

  After they reached the hospital, Kirke waited an hour before a nurse practitioner cleaned the several wounds inflicted when she hit the pavement. Finally, a doctor looked at her. “Doesn’t look like a concussion,” he told her after asking several questions, “but take it easy today. Put something cold on that eye. Contact your doctor if you feel any dizziness.” He quickly wrote out two prescriptions, one for an antibiotic and the other for pain.

  She called Sam, then tested her legs. They worked. She probably had twenty minutes before Sam arrived. She went up to intensive care and talked to the nurse on duty about her former patient. “I brought him in,” she explained. “Just wondering if there’s any change.”

  The nurse shook her head. “No. We’re still hoping his brother will change his mind and donate Mr. Cable’s organs.”

  “He said no?” she asked, surprised.

  The nurse shook her head. “He refused, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  That seemed very strange to Kirke. David Cable had flown down but wasn’t at his brother’s bedside, had apparently refused to take any responsibility for him. Nor had he offered to help others by agreeing to organ donations. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to risk his life for hers.

  Almost as strange as the gentleness of his fingers when he’d explored her injuries. Nearly as baffling as the shafts of electricity that coursed through her when he was near. She’d never felt that kind of physical awareness of a man before, not even with her ex. It was maddening that she felt it now for an elusive stranger who appeared in and out of her life like a shadow.

  “And no one else has been here?” Kirke asked after a moment’s pause.

  “There’s been some queries, but we’re not allowed to give out information. Probably shouldn’t even be talking to you about it, but we’re all frustrated.”

  Sam was at the emergency room door by the time she collected her paperwork and prescriptions.

  “You look like hell,” he said as they got into his car.

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You know what I mean. You have one hell of a shiner.”

  She could have done without hearing that again. She hadn’t had the heart to look in the mirror. She would see soon enough.

  She always thought she would be ready for an attack. She knew the rules. Keep purse close, but let go if someone snatched it. It had just been so fast …

  “Did you turn on the alarm at the house?” she asked.

  The startled look on his face told her he had not.

  “I’m sorry, Kirke. I was asleep when you called and just ran out. I locked both doors, though.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him about it. They were both creatures of habit. But she did tell him all the details, including about the mysterious David Cable.

  “There’s something else,” she said. “I don’t think it has anything to do with the burglary, but maybe you should know about it.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “I broke some rules.”

  He glanced quickly at her. “You?”

  “I’ve been known to,” she said defensively.

  He shook his head. “You suffer the agonies of hell if you’re one day late on a bill.”

  “You don’t want the utilities turned off,” she objected.

  “And you vote in every election.”

  “Everyone should.”

  “And you would never ever go to the fifteen-item-limit checkout counter if you have sixteen items.”

  “That’s only courteous.”

  “And you would never, ever fudge even one cent on your taxes—”

  “Enough,” she said. “You make me sound like—”

  “A good citizen,” he interrupted with a mock shiver.

  She had to admit a certain amount of guilt. She could be a rebel on behalf of a good cause, but the rest of the time, well, yes, she did have a tendency to toe the line. Sam was a free spirit who often forgot to pay bills, turn off lights, was late for or forgot appointments.

  He was conscientious about two things: paying his rent and playing his music.

  “Back to those rules,” he said. “Exactly which rule did you break?”

  She could tell him. He was her best friend, more like a brother, and she trusted him. She needed to tell someone. The one thing he wouldn’t do was judge her.

  “One of my patients, a hit-and-run victim, gave me a letter. He asked me to give it to someone named Mitch Edwards and not tell the police.”

  He slammed on the brakes as a light turned red. From his face, she suspected he would have done it even without a light.

  “He didn’t say why?”

  “He didn’t have time. He lost consciousness. He’s on life support now.”

  “When did you take the letter?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “You haven’t found this Edwards?”

  “No. I haven’t had much chance to look, but there’s some mystery about the guy who gave me the letter. He doesn’t seem to have much of a past. And then his brother showed up, and he doesn’t seem to have one, either.”

  “Are you playing Sherlock?”

  “No, I just wanted to do what he requested. He was dying. It gave him comfort.”

  “Why not give it to the police now?”

  Why indeed?

  Her stubborn streak? “It will mean a lot of messy explanations,” she said. “I could lose my job. All I have to do is find Mitch Edwards.”

