by Mallory Kane
“Enough of that now, Bobby,” Mrs. Winger said, irritation obvious in her tone. “I’m tired and I’m sure Holly and Jack have better things to do than listen to your tiresome list of duties at the high school.” Mrs. Winger leaned forward to kiss Holly’s cheek. “Thank you so much dear. I apologize for my son being late.”
“Don’t worry about it for a minute. I’ll see you next week.”
“Come on, Bobby. We still have to stop at the grocery store.”
Bob followed meekly, but Jack caught the shadow of anger that crossed his round face. Was there a violent temper beneath Bob’s bland exterior?
At the gym door, Bob looked back at Holly with a smile. “Holly, I’ll call you.”
Then his eyes briefly swept Jack from toe to head. “Nice to meet you, um…”
“Jack.”
“Right. Jack.” He dropped his gaze. “You know when you married our Holly you got—”
“The prize,” Jack drawled. “Yeah. I know.”
As soon as mother and son were gone, Jack turned to Holly. “You’re mama’s boy has quite a grip. He’s stronger than he looks. And he hates his mother.”
“I know. Did you see the look on his face just now?” She paused for a second. “He told me he really needed to talk. He asked if he could call me soon.”
She started gathering up towels and throwing them into a laundry bin.
“You told him you’re married now and you won’t be having any more lunches and talks, I hope.”
“Well, no. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I did tell him I was pretty busy right now.” She stacked up the blue plastic stair-steps the ladies had used, then picked up the little hand weights lying around.
Jack started to help her, but he got caught up in her efficiency of motion and the strength in her deceptively slim body. Besides, she was almost done.
“Don’t you have a maintenance man to do that?”
“Sure. Stanley Hanks handles the gym. But each instructor is responsible for putting their own equipment away. Stanley’s usually around, though. He likes my ladies.”
Jack looked at how the Lycra costume molded her trim, sexy body. “Yeah, you said that before. Where is he tonight?”
“I don’t know. He might be busy in the field house. The coaches have him doing a lot of work on the baseball field.”
When she picked up her gym bag, he asked her, “You’re not going to change clothes?”
She shook her head, a shadow flickering in her eyes. “It’s kind of creepy, showering alone in here. I mean, Stanley is usually around to lock up, but I just prefer to wait until I get home.”
Jack heard the false lightness in her voice. What a jerk he was. Of course she wouldn’t shower alone in the gym. That was how her husband had died.
“Am I too sweaty for you?” she asked, her voice still a few notes higher than usual. Jack was learning that tone. It was the one she used when she was avoiding a painful subject.
Following behind her, he couldn’t stop his gaze from sliding down over her supple, perfectly toned back to her firm butt moving beneath black Lycra as she walked. His mouth turned to cotton.
“No,” he croaked, unable to banish an image of a single, salty drop of sweat trickling slowly down the hollow of her back.
Outside, it had started raining, one of those uncomfortable summer showers that appeared out of nowhere and left the air more heavy and hot than before. Holly gripped her bag and picked up her pace, hurrying toward the car.
Jack’s arm slipped around her waist as the shower turned into a steady downpour. She welcomed the warmth of his hand and his sturdy support. Keeping her safe might be nothing more than a job to him, but she was becoming all too used to it.
About halfway across the double-lane highway, the staccato beat of the rain was undercut by a dull roar. Jack’s hand tightened on her waist and he urged her in front of him as the roar in her ears grew louder and closer. She looked toward the sound.
Beyond the silver-shot curtain of rain a dark shape hurtled right at them.
Chapter Eight
Before Holly could react, the full weight of Jack’s body slammed into her from behind, sending her flying forward to land hard against the side of her car. His long body knocked the breath from her lungs.
Her feet lost traction on the wet pavement. She slipped. The only thing holding her upright was the weight of his body molding hers, pressing her into the warm, slick metal of her car. As she struggled to breathe, a vehicle passed close enough that she felt its heat.
Jack grunted and almost crushed her beneath his weight. Had the car hit him?
“Jack?” she croaked, unable to draw enough breath to actually speak.
Then his hands were on her and he swung her around toward the front of her car and away from the street in the wake of the dark shape. As soon as she was safely between the parked cars, he whirled back, drawing his gun with smooth swift grace.
He stood braced, aiming at the retreating car, then with a muffled curse slipped his gun back into his holster. He rushed to her and gripped her shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
She couldn’t answer. All her attention was riveted on the dark street.
“Holly?” He shook her and grabbed her jaw. “Holly!”
She blinked and gasped for breath through lungs that still spasmed from the force of his body striking hers.
“Are you hurt?” His fingers tightened painfully on her arms, his face twisted in concern.
She shook her head, unable to pull her eyes away from the street where the curtain of rain had swallowed up the vision. She knew that car. She put her palms against his chest.
“Jack, that was—” she struggled for breath “—Miss Emma Thompson’s car.”
“What?” Jack pushed her hair out of her face. The steady brush of his fingers against her cheeks and forehead made her realize she was trembling. He pulled her close.
“Get into the car.” He shouted over the drone of the rain.
