Deadly Pursuit (10 page)

She couldn't quite decipher the emotion that flickered through his eyes, but she hoped it wasn't pity. She didn't need—or want—that. “So tell me about Erik. Is he okay?”

Mitch took another sip of soda and set it on the old trunk that functioned as a coffee table. “Yeah.”

She listened as he gave her a recap, a pang of sympathy tightening her throat when he came to the part about Erik losing his home and his mother.

“Bottom line, I don't think he'll be bothering you anymore,” Mitch concluded. “The house manager was going to have a talk with him.”

Alison frowned. “I can understand the wilted flowers and the phone calls. They were just awkward attempts to express affection. But the dead roses and bingo card don't fit. Why would he send me those?”

“We don't think he did.” Mitch leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “He was completely taken aback when we showed them to him. We think someone else was behind those.”

“You mean
two
people were targeting me?” A shiver of fear rippled through her.

“Weird as the coincidence is, that's our take.”

Her spirits plummeted. So much for life getting back to normal.

“Alison, I know I've asked you this before, but are you sure you can't think of anyone who might have a motive to send you something like that?”

“No. I can't. But I've dealt with a lot of dicey family situations through the years, and not everyone is happy with the outcome. If this is work-related, it could be any one of thousands of people. It might even be a disgruntled child I placed in foster care a decade ago, who's now an adult. I wouldn't know where to start.” Bert trotted her way, and she leaned down to pat the warm little body. “Maybe the roses are a random, onetime prank after all.”

Even as she said the words, they didn't ring true. The macabre “gift” had an ominous quality that left her feeling unsettled and vulnerable.

It was clear from Mitch's reply that he concurred.

“Maybe. But as the old saying goes, better safe than sorry. We could have some outdoor security cameras installed here. Temporarily.”

She blinked at him. “You're kidding.”

“No. It was Cole's idea, but it's not a bad one. If this guy shows up again, we'd have a much better chance of identifying and catching him with that kind of security.”

“It sounds like overkill to me. Not to mention expensive.”

“Cole says he can get a deal on some equipment. And it's less intrusive than a bodyguard.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Don't tell me he suggested that too?”

“No. Your other brother gets the credit for that one. Cole called him while I talked to Erik.”

“Good grief.” Bending down, Alison lifted Bert to her lap. “Talk about overreacting.”

He regarded her, his expression difficult to decipher. “Your brothers love you.”

“Yeah. I know.” That was just it. She did know their concern was well-intentioned. But it was also smothering. “I'll tell you what. Why don't we wait and see if anything else shows up? In the meantime, I'll be extra careful. I'll hold off on resuming my evening walks with Bert, and I'll double-check all my locks every night. If there is another incident, we can think about adding some security. How does that sound?”

“Your brothers aren't going to like it, but I'll pass it on. I just hope they don't kill the messenger.”

“You want me to call Cole?” Her offer was halfhearted, at best. Going a round with her brother tonight held no appeal.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can handle him.” He stood and stretched. “You know, I seem to recall promising a pretty lady a trip to Ted Drewes tonight.”

He smiled at her, but the fine fan of lines beside his eyes betrayed his weariness, reminding her it had been a long day for him too. He'd never changed out of his jacket and tie, so he must have gone straight from investigating the homicide to the quick shop.

After setting Bert down, she rose too. “Would you mind giving
me
a rain check this time? I'm beat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Go home and get some sleep.” She set off for the door.

He followed, pausing in the tiny foyer. “I like that plan. Unless my dad corrals me for another grout session.” One side of his mouth hitched up.

“How's everything going on the home front?”

His grin faded. “He thinks I'm being overly protective.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, speaking from the standpoint of the protectee, I can vouch for the fact it gets old very fast.”

Mitch leaned a shoulder against the door frame and shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I realize it's a fine line to walk. And it's been kind of weird, stepping into the role of caregiver. To be the one watching out for him instead of vice versa. Frankly, I don't think I've been doing the best job of it.”