  “Want my advice?” he said. “Of course not,” he answered himself. “But I think you should open it. See if it’s anything important before sweating it.”

  “It was obviously
meant for only one person. That would be invasion of privacy.” It was what she had been telling herself over and over again, and she heard the lack of conviction in it.

  “Do you think it had anything to do with the burglary?” he asked. “Or this purse snatching?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “There have been several burglaries in the neighborhood. Since one of us is usually home, we’ve just been careless about the alarm system.” She paused. “And the cops said there’s been a number of purse snatchings.”

  “I’ll be careful from now on,” he promised. “I’ll write myself a note and paste it on the inside of the door.”

  “You’ll still forget,” she accused him.

  He suddenly turned serious. “No, I won’t.”

  He swung by a drive-through pharmacy, then stopped by a grocery and purchased a small frozen steak. “Better than a cold rag,” he said. “I know.”

  She smiled at that. Sam was slight, but he was tough, having grown up in a rough neighborhood. Music had saved him then, and he often said Kirke had provided him with balance, a home he’d never had before. They were an odd couple, she knew, though there had never been a spark of romance, merely a satisfying need for uncomplicated companionship.

  Her cheek was throbbing, and her eye hurt. A little while ago, she’d planned to continue her amateur investigation this afternoon, but she didn’t think she could focus on it now.

  Sam looked at her. “You’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

  Not always. He didn’t know the times she’d done exactly the wrong thing. She hoped the letter would not be one of those times.

  They arrived at her house, and he parked the car in front. Hers was in the small garage in back.

  With new awareness, she looked around as she got out of the car.

  Nothing suspicious.

  She went inside Sam’s half of the house and prepared for a scolding for her long absence. Instead, Merlin uttered a calm “Hello” from within his cage. “Merlin’s a good bird.”

  Sam followed her. “After what you told me about Merlin scaring off a burglar, I think he deserves an extra treat.”

  “He’s had several,” she said, “but I promise to spoil him.”

  “You do that anyway,” Sam retorted as he carried Merlin’s cage into her house.

  “Go and get some sleep,” she said, knowing he had to be at the nightclub in a few hours.

  He hesitated. “I can stay here, if you like.”

  “I’m fine, really I am. I’m going to take a hot, soaking bath and forget this morning. After,” she added with emphasis, “turning on the alarm system and canceling my credit card and cell phone service.”

  “I’m leaving my cell phone with you,” he said. “The club number is one. I’m programming 911 as two. I don’t like you being without one.”

  The supreme sacrifice. He hated being without his phone.

  “I have the land phones,” she protested.

  “I know, but with the burglary and now the purse snatching, I would feel better if you had a phone with you room to room.”

  He was not going to take no for an answer. She nodded, and he handed his phone to her, then left.

  She sank in a chair. She wished she knew how to reach David Cable to thank him. She also wanted to ask him why he’d not returned to the hospital to see his brother and answer questions. Why he’d hurried off after saving her life.

  The questions nagged at her.

  There was definitely a call she was going to make. She was going to call a self-defense academy and take more lessons. Maybe even judo. No one was going to hit her again. Not without suffering some serious pain of their own.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jake walked quickly to his car after he’d left her. He was stiff. His knee hurt where he’d landed on the sidewalk. He’d suffered superficial cuts, but, as he had told her, none were serious.

  Walking away was a hard thing to do. He wanted to stay and wait with her. He wanted to make sure she was all right.

  He shouldn’t feel this sense of responsibility. She had accepted something from Cox. She had exchanged words with him. She had chosen, apparently, not to go to the police with them.

  Yet his conscience wouldn’t still. He should tell her what she’d stumbled into. She would probably run to the police, and he would go back to prison. If he were honorable, he would do that. He’d stopped being honorable when his rank and life had been stripped from him.

  She’d been lucky this morning, and probably yesterday as well. He had little doubt that Adams had been in her house yesterday and was behind today’s attack. Adams hadn’t found anything in her house, thus he tried her purse.

  If he hadn’t followed her, she might well be dead.

  The upside was she might trust him now.

  Or not. His hurried departure from the scene must have aroused suspicion on her part.

  Tell her about Adams. His moribund conscience told him that.

  But if he did, she might dig into the whole story. And who would she believe? A convicted felon or the government? Damned few people believed him eight years ago, despite his eighteen years in the military, thirteen of them as an officer in Special Forces. He could count on the fingers of one hand those who had supported him. He’d become poison.

