Deadly Pursuit (4 page)

A hum on the line told her he'd hung up.

Caught off guard by a sudden unsteadiness in her legs, Alison resettled the phone in its cradle and eased onto a stool by the counter.

All the while praying the patrol officer would arrive in time to find her caller and put an end to these distressing disruptions in her life.

As Mitch strode up the path to Alison's house, the front door opened.

She'd been watching for him.

He closed the distance between them and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him as he gave her a quick scan. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” She tried for a smile, but the tremble in her lips refuted her words. As did the quiver in her hand when she tucked her hair behind her ear.

The latest call had rattled her. Badly.

“Dispatch sent two cars that were in the vicinity. I haven't heard anything back yet. How long did you keep the guy on the line?”

“A little longer than usual. But I doubt it was long enough.”

“It's possible he . . .” His phone began to vibrate and he pulled it out of its holder. “Morgan.”

He listened as dispatch gave him the bad news. “Okay. Thanks.”

“He was gone, right?” Alison crossed her arms over her chest.

“Yeah.” He slid the phone back onto his belt. “But they're going to ask around and see if anyone noticed who used the phone. Unfortunately, it's in the parking lot, and areas of transient traffic often aren't very productive. The guy's luck will run out one of these times, though.”

“Unless he gets tired of his game and quits first.”

“That could happen too.” He smiled, determined to ease the tension in her features. “Ready for Ted Drewes?”

“Sure.” Her answering smile seemed strained. “Let me grab my purse and set the alarm.”

He waited while she retreated to the kitchen, and thirty seconds later he heard her punching her code into the keypad. A loud series of steady beeps echoed through the house as she rejoined him.

After opening the door, he waited while she exited, noting that her fingers were still unsteady as she fitted her key in the lock.

She'd warned him on their first date that she wasn't a fast mover, and he respected that. Yet he couldn't resist the impulse to take her hand as they walked toward his car. It was a gesture of comfort more than attraction, and he hoped she'd see it as such. To be safe, however, he reinforced his motivation with words.

“You know, most prank calls aren't dangerous.” Her fingers were icy, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I know.” She didn't pull away. Good. “But they're unnerving.”

“No argument there. With your excellent home security, though, you don't have to worry about being safe here. And I'm only a phone call away.”

She aimed a rueful look in his direction as he leaned down to open the car door. “You got a whole lot more than you bargained for when you agreed to take me to that wedding, didn't you?”

He straightened up, giving her delicate sandals, her slim Capri slacks with the flirty little notch on the bottom of each leg, and the soft knit top that emphasized her trim figure an appreciative, unhurried perusal. His gaze lingered on her full lips and sky-blue eyes.

“Yeah, I did.”

A soft blush rose on her cheeks. “Are you flirting again?”

“What do you think?” He grinned at her and leaned closer.

“I think you're moving too fast for me.”

“Well, we can't have that.” He eased back and gestured to the car. “No more flirting. Tonight, anyway.”

For the next two hours, as he drove into the city, ate his frozen custard standing in the parking lot with the hordes of other St. Louisans who'd made the same pilgrimage, then drove her home, he did his best to keep that promise. But it wasn't easy. Especially when he walked her to the door at the end of the evening and the urge to kiss her good night undermined his resolve.

As if reading his thoughts, she shot him an uncertain look. “Do you want to come in?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes—but I'm not sure that's wise.”

He propped a shoulder against the siding beside the door and studied her. “Because you don't trust me?”

“No. Because I don't trust myself.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Are you flirting with me, Alison Taylor?”

“No.” Her expression remained serious. “I'm being honest. There's a lot of chemistry going on here.”

“You think?” He lifted his hand and brushed a few stray strands of hair off her face.

She sucked in a breath. Swallowed. “Yeah. But I got hurt badly with someone I thought I knew very well. Someone I'd dated for over a year and was considering marrying. That experience left me very cautious—and less confident about my instincts.”

“You know what? My instincts have rarely let me down. And they tell me you have great instincts.” Slowly . . . reluctantly . . . he withdrew his hand. “However, I do understand where you're coming from. I'm not the most patient man, but as I said the night we met, I'm willing to wait for something worth waiting for.” He gestured to the door. “Go on in. I'll stay here while you turn off the alarm.”

A loud beeping greeted them as she opened the door, and he waited on the threshold until it ceased. Moments later, she rejoined him.

“I'll take a quick walk around the outside of the house before I leave.”

She frowned. “Do you think that's necessary?”

“Can't hurt. Are we still on for Friday at seven?”

The parallel grooves on her brow eased. “Unless you want to back out.”

“No way.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “Good night.”

“Thank you for another nice evening—and for understanding.”

“Hey . . . if empathy earns me brownie points, I'll work even harder on it.” He flashed her a grin. “See you soon.”

Lifting a hand in farewell, he did a quick circuit of the house. The gate to the fenced yard was latched, and there was no evidence of uninvited visitors. All appeared to be quiet.

