Officer in Pursuit

by Ranae Rose

  “Hey, you aren’t the jealous type, are you? ‘Cuz if you were, a wedding reception would be a great opportunity for me to try and drum up a little attention from the other female guests and make you realize how bad you want me after all.”

  Her lips curled into what he could only describe as a smirk. “I don’t think of myself as jealous. You could give it a try though – maybe you’ll meet someone you really like.”

  “Fat chance – I’m not giving up on you that easily. In fact, if I do meet someone I’ll make sure to reject her dramatically while you’re looking, just to prove how devoted I am to you.”

  “Now that’s just cruel.”

  “All’s fair in love and war.”

  She rolled her eyes and glanced toward her car.

  “See you Saturday,” he said, gripping the nylon strap of the gym bag he’d taken to jiu-jitsu, the one that held his half-dry boardshorts and rash guard. “Drive safe.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He watched her walk away, a restless feeling deep in his bones. He didn’t want her to leave. Eventually, there’d come a night when she wouldn’t.

  At least, that’s what he had to tell himself in order to make letting her walk away bearable.

  * * * * *

  “I hate to make you late,” Kerry said. “Thanks so much.”

  “No problem,” Sasha replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I just have to get turned around.”

  “All right. See you in a few.” Kerry ended her conversation with Sasha and shoved her phone into her pocket, where she’d be able to reach it if she needed it. Just as quickly, she hurried back inside her house and locked her front door, her chilled fingers trembling and slipping against the bolt.

  She knew she should call the police – report what’d happened. But if she waited for an officer to show up and talk to her, she’d be significantly late for work. After taking the day before off in order to be with Grey, she didn’t want to push the envelope.

  She’d talk to the police after work – maybe Jeremy would come by again.

  At least this time there’d been an actual crime, so she wouldn’t look completely crazy.

  She shivered in the early morning chill that’d entered the house with her. She welcomed the cold – the chance to pretend that all her shaking was due to the cool air.

  Of course, it wasn’t. She might not be crazy, but she was half-panicked. Her nerves felt frayed at the ends, and her stomach churned, making her regret her scrambled eggs and black coffee breakfast.

  Someone had slashed her car’s tires – all four. She’d walked out of the house two minutes ago and had been about to climb in when she’d noticed the way her tires looked half melted against the gravel. There was no question about it: the vandalism had been deliberate, and it had occurred sometime last night, after she’d driven Grey home.

  The revelation inspired a million unnerving what-ifs, but one scenario stood out above all others: what if it’d been him?

  What if her ex-husband had come to haunt her at last, to do all the terrible things he’d promised he would?

  CHAPTER 9

  “What’s up with you two arriving in the same car?” Alicia stood in Wisteria’s foyer, her arms full of what looked like a couple dozen yards of black tulle.

  Kerry’s stomach knotted up even more tightly. “Sasha gave me a ride to work this morning. I had car trouble.”

  Alicia frowned. “Hope it’s not anything too bad. Something went wrong with my car’s air conditioning a few weeks ago and it cost me four hundred dollars to get fixed. Too bad it couldn’t have waited a month or two to crap out, once it cooled down around here.”

  “Someone slashed her tires,” Sasha said.

  Alicia’s eyebrows shot straight up to her hairline. “What – who?”

  Kerry shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  Or rather, she hoped to God that the idea she had was all wrong, a mere byproduct of three years of constant fear.

  “That’s awful – did they get all four tires?”

  “Yeah.”

  Alicia winced. “That’ll cost as much as my air conditioner repair to fix. Sorry, Kerry. Are you sure you don’t know who might’ve done it?”

  Kerry shook her head. “No. Anyway, your wedding is in a couple days – you have bigger things to worry about than my tires.”

  It was a convenient excuse to change the subject.

  Alicia flipped her head in a way that sent a lock of hair flying into one of her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as she hurried to brush it away, “planning weddings is what I do. I’ve got everything perfectly under control.”

  Sasha stepped forward and grabbed a handful of the black tulle Alicia was holding. “I hope this isn’t for your wedding – it looks like something the bride of Frankenstein would wear.”

  “Thanks.” Alicia grinned. “It’s for the fall festival – it’s supposed to look spooky. Faye said that since so many people already think this place is haunted, we might as well give them what they want and play up the creepy factor a little.”

  “That fire must’ve untwisted Benjamin’s panties,” Sasha replied. “He never would’ve allowed anything remotely spooky to happen here a year ago.”

  Alicia shrugged. “We lost a lot of business during fire repairs, which basically screwed us out of revenue for the last leg of tourist season. We’ve gotta recoup somehow. Besides, with the haunted house running next door, we’re perfectly set up to snag people. They have to drive right past Wisteria to get to the farm, and this place is a lot more Halloween-y looking than an old barn.”

  The farm was a stretch of unused land that bordered Wisteria. The old farmhouse there – much smaller than Wisteria – was too dilapidated to allow people inside of, but apparently the barn was in better condition. For a week at the end of October, it would function as a haunted house, complete with costumed actors.