“I bet your dad is struggling with the role reversal too. I know what it's like to go from being very independent to being forced to rely on people to do everything for you, and it's not fun. But you know what was worse? Having Cole and my mom—and Jake, after he got back from Iraq—hover. It drove me nuts. Still does. So I can sympathize with your dad. If you want my advice, give him some space to test his limits—and trust he'll respect them when he finds them.”

“Sounds like excellent counsel.” The last word ended with a yawn, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

She opened the door and gestured toward the porch, which was illuminated by the twin lanterns. “Go home, Mitch.”

“Throwing me out, huh?”

“You need to get some rest.”

“I need something else first.”

He grasped the edge of the door and closed it again. Long enough to lean close and brush his lips over hers in a quick kiss.

Too quick.

“Sleep well. Call me if anything comes up.”

His breath was warm against her cheek, and as she inhaled the scent that was uniquely his, she fought the temptation to pull him close.

Slow and easy, Alison.

As if he'd heard that admonition echoing in her mind, he straightened up. With one touch of her cheek, he eased through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

Through the peephole, she watched him disappear down the walk, into the shadows. A few moments later, the lights on his car flicked on. She stayed by the door until his taillights faded into the night.

Bert trotted over, and she looked down at him. He'd been a loyal and steadfast companion this past year, and his entertaining antics had helped cheer her and keep loneliness at bay through many a solitary evening as she battled pain, knitted afghans, and thought about babies she would never have.

But tonight, as she scooped up the little fur ball and accepted his slurping expression of affection, it was someone else's kiss that lingered on her mind and filled her heart with comfort—and hope.

“Mom, can we go to the Magic House sometime? Jeff said it's got really cool exhibits.”

Nicole Larson turned into the entrance of the apartment complex she and Kyle had called home for the past two years and checked on her son in the rearview mirror. He'd been chattering nonstop since she'd picked him up from the aftercare program at school, but her mind had only been half on the conversation. Just as it had been only half on her duties at work.

Thanks to Daryl's unexpected call last week.

The day he'd been released from prison.

After years of no contact, she couldn't believe he'd expected to waltz back into her life as if nothing had happened. She'd tossed every one of the few letters he'd sent directly into the trash. What had he expected her to do when he called out of the blue? Welcome him back with open arms?

Fat chance.

“Mom? Can we?”

Kyle's voice pulled her back to the present. “I don't know, honey. It's pretty expensive.”

“Jeff says it's free sometimes on Friday night.”

Was it? She'd scoured the city for kid-friendly things to do that didn't cost an arm and a leg. The Magic House had never popped up, but she knew he'd love it. From what she'd heard, it was filled with hands-on, interactive exhibits for the younger set. And Kyle was a hands-on kind of boy.

“I'll check into it, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled at him in the mirror as she pulled into a parking place. He was a good kid. Smart, polite, loving. She'd made a lot of bad mistakes in her life, but the baby she'd once considered aborting had turned out to be her greatest blessing.

Still smiling, she turned off the engine and spoke over her shoulder. “You hungry?”

“Yeah! What's for dinner?”

“How does spaghetti sound?”

“Cool!” He unbuckled his seat belt.

Nicole opened her door and swung her legs out. “I got some of that garlic bread you like too, and . . .”

The words died in her throat as she noticed a tall, thin man sliding from behind the wheel of a battered pickup truck a dozen cars down in the lot.

Daryl.

His long, shaggy hair was gone, but she had no problem identifying him.

She watched, shock rippling through her, as he reached back inside to withdraw a gift-wrapped object and a small bouquet of flowers.

When the back door started to open behind her, she jerked toward her son.

“Kyle, stay in the car. I have to talk to someone. Lock the door and don't open it until I tell you to, no matter what. Okay?”

As she issued the terse instructions, she checked to make sure the doors on the far side of the car were locked. Then she tucked the keys into the cup holder beside her and flipped down the cover. She wanted them locked in the car, not on her person.

