Bodyguard/Husband (23 page)

“Can’t you just call him Jack?” Holly said irritably. Why suddenly, was everyone so concerned about her?

“Sure, but it’s so much fun to watch you blush.”

“I don’t blush.” Holly took another sip of tea and considered her sister. Could she tell her the truth? That Jack was here to catch a killer, and soon would be gone?

How would she explain it? She’d never thought about the aftermath. What was she going to tell the people of Maze once Jack was gone?

Oops. Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

We discovered that mutual lust wasn’t enough to build a marriage on.

See, Jack is an undercover agent. He was just pretending to love me, to catch my stalker. Oh, didn’t I mention that I had a stalker?

She shook her head to silence the voices.

“Holly, I want to apologize to you.”

“What?” She blinked at her sister. “There’s no reason—”

“No. I need to. What I said that first night when I met Jack. About the men around you dying. I’m so sorry—”

“Debi, there’s something—”

The doorbell rang.

Debi groaned.

“I love this town,” she said dryly. “You’d think they’d leave the grieving family alone for five minutes, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll get it.” Holly sighed, getting up.

Debi peered out through the sheer curtains. “It’s Bob Winger’s car. He probably has his mother with him. I can’t take those two. I’m going to go take a shower.” Debi headed toward the back bedroom.

Holly opened the door and found Bob Winger on the doorstep, holding a dish.

“Hi, Holly. Mother sent me over to bring you a cherry pie.”

“How nice.” Holly reached for the pie. “Will you come in?” She couldn’t not invite him in, but she held her breath, hoping that he was in a hurry, or that his mother had told him to be right back to take her to the grocery store. The last thing she wanted this afternoon was to listen to Bob’s problems.

“I, uh…” He looked past her. “Are you alone?”

Holly frowned. “No. Debi’s in the back, and Uncle Virgil is in his room taking a nap.”

“What about your husband?” Bob finally relinquished his hold on the pie. It was still warm.

She took the dish and set it on the table near the door. “He should be back any minute now,” she lied. She had no idea how long Jack would be, but she wasn’t going to tell Bob that. Were you looking for him?”

“No, no. I just—” He paused. “Holly, listen.” Bob opened the screen door. “I’ve missed being able to talk to you.”

Holly sighed. “Bob, I really can’t today. I need to be here for Uncle Virgil. We can have lunch next week.”

“We could go get a latte at Benson’s Restaurant. Mrs. Benson just put in an espresso machine.”

The look on Bob’s round face was so needy, so hopeful, that Holly couldn’t force out the words to turn him down. She made one last effort. “Why don’t we stay here? I’ll make coffee and we can have a piece of your mother’s pie.”

Bob winced. “I wanted to talk about—” He looked down. “Well, you know.”

Holly did know. Bob was conflicted about his sexuality, and for some reason, he’d chosen Holly to confide in. She’d made it a point to be understanding and nonjudgmental, and so, over the past few years, Bob had come to depend on her.

But Jack had warned her to stay put.

She assessed the man she’d befriended. From Jack’s point of view, he was a suspect. Did she believe Bob was a killer? She couldn’t imagine it, but then, she couldn’t imagine anyone she knew killing three men in cold blood.

She pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The rain was still falling and the clouds had darkened the sky.

“I’ll sit out here for a minute if you want to talk, but that’s the best I can do. I really don’t want to leave Uncle Virgil for long.”

Holly sat in the porch swing and Bob sat in one of the wooden rocking chairs.

“I’ve really missed our talks since you got married so suddenly, Holly. You make life more bearable for me.” He looked out at the rain. “‘Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace to look through and behind this mask of me and behold my soul’s true face.’”

Holly’s heart leaped in her chest, cutting off her breath. Bob had never quoted poetry to her before.

“What—What was that poem?”

His face turned pink. “Oh, I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. That was Elizabeth Barrett Browning. One of my favorite poets.”

Holly gasped quietly. Robert Browning’s wife.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, measuring the distance between the porch swing and the door, and realizing she’d have to go past Bob. She glanced at the porch rail. Could she jump it without landing in the bushes?

“You know I’ve always had trouble connecting with people. I blame my father. He left my mother when I was just a baby. He treated her badly, made her succumb to him, then just discarded her. I think I’ve always hated him and all men because of that.”

Bob had talked about his father and his hatred of men before. But today there was an odd tone in his voice. He seemed agitated, verging on hysteria.

“Bob, what are you trying to say?” She remembered Jack saying her stalker’s purpose was to destroy the men who had defiled her, taken her purity. Bob’s ramblings sounded ominous.

“I’ve never been comfortable around women, either, except for you. You are the only person who really understands me.”

Alarm bells were clanging in Holly’s head, so loudly that she wanted to cover her ears. She stood and walked over to the porch steps, pretending to look up at the sky. “I really need to get back to Uncle Virgil, Bob.”

“No!” He jumped up from the rocker and grabbed her hand. She tugged, but Jack was right, Bob was surprisingly stronger than he looked. She stared at his thick fingers, wrapped securely and painfully around her wrist.

“You’re hurting me,” she said, straining against his grip, her heart slamming against her chest wall. “Let go.”

“I can’t. Please calm down. I don’t want to hurt
you. I just need to talk.” His eyes looked wild, sweat poured down his face and neck, his cheeks were bright red. “Please don’t struggle.”

She considered screaming, but the rain was beating a loud, continuous rhythm on the porch roof, drowning out other sounds. Screaming wouldn’t help.