  Wisteria’s ‘fall festival’ on Halloween night would be a more understated affair – cider, food vendors and game booths set up on the lawn in front of the house. Probably, most people would stop by on their way to or from the haunted house, hoping to catch sight of a real ghost.

  The thought reminded Kerry of what she’d seen on her way into the house, of what she saw every day.

  “Kerry,” Alicia said, “will you be running one of the game booths?”

  “No, actually, Faye asked me to run the cider table.”

  “Oh. I don’t know who’s running all the game booths then – I think we’re a little short on staff. Faye said something about needing volunteers, but I don’t know if we actually have any.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to work that night,” Sasha said. “I’d rather be at the festival, in costume, than in the kitchen. I bet I can talk Henry into volunteering to run one of the games though.”

  Alicia nodded. “That’s a good idea. If he’ll do it, I bet Liam will too. And then, we might as well ask Grey.”

  Kerry’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Grey’s name. The surge of guilt that followed was instant, a sense of shame sparked by the realization that she still craved his presence, despite what she’d said to him.

  Unfortunately, the conversation proved to be circular; in no time at all, they were talking about Kerry’s ruined tires again.

  Alicia acted shocked when she found out that Kerry hadn’t filed a police report yet.

  “Don’t worry,” Sasha said, “I’ll help her with it when I take her home this evening.” She turned to Kerry, hands on her hips. “And you’re staying at my place tonight. Don’t argue – you were white as a ghost when I showed up this morning, and I don’t want you to be alone. After everything that happened this summer, we should play it safe.”

  Kerry was torn between relief and embarrassment. “What about Henry – won’t he mind?”

  Sasha’s place was now Henry’s place. She’d moved into his house a few weeks ago. As she’d put it, there hadn’t been any point in them paying for two beds when they
only used one.

  “Of course he won’t. If anyone will understand the need to be extra-cautious, it’ll be him, believe me.”

  Although Henry was an extremely careful person, Kerry wasn’t so sure he’d be happy to hear about the little slumber party Sasha had just improvised.

  Still, she didn’t turn Sasha down. Call it cowardice, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. The incident with the tires had shaken her more than even Sasha realized, though she was glad not to have to admit it.

  “I appreciate it,” she said. “Just make sure you tell him I’ll be there, won’t you? I don’t want it to be awkward when he comes home and sees me in his house.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ll tell him beforehand. Since he drives right by the grocery store on his way home, I’ll ask him to pick us up some wine, too. I have lemon tarts in the fridge that I just made yesterday – we’ll have a girls’ night, to take your mind off the whole tire thing. It’ll be fun.”

  Kerry tried to sound enthusiastic about the prospect, although her reply came out sounding half-hearted, even to her. Not for the first time, she wished she could be more genuine, like Sasha or Alicia – that she could convey her gratitude and happiness without exposing the depth and ugliness of her fears.

  As usual, Sasha seemed undeterred by Kerry’s comparably lackluster attitude. “Fantastic. I’ve been dying for someone to watch a good movie with. Henry never thinks comedies are funny.” She waved a hand. “I mean, he watches them with me, but he never laughs at the good parts. It’s kind of depressing, sitting there cracking up on your own. Makes you feel a little unhinged.”

  “You think I’m a step up from him, humor-wise?” Kerry asked, genuinely surprised. She knew no one saw her as the fun friend in their little group.

  Sasha pursed her lips. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Sasha just grinned. “I’ve gotta get a start on today’s prep work, or I’ll have to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.”

  “Oh God,” Alicia said, glancing at the clock on the foyer wall, “I can’t believe what time it is. I need to get to work too.”

  Kerry looked in the direction Alicia was staring and was stricken by a fresh wave of guilt. “I’ll see you guys at lunch time.”

  Sasha marched out of the house, headed for Harvest at Wisteria. Alicia left in a sweep of black tulle and Kerry hurried up the stairs, where she’d start her day as head housekeeper by freshening up the house’s empty guest rooms.

  As she took the stairs two at a time, there was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there when she’d walked in. For once, she wouldn’t fall asleep alone, watching the shadows on her bedroom ceiling and bracing herself for the sound of a bang at the door, or breaking glass. For just one night, she’d be able to relax.

  If she hadn’t been half-heartsick over having to turn down Grey, she would’ve been downright cheerful.

  * * * * *

  “What are you gonna do after work?” Grey sat at a round, vinyl-topped table in the break room, sipping a cup of the world’s worst coffee.

  On either side of him, Henry and Liam were doing the same thing. The little table was like a piece of doll house furniture – it hurt Grey’s back when he leaned over to put his elbows on its surface. Why the prison administration tortured its officers with such crap coffee and flimsy furniture was beyond him.

  “Nothing special,” Henry said.

  “Wanna come over to my place and work out?” Grey held his breath and knocked back the last of his coffee. The chunky grounds hit the back of his throat and almost made him gag.

  “All right,” Henry said.

  “Let me lay down some ground rules,” Grey said. “You’re spotting my bench press first, and if you leave before I finish all my sets, you’re dead to me.”

  “Jesus.” Henry frowned, or maybe that was just his usual facial expression – it was hard to tell for sure, the two were so similar. “What do I have to do for you to get over that – write a letter of apology?”