Inside the shelter of the car, Holly wiped her face and tried to control her shaking limbs.
Jack quickly assessed her. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
She shook her head. “Are you?”
He dismissed her question. “What did you say out there?” he asked as he started the engine and cool air began to blow.
Holly shivered. “I said that was Miss Emma Thompson’s car.”
His hand froze on the windshield wiper control. “How do you know?”
“Miss Emma’s had that fifty-nine Chevy forever. It’s the only one I’ve ever seen. The taillights look like cat’s eyes.” She rubbed her chilled arms.
Jack cursed and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your uncle’s home phone number?”
Holly’s teeth were chattering. She closed the passenger-side vent. “Uncle Virgil will be asleep. Call T-Bone.”
Jack raised one brow. She told him the number.
“Virgil? It’s O’Hara. What happened to Emma Thompson’s car yesterday?”
Holly heard her uncle’s voice through the cell phone.
“Okay. No. No problem. Holly’s fine. I just saw a car I thought might be Miss Thompson’s. Thanks.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “Hanes Auto Repair?”
Holly gave directions. As Jack pulled out into the street the rain stopped.
“Why didn’t you tell Uncle Virgil what happened?”
“I didn’t see the need at this point to give him information that might put him in possible danger.” Danger. They’d almost been run down. They could have been killed because someone thought Jack was her husband.
“Here’s the shop,” Jack said, rousing Holly out of her thoughts.
“Yes. And there’s her car.” She pointed. “Right where it should be, in the parking lot. But I know that was the car that nearly ran us down. See the shape of the taillights?”
Jack pulled up behind the car and got out. His jacket and pants were soaked, and clung to him like a s
econd skin, outlining his broad shoulders and sleekly planed muscles. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing the perfection of his profile. Holly shivered not from chill, but from fear. Fear for Jack’s life. He could have been killed.
For the first time, she faced that possibility head-on. In the short time she’d known him, he’d epitomized strength and safety to her, and she needed that more than she had realized. Now the idea that his life was truly in danger lodged a knot of terror in her chest so big it felt like she’d swallowed a rock. He had promised her he’d get the killer, and she’d believed him. But now he seemed human, vulnerable.
Oh God, she didn’t think she could stand it if Jack died, too.
She needed to be close to him, so she got out of the car and followed him. As she came up beside him, squeezing water from her hair, he scowled at her but didn’t say anything. He just went back to his calculated scrutiny of the area, his gaze missing nothing.
Holly knew by his body language when he was satisfied that they were alone. She was coming to recognize that infinitesimal relaxing of his stance, the way he shrugged, releasing pent-up tension that would not even be evident to a casual observer.
“This is the only car in the lot.” He walked over and lay his hand on the hood of the ancient Chevy. “Still warm.”
Holly’s pulse sped up. “So it has been driven. But who—”
Jack held up his hand for silence. She stopped.
He took out a tiny, high-powered flashlight and shone it in the driver’s window.
“Keys are still in the ignition.”
“Of course,” Holly said. “Mr. Hanes always leaves the keys. Someone might need their car.”
Jack stared at her as if she’d gone nuts. “Are you kidding?” He cut off the flashlight, frustration hardening his voice. “Don’t say it. I know. Small town. No one in Maze would dream of stealing a car.”
Sudden light blinded them as several spotlights on the corners of the repair shop building snapped on. Jack reached for Holly with one hand and his weapon with the other.
Holly lay her hand on his arm. “Jack, put the gun away. I’ll take care of this.” She stepped away from Jack’s protective embrace, hoping Mr. Hanes would be too sleepy or too incurious to wonder why she and her new husband were soaking wet in the middle of the night and snooping around.
“Hi, Mr. Hanes,” she called. “It’s Holly. I heard Miss Emma took out another telephone pole.”
“That you, Holly? What in tarnation are you doing running around so late, and who’s that with you?”
“This is Jack, my husband.”
Jack lifted his hand in a self-conscious wave. Holly was relieved to see he’d left his gun in his holster.
“It’s the oddest thing, Mr. Hanes,” she said, walking casually toward the repair shop owner’s house. “Either there’s another fifty-nine Chevy in town or someone was driving Miss Emma’s car over by the university a little while ago.” She gestured vaguely back toward the car.
“’S ’at so?”
“Yes, sir. Did you hear anything?”
Mr. Hanes yawned and shook his head. “I watched the ten o’clock news, then went to bed. Far’s I know, nobody’s been messing ’round here tonight except you two.”
“Okay, then. Sorry. Jack’s been looking for a classic Chevy, and he was wondering if there could possibly be two in Maze.”
Hanes harrumphed. “You best get on home, Holly. Some folks gotta work early.”
Holly smiled. “Okay. Good night, Mr. Hanes. Sorry to bother you so late.”
The lights went out and the owner of the body shop disappeared back inside his house.
Holly let out her breath in a long whoosh as she returned to Jack’s side. “So, now what? Do we check the car for evidence?”
“We get out of here before the whole town comes out to see what all the excitement’s about. I’ll get your uncle to go over the car tomorrow. With any luck we can get a fingerprint, or a shoe print.”
