Holiday Havoc (6 page)

She shuddered and gave a negative shake of her head. “No.”

“I'll help you.”

She blinked. This man was such a puzzle to her. So generous yet so closed off. And here he'd done it again, skillfully avoided revealing anything of himself and turning the focus back on her. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Because I believe in you, in your talent. You have a God-given gift that shouldn't be wasted.”

His words warmed her soul. But the fear wouldn't let go.

“Finish just one painting,” he coaxed.

Again the desire to paint, to hold a brush and create beauty on a canvas, overwhelmed her and throbbed like an ache much worse than the pain in her injured ankle.
If Sean handled the flammable materials…if she made sure no candles or anything else with a flame were nearby…if she was careful…if she didn't breathe in…

Could she tap into her creativity and not let the smell of paint, the feel of the brush in her hand thrust her mind back to the Nightmare? Was she strong enough? Only one way to find out. Slowly, she nodded.

The smile of approval and joy on Sean's face tugged at her heart. Why was her success at conquering her fear so important to him?

Sean grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer and handed them to her. “Make a list of what you need and I'll go pick it up from your cottage.”

“I can go,” she said, her mind inventorying all the necessary items.

He shook his head. “Too dangerous. You have to stay here, inside the house. I'll bring everything to you.”

Knowing he was right didn't make accepting his words any easier. She didn't like being cooped up, but what choice did she have? She quickly made a list with instructions on where to find the items.

When he left with the list in one hand and the thermos in the other, she made her way back to her room. Second thoughts assailed her. Could she do it? Could she paint again?

Or would the fear win?

You have a God-given gift that shouldn't be wasted.

She'd always thought of her art as God inspired. Lifting her eyes heavenward, she whispered, “Help me, please.”

For now, that was as much as she could ask for.

 

Perched near the top of the telephone pole behind Shannon's Bed and Breakfast, Adrian had a bird's-eye view into the place. The cops sitting in the car just yards away were oblivious to his presence. They saw what he'd wanted them to see. Just some blue-collar worker making a living.

It would be hours, if not days, before anyone missed the utility truck or its rightful driver, who was right now unconscious and tied up inside the windowless van. It had been a stroke of luck to have stumbled upon the guy last night at the hospital when Adrian had followed Lauren there.

Too bad all he'd managed to do last night was injure her foot and give her a little scare in the radiology room. It had cost him money he really couldn't spare to bribe the orderly to bring her there, but it had been worth it—far better than just the pleasure of knowing he must have frightened her with the way he'd poked around her house, rearranging her possessions.

Anger seethed in Adrian's soul as he watched Lauren blithely eating and chatting with that man, the jogger, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Obviously, her life hadn't been ruined, like she'd ruined his.

Adrian's teeth gnashed at his scarred lips, the deadened flesh thick and rubbery. The coppery taste of blood where he broke the skin filled his mouth. He spat it out.

Soon, very soon, there would be an opportunity. A moment would present itself when she was alone and then she'd know what real terror meant. It would only be a matter of time. Adrian had learned patience in prison. And many other useful things that he would show to
Lauren once he had her to himself. And no jogger was going to interfere.

He pretended to work on the telephone lines, but was in reality setting up a small camera to monitor Lauren's movements and feed the video to a laptop computer inside the van. He'd learned the ins and outs of video surveillance while in the joint. Amazing how much information could be gleaned off the Internet during his computer access time. Procuring the necessary items hadn't been difficult. Not for a man like him. Breaking and entering, taking what he wanted was as natural as breathing.

Jogger-man exited the house and stopped beside the police car at the end of the driveway to hand the cops a silver thermos, before climbing into a black truck and driving away.

Swinging his gaze back to the house, Adrian saw Lauren enter her bedroom. Her curtains were open just enough for him to see her crawl to the middle of the bed and draw her knees to her chest.

Adrian's breath quickened with anticipation.

Maybe his opportunity was now.

