Deadly Pursuit (3 page)

Sixty seconds later, a happy yip from Bert and a rattle from the cage preceded the sound of mad scrambling on the steps. A heartbeat later, Bert scooted past her legs and careened through the kitchen. Mitch rejoined her at a more sedate pace, flashing a quick grin.

“There's no energy shortage in this house.”

An answering smile tugged at her lips as she crossed to the back door and flipped the locks. No sooner had she cracked the door than Bert zipped past, disappearing into the shadows at the edge of her patio, past the range of her security lighting.

“He'll scratch on the door when he's ready to come back in.”

Mitch gave a brief nod, then gestured to the bouquet. “Mind if I see whether there's a card?”

“Help yourself.”

He crossed to the café table in the small bay window and tore off the taped-together tissue. The cloying scent of decaying vegetation wafted toward her, and she took a step back.

Exposed to the light, the bouquet looked even more pathetic. As Mitch shifted it around, three withered petals from a lily, their color fading into transparency, drifted to the floor.

“No card.” Mitch straightened. “Any idea who might have sent them?”

She started to shake her head. Stopped. Frowned.

“You know . . . I have gotten three weird phone calls in the past couple of weeks. Maybe there's a connection.”

“Define weird.” He pinned her with an intent look.

“All I hear is heavy breathing, then the person hangs up.”

“And you have no idea who might be behind those either?”

“No.”

“Have you told Cole?”

She grasped the back of a chair and lifted her chin. “No. I figured it was just a teenage prank, or someone who gets their kicks trying to scare people. If I tell Cole or Jake about it, they'll turn it into a major case squad issue, insist on sleeping here at night, and escort me to and from work. They've always been overprotective, but since the accident last year they've been treating me like a fragile butterfly. I love them for caring, but I've had enough hovering to last a lifetime.” She waved a hand at the bouquet. “This kind of stuff isn't dangerous. Just annoying.”

“Harassment is against the law. We could trace the calls.”

“There's no need to do that. I have the numbers from the last two calls, thanks to caller ID.”

She crossed the kitchen and removed the small piece of paper from the corkboard by her phone. “I didn't write down the number from the first call, but I have a feeling it came from the second number. It looked familiar when it flashed on caller ID.” She walked back and handed it to him.

After a quick glance, he flashed her a smile. “You've noted dates and times. Excellent.”

“My brothers trained me well.”

“It's odd that your caller isn't using call blocking.” He studied the numbers.

“I thought so too. I guess he's using public phones.”

“Probably. But he's still taking a chance. These calls place him in a certain spot at a certain time. There might be witnesses who could identify him.”

“He doesn't seem to be worried about that.”

“The question is, why not?”

“I haven't a clue.” She considered the flowers. “You know, it's possible those are unrelated to the phone calls.”

“Possible, but not probable. The timing's too close to be coincidental.” He fisted his hands on his hips. “And I don't like the fact that this person has physically shown up at your house.”

She didn't either, though she wasn't about to admit that. She had state-of-the-art locks, well-placed exterior lighting, and an excellent security system. Cole had taken care of those defensive measures before she'd moved in two years ago. She also had Bert. Her best alarm system. Safety had never been a concern.

Until now.

Not that she planned to admit that either.

“I'm sure it's just some prank, Mitch. I'm not worried.”

His gaze dropped to her white-knuckled grip on the back of the kitchen chair beside her. She loosened it at once—but it was too late.

“Okay, maybe I'm a little worried. But I don't want to overreact. There might never be another incident.”

“That's true. In the meantime, though, why don't I check out these numbers? That might be all it takes to solve the mystery.”

She bit her lower lip and shot him a warning look. “I don't want Cole in on this.”

“I'm okay with that. As long as it's not an official investigation.” He withdrew a business card from his pocket. “Once we have the phone locations, we may be able to get a squad car there fast enough to spot the caller if you hear from him again. At the very least, the officer could ask around, see if there are any witnesses.” He held out the card. “Will you promise to call me immediately if he bothers you again? Day or night?”

As she took the card, their fingers brushed. The brief touch of warmth from his helped chase the chill from hers.

“I hate to bother you with this.”

