Countdown to Danger: Alive After New Year / New Year's Target
Hannah Alexander
Jill Nelson Elizabeth
Danger rings in the New Year in these two suspenseful novellasAlive After New Year by Hannah AlexanderAn anonymous note demands millions of dollars–and in return, Lynley Marshall can keep her life. Lynley turns to new police chief John Russell for protection. The handsome widower promises to keep her safe. But time is running out as the clock ticks closer to midnight–and to the deadline for the culprit's demands.New Year's Target by Jill Elizabeth NelsonWhen a sniper shoots at Cassidy Ferris on a ski slope, the wounded police detective is shocked by her rescuer's identity–her childhood nemesis, Tim Halstead. And as the threats escalate, they must join forces to uncover why a killer has targeted them both.
Danger rings in the New Year in these two suspenseful novellas
Alive After New Year by Hannah Alexander
An anonymous note demands millions of dollars—and in return, Lynley Marshall can keep her life. Lynley turns to new police chief John Russell for protection. The handsome widower promises to keep her safe. But time is running out as the clock ticks closer to midnight—and to the deadline for the culprit’s demands.
New Year’s Target by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
When a sniper shoots at Cassidy Ferris on a ski slope, the wounded police detective is shocked by her rescuer’s identity—her childhood nemesis, Tim Halstead. And as the threats escalate, they must join forces to uncover why a killer has targeted them both.
Praise for Hannah Alexander (#ulink_8054721e-c396-5b03-8464-08d9f6525a86)
“The rapport of Alexander’s characters is both realistic and engaging in this tautly thrilling tale.”
—RT Book Reviews on Eye of the Storm
“With its suspense, danger, characters and other strong elements, Hannah Alexander’s Hidden Motive is an excellent story that’s sure to keep you up late.”
—RT Book Reviews
Praise for Jill Elizabeth Nelson
“This book has a well-developed plot and an excellent mystery that will keep you guessing until the final pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Legacy of Lies
“A wonderful mystery with a great heroine keeps the reader guessing.”
—RT Book Reviews on Witness to Murder
HANNAH ALEXANDER
is the pseudonym of husband-and-wife writing team Cheryl and Mel Hodde (pronounced “Hoddee”). When they first met, Mel had just begun his new job as an ER doctor in Cheryl’s hometown, and Cheryl was working on a novel. Cheryl’s matchmaking pastor set them up on an unexpected blind date at a local restaurant. Surprised by the sneak attack, Cheryl blurted the first thing that occurred to her: “You’re a doctor? Could you help me paralyze someone?” Mel was shocked. “Only temporarily, of course,” she explained when she saw his expression. “And only fictitiously. I’m writing a novel.”
They began brainstorming immediately. Eighteen months later they were married, and the novels they set in fictitious Ozark towns began to sell. The first novel in the Hideaway series won the prestigious Christy Award for Best Romance in 2004.
JILL ELIZABETH NELSON
writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as housing manager for a seniors’ apartment complex. By night she turns into a wild and crazy writer who can hardly wait to jot down all the exciting things her characters are telling her, so she can share them with her readers. More about Jill and her books can be found at jillelizabethnelson.com. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children, who have settled nearby.
Countdown to Danger
Hannah Alexander
Jill Elizabeth Nelson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#uf8342604-5a32-59ef-aa99-7fbd7b57df00)
Back Cover Text (#u5dbb6233-7c2b-58f9-98ad-288d9e02980e)
Praise (#ulink_2c025813-8cde-5c48-9f8c-ccd4930aa8c8)
About the Author (#u6bf8cb8a-d92d-5673-a71e-db1ae89a54f3)
Title Page (#uaa31e06e-f17c-5b29-b16f-49d843d88bc3)
Alive After New Year (#ulink_a7597ede-9c5a-5c0b-b1a7-85cd1649486a)
Dedication (#u8a8d0199-0ba5-50fe-8466-82ac605b2cb3)
Bible Verse (#ud670d777-6cad-5556-b70f-90892a427805)
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Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
New Year’s Target (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Bible Verse (#litres_trial_promo)
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Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Alive After New Year (#ulink_5bc47e0d-11de-5cb6-960b-54ad2bae2b32)
Hannah Alexander
This book is dedicated to the caretakers of Jolly Mill Park and to the founders long ago in history who built it into a thriving community for those traveling by wagon train.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.
—Philippians 4:8
ONE (#ulink_114ac29d-4658-5c5b-bbd4-beb6c4091e6c)
Too stunned to move, Lynley Marshall pressed numb fingers against the sliding glass door that led out onto the lower deck of her mom’s house. A lurid red note pasted eye level outside on the glass glared at her with a green, jagged font and accusing words. The Christmas colors had drawn her to the note initially. Now its writer had ruined Christmas for her forever. She didn’t dare open the door to retrieve it until she knew whether or not someone might be out there waiting.
KM: Your precious daughter is a killer and deserves to die. Wire me four million dollars before December 31 or she won’t live to see New Year’s Day. You gave birth to her, you will pay. Be alone and ready for my instructions in six days. Don’t contact authorities unless you wish to lose her sooner.
Lynley sucked in a hard breath. KM? That meant Kirstie Marshall. Mom. This note was to Mom? Rereading the note, she felt the numbness in her fingers spread up her hands. She backed away from the door and into the shadows, where the few patches of morning sun that reached the lower deck couldn’t reveal her to whoever might be watching. Someone wanted to kidnap her?
Nothing moved out in the gray and cedar-green forest past the deck railing that overlooked the secluded village of Jolly Mill. Even the tiniest of tree branches seemed frozen in clear amber. The only movement she sensed was the skin on her arms as it tightened into gooseflesh. She could see no footprints on the decking to suggest that someone had recently been here, but that meant nothing since she’d swept snow from the deck yesterday.
Someone must want retribution. Lynley could guess why. But to get it from Mom?
She paced from the kitchen to the living room, shaking with fear and fury.
Lynley had known from the first notice of the malpractice suit three years ago that the family of a patient who died under her nursing care was after money. It didn’t matter to them that no one could have saved their drugged daughter, or that her overdose was her choice, not Lynley’s, even though she’d been the nurse in charge of triage the night the patient came in. There was no way of knowing that this had been the one time Wendy Freeson had gone too far.
Hospitals had deep pockets, so the family had attempted to squeeze money from her employer through the court system. Since the court had ruled against the plaintiff, could the plaintiff be looking for another way to get to her?
It infuriated Lynley that someone was vindictive and greedy enough to threaten her—and her mother! Via television, radio and the printed word, news had spread throughout the region about her uncle Lawson’s death and Mom’s inheritance.
Lynley’s respiratory rate, along with her heart rate, increased. Her insides trembled. Someone had gone to the trouble to find out where Mom lived—to discover, even, where Mom typically preferred to sit and greet the dawn with a cup of espresso. Today, however, she’d had no time because of an early meeting.
Oh, yes, someone knew about those millions, but they obviously didn’t know enough. So who erroneously believed Mom was now wealthy? Not a Jolly Mill citizen. They all knew better.
The smell of Lynley’s coffee lingered in the kitchen, but it mingled with anxiety to make her stomach queasy. Mom would have gone straight to the garage this morning, and she’d missed this tasteless piece of paper, but what about next time? She had to be warned.
Lynley closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting back a bitter terror. The note writer could be on the upper deck this very minute. The house had double decks leading from the kitchen and dining room, as well as the upper guest room. Both had sliding glass doors and upper windows that allowed anyone a good view into the house from the right angle, though no one could see into the house from the front. She’d always appreciated that openness to the morning light. Until now.
From inside, she could see the bottom of the upper deck. She glanced up between the slats of the wooden floor that had tripped her so many times when she was a child. She could see no movement, only those evenly spaced rows of light, enriched by the morning sun that cast shadows of crisscrossed lines on the lower deck.
She was reaching to unlock the door to slide it open and grab the note when the doorbell rang. She jerked around and stared at the solid oak door thirty feet away. Who could that be? Mom wouldn’t ring the doorbell.
Something brushed against her leg. Lynley shrieked and looked down to find Data, one of Mom’s cats, on his usual affectionate marking journey through the house.
She heard rushing footsteps alongside the house and up the short stairway that led to the bottom deck. She searched the kitchen cabinet for a weapon...any weapon.