A
loud knock echoed through the stillness of the bed-and-breakfast. Startled by the sudden noise, Lauren tensed. Had Sean forgotten his key? Slipping from the bed, she limped to the bedroom door. She opened it and peered into the hall. Mary walked toward the front door.

“Wait,” Lauren called out.

Mary halted and blinked at Lauren. Today, her red hair was swept up in a topknot and she wore tailored navy slacks, a kelly-green, long-sleeved blouse with ruffles at the neckline and cuffs and a bright smile—until she caught sight of Lauren's expression.

Rushing as best she could with a throbbing foot to Mary's side, Lauren said, “It might not be safe.”

Concern marred Mary's forehead as her eyebrows drew together. “Safe? What's going on?”

Guilt for bringing danger to this kind woman's home twisted inside Lauren's gut. “It's a long story. One I will tell you later.”

The loud rap of knuckles on the wooden door shuddered through Lauren. She glanced at the door. Sean? Or…would Adrian knock? Did monsters keep to such civility?

Cautiously, Lauren approached the door and peered through the peephole. She recognized the man on the other side and let out a relieved breath. She wrenched the door open. “Detective Jarvis, please come in.”

The older man stepped inside. He was tall, with hair the color of salt and pepper, shorn close to his head on the sides and left a little longer on the top. His pale blue eyes always seeming to take everything in. “You okay?”

Lauren offered him a smile. “Yes, thank you. Detective, this is Mary Shannon, my hostess. Mary, this is…” How did she explain him? “This is Detective Nate Jarvis of the LAPD.”

Lauren noted the flare of interest in his gaze as he held out his hand.

“Good of you to take Lauren in,” he said.

Mary stepped forward and grasped his outstretched hand. “There's always room here for those in need. And being that it's Christmastime, it's only fitting to offer shelter and comfort.”

“I'm sure this isn't the way any of us would like to spend Christmas,” he replied.

“What brings you to Cannon Beach then?” Mary asked.

Jarvis cast Lauren an inquiring glance.

“I haven't explained everything yet,” Lauren said.

“Ah. Is Mr. Matthews here?” Jarvis asked.

“Sean went to my cottage to get something,” Lauren explained.

Jarvis frowned. “Not a good idea. He could lead Posar back here.”

Contrite, Lauren grimaced. “We didn't think of that.”

“I have his cell number. Should we call him?” Mary asked.

Jarvis nodded with approval at Mary. “Yes.”

Mary led the way to the kitchen, where she picked up the phone, dialed and waited for Sean to answer.

As Mary and then Jarvis talked with Sean, Lauren's gaze went to the window. The telephone guy and his van were gone.

Jarvis hung up the phone. “Mr. Matthews will take a roundabout way coming back.”

“Detective, would you like a cup of coffee while you and Lauren fill me in on what is going on?” Mary smiled sweetly, but her determined gaze stated she wanted answers.

Jarvis inclined his head. “Coffee sounds great.” To Lauren he said, “Have you heard from your mother? I went by her place but she wasn't there.”

“She's on a cruise but said she'd be back in time to celebrate Christmas with me here.”

“Considering Christmas Eve is only three days away, let's pray we catch Posar before then.”

Lauren's mouth went dry. Three days. Could they find him by then? Would God make it happen? Did she dare hope?

They moved to the kitchen and sat at the dining table while they told Mary the story. When they were done, Mary sat back with a stunned expression. “Oh, you poor dear. The attack at the beach was horrible enough, but this… Thank God above He sent Sean out jogging the other night.”

Lauren couldn't have agreed more. Even though God hadn't stopped Adrian from coming after her, He at least provided her with some protection. That was definitely
something to be grateful for. And now Detective Jarvis was here.

“I've alerted the local law enforcement agencies all up and down the coast to be on the lookout for Posar. He can't stay hidden for long. Someone will spot his scarred face and then we'll be able to catch him.”

“How did he manage to escape?” Mary asked.

Lauren wondered the same thing.