“It's no bother. Promise you'll call either me or Cole.”

“I'd rather call you.”

“I'd prefer that too.” He smiled.

A jolt of electricity zipped between them, and Alison was grateful when a scratch on the door signaled Bert's return—and diffused the charged atmosphere.

By the time she let him in, reset the locks, and turned back to Mitch, he'd picked up the flowers. “Why don't I get rid of these?”

“No argument from me. There's a trash can in my garage. Through there.” She indicated the door that led from the kitchen into the attached single-car structure.

He rejoined her moments later, brushing off his hands. Rather than stop in the kitchen, he continued toward the front door. “I should be going.”

She followed. “I had a nice evening.”

He paused at the threshold to smile at her. “I did too. In fact, I'm hoping it's not a onetime event. Are you by any chance free for dinner next Friday night? I can promise you a better dining experience than roast beef and mostaccioli.”

He was asking her out on a real date.

This night was turning out far better than she'd expected. Despite the flowers.

“I'd like that. Very much.”

His smile heated up a few degrees, and the room suddenly grew too warm. She let the shawl slip from her shoulders but resisted the urge to fan her face.

“I'll be in touch to arrange the details. In the meantime, be careful.”

“You sound like Cole.”

“I'm not sure I want to be compared to one of your brothers.”

She grinned. “Trust me. I don't think of you as a brother.”

He volleyed with a chuckle—and a look that was most unbrotherly. “That's nice to hear.” He winked and opened the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She set the lock, then peeked through the peephole, watching as he walked through the shadows with a spare, easy grace that had no doubt served him well as a SEAL. Wondering how many hearts he'd broken. A man like that didn't make it to his thirties without leaving more than a few in his wake.

And she didn't intend hers to be one of them.

Been there, done that.

But she wasn't averse to moving forward either. Slow and easy, of course. After all, he was a handsome, charming, intriguing man. And they'd clicked tonight—in spite of Cole, not because of him. Even though her brother would take the credit if things worked out.

“But his gloating would be a small price to pay, don't you think, Bert?” She scooped her furry companion into her arms and walked down the hall to her bedroom.

In reply, Bert snuggled close and made a contented sound deep in his throat.

She could only agree.

At the sudden ring of her phone at noon on Sunday, Alison jerked toward it, sending an arc of water from the pitcher in her hands spewing across the floor.

Delighted with the dandy new game, Bert leapt in the air and skidded through the elongated puddle, careening into her legs with an enthusiastic yip.

Muttering under her breath, Alison grabbed the counter to steady herself as the phone continued to ring.

“Cool it, Bert. This isn't a game.”

He cocked his head, spared her a quick, “Oh yeah?” look, and continued to cavort in the water.

Huffing out a sigh, Alison set the pitcher down and checked caller ID. Although that sequence of digits had never before appeared on her readout, she knew who was on the other end. She'd memorized Mitch's cell number after he'd left last night.

Her heart did a little flutter as she wiped her palms on her jeans, picked up the phone, and said hello.

“Alison, it's Mitch. Everything quiet over there?”

“Yes.” She climbed onto a stool next to the counter as Bert made a flying leap into the puddle and skidded across the floor, delivering another series of excited barks. “Relatively speaking, anyway.”

“Your pooch sounds wound up.”

“Yeah. I spilled some water as the phone rang and he dived right in.”

A deep-throated chuckle came over the line. “Do you need to corral him?”

She regarded the frolicking dog. “I'll let him have a couple more minutes of fun.”

“Speaking of fun . . . I enjoyed last night.”

Turning her back on the havoc in her kitchen, she gave Mitch her full attention. “I did too.”

“And I'm looking forward to Friday. Shall I pick you up around seven?”

“Perfect. What's the attire?”

“I plan to wear a jacket.”

“What? No tie?” A smile teased her lips.

“I will if you prefer.”

“I'm flattered you'd make such a sacrifice in my honor. But I'll let you off the hook this time.”

“You have my undying gratitude.”

“Wow . . . you're awfully easy to please.”

“Hold that thought.” He let her mull that over for a few seconds. When he spoke again his tone was more serious. “I also called to let you know I had our Communications Bureau research the numbers you gave me. As you suspected, they're public phones. I did a drive-by this morning. One's outside a quick shop in South County. The other's at a gas station about a quarter mile from your house.”