The edge of a shadow reflected against the glass door and she scrambled aside, screaming again as she drew a handle haphazardly from the wooden knife block. She turned, holding it in front of her. It was a butcher knife, sharp and heavy. She could have been holding a toothpick and she’d have felt as safe.
But then Police Chief John Russell stepped into view, weapon drawn, face grim. She released a breath and slumped with relief against the counter. He froze when he saw the knife, and then his gaze went to her face, which must have certainly shown her fear.
Without intending to, she glanced once more at the object of that fear, and John followed the line of her sight. He looked to the note, which was taped on the outside of the door. He reached for it, of course unable to read it from his vantage point.
“No. John, oh, no!” She lunged forward, still holding the knife. What if someone was watching? What if the person knew he was the policeman in this town?
He stopped midreach and stared at her through the glass, lowering his hand. “Lynley?” The thick double pane muted his voice. “What’s wrong? I was just bringing some of your favorite blueberry muffins and I heard you cry out. Is someone in there? Are you in trouble?” Once again he reached for the red square of paper, weapon still drawn.
“Don’t touch the note!” She set her knife on the kitchen counter and flipped open the lock on the door.
He rolled the heavy glass backward and stepped inside. “Lynley? What’s wrong?” He peered around the living area and kitchen, as if seeking an intruder.
“I...I’m just a little, uh, creeped out.” She couldn’t keep her gaze from skimming the note again, like a rabbit staring at a rattler. How could she distract John from it?
Of course, that was when he decided to turn and look at it. “What on earth is going on?” He paused, and she could feel his body stiffen.
“John, please. Someone could be watching, and they warned—”
He holstered his weapon. “KM? This is to your mother?” He reached back out the door and lifted the note from the glass. “What kind of sick joke—”
“It doesn’t look like a joke to me.”
“Yeah, but someone’s asking for millions of—”
“Mom’s uncle Lawson had money. He died of cancer before you came to town, and Mom and her brother were the only heirs. All the wild speculations died down before you arrived and the rumor mill moved on to other things.”
“You never told me this.”
“Nothing to tell. Mom’s portion of the inheritance went to help support the homeless rehab center at her request.”
He held the note up. “We’re looking at attempted extortion here.”
Lynley picked up the butcher knife and slid it back into its slot in the block. She turned and studied the forest outside, searching for movement. “The media made a huge deal about my mom’s inheritance near the beginning of the malpractice trial.”
“Then this note is meant to sound as if it’s written by the plaintiff.”
Lynley turned back to him. “What do you mean ‘meant to’?”
“Money makes people crazy, especially when it runs into the millions of dollars. Leave it to the media to blast that kind of half-baked information to the public for anyone to know.”
The media had also basically used a manure spreader to broadcast all the tidbits they could dig up about her father. She’d never told John about him, either. It wasn’t something a woman was quick to tell a man on a first date...or a second or third, so it had become too easy to avoid the subject. Why share the humiliation of being the child of a sociopath?
“It’s nice to know you didn’t go digging into my past online to find out what you could about me,” she murmured.
He gave her a brief, warm smile before returning his attention to the note. “Why spoil the fun of making friends the old-fashioned way?”
Friends. Yes. They were buddies who had made it clear without really saying so that a nice, solid friendship was exactly what they wanted. Right now, however, she could use the comfort of a strong shoulder to support her. She looked up into John’s gentle gaze and felt herself leaning forward. He reached for her almost hesitantly, and she closed her eyes and stepped forward, allowing her forehead to press against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
This didn’t happen often. She seldom admitted to weakness, seldom allowed herself to get this close to John, even after five months of friendship and trips to the lake, the movies, town activities.
There was something about a man who didn’t push himself on her. John had his own walls, and that was just fine with her. Still, his arms felt good, and he was a much-needed port in this new, frightening storm.
* * *
John studied the interior of the house as he held Lynley’s trembling body in his arms. Something about her vulnerability brought out a double dose of his protective instincts.
He glanced back outside, and realized this wasn’t a wise position to be in. He stiffened and drew her into the shadows of the house, then gave her a tight hug before stepping away from her. He couldn’t be distracted by a very attractive woman in need of comfort when he should keep his mind on possible dangers nearby.
“Is the house locked?” he asked, fingering the .40 mm Glock in his holster.
“Mom keeps most doors and windows double-locked, especially after our recent rash of scares.”
“Good. We need to figure out who left this note and why, obviously,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s from someone in Wendy Freeson’s family out for revenge, because the court decision didn’t go their way?”
“The trial isn’t directly mentioned at all.”
“Of course not. It isn’t as if they’d paint a target for you to find.”
“We’ll check out the plaintiffs, of course, but since the trial is now a matter of public record, anyone could find this and decide to hold it over your head—if they believe there’s money to be extorted, thanks to the great work of the mighty media.” He was acquainted with a few photojournalists who managed to maintain their integrity and their jobs, but very few.
Lynley closed her eyes. He’d never seen her so terrified. In the months he’d known her, he’d seldom seen this side of her. He felt a surge of tenderness. It was an emotion he’d battled more and more the longer he knew her.
“What monster would do this to Mom? And to me?” She rubbed her forehead, as if an answer might come out if she pressed hard enough. “Too much has happened in Jolly Mill. It’s like someone, some...thing...has us in its sights and plans to destroy us one way or—”
“Lynley, it’s going to be okay.” Perhaps this powerful urge he felt to grab her and never let her go came from a need to comfort himself, as well. Lynley was in someone’s crosshairs, and he had to stop it. “You know, don’t you, that any crank with half a brain will warn his victim not to contact the police? Besides, this note is to your mother, not you, so if you look at it that way, the rules don’t apply. She didn’t show the note to anyone. I found it.”
She scowled at the note. “I don’t think this person’s playing by any list of rules.” With a shake of her head, she paced away from him, into the darkness of the unlit living room and as far as possible from the deck. “Maybe I’ll have a chance to show them my own set of rules. Don’t mess with the Marshalls.”
He grinned at the fierceness she showed despite her fear. He’d married the last woman he’d known with that much courage. But what had Sandra’s courage earned her? A long, hard-fought battle against cancer that ravaged her body and finally won.
“Few people have the ability to follow through on their threats,” he assured Lynley. “In the first place, they seldom have a way to even know you’ve called anyone, much less the police. I guess we can be glad Jolly Mill couldn’t afford to buy a car for their only police officer, if someone really is watching the house somehow.” He held his arms out to display a long-sleeve dark gray flannel shirt that went with his regular jeans. “No one can tell I’m driving a police car and I’m not wearing a uniform. No one knows I’m a cop unless they know me, even if they’re looking at us from the forest right now.”
“You don’t think the note’s from someone in the Freeson family, then?” Her voice suddenly sounded so tired, so vulnerable.
John wanted to pull her close again and tell her everything would be okay. But he knew too much about the world. “I only got in on the end of the trial since moving here. I don’t think the Freeson relatives ever shared an authentic tear over Wendy’s death. From all accounts I found, they didn’t know her. But any family member can bring a lawsuit for a wrongful death, no matter how ridiculous.”
“That I believe,” she said. “I wasn’t surprised to learn they’d had to hunt down an attorney all the way down in Florida—some guy with a license to practice in Missouri—because they couldn’t find anyone nearby to take their case.”
“The guys in the precinct back in Sikeston used to joke that half of the attorneys in practice graduated in the lower fifty percent of their classes.”
Finally, she gave a grim smile. “The attorney who took the Freeson case must have had a particularly low graduating score.”
He nodded, glad to hear another surge of fight in her voice.
“Wendy’s medical record showed she was what the emergency department personnel called a frequent flier,” she said. “She cried wolf too often. How could I have known that one time, out of the dozens of times she showed up demanding narcotics for make-believe pain, that she’d overdose?”
John heard the grim tone of Lynley’s compassion, despite the fact that Wendy had caused her own death by the illegal use of someone else’s buffet of prescription medications.
The only person he’d known to shed a tear about Wendy’s death was Lynley Marshall, the triage nurse who’d been unfairly blamed for it.
Lynley walked into the kitchen for a drink of water, glancing with obvious trepidation toward the woods past the deck.
Now was not the time, of course, but John couldn’t keep from admiring the grace of her movements, the beauty of her slender, athletic form. Her lush, thick, dark brown hair fell across her face as she leaned forward, covering the firm chin and graceful lines of her face.
