Twisted Threads (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 3)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  They broke up shortly after, Daniel leaving most of his fries uneaten. He didn’t need a lump of undigested concrete in his belly all afternoon.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Emily said tentatively, mid-way through dinner Monday night. Sharing at least this much of their day was becoming a habit. “Is there something…well, more wrong than usual?”

  The somber expression Sean had worn since he walked in the door cleared when he laughed. “I guess with my job, there is always something wrong, isn’t there?”

  Her mouth curved too. “By the time your average homicide detective reaches retirement age, I don’t suppose he’s a very jolly fellow.”

  Sean chuckled again. “You might be surprised. There’s plenty of dark humor, at least. Without some sense of humor, who could cut it? And you should hear what my parents think is funny. I swear, medical people tell the most grisly jokes.”

  Emily made a face. “I heard some from Tom. The kind where you feel awful because you couldn’t help laughing. Um…do you want coffee?”

  “If you don’t mind.” His gaze rested thoughtfully on her face. “I’ve been mooching off you.”

  “I…look forward to you coming home.”

  Home? she thought with a burst of alarm, pushing back from the table to busy herself starting the coffee. Whose home was she talking about?

  And, oh, she hated admitting even to herself how much she did anticipate his knock on the door. Hours before she expected him, she’d find herself lifting her head at the sound of any passing vehicle, feeling disappointment when she realized it wasn’t his. He made her feel safe while he was here, but that wasn’t all of it.

  He’d pushed back his own chair enough to stretch out his legs. When she glanced over her shoulder after setting mugs on the counter, it was to find him watching her.

  “You’re a great cook,” he said. “I’m getting spoiled.”

  She came back to the table. “If anyone’s in the debt column, it’s me. You saved my life.”

  A shutter closed over his expression. “That’s why you’re feeding me?”

  Panic fluttered in her chest. If she said yes, he’d refuse future invitations. She knew he would.

  “No.” Her breathing came too fast. “I like talking to you. Having you…” She gave a small shrug. “Here. You know.”

  His smile was wry, but it did soften his face again. “And I like being here."

  I like you. You like me. That almost sounded like…oh, some kind of beginning. Scary thought. But, despite her panic, she discovered that the idea of going back to being utterly alone was unimaginably bleak.

  Not that she’d have to be. If she allowed herself friends, they would be here for her. Sophie Thomsen could be one, she thought. Hannah Moss, who owned a combined bookstore and fudge shop a block from The Sandpiper, had made overtures. And then there were the friends Emily had driven away.

  But the panic remained, and she knew why. She wanted more than friends. She wanted Sean in her life.

  And, oh boy, but that scared her, too, because her feelings for him went beyond friendship.

  “You never answered my question,” she said hastily, needing to divert them both. “About why you’re all broody tonight.”

  One side of his mouth tilted again. “Like a hen on her eggs?” The hint of humor vanished from his face. “Not a bad comparison. I keep waiting for another egg to break.”

  “You mean, another murder.”

  His eyes seemed to darken. “Maybe. Maybe something else.”

  “Like…what?” It came out as a near-whisper.

  He only shook his head.

  Somehow the tension in the room increased with his silence. Talking, she wasn’t so aware of him physically. Without that distraction, she’d fixate on his hands, so much larger than hers, the sinewy power of his forearms, the evening stubble shadowing lean cheeks. The penetrating blue of his eyes.

  His mouth.

  After his last swallow of coffee, he insisted on helping clear the table and get the dishwasher loaded. They did the dance, stepping past each other, as if they’d done it hundreds of times, she thought, disconcerted. He already knew where everything went in her cupboards.

  Tonight, as she put away leftovers, he washed pans. She hadn’t known he was finished until she shut the refrigerator door and, turning, bumped into him. He wasn’t supposed to be so close.

  He caught her with his hands on her upper arms. “Emily.”

  The rough, deep texture of his voice resonated with something inside her. She swallowed and lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “I’m going to kiss you.”

  She opened her mouth, but her lips refused to frame the word ‘no’. Because I want this, she realized with shock.

  When she didn’t say anything, didn’t retreat, Sean slid a hand beneath her braid and gently squeezed. Then he stroked her neck, the rasp from his calluses an erotic contrast to the delicacy of his touch. Goosebumps tiptoed down her spine. With his free hand, he cupped her jaw.

  Unlike the only other time he’d kissed her, he started softly, even sweetly, his lips brushing hers, nibbling, testing. Asking instead of making a statement or demanding. Emily stood completely still, overwhelmed by sensations she’d almost forgotten. It was like diving into the surf, feeling the wave crash over her. In the churning depths, she couldn’t seem to think, only feel. The teasing touch of his mouth wasn’t enough. She pushed up on tiptoe to deepen the kiss.

  Beneath her hands – when had she put them there? – his chest vibrated with a groan. An arm came hard around her, and he took advantage of her parted lips to stroke inside her mouth with his tongue. Hers met it. Her knees wobbled even as heat ran through her veins.

  She heard a sound that could have been a whimper. Me. I whimpered.

  She did it again. Her hands crept around his neck. Her fingers dove into the coarse silk of his hair, making him shiver.