“Well, anything they find will be from whoever drove it tonight, because Miss Emma keeps her car spotless.”
When they climbed back into her car, Jack grunted quietly.
Holly peered at him suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “That car came so close! I was afraid it had hit you.”
It had. Jack gritted his teeth against the burning sensation on the right side of his back where the car’s flared fender had scraped him. He navigated the rain-wet streets, his mind on their close call. Automatically, his brain calculated the timeline. They had spent about twenty minutes in the gym after Winger and his mother left. Was that time enough for Bob to get his overbearing mother home and return with Miss Emma’s car?
“Tell me about the mama’s boy. Where does he live?”
“Bob?” Holly frowned, obviously uncomfortable with his question.
But then, he’d already noticed that she was the type of person who chose to see the good in everyone. It was an admirable quality, but a dangerous one. Not everyone was good. In fact it was probably one of the qualities that had attracted her stalker.
“He lives with his mother, over off of Pecan Circle.”
“Where is that in relation to the repair shop?”
“It’s the next street over. Would he have had time? You heard Mrs. Winger. They were going to stop at the grocery store.”
“I heard.”
“This is maddening.” She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if I can stand wondering what this maniac is going to do next. He’s trying to kill you!”
And he’d come pretty damn close tonight. Jack shifted in the driver’s seat, ignoring the familiar sticky feeling of blood under his shirt. “I’m fine. He won’t try anything else tonight, and with any luck, tomorrow I’ll hear from the lab that they’ve isolated some epithelial cells from the book or one of the notes. Then we’ll have your stalker’s DNA. Meanwhile, the best thing we can do is stay calm and stay together.”
“Why do you have to sneak around and put yourself in danger while he gets to roam free? Why can’t you just have a citywide dragnet or something and be done with it?”
“There’s nothing I’d love better than to swab every person in town for a DNA match, but the Constitution requires probable cause to invade someone’s privacy. Besides, it would alert the stalker, scare him off. And that’s precisely what we don’t want to have happen.”
His tone was harsh. He wasn’t unaffected by the near miss they’d just had. The stalker had nearly run them both down. He was escalating more rapidly than Jack or Eric had realized.
Holly was in immediate danger. The thought made his blood run cold.
Holly muttered something under her breath as he pulled into her driveway.
“What did you say?”
She jumped out of the car and slammed the door. “I said scaring him off sounds like a good idea to me right now. I’m ready to stand out here and scream at him to come on and get me, if that’s what he wants. I can’t stand this. We have no idea who he is or what he’s going to do next. All we know is he wants to kill you—” Her voice broke.
Acutely conscious that the killer could be watching them right now, Jack rounded the car in three long strides and put his arm around her, steeling himself against the supple warmth of her bare shoulder and the press of her erect nipples barely covered by wet cotton against his chest.
“Hush,” he hissed in her ear.
“I don’t want to—”
Jack clamped his fingers around her nape and covered her mouth with his, swallowing up the rest of her words. Her lips tasted salty. Ferociously driving the taste and feel of her out of his mind, he used the kiss to stop her from giving away the secret of their sham marriage.
But each time he kissed her, he found it harder to maintain his distance. His feelings were getting all mixed up in Holly’s strawberry scent, the warm passion of her lips, the way she responded when he touched her.
How was he supposed to keep her safe when she was dr
iving him crazy with need?
He tried to think about his mother, about his oath to devote his life to saving other women from such a fate. But Holly uttered a small moan against his mouth and slid her arms around his neck.
“Holly,” he whispered as she kissed him back, parting her lips and allowing her tongue to touch his.
She moaned again, and this time the sound penetrated his desire-soaked brain.
What the hell was he doing? He pulled away, breathing hard. Holly’s lips were swollen, her eyes dewy with desire.
Suppressing a groan, still holding her close, Jack put his mouth against her cheek. “Please, Holly. Never, ever forget that he’s watching us.” Her skin felt like wet shimmering silk against his lips, taunting him with the impossibility of his situation. His body ached with longing as his brain ran through the litany of reasons why he couldn’t let his emotions get involved. Her safety—her life—depended on his ability to remain detached.
“Okay?” He put his forehead against hers as an image of his mother’s limp, bruised body seared his brain. He would not let Holly become another murder statistic.
“Okay,” she snapped, then added more softly, “okay.”
He felt her tense body relax just a bit. He loosened his hold, but kept his arm lightly across her shoulders. “Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”
She glanced at him, and in the darkness he saw her eyes glittering damply. Frightened eyes. Trusting eyes.
“Sh-h-h.” He guided her into the house and gestured for her to stay still while he quickly checked the rooms. No sign that anyone had been there.
He returned to the living room, where she stood straight as a small drenched soldier.
“I don’t know how long I can do this.”
He stepped over to her and handed her a towel he’d retrieved from the bathroom. “As long as it takes. You have to accept that everything has changed. This sick— This person has taken over your life.”
She blotted her face with the towel and tried to step around him. “Oh, trust me, I do know that. The trouble is, you’ve taken over my life, too.”