She walked back into the shadows of the living room, shoulders hunched, looking miserable. She was obviously held in the grip of a shock so profound that she looked to him for direction. This was not like her at all.
Time to start the investigation process. He walked past her and touched her shoulder, squeezed it. For a moment she appeared to be leaning toward him.
“That lawsuit’s been a nightmare from beginning to end,” she whispered. “Now it seems there’s actually not going to be an end.”
“I did some background checking on the Freesons after I got here.”
She blinked up at him. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want to distract you.”
“What did you find out?”
“None of the family members had a history of violence, no prison records, nothing. I wouldn’t expect any of them to be rocket scientists, but Wendy was the only problem family member. As you already know, they were distant cousins.”
“If only I’d paid closer attention to her when I did triage that night, but her vitals were stable, and she looked the same way she’d looked the three times I’d seen her before during that same week. How could I have known she was in trouble on that particular night? She’d refused the CT scan and left against medical advice.”
“Which cleared you.” He waited until she looked up and met his gaze. “You’re second-guessing yourself again. You did everything right, and the court decision bore that out.”
She closed her eyes. “I know.” She looked back up at him. “But what you’re saying is that anyone could be behind this...this perverse joke.” She jabbed her fingers at the Christmas-colored note. “Everyone in the 417 area code knew about Lawson’s death and the inheritance.”
“Everyone but me, apparently. It’s almost as if this little macabre greeting card came from someone using public records as a fulcrum. The demand is for money, not revenge.”
“But so was the lawsuit.” Lynley caught her breath. “Mom. She could be in danger.” She rushed back to the phone beside the sofa. “I need to get her back here.”
John pulled out his cell and spoke Gerard Vance’s name. In seconds he was talking to the only other man in Jolly Mill with good police experience—Vance was a former cop from Corpus Christi, Texas, who’d given up his career to use family money and help the homeless. Another set of eyes on this situation would be helpful right now, and Kirstie was at the rehab center today.
The former cop’s deep voice greeted him in the middle of the first ring. “Hey, Chief. You change your mind about helping in the kitchen today?”
“Sorry. As a matter of fact, I need to see you. Now, please. I’m at Kirstie’s with Lynley. Could you bring her down with you?”
“Hey, this sounds serious. What’s up?”
“Her daughter’s life has just been threatened.”
“Lynley!”
“Bring protection.”
“Let me hunt down Kirstie and I’ll get her there.”
John disconnected and nodded to Lynley. “I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
TWO (#ulink_ad4c164d-01ab-5fe2-9fa7-e857c3d2b95c)
Though Lynley knew John meant every word, she still wished she could return to a few moments ago, when she felt safe in his arms. She resisted the urge to move closer to him. After her disaster of a marriage, she vowed to never again place herself in such a vulnerable position. When she made that vow, however, she hadn’t counted on befriending a man like John, who had all the characteristics her ex-husband had lacked.
“And what of you?” she asked.
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “What about me?”
“While you’re placing yourself in harm’s way to protect me, who’s going to protect you?” When they’d first begun seeing each other on a friendly basis, she’d promised herself that she would break off the friendship if it threatened to turn into something more. Of course, when she first felt the threat looming in her heart, she’d struggled to convince herself she could certainly control her own emotions, and that breaking off their friendship would be a mistake.
She’d lied to herself, of course. Right now she could no more control her feelings toward John than she could scout out the person who threatened her life. The thought of John incurring injury in his duty to protect her was like a kick in the gut.
She should have read the signs months ago—about the time she found herself driving here to Mom’s when she had more than one day off at a time. Her apartment in Springfield had become oppressive lately. Lonely. She studied John’s face and realized it had become more precious to her every time she saw him—which was every time she came home.
John, too, appeared to look forward to her days off.
He tapped her on the arm. “This town is a safe place to be. You can stop worrying.”
“Yes, but—”
“Have you seen Gerard or his lovely wife on the shooting range recently?”
John’s mention of her best friend from childhood was intended to distract her, and it worked to a point. She grinned. “You know, I’m not bad, myself. Megan’s been working with me on my aim. But neither Gerard, Megan nor I are paid to place ourselves in harm’s way. You are.”
His light green eyes seemed to dance with humor, though she suspected it was a little forced. He leaned a couple of inches into her personal space. “Why, Lynley Marshall, I do believe you’re actually worried about my safety.”
She couldn’t help it, the man’s voice, his scent, even his body language made her want him closer. And that made her uncomfortable, and she felt it settle into her expression.
He backed off, and she couldn’t miss a twitch of his lips, a creasing beside his eyes, as if he could read her and was suppressing yet another teasing retort. Why did he confuse her so?
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle. “I’m being a typical man. We like to beat our chests and rumble like apes, but some of us truly appreciate the caring tenderness of a woman concerned for our safety.”
To her surprise, it seemed that his eyes said, “Especially this woman.” But of course, she’d been intentionally alone for so long she wasn’t in the habit of reading a man’s mind.
Did he realize how fear completely controlled her? She feared for the friendship that had begun between them so easily. Somewhere the lines blurred, and the energy between them caught fire like a barn ablaze, and that fire threatened the safety of their comfortable friendship. Even if that weren’t the case, however, she would still fear for his safety, especially considering the surprising dangers that had erupted in Jolly Mill these past years.
“You’re not a typical man, John,” she said softly. “Not at all.”
And then it was her turn to suppress a smile when he blinked, lips parted. Though he didn’t move away from her, something about him withdrew ever so subtly.
That had been their unspoken dance lately. Move forward, step back, keep time with music they couldn’t actually hear, but that controlled them much more than either of them would have liked.
She knew about John’s obvious unwillingness to reconnect after the great loss he’d experienced when his wife died. His cousin Emma had told Lynley all about it. A man like him didn’t recover from a true love like that as quickly as people expected him to. It only drew her to him more profoundly.
But she needed John now, and she needed this dance of romance to not get in the way. They both needed their wits about them.
John touched the tip of her nose with his finger and grinned into her eyes with such warmth and acceptance, she felt reassured.
“I know how to protect myself, Lynley. A fella doesn’t last long as a policeman if he can’t do that.”
Breathing as deeply and deliberately as she could, she nodded. She felt like a needy woman who couldn’t function without a man, and that was one thing she’d fought against since she walked in on her father and one of his many lady friends when she was a young teen. That day she’d vowed that this was the one path of her mother’s that she didn’t want to follow.
And then she vowed it again after her divorce from the man who turned out just like Daddy.
John got up and reached for the knife she’d held earlier and placed it into her hand. He locked the deck door. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Data wandered back toward Lynley and trilled at her, his serious golden eyes staring into hers as if he knew. Yes, as Dean Koontz had once pointed out in a novel, cats knew things. Data knew more than most, and he had an extensive language that she wished she could understand. He howled when she cried, and she could tell from the tone of his trill that he was worried about her.
John checked the rest of the house with weapon in hand. Lynley sank into the love seat. Data jumped onto her lap. He nudged her chin with his cold, wet nose and his purr gave her a tiny sense of normalcy in this otherwise treacherous morning—as she believed it was meant to.
She buried her face in a white splotch of his black-and-white fur, and came up with a nose filled with cat hair. “Oh, Data, I love you dearly, but right now I wish God had placed you into the body of a Rottweiler.”
But people also killed big, scary animals to get to their victims. Who knew what a crazy person would do?
John returned with his weapon holstered once more. “I’ll call the hospital, let them know what’s happening.”
“Why?”
“To cancel your shifts for the rest of the week.”
“No. We get some tough characters in the ER, and we have tough men who can handle them. Our guys work out.”
His eyes narrowed just a tad. Was that a hint of jealousy she saw there? “So do I.” His voice was almost too quiet. “But why risk an unnecessary attack?”
“Finding another nurse to cover for me—”
“Can be done more easily than hiring extra security to protect you and everyone around you.”
She didn’t feel like arguing. “Where’s Mom? Isn’t she supposed to be here by now?”
John hesitated and glanced at his watch. “Gerard would have called if there was a problem.” But he didn’t sound as sure as she’d have liked.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to breathe deeply until Mom came walking through the front door, safe and secure.
Christmas celebrations had just come to a nasty stop, and Lynley had no idea what the New Year would bring for Jolly Mill, Missouri.