Some of her lighthearted mood evaporated. “What does that tell us?”

“For one thing, we should be able to get a squad car to either location pretty quickly if he calls again. Both of those areas are well patrolled. Keep my number handy, okay?”

“I will.” No need to tell him she had it memorized. “So what's on your agenda for the rest of the day?” Bert dived into the water again, and she grabbed him by the collar as he slid by, giving him a stern look. Fun time was over. “Be a good boy, okay?”

“Sure. But you'll have to define good.”

At Mitch's teasing comeback, warmth crept up her cheeks. “I was talking to Bert.”

“Oh. Too bad.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “To answer your question, I'll be painting. The porch on my dad's house is long overdue. There's a lot of other stuff that's been neglected too. He always used to stay on top of maintenance, but it's gotten away from him since his bypass. He tries to keep up—in fact, he does too much—but his energy level isn't what it was.”

“Will that improve?”

“Yes. If he takes care of himself. But he's not doing the best job of that. The first thing I did when I got home was stock the kitchen with healthy food. All he had was canned soup and frozen dinners and artery-clogging junk.”

“Sounds like your work is cut out for you.”

“True. But on a brighter note, I have Friday to look forward to. Although it seems a long way off. Any chance I might be able to talk you into a Ted Drewes run some night this week?”

Bert growled low in his throat and shook his head, dislodging her grip on his collar. He bounded away to play in the water again.

“Rats.” She shot the pup a dismayed look.

“Not the most enthusiastic response I've ever had to an invitation.” Mitch's amused voice came over the line.

“Sorry. Bert escaped.” She surveyed the tile floor in disgust. “While you're painting, I'll be mopping. And yes to Ted Drewes.”

“Great. I'll call you soon. Give Bert a pat for me.”

She eyed the pooch, who seemed to sense that playtime was about over. He'd retreated to the corner of the kitchen and was watching her warily.

“Bert is in big trouble.”

He chuckled. “Don't be too hard on him. He's a cute little guy.”

“Good looks don't excuse bad behavior.”

“I'll remember that.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “Talk to you soon.”

As the line went dead, she found herself smiling. Bert gave a tentative wag of his tail and tipped his head, his expression hopeful. She slid off the stool, gingerly crossed the wet floor, and scooped him up. One look into his happy brown eyes and she was a goner. Which was bad. If she didn't start exerting some discipline soon, he'd be hopeless. Maybe it was time to think about an obedience class.

But she'd worry about that tomorrow. Because at the moment, her thoughts were on another pair of brown eyes.

And a trip to Ted Drewes with the man who owned them.

“Are you gonna eat that last toasted ravioli?” Cole directed the question to Jake, who sat across from him at the table in the cozy restaurant.

“You can have it. Unless Liz wants it.” Jake turned to his fiancée.

“Are you kidding? I don't think I'm going to eat for three days. Good thing we only come to The Hill for Italian food every other Sunday or the seams on my clothes would be straining.”

“As if you have to worry.” Alison grinned at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. With her svelte figure and long blonde hair, she definitely did not fit the stereotype of a federal judge.

“You should talk.” Cole popped the entire ravioli into his mouth. “You could stand to put some more meat on your bones.” The words came out garbled as he chewed.

“Talking with your mouth full is bad manners. And I've gained back most of the weight I lost after the accident.”

“Yeah?” Cole ignored the reprimand and gave her a skeptical glance.

“Yeah. And if I keep going to Ted Drewes, I'll put on the rest in no time.”

The instant she uttered the words, she knew she'd made a tactical error.

“You've been going to Ted Drewes without inviting us?” Jake gave her a wounded look.

“Just once.”

“When?”

“Recently. Liz, did you ever lock in a florist for the wedding?”

“Whoa. Not so fast.” Cole leaned forward. “Who'd you go with?”

“You have marinara sauce on your chin.” Alison flicked a finger in Cole's direction, then refocused on Liz—hoping her brother would take the hint and drop the subject. “So, did you—”

“Wait.” Cole wiped off the sauce with a napkin, dashing her hopes. “Why aren't you answering my question?”