  He’d thought hard last night about Gene Adams. He must have had help setting up the South American mission. Carrying five million in diamonds and cash didn’t happen often. Jake had, in fact, opposed it. Too much could happen. His superiors had said the CIA was insistent. He suspected the agency had pushed his court-martial. It took the heat off them.

  He wouldn’t be surprised at one or more rogue agents in league with Adams. The question was how deep it reached.

  How many men did Adams have helping here? So far he knew of two or three. Someone driving the murder car. Someone else waiting to pick up Adams after the hit-and-run. Then the purse snatcher today.

  He drove to a minimarket, purchased some antiseptic and a roll of gauze and tape, then, ignoring the clerk’s curious gaze, headed for the restroom. He took off his shirt and looked at the injury. Skin had been scraped away, but it wasn’t deep. He used a paper towel to apply the antiseptic, then bandaged it to stanch the continued slow bleeding.

  He looked at his face in the mirror. Damn but he needed a shave. His beard was dark and grew entirely too fast. It was one reason he was always selected for South American or Mideast missions. With his dark hair and dark eyes, he blended in with the population far better than, say, a blue-eyed blond of Celtic descent.

  Yeah, he looked more like a bandit than a lawful citizen. And unfortunately, the government would confirm the former. Traitor. Killer. Thief.

  Jake filled a large cup of coffee and ordered four ham and cheese biscuits to go. He pulled a fresh shirt from his duffel as well as an electric razor. Once in the car, he gobbled down the biscuits, then drove back to the parking space he’d vacated earlier. Thank God the street was lined with vehicles of all descriptions. He sure as hell didn’t want to be obvious. It was a fine line to walk, trying to keep her safe without being labeled a stalker.

  He intended to be here when she returned home.

  Even now, he felt a warmth in his groin as he thought of that energy in the way she carried herself, the grin on her face as she explained the parrot’s alarm system, hell, the way her jeans and T-shirt hugged a body not too thin to have very nice curves.

  He even liked her house. Small but infinitely liveable with furniture bought for comfort, not show, and bookcases lined with obviously well-read novels, histories, and biographies. He’d glanced at her CD collection while she’d checked her computer. It had been an eclectic collection of jazz, classical, and Celtic music. On top were several Edith Piaf discs, one of his favorites as well.

  He’d studied her house in the few moments he’d been there, wanting to know as much as he could about one Kirke Palmer. There had been no family photos, and he wondered about that.

  Those obs
ervations would help him strategize on how best to earn her trust.

  This morning may have helped. After spending the previous night in his car, he’d followed her at a distance. When he saw her go into a restaurant, he’d loitered with a newspaper across the street as if waiting for a bus. He’d noticed someone else loitering across the street nearer the restaurant. When the woman came out the door, the loiterer made his move, and Jake darted across the street. His heart nearly stopped when the thief pushed her into the busy street.

  Did she have someone to bring her home? The Sam she’d mentioned yesterday? That thought raised an unexpected spark of jealousy in him.

  He was nuts. Completely. She would run as fast as she could from the likes of him. A convict. A convicted thief and possible traitor. God knew what else they would say about him if she made queries about Jake Kelly.

  At the moment, he couldn’t do anything but wait for her, then try to convince her she should just disappear for a while. After giving him the letter.

  Or had the letter been in her purse? Had that been the purse snatcher’s objective?

  Three hours later, he saw a car turn into her driveway and stop. A lean man in his thirties stepped out and accompanied Ms. Palmer into her side of the duplex. He stayed a while, then went to the other side of the duplex.

  Jake waited and watched for an hour. No more movement.

  Finally he couldn’t wait any longer. Reluctantly, he broke his own rule about the cell phone and called her. If he got inside, he could search for a bug and get another cell if necessary.

  She mumbled when she answered, and he knew she’d already gone to sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you. This is David Cable. I just wanted to check on you.”

  “David Cable?” Surprise edged her words. “I thought you’d left Atlanta. Twice.” She paused, and the silence was pregnant. Then she said, “When I was at the hospital, I asked about Mark Cable. They’re really anxious to talk to you.”

  “I need to talk to you about that.”

  She hesitated.

  “I won’t stay long,” he promised.