* * *
John watched Lynley with the practiced eye of his profession. It was a good thing he’d learned the hard lessons on the police force: things about keeping his frightened thoughts to himself, keeping his emotions from showing on his face—most of the time—and keeping a steady hand on his weapon. Controlling his behavior didn’t help with his usual gut response to stress, but knowing he could be fit and ready to face what came at him did help him feel safer. Not cocky, just competent.
He stepped out to the glass doors once more to study what he could of the forest to the east of the house. Still no movement. Unfortunately, no one else lived to the east of the house, but someone from the village below, across the creek, might have seen someone here earlier. This afternoon he or Gerard could make some calls, and he was sure Kirstie would want to contact her friends.
He thanked God for Gerard Vance, ex-cop, guardian of those in need. The big man had about twenty pounds on John—mostly muscle—and a couple of years on him, as well, which helped in situations that required experience. John hadn’t realized, when he moved here and took this job in the summer, how difficult it would be to handle the job without backup. He missed his colleagues in Sikeston.
John glanced over his shoulder to the love seat, where Lynley allowed Data, Kirstie’s black-and-white ten-ton cat, to maul her into a furry mess. Focusing on everyday things gave him peace. Apparently, it comforted Lynley, as well, because she simply brushed the fur from her face and continued to snuggle. The cat actually had his front legs wrapped around Lynley’s neck. John could hear a loud purr from where he stood.
It had been over ten minutes since John called Gerard. Like Lynley, he’d expected to see them here five minutes ago. The homeless rehab center was within walking distance from here—barely a block and a half uphill.
He left Lynley cuddling the cat and took the stairs to the upper hallway, where he could get a better perspective of the hillside to the east. Something caught his attention—movement below, near the creek, too far away to get a good look, or even to tell if it was male or female, only that the figure was an adult.
Before he could turn to hunt down Kirstie’s binoculars to get a better look at the figure, several people came running out of the center up on the hillside above the house, and he saw a child tripping around the winter leaves, far above the mystery person.
He called Gerard once more, feeling overly dependent as he did so.
“Sorry, John,” Gerard said when he answered. “We had us a little emergency.” There were chattering voices, a crying child, shouting in the background.
“Let me guess. A child hunt?”
“You’ve been watching. Yep, one of the little ones wandered outside, and his parents couldn’t find him for a few minutes. He’s probably not going to do that again. Gave us a fright, though, especially me, in light of your own little scare.”
For a moment, John pondered that. “Got a question for you, but don’t take offense.” With as few words as possible, John filled Gerard in on the situation, then said, “You don’t think anyone from your center could—”
“You’re wondering if your culprit might be someone from here.”
“It crossed my mind. I’m looking for any and all answers at this point.”
“I’ve considered it. I’m not omniscient, John. No matter how many background checks I give these people before we bring them here, it’s always possible someone could slip through. When I convinced the town council to let us set up shop here, I gave my word that no harm would come to the town because of it. I’ll do anything to keep that promise.”
“That child wouldn’t have chanced to spot someone else in the woods, do you think?”
“Why? Did you see someone else?”
“Sure did.”
“Hold on, let me ask.”
John waited while he heard a conflagration of voices in the background. Most of the homeless people who came to the rehab center were city folk, and they didn’t realize that the woods in Missouri were much safer than most city streets.
Gerard spoke again. “Poor kid was lost and was looking for our building. He wasn’t paying attention.”
“Out of curiosity, am I the only person in Jolly Mill who didn’t know about the inheritance until Lynley told me a few minutes ago?”
“Probably, but that’s not surprising.” The noise in the background suddenly disappeared, and a door shut. Gerard had stepped outside. “Here in our town, most folks still see honor in police authority, so gossiping to you would be kind of like gossiping to a preacher. They’d be ashamed. But sharing tantalizing information with the folks here at the center just means they’re being accepted by some of the townsfolk. Kind of encouraging, actually.”
“So you’re saying everyone up at the center knew about Kirstie’s supposed inheritance.”
“I know some of them do, some of those who’ve been around longer, but they also know that her money was given to us to help them, and she’s treated like a queen around here. That’s one reason I don’t think we need to worry about our people.”
“Unless some of them believe she still has money. Before you come down, would you have your staff start asking the residents if any of them saw someone outside Kirstie’s house earlier this morning?”
“You don’t want to keep this thing quiet, then.”
“At first I thought it would be a good idea, but something I said to Lynley got me to thinking. We’re going to have to ask questions, anyway, and you know word’s going to spread quickly. Why not use that to our advantage?”
“You’re a good man, John Russell. I don’t care what everyone else says about you.”
John rolled his eyes. “Thanks. You’re a real pal.”
“We can’t keep a sneeze secret around here, anyway, so why not put all that extra hot air to good use?”
“Is Kirstie with you now?”
“She’s just inside, helping corral the others and putting some finishing touches on food prep.”
“Does she know her daughter needs her?”
“Not yet. We’ll be down as soon as I task Megan with the questioning.”
“Then let me warn you, Lynley intends to work her two shifts at the hospital this week.”
Gerard grunted. “Not good.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m getting ready to grab Kirstie and get her home.”
John waited and listened as Gerard Vance reentered a noisy room—the kitchen, from the sound of it, the talk and chatter of rehab residents—and heard Vance’s soothing voice as he asked Kirstie to follow him. To her credit, she didn’t ask a single question.
“You got it, boss. I don’t like battering chicken, anyway. Just let me wash my hands.”
John couldn’t help smiling when he heard Kirstie Marshall’s voice in the background. Lynley’s mother had the light laughter of a happy teen, and though her life had been filled with hard knocks, she looked forward to the future, and seldom grieved the past.
“She’s washing up,” Vance told John. “We’ll be there in five unless another child wanders off.”
“You’re parked in the garage?”
“Sure. Don’t worry, I’ll get her into the truck without going outside, and I’ll lock the doors. This one’s got you worried, my friend.”
“And Lynley.”
“Yep.” Vance cleared his throat. “You do know how...um...strong-willed Lynley is.”
“I’ve had time to figure that out.”
“You can’t let her run this investigation.”
“No, and I’ll do what it takes to keep her from working those shifts this week. They’re back-to-back, and so she’d be staying in her apartment in Springfield to avoid the hour-long drive each way.”
“Not good. Do what you can.”
John powered off and glanced around the deck, then peered into the forest to the east of the house. No one lingered down below now. As Lynley said, someone could be watching from anywhere, but he didn’t get the feeling of being watched. Not that he was going to place Lynley’s safety into the fettered hands of emotion.
He heard a soft rumble, and realized Lynley had slid open the glass door below him. Data darted outside, his bright white-and-black coat likely drawing the attention of endangered squirrels, birds and mice anywhere within a quarter-mile radius, since it was an unseasonably warm day. Lynley’s urgent call to the playful cat went unheeded.
That cat was the darling of Kirstie’s life, next in line to Lynley, of course. No one took Lynley’s place. John could see why. Despite his initial resistance to a growing friendship with a living, breathing woman, Lynley’s calm determination and gentle spirit had wrapped themselves around him from the first time he met her, and he’d been unable get her image out of his mind when he closed his eyes at night. She was first in his thoughts when he woke up the next morning.
Though he was firm in his determination to remain single, this threat against her life both enraged and stunned him with the depth of caring he’d developed for her in these past months. It wasn’t what he’d intended. He’d moved here to be close to his cousins—plus the challenge of being the police chief and only policeman in a town of eight hundred had been difficult to refuse.
He saw Data climb to the upper deck and sniff around the railing—as if he picked up an unusual scent, perhaps? John tapped the window. The strikingly beautiful cat stood outside the glass, and his gold-foil eyes, white face and pink nose with a black splotch on his head made John smile. He’d never been a cat person, but these cats of Kirstie’s had shown him anything could happen.
He stepped into Kirstie’s library, where she kept a list of birds she’d seen in the area. Beside the list were her binoculars. He took them back with him to the door and studied the woods, from the rehab center to the creek and beyond. No figure was in sight.
Sliding open the upper deck door to lure Data back inside, he watched for Vance’s truck to come around the curve above the house. As soon as the cat darted in, John shut and locked the door, eager to get back downstairs to reassure Lynley that Data was fine. What was it about having friends in physical proximity that made one feel all would be well?