Yet he was as unnerved by the calls as Alison, despite his truthful reassurance that such pranks weren't usually dangerous. Because most pranksters didn't leave flowers—wilted or otherwise.

There was more to this incident than someone just wanting a few sick laughs at Alison's expense. He knew that intuitively.

And as he'd told Alison, he trusted his instincts.

Meaning this game wasn't over yet.

Not again!

Alison jerked to a stop as she approached her front door on Thursday night. Another bouquet wrapped in floral paper rested against it.

Despite the humid evening warmth, a chill rippled through her.

Bert, clearly confused about why they'd paused this close to the door after completing their ritual bedtime walk, gave an impatient tug on his leash.

“Hang on a sec, Bert.”

He tilted his head and aimed a quizzical look her direction. As if to ask what was wrong.

And from his perspective, nothing was, she realized. If any shady character was lurking about, her little guy would have alerted her. He always barked at strangers. So whoever had left this latest present hadn't hung around.

Nevertheless, she approached the porch and ascended the steps slowly. Although she kept a firm grip on Bert's leash, she let him get close enough to the tissue-wrapped sheaf to give it a thorough sniff. After a few pokes with his nose, however, his interest shifted to a moth bobbing around his ears.

As Bert pranced around in pursuit of the fluttering insect, Alison edged toward the door. Toeing the package aside, she fitted her key in the lock, removed Bert's leash, and let him scamper inside while she bent to pick up the flowers.

The last bouquet had been heavy. This one was light.

Too light.

Keeping it at arm's length, she crossed to the porch swing and set it on the slatted seat. As an owl screeched in the wooded common ground behind her house and the light from the lanterns on either side of the door cast ghostly shadows, she was transported back to her childhood. To the days when she'd been afraid that monsters lurked in the gloomy fringes of light.

Except she wasn't a kid anymore. And she would not allow herself to be spooked by a few weird phone calls and some wilted flowers. She wouldn't give her stalker that satisfaction.

Mustering her courage, she leaned over the bouquet, grabbed a corner of the paper, tore it open—and stopped breathing.

As she stared at the contents, two things immediately became clear.

Her stalker had succeeded in spooking her after all.

And she needed to call Mitch.

Now.

Twenty minutes later, as Mitch strode up the walk toward Alison's front door, it opened to silhouette her slender, jeans-clad form.

Bypassing her latest gift, which still rested on the porch swing, he moved toward her. “Everything quiet since we talked?”

Bert let out a yip at her feet, and she bent to pick him up, cuddling him close to her chest. “Except for this little guy, who decided to play tug-of-war with me when I dropped a dish towel. He wasn't happy about losing, and he was very vocal about it.”

One corner of Mitch's mouth quirked up, and he leaned closer to give Bert a quick pat. “Why don't you go back inside and shut the door? I'll join you in a minute.” He gestured to the lanterns. “With the lights on out here, this porch is like a stage.”

Casting a nervous look into the darkness beyond the circle of light, she nodded and slipped back inside.

Once the door closed, Mitch approached the swing and surveyed the two items left by her stalker, framed by the torn tissue. They were exactly as she'd described them.

A sheaf of dead, brittle roses, spray painted black, adorned with a lopped-off ribbon containing the X-ed out word
Beloved
—meaning they'd been salvaged from a funeral home dumpster . . . or from the top of a fresh grave.

And a bingo card, one number marked off with a skull-and-crossbones stamp.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. There were two possible motivations for a gift like this.

A very sick sense of humor.

Or a vendetta.

The first one made him mad.

The second one scared him.

Poking through the flowers, Mitch saw nothing to indicate who had sent them. The bingo card yielded no clues either. It was standard issue, the kind used at bingo nights all over the city. But it was new—suggesting someone had bought a pack for this express purpose.

There was a slim chance they could ID the culprit from fingerprints, if the guy hadn't worn gloves while handling it. But considering the evidence backlog at the county lab, the odds of getting a gift from a prankster processed were nil.

He heard the door open behind him, and Alison poked her head out. “Find anything helpful?”

“No.” He crossed the porch and entered the house, closing the door behind him. “But I'm going to knock on a few doors where the lights are on and see if any of your neighbors happened to see someone suspicious on your property. You found these about half an hour ago. How long were you gone on your walk?”

“Less than twenty minutes.”

He checked his watch. “So they were left sometime between nine and nine thirty. While I take a stroll, you might want to think about letting Cole in on this. And before you say no”—he held up his hand when her lips flattened into a mutinous line—“hear me out. Your ‘admirer' is persistent, and this latest gift has an overtly threatening tone. Cole's been around a lot longer than I have and knows most of the beat officers. A request from him to beef up patrols on your street will carry a lot more weight than one coming from me. And having a cop car cruise by here more frequently isn't a bad idea.”