“He's a wily man,” Jarvis said. “The arson investigators are pretty sure the blaze started in one of the supply closets in the prison infirmary. Apparently, Adrian had been complaining of stomach issues so he'd been taken to see the doc. He was left alone long enough to start the blaze.

“When all was said and done, a charred body with Posar's ID tags was found. It wasn't until later that the warden realized one of his guards was missing. Witnesses said they saw a guard walk out of the prison yard. When the crime-scene lab compared the missing guard's dental records with the dead man's, they matched.”

Mary's complexion drained of color. “That's just so awful.”

Anguished to have put Mary in such a precarious position, Lauren reached over to take her hand. “He's a monster. I think I should leave, return to my own house or maybe leave town. My presence here only puts you and Sean in jeopardy.”

Clearly affronted by the suggestion, Mary said, “Nonsense. You're by far safer here.”

“I agree,” Jarvis stated firmly. “Staying with other people is the smartest thing to do while I beat the bushes for him.”

Touched that he would put so much of himself into
ending her nightmare made tears burn the back of her eyelids. Gratitude clogged her throat.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Mary asked the detective.

“Not yet. I came straight here,” Jarvis answered.

“Then you'll stay here, as well,” Mary said. “We have plenty of rooms and you can keep us all safe.”

Jarvis's blue eyes widened for a moment, then his expression settled into resolve. “I'll take you up on that offer.”

Mary beamed. “Wonderful. I'll go make up the Captain's Quarters.”

When she left the room, Jarvis turned to Lauren. “Nice lady.”

Sensing there was more than just politeness in his observation, she grinned. “Yes. And she's a widow.”

Jarvis blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Don't get any ideas.”

Lauren shrugged with an innocent expression plastered on her face. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

For as long as she'd known the detective, he'd been alone. She knew he'd been married once and had grown kids whom he didn't see often. It hurt her heart to think of him lonely. Loneliness was such a horrible way to live. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been until Sean brightened her world.

The kitchen door opened and Sean walked in, laden down with painting supplies and several large canvasses. He leaned the unfinished oils against the wall and transferred the rest of his burden to the counter.

Lauren made the introduction. “Detective Jarvis, this is Sean Matthews.”

The two shook hands. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Matthews.”

“Likewise, Detective. And please, call me Sean.”

“What's all this?” Jarvis looked at Lauren with curiosity and concern in his sharp blue eyes.

“She's going to paint again,” Sean answered, his tone firm.

Jarvis raised his eyebrows. Lauren bit her lip. The detective knew of her fear, knew that she hadn't touched a brush since the Nightmare. He'd been the one to arrange for her to see a therapist specializing in trauma victims. The therapy had been good in some ways but hadn't touched her fear of painting again. The gaping void was still in her life.

“I'm going to try,” she said.

Jarvis's expression softened. “Good for you, Lauren.” He slid a glance at Sean. “It definitely was divine providence that brought you two together. With your experience, you're the perfect one to help her.”

Sean paled.

“What do you mean?” Lauren asked, feeling like she was missing something.

Jarvis looked at her speculatively. “I did a background check on Sean before leaving L.A. He's a guidance counselor at a Christian high school. Or at least he was until he quit six months ago. You didn't know?”

Surprise vacuumed the air from her lungs as she shook her head. What happened six months ago? Her gaze sought Sean's. His midnight-blue eyes were guarded as he stared at her. That explained why he was outside her door all night and why he was so eager to help her paint.

She was just another “case study” for him.

 

Sean could see the questions in Lauren's eyes. It pained him to think he'd lost some of her trust by hiding his past from her. As he laid down plastic tarps to protect the carpet, his gut clenched. He'd been trying so hard to avoid this moment. And here it was. Of course the detective would have run a background check on him. Sean should have anticipated having to reveal sooner rather than later his past failure. Shame bore down on him like a mallet hitting its mark. He didn't want Lauren thinking badly of him. He wasn't sure when her opinion of him had become so important to him. But it had.