He knew better. If he let down his guard, no one would be safe. He followed Data to the stairway and saw Lynley coming up, her dark brown eyes filled with relief when she saw Data.
“You little scamp. You just did that to show me you could.” She flipped his jauntily curling tail as he raced past her, then gave John a smile. “Thanks. I don’t want Mom worrying about two of us at the same time.”
John swallowed hard. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t be distracted by a sweet smile or a deep gaze from dark brown eyes. How long had he been lying to himself about her, trying to convince himself they were good friends. Buddies. Nothing more?
This was the moment he must see himself as nothing but her protector.
Sandra would likely be cheering right now if she knew he’d begun to feel a shift in his mind-set, but he was not cheering. Something about losing a wife to death left a man feeling married and wanting to be faithful. Yes, it also left him lonely, and he knew that wasn’t what she wanted. In fact, he’d expected to recover from his loss long before now. It wasn’t until the fourth year after her death that he realized there would be no recovery. Life would continue whether he wanted it to or not, but he’d lost a vital part of himself when Sandra died, and contrary to what everyone had tried to tell him, time was no healer.
He just couldn’t move forward. Not now. Maybe not ever.
THREE (#ulink_c7f7876c-29bf-5460-bc4d-ca7e67468daa)
Lynley met John halfway up the wide staircase and felt her body lean in his direction as if her mind and body were somehow disconnected. She refused to respond to the attraction she felt. Right now she was depending on him for her very life, so of course she wanted to hold on to him. Anything to connect to. Right?
He placed an arm around her, but didn’t draw her close, as if he knew where her limits were, and had put on his professional persona. How instinctive this man was. Not pushy. Not overtly affectionate, even though she had no doubt he cared about her. What was it about him that could translate his thoughts and intentions to her without his having to say a word?
“This time Gerard really is on his way down with Kirstie. I saw someone downhill near the creek a moment ago,” he said. “By the time I reached the binoculars, whoever it was had disappeared, but I’m suspicious. And something else about the note doesn’t ring true.”
She turned and looked up at him. “True in what way? I’ve been rereading it, studying every word, but I’ve read it so much the words are bleeding together.”
“I want to show it to Gerard when he gets here with your mother, then we can talk about it. They were delayed by a missing child. He’s been found.”
She felt a jolt of fear. “How long was this child missing? John, what if the person who left this note had seen—”
“No, he wasn’t gone for long.”
“But there are so many children up there so close to us. What if they’re in danger, too?”
He placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Want me to make you a cup of chamomile tea?”
“No time. I’ll take a GABA. I think Mom has some L-theanine in her stash of supplements.” She felt so out of control, and she couldn’t afford that right now. She sighed, dreading the moment Mom entered the house. “Does she know?”
“Not yet. When we tell her, I want her to start spreading the word around town. Megan’s going to question everyone who might’ve seen anyone on the decks this morning.”
Lynley’s breath tumbled out. “You’re taking this to the public? But John, the note said—”
“We aren’t going to allow anyone near enough to you. That letter writer will not touch you.” His green eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Lynley. I can imagine how frightening this is—”
The thump of a car door startled her. Another followed. An injection of adrenaline shot through her arteries and tingled along her arms and hands. There was no more time to give in to fear. She hurried to the door just as her mother unlocked it and pushed it open.
Lynley fell into her arms, unable to hold back the trembling that set itself up deep inside her. This was a living nightmare.
“Sweetheart?” Mom drew her close, her whole body tensing within Lynley’s grasp. “What is it?”
“Mom, some idiot stuck a ransom note for me on the back door.”
Kirstie jerked away. “What!”
Gerard and John guided the two of them toward the cluster of sofa and recliners, and Lynley heard the door lock behind them. It wasn’t until John pressed a tissue into her hand that she realized she was crying, and for a moment the tears were so abundant she could barely make out his face. This wasn’t how she’d intended to behave.
Mom looked up at John, then Gerard. “What on earth?”
“We’re checking into it,” John said.
Lynley wiped her face, blew her nose, accepted another tissue from John, furious with herself for behaving like a weak-kneed little girl.
“Why don’t we sit down?” John drew Lynley forward, sharing a meaningful look with Gerard that Lynley couldn’t miss.
They’d obviously already put some plans into place.
Lynley sank into the sofa cushions between John and Mom. John touched her shoulder, then reached for the note on the side table. Gerard perched on the sofa arm beside Kirstie.
As if to cushion the impact of the words, John read the note aloud, his voice soft and mellifluous.
“Who did this?” Kirstie growled loudly enough to make Data jump.
Lynley blinked. Sweet Kirstie Marshall became Mama Bear right there in front of everyone. Her eyes darkened like stormy skies beneath lowering brows. Lynley had seen it often, and though she’d been walking in terror since finding the note, she felt Mom’s strength reach out and engulf her.
* * *
John studied mother and daughter with admiration. Lynley had been touched by God’s grace when He gave her Kirstie Marshall for a mother. Though Lynley seldom spoke about her father, others had told him tidbits about Kirstie’s late husband. Ugly man. Kirstie had the courage of a fighter along with a tender mother’s touch. Lynley had obviously inherited all her best traits from Kirstie.
“Someone’s after your money, Kirstie.” Gerard’s deep voice rumbled through the spacious living room.
She looked up at him, eyes still dark and angry. “Barry seems to be stretching his big ol’ greedy, bony hands from the grave. He always wanted Uncle Lawson’s millions.” She winced, then tapped her fingers to her lips and looked at Lynley. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry to speak ill of your father.”
“You’ve always taught me to tell the truth. Why shouldn’t you do the same?”
John caught Gerard’s attention over the heads of the two women. “Your thoughts?”
“We can all agree that this note was written to imply that an angry plaintiff from the trial is still fighting for retribution,” Gerard said.
John nodded, glad to know he and Gerard were thinking the same thing.
Kirstie’s cell phone beeped its text chime. She ignored it. Lynley reached into her mother’s purse, pulled out the phone and handed it to her.
Kirstie waved it away. “We have more important things to talk about right now.”
“And someone knows where you live. They might know more.”
With a sigh, Kirstie took the phone and punched a button. Her eyes narrowed with renewed fury while she read. Her hand trembled.
Gerard took it from her. He read the text, then closed his eyes with a groan.
John grabbed the phone and looked at the text while Lynley read it aloud over his shoulder. “‘You’re a fool if you think I don’t know what kind of car your chief of police drives. You just shortened your daughter’s life. Get me the money before New Year’s Eve or she will die. You’re wasting time. Enjoy the muffins on your front porch. They’ll be your daughter’s last.’”
John had no clue about where the text had originated, but he could easily predict that if it were possible to call and have it tracked, it would have come from the woods to the east of the house—perhaps down closer to the creek. “Whoever wrote this was at the front of the house sometime after I arrived but before I brought in the muffins. They apparently haven’t been watching all this time because they’re writing to you, Kirstie.”
“This is simply meant to frighten us,” Gerard said. “We can’t let that happen. Every resident in Jolly Mill knows the truth—that Lawson Barnes bequeathed everything to our center, and nothing ever went to Kirstie.”
“So that can help us narrow down our suspects,” John said. “Kirstie, why don’t you start calling friends and bring them in on this? Spread the word. In a tiny place like Jolly Mill, the more eyes we have on strangers sneaking through town, the more likely we are to catch this—”
Kirstie nodded, her delicate chin jutting out with determination. “I’ll call Nora first, of course, then Carmen.”
John nodded. Kirstie Marshall was already planning. Her love for her daughter was one of her strongest assets.
Gerard frowned at the initial note. “This writer has been scanning information from the media. They were the ones who spread the lie far and wide that Lynley, a much-publicized defendant in the lawsuit, stood to inherit millions of dollars from a dead uncle.” His lip curled in disgust. “Isn’t it always about the money?”
“So we’re all in agreement that we can rule out the plaintiffs in the malpractice trial.” John looked at Lynley, then Gerard and Kirstie.
Gerard scrunched his flint-carved face. “We aren’t working with absolutes right now. Not yet, anyway. I wouldn’t rule it out, but their motive is greed. Somehow we need to convince this individual that there are no deep pockets for them to dig into.”
John agreed. It was too soon to choose one direction to investigate. He’d seen bad results those times his colleagues made a judgment too early and let the real culprit get away.