  His tongue slid rhythmically against hers. The hard bar of his erection pressed against her belly. One of his hands moved restlessly up and down her back, finally gripping her hip to lift her. She felt something cool and hard at her back. The refrigerator. He’d backed her up a couple of steps. Her body fit against his miraculously well, but she needed…wanted...

  He tore his mouth from hers. “Emily. God.” Panting, he rested his forehead against hers. “Give me a minute.”

  The last thing she wanted was him to stop, but…she couldn’t do this. Could she? With his body still pressed against hers, the throbbing between her legs, it was hard to clear her mind, but she struggled to think.

  “Are you ready, Emily?” he asked hoarsely. “If not, you have to say so now.”

  She’d told him she would never be ready. A fireball burst in her chest. “No.” Her arms dropped and she squirmed sideways, escaping the cage of his body. “No. I can’t…” She clapped a hand over her mouth. Around it, she whispered, “What was I thinking?”

  Every stark angle of his face seemed sharpened, as if passion and anger had honed his features. “You’re attracted to me.” He was mad, and not hiding it. “You have needs you’ve been suppressing.” Then, miraculously, his voice softened. “You trust me.”

  She felt herself sag even as her eyes widened in renewed shock. She did trust him. She liked him. She might even…more than like him.

  Wrapping her arms tightly in front of herself, she said, “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  His eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen them, and the large hand that engulfed her cheek was inexplicably comforting. “We kissed, Emily. That’s all. This is why I stopped. I need you to be sure before we go any further.”

  She couldn’t look away from him. A nod was all she could manage.

  “Good.” He smiled ruefully, gave her a tender kiss and said, “It’s time for me to go home.”

  Don’t go. Please don’t go. Emily bit back the plea. Now it was fear talking – and the unexpected wish that home for him wa
s here, with her.

  Once again, she nodded. Like a civil hostess, she walked him to the door and even came up with a smile of sorts. “You triggered a panic attack,” she said lightly. “I apologize.”

  “Not surprising.” This smile was crooked, too. “Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? Or am I pushing it?”

  Yes. Yes, he was. He had some definite bulldozer tendencies. But if he hadn’t pushed… She’d still be alone.

  “I don’t mind cooking again,” she heard herself say. “But if you’d rather…”

  “I want to make things easier for you,” he said quietly. “I’ve loved every dinner you made. Whatever you prefer.”

  “Then…here,” she decided.

  After a last, lingering look but no more touches, he was gone.

  Setting the alarm, Emily pondered how it was that eating together every night had come to be expected. Their norm. As if…

  She wasn’t ready to finish that sentence.

  *****

  With a rush of adrenaline, Emily came awake, opening her eyes to pitch darkness. She shot to a sitting position, trying to understand why there were no bedcovers over her.

  On an adrenaline-laced rush, she remembered. In the early days – the first year, at least – she had come into Cody’s room daily to sit on the bed and try desperately to believe she felt his presence. She rarely did anymore, but last night sleep had seemed impossible. Instead of getting into her own bed, she’d crossed the hall in the dark.

  But she had fallen asleep, after all, because she was curled up now on the bed. It was the strangeness of where she was that had awakened her. No, she was cold. Or…she’d had a nightmare. What else would—

  A floorboard creaked. In her hall. Barely outside Cody’s bedroom door, which she had left ajar. The sound was very faint, but she knew it.

  Rational thought dissolved into instant terror. I have to get out.

  She slipped from the bed, never tearing her eyes from the half-open door. She had no protection at all, not even the dining room chair she’d been propping beneath her doorknob in her own room every night before she went to bed.

  Once he realized she wasn’t in her own bed...

  She could close the door, shove the small bookcase in front of it, like she had the other time. Heart hammering, she thought, no. He’d been in the living room then, picking himself up off the floor. Her door had already been closed.

  Tonight…he was so close. Staring down at her empty bed, maybe. Slipping silently into her bathroom. The first sound would tell him where she was.

  She crossed as quietly as she could the few feet to the window and unlocked it, wincing at the tiny click. Maybe she’d imagined that creak. She could have been dreaming. Maybe…

  She strained to hear anything at all that would tell her she was no longer alone in the house. Her own panting sounded loud to her ears.

  Don’t take a chance. Get out.

  Emily thrust the window sash upward. A scream split the night as she kicked at the screen. The alarm.

  She heard running footsteps just as she plunged through the opening. A butterfly bush here had grown partially in front of the window. Branches snagged her pajamas and scraped her skin. She scrabbled out of it on her hands and knees, turning her head wildly. An ominous, black shape stood at the open window. He’d follow her any second. Screaming herself now, even though no one would hear her over the alarm, she ran, driven by instinct to go around the back of the house instead of toward the street. If he went out the front door instead of the window, he’d be there to meet her.

  Or he was right behind her.

  Not daring to look back, she tore around behind the house, past her bedroom window until she reached the gate. Her skin prickled with horror. She’d feel his hands any second.

  She fumbled with the latch, sobbing with relief when it swung open. Instinct had her thrusting it closed behind her, even though, oh, God, he could be waiting here, too. He’d seen which way she went.