Thankfully, the detective had departed for the local police station with the promise to return later, while Aunt Mary had gone to the grocery store. Now Sean and Lauren were alone. The air was charged with nervous energy. His and hers.

Lauren glanced warily at the makeshift art studio he'd constructed. She opened the drapes, which let in some natural light. She moved to settle on a dining chair with her back to the window and stared at a large, unfinished landscape on an easel that he'd brought from her house. This picture was of the quaint California town of Carmel-by-the-Sea. He recognized the Carmel mission in the background. One half of the canvas showed the variations in the color of buildings and sidewalks, flowers appeared to dance in sunlight. The other half of the canvas had the penciled etchings that completed the picture.

She was so talented. He wanted to help her reclaim her gift. The way she bit her lip as she contemplated the easel revealed so much vulnerability and made him want
to take her in his arms and hold her close. “Lauren,” he prompted.

The deep red sweats she wore today showed off her pale skin, shiny, raven-hued hair and warm, toffee-colored eyes.

Attraction flared white hot. He forced himself to take a deep, slow breath as he regained control of his pulse.

“What happened six months ago?” she asked.

Resigned to the deal he'd have to make, he held out a brush. “I'll tell you while you paint.”

Her mouth quirked. “A bribe. Is that a counseling technique?”

“Today it is.”

She took the brush, ran her fingers over the bristles in a wistful caress. A yearning to have her touch him so gently, so lovingly arched through him.

Moving to the table, she picked up a tube of paint, opened the cap and squeezed pigment onto a plastic palette. Her hands stilled. She sucked in a breath.

Concern lanced his heart. He moved to her side, ready to offer whatever she needed.

“I haven't smelled paint since that night.”

“Smell is very evocative,” he stated quietly, resisting the urge to reach for her. “Think of a time before that night. A time when you were happy painting.”

She closed her eyes. “The day my father gave me my first set of paints.”

A soft smile touched her lips, drawing Sean's focus. He longed to taste her lips, to feel the soft tenderness of her mouth beneath his. He forced himself to step back as she opened her eyes.

“Your turn,” she said.

He ran a hand through his hair. A knot formed in his chest. Best to just get this over with. “I
was
a high school guidance counselor. Six months ago…a teen boy I was working with committed suicide.”

A small gasp escaped from Lauren. She faced him fully, her expression so compassionate he had to look away.

“How awful. How devastating for everyone.”

“It was.” His heart hurt to remember John's distraught parents. Their anger and accusations. They'd blamed him. And they'd had every right to.

“But why did you quit? Surely, the school needed you more than ever.”

“It was my fault,” he stated, his voice hoarse with guilt and self-loathing churning inside him.

Lauren set the brush down and moved closer. “Your fault? How so?”

Looking into her intelligent, warm eyes, he could only answer honestly. “I was arrogant enough to think I'd helped him after only a few sessions. I told his parents he was going through typical adolescent angst. I should have seen the signs. I should have paid more attention.”

“What signs could you have seen? Did the boy talk about suicide with you?”

Agitation pulsed in his veins. “No. And that's just it.” Guilt punched him in the gut. “If I'd been really listening, I would have picked up on the subtext.”

“Was there subtext?”

“I—I don't know.” He'd gone over every conversation he'd had with John, looking for the clues he'd missed, but they still eluded him. Frustration ate away at his confidence. Regret demolished what was left. “There
had to have been. And I just didn't clue into them.” The knot in his chest tightened, constricting his breath.

“What was it you told me the other night? About free will?” She put her hand on his clenched fist. “This kid had free will. Whatever his problems were, he chose suicide rather than facing them. You can't blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”

Having his words turned back on himself stung and yet… His pulse picked up speed with something that almost felt like hope. Was she right?. But he refused to give ground to the words ricocheting through his heart. She didn't understand. He couldn't forgive himself.

He released his fist and turned his hand so that their palms were pressed together. “I don't deserve your empathy.”