Kirstie held the red-and-green note up by the tip of her thumb and finger, as if it might be contagious. “You’re right. Someone knows that threatening my only child is the quickest way to get to me.” She dropped the paper on the coffee table. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with, do they, sweetheart?” She nudged her daughter with her elbow.
Lynley nudged back. “Love you, too, Mom.”
“Lynley,” Gerard said, “we’re not letting anybody near you.”
“We can’t rule out Jolly Mill and rehab center residents altogether,” John said, “but I’m mostly working on the premise that this has to be someone from out of town.”
Gerard’s phone chimed, and he grabbed it and flipped it open. “Megan? You have news already, honey?”
John watched his friend’s face as the charmed expression—the one he always wore when talking to his beloved wife—turned to stone once more.
“Blue car? What kind?” He listened some more, nodding as if his wife could see him. “Okay, hon. Thanks. That should help.”
After he disconnected he turned to them, grim faced. “Mrs. Drews, who lives down by the Baptist church, was walking to work this morning when she saw a blue car park at the old Bethel Church on the road past the edge of town, so it was too far away to see what kind of car it was. Someone in a hoodie walked across the field toward the woods and went right through Capps Creek. Must’ve been wearing high waders.”
“Then that’s who I saw,” John said.
“Could she tell if it was male or female?” Lynley asked.
“All we know is that someone’s serious about this thing,” John said. “We’d better start circling the wagons.”
* * *
Lynley felt dizzy. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa.
A soft hand pressed against her arm. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go lie down for a little bit.” It was Mom’s gentle voice.
Lynley opened her eyes and saw the three of them watching her with concern. She’d expect this kind of attention from her mother, but from two big, tough men with work to do and bad guys to catch? It scared her a little that they were so worried about her.
“The best way to keep Lynley safe is to find this person before New Year’s Eve,” John said. “And for Gerard or me to keep her with one of us at all times.”
“Agreed,” Mom said. “John, can you call in help? The sheriff?”
“I’m sorry, but one little note without a dead body, they wouldn’t give it a glance. Even in the winter months they’re constantly fighting the drug trade.”
“I’m wondering about one possibility.” John glanced at Lynley as if braced for battle. “I’m thinking about someone who was once a member of the Marshall family, but no longer—”
“Dodge Knowles,” Lynley said.
Mom stiffened beside her, and her hands clenched until her fingertips whitened. “I’d have thought Barry might have done something like this if he were still alive, but...”
“My father tried to kill you, Mom,” Lynley said. “Who’s to say I didn’t choose the same kind of man?”
“Where is your ex-husband now, Lynley?” Gerard asked.
“I have no idea, but I doubt he’s nearby,” Lynley said. “I was so glad to see him out of my life I was willing to give up the house to the lazy lecher.” She started to say more, but bit the tip of her tongue. It was something she’d never told Mom.
“But we never heard if he actually sold the house,” Mom said. “And it’s in Cassville. Barely a thirty-minute drive from here.”
Lynley shook her head. “The only reason he wanted it was so he could sell it for the money. I sank every dime and spare moment I had into that place, and by the time it was finished it was worth twice what we paid for it. He was constantly talking about getting out of the state. He had a nursing license for Kansas, as well.”
John jumped to his feet. “Mind if I use your computer, Kirstie? I’ll check it out while y’all brainstorm other options.”
Lynley sat in silence, recalling Dodge’s multiple complaints when she’d insisted on leaving Kansas City and buying a place closer to Mom when she was battling breast cancer years ago. The one thing that had begun the destruction of their marriage was when he commented that if her mother died from cancer, at least he and Lynley would never have to work again. They’d be multimillionaires as soon as Kirstie’s uncle died. It was on that day that Lynley discovered she’d married a man just like her dead father.
Lynley cast Mom a quick glance. She’d endured so much, but she was as filled with vitality as she ever had been. It gave Lynley a feeling of peace—the thought that maybe someday she’d be more like her mother, despite her late father’s blood running through her veins. Mom was her rock.
The clatter of Kirstie’s keyboard echoed through the house, and in the beams of sunlight coming through the windows, cat hair floated like stardust. If Mom had her way, this place would soon be crawling with friends, neighbors—most of them empowered with weapons and righteous indignation.
John returned to the room. “Found Dodge.”
“Where?” Mom asked.
He gave Lynley a look of sympathy. “Apparently he’s still living in the house he was awarded in the divorce settlement. He’s in Cassville. He’s working at the hospital in town.”
Lynley slumped back into the sofa. “But I thought he was...gone.”
“This makes him a candidate,” John said. “He would have known about the family money. What he wouldn’t know, since he’s no longer connected to anyone in town, is that you don’t have what he’s after.”
“There’s another option,” Gerard said. “We still have the bulk of Lawson’s bequest in a special fund to support the center while we build the manufacturing plant at the edge of town.”
Lynley sat up, horrified at what he would consider giving up. “Oh, no you don’t. We are not giving the money to this fiend.”
“It would be a way to buy time and track them down.”
“Find another way,” Lynley said. “That’s not happening.”
Mom touched her arm. “Honey, this is your life we’re talking about.”
“This is extortion. I refuse to let someone get rich by using me as a pawn. We’ll have to figure out something else.”
“You can’t tell me what to do with the money your mother donated to my cause,” Gerard said gently.
Lynley paused to breathe, sorting through the streams of anger, terror and frustration that threatened to tie her in knots. “What if Dodge really is behind this?”
Mom met her gaze. “I never trusted that man, but I also never dreamed he would do something like this.”
“We never dreamed my father would try to poison you with mercury, either,” Lynley said.
Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “It was always about the money for him, too.”
Lynley’s heart squeezed painfully at the sadness in her mother’s voice. Mom had blamed herself for the choices her husband had made. It wasn’t fair. He’d been the one to make those decisions, have those affairs, and even stoop so low as to poison her to get his hands on her uncle’s money, and she took the blame for it? Not fair at all.
With a quick glance at John, Lynley reminded herself why she had no business even considering another man in her life. If her wise, insightful, mother couldn’t read correctly into the heart of a man, what hope was there?
“My question, then,” Gerard said, “is how much is Dodge like Barry?”
Lynley studied the lines of worry around Mom’s eyes, the firm chin, the determined gaze.
“What do you think, sweetheart?” Mom asked. “Could that note have been from him?”
Lynley wanted to reach through the lines of that hideous note, the hateful text message to Mom, and discover where they originated. If only she had that kind of insight. But she didn’t. “I think Dodge might be a place to start.”
FOUR (#ulink_7ada3bbe-af9a-56f1-b9fb-604cbe8c77d1)
Two days after Christmas, John was astounded to find himself driving Gerard’s SUV down Highway 37 toward Cassville, Missouri, with Lynley Marshall, of all people, in the passenger seat. He’d had no choice, really. Gerard had an emergency with one of his rehab people this morning.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself, your mother will never forgive me, the whole town of Jolly Mill—”
“Would you stop?” Lynley sat slumped low in the seat, and with the tinted windows in Gerard’s SUV, they’d hoped to make this work. “We’re doing the best we can, and you know I can handle that pistol in the glove compartment. Not that it’ll come to that.”
“No. I’ll be with Dodge, and I’ll have my eyes on him at all times. He’ll never know you’re anywhere in Cassville. I still think it might’ve been better for you to go with Gerard to Springfield than to be sitting in the car while I interrogate.”
“Look at it this way—you need me to give you directions to the house.”
“GPS.”
“Your girlfriend?” Lynley’s voice raised in mock exasperation, making him smile despite the reason for this trip.
“Just because it has a female voice—”
“And has gotten us lost half the time we’ve used her. Remember when she placed us on Highway 76 in Branson during rush hour? But would you listen to me and take the alternate routes? No, you had to listen to your girlfriend instead of your...good friend.”
He grinned over at her and was glad to see it reflected back at him. Since reading that note yesterday and seeing her reaction to it, he’d felt overwhelmed with a need to cheer her up, to ensure her safety at any cost. She didn’t realize that he could see the pain in her eyes when she thought her ex-husband might have threatened her life. To think that someone who had once vowed to love her might now be threatening to kill her...of course that would hurt.
“There’s the first traffic signal,” she said. “You’ll want to turn left.”
“You sure? Maybe I should ask my girlfriend.”