  Keep going.

  She pushed past an old lilac bush and collided with a hard body. A hand closed over her mouth. Mindless with fear, she fought wildly.

  “Emily, it’s me. It’s me,” Sean said urgently.

  She gasped with relief. He was always there to save her. “He’s in my house. I don’t know how, but he got in again.”

  “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him toward her front yard.

  She wanted to dig in her heels but let herself be towed. He didn’t want to leave her alone, she realized. Good thought. She didn’t want to cower alone in the yard, searching the darkness.

  They both heard…something. Whirring?

  “Shit!” The one explosive word, and Sean dropped her hand and ran full-out toward the street through the open gate in her picket fence.

  The one that was usually closed.

  Emily chased after him, and saw a bicyclist pass under the streetlight half a block away. Head-down, Sean tore after it, passing a minute later under the same pool of light.

  Suddenly freezing cold, shaking, Emily stood with her toes curled on the gritty sidewalk. Even through her shock, she was aware that porch lights had come on in neighboring houses and worried voices called out.

  The alarm kept screaming.

  Dimly, she thought, Somebody else’s alarm is going off, too, but the next second realized it was an approaching siren. Somebody must have called. Maybe everybody in earshot of the alarm had called.

  No, she guessed, Sean would have had the presence of mind to dial 911 even as he sprang from bed.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t alone. A person materialized from the darkness and tenderly draped a blanket around her shoulders.

  “You must be freezing.” Of course, it was Louella Shoop, but she sounded so kind, Emily turned instinctively toward her, and let herself be embraced by wiry, strong arms. “There, there. You’re safe now.”

  Her teeth chattered. “I should shut that off.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “Yes, I think…”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Louella said encouragingly. “Let’s do it.”

  She never took her arm from around Emily’s shoulders as they made their way through the gate and up to the porch. Emily’s hand shook, but she managed to type in the code.

  In the sudden cessation of sound, her ears continued to ring. Louella kept patting her and murmuring words of comfort. Emily stared down the street, waiting with all her being for Sean to reappear.

  The siren had been turned off, too, she realized. Her heart clenched. What if the officer had seen Sean running down the street with a gun in his hand? What if he’d tackled him, hand-cuffed him…shot him? No, no, she would have heard that.

  Would she, over the alarm? She, who never prayed anymore, did just that. Keep him safe. Dear God, please. Please, please, please.

  A squad car rolled to the curb in front of her house. No siren, and the rack of lights weren’t flashing. The passenger side door opened and Sean got out.

  A sob of relief escaped Emily, and, still clutching the blanket, she ran down the steps and walkway to meet him. Something like desperation on his face, he snatched her into his arms and held her so tight it hurt.

  *****

  Sean was incredibly grateful that Daniel Colburn had been taking a night shift. His response time had been lightning fast. Once he picked Sean up, they drove up one street and down the next, both sharp-eyed, but the son-of-a-bitch was gone.

  Guy’s a fucking ghost.

  No, damn it! Sean had seen him.

  Trouble was, between streetlights was too much darkness. Old houses meant huge old shrubs, big trees. Backyard fences, detached garages, cars parked along the street. Too damn many places to hide.

  A sheriff’s deputy had been buying a cup of coffee at the all-night convenience store on the highway. He was still driving slowly through town, watching for traffic of any kind.

  Sean heard Colburn reassuring the neighbors and pers
uading Louella Shoop to go home. Emily pulled away from Sean to give Louella a big hug.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You let your detective take care of you now, honey,” the old busybody told her.

  Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

  “She has a good heart,” Daniel said in a low voice.

  Emily nodded. She was still shaking, and Sean pulled her back to his side. By God, he was never letting go of her again.

  She drew a shuddering breath and looked up at him, her eyes so dark they dominated a face that was pinched and paper-white. “He was in my house. I saw him. How did he do that?”

  “That’s a damn good question,” Sean said. “Let’s go in and find out.”

  He steered her into the living room, but she balked at the head of the hall. Horror in her eyes, she stared toward the bedrooms.

  “Do you want to wait here?” Sean asked her.

  A shudder passed through her, but she shook her head. The two of them followed Daniel down the hall.

  All three bedroom doors stood open. They all felt the cold coming from the first room, where she stored fabric and batting and quilts in progress. Daniel nudged the door farther open, turned on the light and murmured an expletive.

  “But…” Emily gaped. “But…I’m sure the alarm was on.”

  Setting her to one side, just inside the room, Sean went with Daniel to inspect the window. The glass in the entire lower sash was missing.

  Sean leaned out. “Jesus. He cut it.”

  Daniel took a look, too, at the large pane of glass leaning against the house side. Just as the smaller piece of glass had been left outside the French doors into the master bedroom at Frank Lowe’s house.

  “Cut?” Emily whispered. “Isn’t that like…?”

  She didn’t want to say it. Sean didn’t blame her. The terrifying knowledge had already rooted beneath his breastbone. The man who had killed three men in barely two weeks wanted Emily dead, too. He’d come back twice now. He wouldn’t give up.