  “That’d be a start.”

  Henry took a huge bite of some sort of fancy lunch Sasha had made him. It was a plastic container full of yellow rice, red peppers and strips of chicken breast. It smelled spicy and like coconut, and when Henry gestured with the container, the smell wafted so strongly across the table that Grey’s stomach growled.

  He’d brought two ham and cheese sandwiches as his own lunch – in such close proximity to Henry’s fancy food, they seemed depressing.

  “Are those leftovers from Harvest?” Grey’s mouth watered as he thought of the restaurant where Grey’s fiancée, Sasha, worked.

  Henry shook his head. “Sasha made this for me especially, at home.”

  Grey took a bite of the first sandwich, and a glob of mustard shot straight against the back of his throat. “Damn it.” If he wasn’t careful, shitty food would be the death of him.

  “I could ask her for the recipe, if you want it,” Henry said.

  He still looked dead serious, but Grey knew he was being a dick on purpose.

  “You know I’m shit at cooking.” The breakfast he’d made Kerry the other day had been a fly by night venture, and he’d been immensely relieved when it hadn’t caused her to throw up. It’d been his best culinary effort ever. Normally, he stuck to surefire meals for himself, like chicken breasts drowned in store-bought barbeque sauce.

  “Anyone can cook,” Henry said, “all you have to do is follow directions.”

  “Yeah, you say that as you shovel your girlfriend’s cooking into your face. Why don’t you make your own lunch if it’s so simple?”

  “Sasha wanted to make this for me. It’s not like I asked her to do it. Besides, I always cook us breakfast.”

  “I bet you have your own little apron and everything,” Grey said, but the fight had gone out of him. Halfway through his first sandwich, he was feeling down.

  Maybe it was the shitty coffee – he wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was secretly decaf – or the faint headache that was bothering him. Or maybe it was the fact that the conversation had stirred up memories of the evening before, when Kerry had cooked dinner for him.

  Consumed by a craving that had nothing to do with food, he finished his lunch in silence.

  When the time to return to his shift came, he left the break room’s undersized tables and lackluster coffee behind, trading those sparse comforts for E Block, where he and Henry escorted an inmate complaining of tooth pain to medical.

  While he did that and a dozen other things afterward, he looked forward to that weekend’s wedding. Before, he might’ve found the idea of getting excited about a wedding hilarious, but now it was the next time he’d see Kerry.

  And that was one hell of a thing to be excited about.

  * * * * *

  Brad tossed a cheeseburger wrapper over his shoulder, into the backseat. When he reached into the drive-through bag, his fingers scraped the bottom, tangling in an empty straw wrapper.

  What the hell?

  They hadn’t given him any fries.

  Rain spattered across his windshield, and he flipped the wipers on, crumpling up the bag and throwing it at the dash. The receipt fell out, the one that showed that he’d paid for the whole meal, fries included.

  The dumb bitch working the drive-through had ripped him off, and she’d had an attitude when he’d gone through, too. She’d probably done it on purpose.

  His temples throbbed, bringing back his headache from the night before. He should drive straight back there, give the little bitch a piece of his mind. He knew it, but he didn’t have the fucking time.

  He didn’t have any time to spare. Not after waiting for three years – wasting three years, anticipating this moment.

  A truck came rolling through the rain behind him, slowing down as it approached the section of road he’d pulled over on, just outside the mansion gates. Gravel crackled under its huge tires as it edged toward t
he shoulder, like it was going to stop.

  He bit back a curse, looked over at the driver and gave the nosy bastard what would hopefully look like a friendly wave.

  It worked. The vehicle went on its way, leaving Brad on the side of the road in his own truck.

  Fuck, he hated this. Sitting around and watching – waiting – like his time didn’t mean anything. Like the whole fucking world revolved around Kerry, and he was just another asshole caught in her orbit, waiting for her to make an appearance.

  He ground his teeth, took a long drink of his sweet tea. The ice rattled at the bottom of the cup as he drained it, and he slammed it back into the cup holder.

  He didn’t even know why he was sitting around waiting for her to come out of the house. Not after last night – he’d gotten a pretty good look at her, parked on the next street over from hers. He’d seen her walking out of her house with some guy, some bastard she was probably fucking.

  He wasn’t surprised. Not a damn bit. Still, it was hard to keep a clear head now that he’d actually seen her screwing around on him. He’d pictured it a million times before, but somehow, actually seeing it had been different.

  The rain slowed down enough that his wiper blades screeched against the windshield, so he turned them down. His knuckles ached; they were all busted up from the night before. He’d hit the dash, hit a lot of things, wishing it was that stupid bastard’s face.

  The same thought kept running through his mind: how dare anyone fuck his wife? How fucking dare he?

  He obviously had no idea who he was dealing with, the lengths Brad was willing to go to in order to defend what was his. State lines and paperwork didn’t mean a damn thing. Anyone back in Kentucky would’ve known, wouldn’t have been shit-brained enough to lay so much as a finger on his woman.

  He slammed the car into drive, pulled away from the road, upending the iced tea he’d only shoved halfway back into the cup holder. Ice spilled all over the passenger seat.