She chuckled, and he felt warm all the way through. Good. He’d gotten her to laugh. Mere hours after meeting her, he’d learned about her mistrust of every GPS system known to man. Lynley preferred a good old-fashioned map. She’d even challenged his GPS system to a test, and Lynley and her map had won. In Branson, Missouri, no less, which challenged every GPS system invented.
“Where’s Kirstie?” he asked.
“Lunch prep at the rehab center. Nora and Carmen are guarding her, just in case. I hope Nora bakes some of her famous cookies while she’s in the kitchen. I would’ve been helping if Gerard hadn’t been called out.”
“Now, that’s something I’d like to see.”
“What? Me cooking? I can do that.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“That’s because we’re always at Mom’s and she likes to cook.”
“And you don’t.”
“Not my skill set.”
“I recall a gluten-free puff pancake you made that was one of the best things I ever tasted. Oh, and that thing you call a man-quiche.”
“That’s right. I remember. You ate the whole thing.”
“I have to admire a woman who knows her skill set.”
She chuckled.
He felt a little squeeze in the region of his chest. It was a warning sign; Lynley had begun to settle even more deeply into his heart. It alarmed him now as it did every time he thought about it.
“Turn left again at the next road.”
“How many times did we go over these directions before—”
“Now turn right. Trust me, it’s a short, one-block street, and it’s hard to—”
“Turn right here?”
“Left, then immediately right. Maybe you weren’t listening.”
“I could always have used the GPS.”
“Someday she’s going to disappear and you’ll never find her.”
“Oh, but I’ll know who did the dastardly deed.”
“That won’t matter. You’ll need proof.”
“How many traffic signals did you say Cassville has?”
“Three, I believe.”
He shook his head. “And you thought I’d get lost in a town this size?” He’d thought his hometown of Sikeston, Missouri, across the state, was small, but tiny farming communities were the norm in the Missouri Ozarks. The closest shopping mall was in Springfield, over an hour’s drive from Jolly Mill.
The charm of a small town outclassed the convenience of the third-largest city in Missouri for Lynley, however, and since she was a country girl at heart, she came home to stay with Kirstie whenever she didn’t have back-to-back shifts at the hospital.
John smiled when he tried to count how many of Lynley’s friends just happened to mention, with a wink, that she never used to come home so often. She’d been scheduled for two shifts this week, and neither John, Gerard nor Kirstie had been able to make her call the hospital and cancel those shifts yesterday.
Later last night, after Kirstie had gone to bed with an old rifle under her pillow and Gerard had gone home with his wife, John tried again.
“Lynley, I can’t believe you,” he’d said. “None of us can know when you might come under attack. It’s foolhardy to attempt to work under these circumstances.”
“Then come with me.”
“You think the hospital will allow you to have a bodyguard all day?”
“No, because the hospital won’t know about this threat.”
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because I won’t tell them.”
“That, too, is foolhardy. You need to consider your patients. They could be in danger, too.”
Lynley picked up the note and shook it in his face. “You said this was written by someone who’s greedy, not someone out for revenge. That means the hospital will be a safe place to be. So I’m going. End of argument.”
“You know what? It’s one thing to be strong and determined. It’s dangerous to be as bullheaded and stubborn as a...an old bull.” Great way with words, Russell.
And Lynley laughed. Which made John angry.
He got up and paced across the living room floor. “Sandra would never have done this.”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud until he turned back to see Lynley’s eyes widening and her lips parting. “Done what?” she asked softly. Too softly.
He sank into the recliner across the room from her. “Laughed at me for worrying about her safety.”
“What would she have done?”
“She’d have done as I asked, even if she believed it was only for my own peace of mind.”
In the long silence afterward, John realized he’d breached a deadly boundary. A man with any sense never compared the woman he was seeing with an ex-wife, a former girlfriend, his mother and especially not his late wife, whom he’d loved with all his heart.
“Then for your own peace of mind,” Lynley said, her voice still soft, “you should remember I’m not your wife.” She got up and went to bed.
Early this morning he found a note slipped beneath the guest room door where he had stayed with his Glock beneath the pillow. “Just so you know,” the note said, “I’m not your wife, and you don’t have a right to tell me what to do, but I have decided to take leave until after the first of the year.”
He’d had to smother his laughter in his pillow. He’d folded the note and placed it into his billfold.
* * *
Lynley kept her mouth shut as John made two more turns. He’d been right—he didn’t need her to sit beside him and direct. The man had an excellent sense of direction. He also had a comfortable way about him. They could sit together in silence and not be uncomfortable.
She, however, grew less comfortable the closer they got to her former home. Though she knew how to handle the weapon in the glove compartment, she’d never actually had to use one for self-protection. She couldn’t go in with John, but she didn’t want to sit in the car. And why was she so uncomfortable about that? It didn’t make sense. John would be interviewing the only suspect they had, so it wasn’t as if a prospective killer would be hanging around the car.
“Hey, I have an idea,” she said. “You have your Bluetooth earpiece, right?”
He patted his pocket.
“And I have mine in my purse. Why don’t we link up? If Dodge says something untrue, I can tell you. I can follow the interview that way.”
He frowned. “Interesting thought. We might be in iffy territory, though. You’re the victim, and a victim should never be in the same room as a suspect.”
“I wouldn’t be in the same room. He might think he’s being recorded if he sees the earpiece, but he won’t know I’m on the other end.”
“Okay, get your earpiece out and call me when the time comes.”
She let out a lungful of air she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thanks. I think I need that connection right now. I’m getting a little nervous.”
“Just remember you’ve got me right here between the two of you. He can’t get to you.”
“I know.” She always felt safe when she was with John. “Um...you remember that thing we argued about last night?”
“Which thing? We argued about more than one—”
“I’m talking about the main argument.”
“Oh, you mean the one you wrote to me about this morning?”
She giggled, an embarrassing trait she had when stressed. “I heard you laughing. I think it woke Mom up.”
“Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry, John. This is all so terrifying. I might behave like a cantankerous old bull, but I’m really scared.”
He hesitated, glanced at her. “So am I.”
“Not what I wanted to hear.”
“Just being honest. We can’t predict what’s going to happen next. That’s why we have to take everything so seriously and watch our every move.”
“Yes. And I will. And you know that other...argument? You know, about my not being your...you know...your wife? I wasn’t trying to be hateful at all.”
“I knew that, Lynley.”
“It’s just that I learned at a young age not to let others control my life, and when I did, I was sorry.”
“And the reason you’re sorry is because of the person you married. Trust me, marriage to the right person? Totally different experience, I can assure you.”
Despite the fact that she’d often encouraged him to talk about his wife and his marriage, this time his remark felt a little like a jab. As if maybe she’d made the wrong choice, and that was the only chance she’d ever have. Or that maybe Sandra really was the only woman for him. Ever. She pushed away the thought.
“If you hadn’t been here yesterday,” she said, “I don’t know what I’d have done. And about the marriage thing...”
“You don’t have to explain that to me. I think we’re both on the same page with that.”
“Which would be...?”
“Which would be that I find you beautiful and exciting, Lynley.” He glanced across at her, and his foot automatically eased from the accelerator.
She stared at him with parted lips.
“You’re a definite temptation to abandon my lonely life, and I’m just now realizing how much of a temptation that is.”
She caught her breath, ready to tell him the same thing. But she let him continue.
“Several weeks before Sandra died, she told me she wanted me to find a wonderful woman, someone who would make me happy. Her final wish was for me to remarry and raise a family.”
“She was ri—”
“But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make her final wish come true.”
Lynley couldn’t believe the sting of disappointment she felt at his words.
“We’d been trying to do just that,” he said. “Have a family. That was when we discovered her cancer.”
Lynley swallowed. Hard. There was a thickness in her throat as she thought about the pain he’d endured. It was at that moment that she realized how very much John Russell had become entangled in her heart. When she would have expected to feel jealousy over his inability to recover from the death of his dead wife, she felt as if she was sharing his pain, instead. Although she felt rejected by his words, she also ached for his awful loss.
“I hate that,” she said. Her voice caught, and she realized she was close to tears. For him. “I wish, for your sake, that Sandra had never gotten sick, that she’d lived and thrived and given you a whole house filled with happy children. I can’t imagine a single unhappy child growing up in a household with parents like you and Sandra.”
