Killer's Prey

by Rachel Lee

  “I don’t want anything from you. Nothing!”

  From the looks of her, he doubted she had the energy to keep up that pace, and certainly not for three blocks. Hopping into his cruiser, he did the only thing he could: he followed her.

  She didn’t even glance over at him as he drove beside her. She made it to the next street and started up the gentle slope toward her father’s house. Just a couple more blocks.

  But she didn’t make it. The small hill defeated her. Her steps slowed, and then she stumbled. He threw the car into Park and climbed out, rushing to her side.

  It wasn’t just weakness that was giving her problems, he realized, but the anger, as well. She was gasping as if she’d just run a marathon.

  She had enough strength to glare at him, though. He didn’t care. This time he was going to do something right.

  Without even asking, he scooped her off her feet and carried her to his car. Ignoring the way her fists pounded weakly at him, he managed to free a hand and open the door, thinking that she couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  Bending, he put her gently on the seat, and even though she refused to look at him, he touched the side of her face gently.

  “Nora,” he said softly. “Nora, honey, you’ve got to take it easy. You’ve been so ill....”

  “I’m not your honey!”

  Then she coughed, and started panting again.

  “Easy,” he said as he would have said to a restless mare. “Easy. I’ll get you home.”

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, but before he put the car in Drive, he turned to look at her. “It’ll take time to get your strength back. Give yourself time.”

  She gave a short nod, but still wouldn’t look at him.

  Okay, he thought. This was it for tonight. He’d just get her home, see her safely to her door, then leave her alone for now.

  Everything else would just have to wait.

  Chapter 2

  Nora awoke with a start in the morning. Confusion filled her momentarily as it often did now that her nights were plagued with nightmares about the attack and the threats to repeat it. Then she recognized the drab, faded curtains on the window, saw the thin slices of a gray morning slipping by them, and knew.

  She was at home, at her father’s house. Once the worst place in the world to be, and now only the second-worst place. That didn’t say much for it.

  She didn’t want to get up, but she rarely did any longer. She felt tired, lacked energy, lacked the desire to do anything anymore. Depression. Pills for it stood on her nightstand, and she took them only because the alternative was worse. But she had a reason to feel depressed, and she wondered if pills could really help that.

  The sheets on her old bed smelled musty enough that she suspected her father hadn’t washed them. They probably hadn’t been washed since the last time she’d been here, for her mother’s funeral. It wouldn’t surprise her.

  She listened, hoping it was late enough that her dad would have gone to work. She had nothing to say to him, and he had nothing to say to her. Not anymore.

  Unfortunately, the late-night coffee, little as she had drunk of it, insisted she get up anyway. Pulling on her robe and slippers, she left her room and padded to the ancient bathroom off the kitchen. It hadn’t changed. Not one bit. Except maybe the tile had been regrouted. She couldn’t be sure.

  A glance at the clock when she emerged told her she was safe, at least for now. It was ten after nine, and her father was surely behind the pharmacy counter now.

  It was at once a relief and a disappointment. Being alone with her own thoughts was a bad place for her these days. Too much pain, too much despair, too much anger and no answers in sight.

  She reheated some of the coffee that was left in the pot on the stove and sat at the ancient table, cradling the mug, annoyed that her dad hadn’t even remembered that she liked half-and-half.

  But that was him. Fred Loftis, penny-pincher extraordinaire. From the way they had always lived, no one would guess he was as successful as any businessman in town. Hand-me-down clothes for Nora, all of them chosen from church rummage sales where he’d allowed the purchase of only the ugliest of them. How much fun it had been to always be the girl in school who looked like a ragamuffin from the Great Depression—or an old lady oddly cased in a young girl’s body.

  A twisted young girl’s body. The years of wearing that damn hideous brace for scoliosis hadn’t helped, nor had it helped that when she’d needed eyeglasses he’d always insisted on the cheapest frames. Not one bit of fashion in her life. He’d carped about the cost of them, too, and about the cost of the scoliosis brace and the doctors, but he hadn’t been able to get out of that without gaining the disapproval of the town.

  If there was one thing her dad really cared about it, it was his public reputation. He was a God-fearing, righteous nineteenth-century man, whose frequent discourses on sin and vanity in the small church where he was a deacon had managed to convince everyone in town that dressing his wife and daughter in modest, ugly clothes had made sense—given his beliefs.

  But that was the thing about small towns. They made room for every kind of eccentric short of the criminal. Their kids, however, were far less tolerant.

  Nora squeezed her eyes shut. She had enough to deal with in the here and now, she didn’t need to be wandering to the distant past. Of course, being with her father wasn’t helping that part one bit. She wondered if she had enough left in her savings to find a small place to rent.

  But then the fear clamped her so hard she could barely breathe. After that man had attacked her, after his hideous whispered threats on the phone, she couldn’t stand being alone. Even here, in this house that echoed with the past and seemed so far removed from the life she had been building in Minneapolis.