“What is this, the third degree?” Liz cast a sympathetic look toward Alison. “You're off duty, Cole.”

“I'm curious myself.” Jake took a sip of his iced tea, his dark eyes watching her over the rim.

She felt like the proverbial bug under a microscope.

“And you're off duty too, Jake.” Liz elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Alison has a right to a private life.”

“That reminds me—how was the date?” The question from Cole, delivered with a smirk, drew everyone's attention.

“What date?” Jake redirected his attention to Cole.

“I set her up with our new detective last night.”

Jake's eyes narrowed. “What do you know about this guy?”

“He's a former Navy SEAL. Came to us from the NYPD.”

“A lot of those guys are hard partiers.”

“Mitch is okay. He has his head on straight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cole glared at his older brother. “You think I'd send Alison on a date with someone I didn't trust?”

Alison reached for her purse in disgust. “I'm out of here.”

“Wait.” Jake's hand shot out, keeping her in place. “Was this guy a gentleman?”

Pulling free of Jake's grasp, she glared at her brothers. “Yes. And for the record”—she sent a deliberate glance toward Cole—“it wasn't a date. I was doing a favor for a new guy in town who needed a companion for a family wedding reception. As for Ted Drewes, we stopped there on the way home. End of story.”

Sort of.

“What did you mean when you said if you
keep
going to Ted Drewes?” Cole squinted at her. “It sounded like another trip is in the offing.”

“Gracious.” Liz looked at the two brothers, then at Alison. “You weren't kidding when you told me how overbearing they could be.”

“Overbearing?” Jake frowned at his intended.

“Yes. Overbearing. Both of you.” Liz aimed that comment at Cole. “Alison is a big girl. She can take care of her own social life. If I was on the bench, I'd rule both of you out of order.”

Alison grinned. “You are so welcome in this family, Liz!”

“Thank you.” She grinned, settled back in her chair, and tucked her arm in Jake's. “Now, let's talk about the flowers.”

As the women debated the pros and cons of stock versus delphinium and roses versus orchids, the two men's eyes began to glaze over.

Changing the subject had been an excellent strategy.

But even though the topic of her love life had been set aside for the evening, Alison knew it would come up again.

Because she knew her brothers.

In this case, however, their concerns were misplaced. While their acquaintance was brief, Alison sensed Mitch was a man of honor and integrity. A man who could be trusted to protect secrets—and lives. A man who knew how to deal with the hard stuff in life without losing his soft heart.

A man who might be destined to play an important role in her future.

And that was one insight she had no intention of sharing with her brothers.

“Sorry, Bert. But Ted Drewes calls.” She secured the clasp on Bert's cage in the basement and tuned out his pleading whine. Since Mitch had called last night to set up this outing, it had dominated her thoughts. She'd zoned out for most of the Wednesday morning staff meeting today, and this afternoon she'd driven right by the turn she'd made countless times on home visits to one of the families in her caseload.

On the plus side, however, neither Cole nor Jake had bugged her about Mitch since Sunday night.

The muffled ring of her phone wafted down the basement steps, and she ascended as quickly as she could, wondering if Mitch had been delayed. She grabbed the handset just before the answering machine kicked in.

“Hello?”

The only response was heavy breathing.

Her heart began to hammer, and Alison groped on the counter for her cell phone, tapping in Mitch's number with an unsteady finger.

As soon as he answered, she depressed the mute button on her home phone. “Mitch, it's Alison. My mystery caller is on the other line.”

“Which number is he calling from?” His question came out in a clipped, no-nonsense voice she'd never heard before.

She recited it.

“That's the South County location. I'll get a squad car over there. Talk to him. Try to keep him on the line. I'm five minutes from your house.” The line went dead.

Alison lifted her finger off the mute button. She could still hear breathing.

“Look, can you tell me why you're doing this?” She tried for a conversational tone, searching for some way to prolong the contact. “Is there something you want? Do we know each other?” She paused. The heavy breathing continued. “Listen, I got your flowers. They weren't in great shape. If they were fresh when you picked them up, you ought to tell the florist and get your money back. It wasn't hot enough to make them wilt that much in such a . . .”