“What's wrong, Mom?”

She heard the fear in his voice. Wanted to reassure him. Didn't have the time. Daryl was closing his own door and turning toward her.

“Nothing.” She fumbled through her purse for her cell phone and handed it to Kyle. “But if you get scared for any reason, I want you to dial 911. And stay put.”

Without waiting for a response, she slid out of the car, locked her door, closed it, and marched toward the man she'd once viewed as a savior. She wanted to keep him as far away as possible from Kyle—and her life. She thought she'd been clear about that on the phone.

Obviously, he hadn't gotten the message.

She lengthened her stride, trying to ignore the shakiness in her legs. She'd always hated confrontation. In her old life, she'd avoided it at all costs. But as she'd learned in the past few years, her predisposition to give in under pressure was what had gotten her into trouble. Sometimes you had to stand up for yourself.

That's what she intended to do now.

Because the sooner she got rid of Daryl once and for all, the better off she—and Kyle—would be.

As Nicole approached him, Daryl's step faltered. She looked nothing like the meek, subservient woman he'd lived with for a year. Her entire demeanor had changed. Gone were the downcast eyes, the slumped posture. Her chin was up, her shoulders back. As if she was prepared to do battle.

He hadn't expected that.

Nor had he expected her polish. She'd cut her hair to chin length and wore it in a sleek, sophisticated style. Her makeup was subtle, the turquoise eye shadow she'd once applied with a heavy hand now absent. And her knee-length black skirt, silky green blouse, and silver necklace reeked of class. Especially in comparison to the cheap polyester pants and sport shirt he'd picked up at Walmart with the money Chuck had loaned him.

He came to a halt. On the phone, he'd gotten the feeling she thought she was too good for him now.

Maybe she was.

She stopped directly in front of him, blocking his view of Kyle.

Or was it the other way around?

“Hi, Nicole.” He managed a smile.

She didn't return it.

“What are you doing here?” She pinned him with a glacial stare.

“I wanted to talk to you in person.” He thrust the bouquet and present toward her. “These are for you and Kyle.”

She ignored his offerings.

“I told you last week to leave us alone. Our relationship is over. I have a new life now.”

He lowered the flowers and present, his smile fading. “I want to start a new life too.”

“I'm glad to hear that. And I wish you luck. But stay away from us while you do it.”

There was a hardness to her face he'd never seen before. Along with a deep resolve that told him he might be fighting a losing battle. That threats would work no better than sweet talk.

In desperation, he resorted to guilt.

“I want you back, Nicole. And after all I did for you, you owe me.”

She tipped up her chin and glared at him. “The sympathy ploy isn't going to work. I paid that debt a long time ago. In fact, the way I see it, you owe
me
now. Thanks to you, I lost my son for a year. A year! Because you were doing drug deals out of our apartment! It doesn't get much lower than that.”

His temper flared, and he struggled to contain it. Who did she think she was, anyway, acting all high and mighty? She'd done bad things too. That's why her old man had kicked her out. “You've changed.”

“Yeah, I have. For the better. I have a good life now. And my head's finally on straight, thanks to a lot of counseling and the friendship of people who care.”

He narrowed his eyes as a new possibility occurred to him. One that could explain why she'd never answered his letters. “Is there another guy?”

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That's the last thing I need. For now, I'm happy to stick with the people who've helped me get my act together.”

“Like Alison Taylor?” The social worker's name came out in a sneer.

“Yes. Like I told you on the phone, I owe her a lot. If she hadn't been in my corner, I might have lost Kyle to foster care forever. I've met other wonderful people along the way too. My counselor. My boss. My pastor.”

He blinked, blindsided. “You go to church?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“You always bad-mouthed God.”

“That's because I blamed him for my problems instead of taking responsibility for my own life. I finally grew up. And found my way to God. Knowing he's on my side 24/7 has made a huge difference.”