  They’d put one of those electronic bracelets on him after the threatening calls. He could only leave his yard to go to work. That should keep him confined, shouldn’t it? Although even her own lawyer couldn’t explain why they hadn’t just jailed him pending trial. Not to her satisfaction, at any rate.

  But she was a thousand or more miles away right now, and if he strayed so much as a hundred feet the cops would be all over him. So said that lawyer. But after his threats, it was hard to believe. The guy was crazy. Clearly. He’d had no good reason to attack her in the first place. How could she believe he wouldn’t do something crazy again?

  She realized her fingers ached from gripping the coffee mug, and as she crashed back into the present she had to face the fact that her day was empty. Empty hours scared her because they gave her too much time to think.

  But how could it possibly have been any better locked up in her old apartment in Minneapolis with that man in the same town?

  No, that would have been worse. She needed to find a job, that’s what she needed. If only she felt stronger, and looked stronger. Right now she doubted anyone would want to hire the scarecrow she had become.

  Even though her appetite had never come back, she forced herself to look in the refrigerator for something to eat. She was supposed to eat six times a day. Small meals, but six a day until she started to feel hungry again.

  Nothing looked good. Nothing. She finally grabbed a package of cinnamon rolls, her father’s one weakness, and cut one roll in half, leaving the other half in the package. If she could get this down, she’d be doing good.

  Then maybe she would have the energy to take a walk, something else she was supposed to do every day to recover her strength. Hemmed in by orders, all for her own good, she had to force herself to obey them. She’d have preferred to find a dark corner and curl up.

  Except... Well, that wouldn’t be good, either. In a dark corner she’d be even more alone with her thoughts and memories.

  Trapped. As surely as a lab rat in a cage, she felt trapped, and she didn’t know how to break out.

  She felt a weak sense of triumph when she swallowed the last of the roll. Thank goodness the coffee washed it down or it mi
ght have stuck. Going to her bedroom, she found some jeans, a flannel shirt and her walking shoes. She had just pulled her jacket off the peg by the door when the phone rang.

  She hesitated. She knew who it had to be. But with a sigh, she answered it.

  “Get down here, girl. I could use someone on the register for a few hours.”

  Wasn’t that just like her father. Get down there and get to work, just as he had demanded of her in high school. And somehow those words released a surprising and unexpected burst of resistance.

  “No. I have to go for my walk. The doctor said.”

  Then she hung up and experienced a sense of satisfaction, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  The phone rang again, but she ignored it. She slipped her jacket on, grabbed the spare key and left the house.

  Winter tinged the air. Although there was no snow, nor any sign of it, she could almost smell it coming. Some aroma in the air had changed, something she had never been able to pinpoint, but she could always tell. Conard County was slipping quickly into winter.

  And then what? she wondered dismally. Living with her father was apt to drive her even more nuts than it had before after so many years of ordering her own life. He wouldn’t allow her that independence. He’d feel that since he was supporting her she owed it to him to follow his rules in every respect, from how she dressed to working for him and doing chores for him. He wouldn’t give her an ounce of independence. He never had.

  He’d claim she owed everything to him. One of the biggest and most momentous decisions of her life had been to go to college on her own. Paying every penny for it herself. Building a life as far away from here as she could get.

  Getting contact lenses. Learning to wear more attractive clothing. Finding confidence first through her school achievements and then through her job performance. Then one sicko had come along for reasons known only to him and had stripped all of it away, including her job. Because notoriety had made the school system ask her to quit, with the excuse that parents had questions about her.

  Well, why wouldn’t they have when the police had had so many? She wasn’t sure who had wounded her more, her attacker or the damn cops and their doubts.

  Or the school administration that had refused to stand by her after her years of excellent work for them. They had promised her a stellar recommendation.

  Although she could understand the school, she thought as she walked slowly down the hill toward the more level part of town. Parents were talking, afraid of what their children might hear. The guy might be crazy enough to come after her again. What if he came after her at the school? And besides, she was honestly in no condition to counsel anyone. She couldn’t even counsel herself right now.

  In fact, she was in no condition to work at much. Still, it had hurt, but how many months of disability would the school be looking at? How many months before she was capable of providing adequate counseling? How many months before the parents stopped worrying?

  And how many months before the trial, while it would never quite fall from the news or people’s minds? Followed by the resumption of her notoriety.

  Hell, she couldn’t really blame the school for all of this. Her severance pay sat in the bank, not enough for anything long-term, her disability checks would continue just a few more weeks, but now that she had resigned, they would dry up. Bills continued to roll in, like her credit card and her student loans. It might be months yet before her victim compensation was approved.

  She heard the growl of an engine behind her again and didn’t even need to look to guess who it was. Jake. Why the hell couldn’t he just leave her alone? Seeing him was like picking the scab on a wound that refused to heal.

  It was Jake, all right. She didn’t even turn to look as he drew up alongside her and slowed down to pace her.

  “Wanna go horseback riding?”

  That stopped her in her tracks. Slowly she turned and saw that today he was in his tan Jeep. “Riding?” she repeated. Her mind couldn’t quite make the leap.