He stared straight ahead, hands turning white with his grip on the steering wheel. “Thank you, Lynley.” It sounded as if he, too, was having some difficulty with thickness in his throat.
“I mean it. I know God knows what he’s doing, but I’ll never understand all the hardships we see. Not in this lifetime.”
“While Sandra battled her cancer physically,” John said, “I joined the same battle with prayer. I can’t tell you how many times I fell asleep praying for her to heal, and then awakened with the same words on my lips.”
“But God didn’t answer your prayers.”
“Not what I’d asked for at all, no.”
Why, God?
Of course, she knew better than to ask. “God allowed me to struggle many times in my life, and made me watch Mom’s pain with my father’s behavior. It seemed to happen to me more often than with most of my friends.”
John looked at her. “But after your struggle to get past your anger, looking back you could see how you’d grown during those times.”
“How’d you know?”
“The day Sandra died,” John said, “I shut down.”
She nodded.
“I was barely able to face the funeral—all those trite, unhelpful sayings I’d once blabbered, myself, for lack of knowing what else to say. You know the words...God had another plan for Sandra...God wanted her in heaven...she was better off now...it was God’s will.”
“I know the words well,” she said softly.
“I cut myself off from friends and family. When the Russell clan started pressuring me too much to jump back into life and just ‘get past it,’ I turned off my phone and stopped answering when the doorbell rang.”
“Did you get those who’d also lost loved ones that felt the need to load you down with their stories?”
“That, too.”
“What did you do?” They’d never talked about this before. Until now, Lynley had kept the subject of Sandra’s death off-limits, just as she’d kept the subject of her father’s behavior off-limits.
“I asked for an interdepartmental transfer at work and changed churches. Even though I loved my church, they couldn’t understand that I’d become a different person. I stopped teaching Sunday school, quit choir, stopped committee work, and they decided I’d lost my faith.”
“And yet you didn’t shut God out of your life.”
“How could I shut out the One who is my reason for living? I feel as if I failed Sandra because I haven’t followed up on her final request.”
“Did she give you a time limit?”
He shook his head.
“Then don’t worry so much,” she said quietly. “I understand, John. Something in you died with Sandra, just as something in me died with the death of my marriage. Sometimes I feel there’s too much pain from the past to risk the same in the future.”
He shot her a glance. “Wow, we’re perfect for each other, aren’t we?”
She gave him a sad smile. “We both want solitude. I feel as if my comfort zone has been depleted. Even when I feel a strong desire to be a part of someone’s life again—”
“You also feel a need to withdraw?” he said.
“Sometimes.”
He flipped the turn signal. “Your friendship has been a happy constant in my life since I first arrived in Jolly Mill. I could be mistaken, but it doesn’t seem as if either of us has had a lot of that solitude lately.”
She leaned back in her seat, surprised that she hadn’t acknowledged that herself.
Was it time to put some distance between them, despite her growing attraction? She couldn’t bear to be the cause of another devastation in his life. What if someone managed to get to her, even after all John’s efforts?
“I didn’t mention it in front of Mom yesterday,” she said, searching for a change of subject, “but when Dodge and I moved here from Kansas City, it was so I could help take care of her. He once casually remarked that if Mom died we’d never have to work again.”
John sucked in his breath.
“That broke the emotional ties I had with him. It was when I discovered he wasn’t the person I believed him to be. I just didn’t do anything about it until I had legal reason.”
“Anything else he said that would lead you to believe he’d threaten your life for money?”
“Nothing he ever did or said implied he would threaten my life, John. Sure, he likes money. He doesn’t like work. During the divorce proceedings he did ask for a piece of the inheritance he knew Mom would receive, even though his own attorney rolled his eyes at that.”
“You didn’t mention that yesterday.”
“I’ve tried so hard for so long to forget about his involvement in my life, these things slipped my mind. My father was the one who told Dodge about the money. Neither Mom nor I ever mentioned the extent of Uncle Lawson’s personal finances because it was no one’s business.”
“Do you think Dodge remained in the area because he thought he might still get a grab at the money?”
“You mean by threatening my life? I might not be the best judge of human nature—obviously I’m not—but I can’t bring myself to believe Dodge would spend this much of his life in the ‘backwater’ town, as he calls Cassville, just on the off chance that he might be able to swindle or threaten Mom into giving him money. Why not start robbing banks?”
“I need to know everything you know about Dodge, or about who else might have a reason to hurt you. This isn’t gossip. It’s self-preservation.”
“All I can think of right now is that I walked in on him with another woman. I’d already heard from too many people about his affairs, and I was sick of it.”
“So that’s when you filed?”
“That’s right.”
“Will it disturb you to learn that I discovered this morning that he’s snagged himself another woman—a neurologist who works in Joplin?”
“Why should it? He always did want to trade up financially. That leaves him even less likely to be the culprit. But it also means we might not catch him alone this morning.”
“Not we. I. I might not catch him alone.” John wrapped his Bluetooth earpiece around his ear. “You’re not coming in with me.”
“I know. You might not even catch him awake. It’s early yet, and unless Dodge has changed, he sleeps late on his days off.”
“I’ve already checked his schedule with the hospital, and he’s off today.” John glanced over at her. “Someday you’ll have to tell me about your father.”
Lynley stared out the window at the winter scenery, the patches of snow that were quickly melting. “He, too, had women.” She paused. “He attempted to kill Mom with mercury in the air vent to make it look as if she developed premature Alzheimer’s. And, like Dodge, he always attempted to seduce upwardly mobile women. Some desperate women with money could be generous to younger, attractive men.”
“How did you know about all this?”
“Small town, lots of big mouths, though he tried hard to keep Mom from knowing. After all, he knew she would inherit, and he didn’t want a divorce before that happened.”
John slowed the SUV nearly to a stop in front of Lynley’s former home. An older blue Ford was parked in front of a two-car garage. They sat and stared at it for a long, tense moment.
“There are a lot of blue cars on the road,” she said.
“Did he have this when you divorced?”
“No. He had the pickup truck, silver. Maybe we should’ve brought Mrs. Drews so she could identify it.”
“Take a picture with your cell, then link us up.” He made a U-turn and parked beneath the bare overhanging branches of a maple tree. He situated them just right so Lynley couldn’t be seen from the house. “Just sit and listen.”
Lynley sighed. “Having one’s life threatened can be so confining.”
“You’ll adapt.” He paused, adjusting the sound on his earpiece. “You know, tastes can mature over time.”
She screwed up her face as she tried to follow his subject change, but he’d lost her. “What?”
“You think you’d still be attracted to a man like Dodge?”
“Absolutely not, no way, never in a million years.”
He chuckled. “See what I mean? Tastes change.”
“I didn’t take the time to get to know Dodge. I think I found myself drawn to him because he was the opposite of my father—or so I thought. Not physically appealing to other women. Little did I know what some women would go for.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out about him the way you did.”
“The problem was that I never had any deep conversations with him,” Lynley said. “He was an extrovert, liked to be around a lot of people all the time. I thought that would be good for me, but it meant we weren’t alone much when we were dating. You and I have had more deep conversations in one month than he and I had throughout our whole marriage. He was smart enough, he just wasn’t a deep thinker.”
“I’m a deep thinker?”
“Most certainly. We talk about more than the weather, and you don’t try to make small talk because you’re uncomfortable with the silence, or afraid I’m mad at you for some reason if I’m quiet for more than five minutes.”
“Sounds as if Dodge had a guilty conscience.”
“Too bad I figured that out after the wedding.”
John studied the house. “Hey, did you say you painted the trim?”
She turned, at last, to view the house she’d tried so hard to make a home. And had failed. The antique brick, deep green Victorian trim that matched the fence, the landscaping she’d worked so hard to grow. It didn’t appear Dodge had done anything to keep it up. Old, brown vines covered half the house number, and leaves beneath the trees were at least four inches deep. “I built the backyard privacy fence myself.”
He whistled. “You do good work. Too bad nobody bothered with upkeep.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
“I’ll let you help me build my fence as soon as I buy the supplies. You did this all by yourself?”
“Mom taught me how. It never was my father’s thing.”
“Perfect,” he said. “You ready?”
“I’m scared. Be careful.”
“You think your ex can beat me up?”
“No, but—”
“I’ll be careful. If he’s guilty I’ll see him behind bars no matter the cost.”
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