“I need
you
on my side.” He hated the note of desperation that crept into his voice. But it did diffuse a tiny bit of the tension in her face—and stir the embers of hope in his soul back to life.

Then she frowned, snuffing them out.

“Look, I appreciate that you're trying to start over. I think that's great. But you don't need me to do that. You can do it on your own. Despite what your father said. What he did to you.”

He stiffened. Very few people had seen the dozens of small round scars on his back, remnants of the cigarette burns his father had inflicted as punishment for the slightest transgressions—and sometimes just for fun. When Nicole had asked about them, he'd told her the basics in a dispassionate sentence or two. The horror in her eyes, however, had suggested she'd understood far more about the misery of his childhood than he'd intended to relay.

“This isn't about my father.”

“Yes, it is. Because what he did had a big impact on you. But you can move beyond your past. All you have to do is stop finding excuses to do bad things. Stop being a victim, Daryl. Take charge of your life.”

His anger bubbled closer to the surface, and he tightened his grip on the flowers, crushing their stems. “That sounds like a bunch of psycho jargon.”

“Call it what you want, but it's true. Look, I'm sure my pastor would be happy to talk with you if you're serious about straightening out your life. Would you like his number?”

“No!” The word exploded from his mouth, and she recoiled as if she'd been struck. He dropped the gifts to the asphalt and grabbed her upper arms. “I want
you
.”

The surprise on her face morphed into a taut anger. Her nostrils flared, but instead of bowing her head as she'd done in the past, she locked gazes with him.

And he knew he'd made a fatal mistake.

“Take your hands off me. Now.” Her command came out low and forceful, without any trace of fear.

He didn't move.

“I said
now
, Daryl. Or I will scream and this place will be swarming with cops faster than you can put that beat-up truck into gear.”

She didn't flinch. Didn't raise her voice. Didn't break eye contact. Yet she'd called his bluff, sending his anger ratcheting up another notch.

He dropped his hands.

“Let me make this clear.” She leaned slightly toward him, her tone deliberate and measured. “If you come within fifty feet of me or Kyle again, I will ask for a restraining order. Since you've just been released from prison, that could have very bad consequences. I would suggest you get back in your truck and drive away. You have ten seconds.”

Daryl considered his options.

Realized he had none.

Kicking the flowers as hard as he could, he sent blossoms spewing over the pavement. Then he stomped on the wrapped package, shattering the cheap plastic robot he'd picked up for Kyle, and stalked back to Chuck's truck. As soon as he had it in gear, he spun out of the lot with a screech of tires.

When he reached the entrance, he cast one final look in the rearview mirror. Nicole was still standing there. Watching him. Waiting for him to disappear.

He pounded on the wheel with his fist, fighting the temptation to go back and smash her face, like he'd done a few times in the past after she'd defied him. But fear held him back. He couldn't risk an encounter with the cops. They'd throw him back in a cage. And he didn't intend to spend another night behind bars.

Gripping the wheel with unsteady fingers, he pulled into traffic, aimed the truck toward Chuck's trailer, and debated his next move.

He'd like to pay Nicole back for rejecting him. But if he did anything to her or Kyle, even something as simple and satisfying as slashing her tires, he knew she'd go straight to the cops and finger him as the likely suspect.

No, Nicole was off-limits.

Besides, the problem had begun elsewhere. With the woman who'd stuck her nose into his business in the first place, then turned Nicole against him.

Alison Taylor.

He dug through his pocket for the candy bar he'd pilfered in Walmart, ripped the paper off with his teeth, and took a bite. As he chewed, he thought back over his conversation with Chuck yesterday. The man had mentioned he had more ideas about how to make the social worker's life miserable.

That sounded real appealing. And fair.

After all, she'd made
his
life miserable.

Relaxing his grip on the wheel, Daryl savored the sweet taste of the melting chocolate on his tongue.

Chuck was right.

This could be a lot of fun.