  “Riding,” he said. “I know you used to love horses. Well, I’ve got a couple that could use a walk today. Why don’t you join me? We’ll go out to the ranch and ride.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” The words came out sharply.

  He cocked his head, still motoring beside her. “Actually, no. Wandering the streets here in town will bore you pretty fast. Being all alone is probably even worse. I’d like the company.”

  She really did love horses. Surprised that he even remembered that about her held her rooted. Not that she’d had a whole lot of opportunity to ride in the past, but a couple of times...

  The decision was made almost before she knew it. “I’m not dressed right.”

  “Jeans are fine. My mom’s boots will probably fit you, well enough to ride anyway. Come on. Let’s blow this town before we grow cobwebs.”

  She doubted he could grow a cobweb if he tried, but she well might. Without another word, wondering if her mind had taken a final break from reality, signaling her total descent into madness, she climbed into the car beside him.

  This car was okay. It smelled like leather, like hay and like Jake. And he no longer smelled like the guy who’d hurt her so long ago. His scents had grown more subtle, and they weren’t swimming in cologne these days.

  “I used to hate that cologne you wore,” she announced. God, had she forgotten the last of her civility?

  “Beth gave me a bottle every birthday and Christmas. I should have taken the hint.”

  “Hint?”

  “That I wasn’t okay just the way I was.”

  That jarred her out of her self-preoccupation. “I’m sorry,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say.

  “I was, too, for a while. Then it struck me I’d been a fool in more ways than one. At least we didn’t have kids.”

  There seemed to be no answer to that, either. But he didn’t seem to expect one.

  “I’m still wondering,” he continued, “why she married me. She sure as hell didn’t like ranch life. In the end she didn’t much like me, either.”

  Nora, older and more educated now, knew something about that. Jake had been the best looking and one of the most popular guys in school. Dating him was a feather in the cap. Marrying him, maybe not so much. But she didn’t say that. She’d been one of the drooling girls herself. Back then.

  Jake at least left her recent past alone. He didn’t ask any questions or offer any useless sympathy. He talked occasionally about the ranch, about the new police department, giving her a sense of what he was about these days. Casual, safe conversation for the most part.

  At least she wasn’t thinking about herself. She tried to think of something to say and finally offered, “I really don’t get why they wanted a police department. Wasn’t the sheriff doing okay?”

  “Of course he was. But he’s an elected official and doesn’t answer to anyone except the voters. Me, I answer to the city council.”

  “That must be a lot of fun.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He sounded sarcastic.

  “So why did you agree?”

  “Like I said, better pay. And by agreeing, we were able to open up five new jobs. We may even add a few more come spring. If so, that’s good.”

  “Are you very busy?”

  “Busy enough. Drunk and disorderly, speeding, domestics. Mostly small-town stuff, which is fine. If I wanted to deal with the big-city stuff, I’d move.”

  “But the ranch isn’t doing well?”

  He seemed to shrug. “It’s getting by, but a little extra cash is welcome. The money isn’t in cattle anymore, so I’m thinking about raising something else. I’ve been cutting back my herd size steadily. Something is going to have to replace it. We’ve been talking about it at the Grange, trying to figure out how to adapt. Feed prices are skyrocketing, so we don’t get what we used to when we take the steers to market.”

  “Biofuels?” she asked.

  “Partly. And commodity trad
ers. Single-family operations are heading the way of the dodo. So we’re thinking about forming some kind of co-op and getting into something else.”

  “That’s sad, about family operations.”

  “Things change. Times change. The key is to keep up.”

  She supposed it was. Right now, though, she wasn’t ready to apply that theory to her own life. She had to find some kind of acceptance before she could move on. Some way to absorb all the blows and knit them into a whole person, not the remnants of one.

  She thought about his comment about the police force being a kind of power grab by the city council and realized it almost managed to amuse her to think that he was right. As she recalled, the council had been nearly a nonentity when she grew up here. Basically they had taxed and licensed businesses and put up some cheesy Christmas decorations on the light posts. Had they ever done anything else? Not that she was aware of. So, yes, they’d probably feel a whole lot more important running a police force, however indirectly.

  But thinking about that reminded her that she was riding in a car with a chief of police. She wanted to yank her thoughts away from that as a wave of darkness threatened to descend over her once again. Instead, she forced herself to reach for a semblance of normalcy.

  “So people in town call you now instead of the sheriff?”

  He chuckled quietly. “It doesn’t make much difference to them. We share a switchboard. Whoever happens to have the closest car responds. Mostly that’s the sheriff. I’ve only got six of us, me included. That’s nowhere near enough for round-the-clock coverage, assuming the officers get time to sleep, eat and see their families.”

  He swung the car onto a narrow road that led to his ranch. “You could say we cooperate fully. The difference is I have no jurisdiction outside the city limits. The sheriff continues to have jurisdiction in town. Like I said, I feel we’re more of an auxiliary.”

  “Would have made more sense to hire more deputies with that money.”

  “I won’t disagree.”

  Yet he was doing this anyway. More money, he’d said. It troubled her to think of that when she remembered the days when that hadn’t been a huge concern for his ranch.