A flicker of annoyance sparked in her eyes, telling him she still wasn't crazy about getting her brother involved. But she was also smart, and he hoped common sense would override her initial emotional reaction.

The sudden, resigned slump of her shoulders told him it had.

“Okay. I'll tell Cole. This weekend. The three of us are driving up to Chicago on Saturday morning for a Mother's Day celebration. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it in the car.”

He thought about pressing her. He'd prefer to have a patrol car drive by a few times tonight, since she lived near the end of a quiet, dead-end street. But he let it go. She did have excellent security, and while the frequency of contact seemed to be accelerating, the likelihood her stalker would be back tonight was small.

“That should work. I'll take my walk now and stop back in before I leave.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I'm sorry to ruin your evening. I should have waited until tomorrow.”

“You didn't ruin my evening.” At her skeptical expression, he summoned up his most convincing smile. “You know what I was doing when you called? Cleaning the grout in my dad's bathroom. Trust me—I was thrilled to have an excuse to put that job on hold.”

The hint of a smile teased her lips. “If you're trying to make me feel better, it's working.”

“Good.” He grasped the knob. “Lock up. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Once he heard the dead bolt click into place, he set off for the house next to Alison's, where a light was burning in the living room and he could see the flicker of a TV screen. He didn't have much hope anyone had seen anything, but it was worth asking. He didn't like the direction the stalker's messages were taking, and he'd rather head this thing off than let it escalate to a more serious—and dangerous—situation.

As it very well could.

Fifteen minutes later, when a knock sounded at Alison's door, Bert barked and raced toward it.

As she followed her canine friend, she didn't hold out a lot of hope that Mitch had learned anything useful. Except for one young couple at the entrance to the street, her neighbors were all older couples or widows. The small two- and three-bedroom bungalows tended to draw empty nesters. Like the Harrisons on her right, who always had the TV going at full blast; they never heard any neighborhood noise. Or Marjorie Evans, the widow on her left, who was hard of hearing and spent most of her time in the back room, listening to classical music and making quilts that she sold at a consignment shop. Or the O'Learys across the street, who were on their annual trip to Ireland.

One peek at his face through the peephole confirmed her assumption.

She swung the door open. “No luck, right?”

“No. The only house nearby with lights on was next door, and neither the man nor his wife heard or saw a thing. I can have a patrol officer swing by tomorrow and ask a few more questions at the other houses.”

“I doubt that will produce any leads. Almost all my neighbors are older. They tend to close their shades as soon as it gets dark and go to bed early.”

“It can't hurt to ask around, though.”

They were still standing in the hall, and Alison gestured toward the living room. “Can I offer you a drink before you leave? I put some coffee on. I also have diet soda.”

“I don't want to keep you up on a work night.”

In light of her latest “gift,” sleep was the last thing on her mind. She intended to defer retiring until she was a lot more tired, and she wouldn't mind Mitch's company in the interim. But it was a work night for him too. And he had other responsibilities.

Curbing her selfish impulse, she pasted on a smile. “Well, I appreciate you coming by.”

He studied her for a moment with that discerning gaze of his. “I think I will have some coffee.”

She let her fake smile flatten. “You don't have to stay to keep me company.”

“It's either you or back to the grout.” He grinned.

“Wow.” Her lips twitched for real this time. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

Grinning, he followed her into the kitchen, Bert on his heels. He claimed a chair at the café table in the window and leaned down to scratch the pup under the chin.

She poured him some coffee, then withdrew a soda from the fridge. As she joined him at the table, she cast a glance at her pooch. Eyes closed, he was blissfully soaking up Mitch's attention. If he was a cat, he'd be purring in contentment.

“I think you've made a new friend.”

“He's a cute little guy.”

“Who's spoiled rotten, I'm afraid.” She flipped the tab on her soda, releasing a whoosh of carbonation.

“How long have you had him?”

“I rescued him from the pound last summer.”

“After your accident?”

“Yes.” She took a long swallow of her soda and cast an affectionate look at the pup who'd won her heart with his unconditional love and distracted her with his antics through long, pain-filled days. “I needed a pick-me-up, and Bert fit the bill. He's seen me through some rough times.”

“How rough?”

At Mitch's quiet question, she transferred her attention to him. He was focused on her just as intensely as he'd been that first night at Ted Drewes. As if every word she said mattered to him. It was the kind of look that could turn a girl's head. Make her care too much, too fast. Unless she was very careful.

Slow and easy, Alison.

“I was hurt very badly.” She rose before he could ask the obvious follow-up question. She needed to buy herself a few moments to think about how much she wanted to share. To figure out how much she
could
share without putting her heart at risk. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I threw some laundry in the dryer downstairs while you were making your circuit of the neighborhood and I need to get a few blouses out. Ironing is not on my top ten list of favorite activities.”

“No problem.” He took a sip from his mug, watching her over the rim.

And as she escaped to the basement, she had the disconcerting feeling he knew exactly why she'd needed to put some distance between them.