“Okay,” she said soothingly. She relaxed her arm, then suddenly twisted it down toward his thumb, using a technique she’d learned while teaching her self-defense classes. Just like the book said, Bob’s thumb gave way and her wrist was free.

“I’ll talk to you for a minute, Bob. But don’t touch me again or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” She watched him carefully, wondering if she could lure him over to the edge of the porch and push him down the steps, then get inside and bolt the door before he recovered.

“I want to get away from my mother,” Bob was saying. “I hate her. Sometimes I think I hate everybody. Nobody is nice to me. Nobody cares about me. I need to do something about Mother before she smothers me to death.”

“Why—why don’t you move out?”

Bob laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Move out? You don’t understand. She thinks she can’t live without me. She’s probably right. If I moved out of her house, she’d probably die just to show me. I’m afraid I’ll never be free. I wish she was dead.”

“You don’t mean that—”

“Yes, I do!” Bob shouted, his face bright crimson and his fists clenched. He shook with rage. “I wish it every day. I can’t get away from her any other way.”

Holly’s heart stuck in her throat as she cautiously watched Bob’s eyes. She adjusted her stance, balanc
ing her weight so she could defend herself if he attempted to grab her again.

Maybe his outburst explained why he hadn’t already made his move to possess her. He felt trapped by his mother.

What if he’d already killed the woman?

“Bob, I think it might help if you talked to a doctor. Remember, you said you’d think about it?”

“No! I need to talk to you.” Bob grabbed for her arm again, but Holly blocked with her forearm, sending a crushing pain all the way through to her bones.

“What are you doing, Holly?” Bob asked, stricken. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t listen to me, I can’t be responsible for the consequences.”

“I told you, don’t touch me again.” Fist clenched, body balanced, Holly stared at the man she had thought was mild-mannered and quiet, trying to imagine him tripping Brad in the shower and forcefully banging his head against the concrete floor, forcing Ralph to drive his car into the lake, getting close enough to Danny to somehow kill him with wasp venom.

Her brain couldn’t make the leap. Bob was meek and fearful, hiding behind his mother. Was there really another, deadly side to him?

“You need to go, Bob. If you don’t, I’ll call T-Bone to come and get you.”

“Why are you treating me like this?”

Holly heard footsteps treading on the stairs up to the porch. A figure appeared out of the rain. Backing away from Bob, she turned and threw up her hands against a muscled chest.

“Holly!”

She looked up into the soft blue eyes of Stanley Hanks.

“Stanley,” she breathed, relieved. “I thought you were Jack.”

Stanley frowned. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?” His large, rough hands steadied her as she regained her balance.

“I’m…fine,” she said, her breath coming in ragged bursts because of her pounding heart. “Now.”

Stanley stared at Bob. “What’s going on, Winger?”

When Holly looked at Bob, he was wiping his face with his handkerchief. “Nothing. I just brought over a pie. None of your concern,
Stanley.
”

Bob’s voice held a note of menace that Holly had never heard before. She edged closer to Stanley.

“Bob was just leaving,” she said, noticing that the rain had almost stopped. “Tell your mother how much I appreciate the pie.”

“Holly, I—”

Stanley stepped forward, his large frame towering over Bob. “Holly wants you to leave.”

Bob stumbled down the steps and disappeared into the gray mist left by the rain.

Holly sagged against the porch column. “Stanley, thank you.”

“What was going on?”

“Bob can get very upset.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But I need to go check on Uncle Virgil.”

Stanley looked at his shoes, then back up at her. “Sure. Okay. The coaches sent over some soft drinks and stuff. I’ll get them out of the car.”

“Do you need some help?”

Stanley shook his head and smiled. “Nah. The head
coach’s wife made a cake, but I can get everything in two trips.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll get the cake,” Holly said, following Stanley down the stairs.

Holly wished Jack would hurry home. She needed to let him know about Bob’s bizarre actions. She couldn’t wait to see him, to feel his comforting presence. If the DNA test on Donald Sheffield proved that he wasn’t the killer, maybe Jack could force Bob to submit to DNA testing. Holly felt sure her nightmare was nearly over.

“The cake is in the back seat,” Stanley said. “Here, that door is tricky. I’ll open it.”

When Stanley opened the door, Holly stepped around him to reach into the back seat, but Stanley grabbed her from behind.

“Sta—” A soft cloth was pressed against her nose and mouth. Caught by surprise, it took her a second to react. She took a breath and realized there was some kind of chemical on the cloth.

She struggled, using all the techniques she had taught. She shoved her elbow backwards, tried to ram his nose with her head, kicked behind her at his groin—but he easily sidestepped each move. Then it occurred to her that Stanley had always been there in the gym whenever she taught a class. He had watched. He knew every move, so obviously he knew how to counter each one.

An icy terror took hold of her as she began to feel faint from holding her breath. She had to have air. Her lungs screaming, she finally gasped and got the full blast of the chemical. Her head reeled. She felt herself tumbling into the back seat of Stanley’s old car.

Her last thought was that she would never see Jack again.

Chapter Thirteen

Jack cringed under Debi’s horrified gaze. “So what you’re saying is, you aren’t really married? You’re just pretending to be to try to catch a
stalker?
”

“We’re married, but—” He spread his hands. “There’s no time for this. I’ve got to find her. If he has her, then her life is in danger.” Dread hung over him like a rock teetering on a precipice.

Debi’s face was white as a sheet. “I went to take a shower as soon as I saw it was Bob Winger at the door. I couldn’t face his whining. I thought maybe she’d gone somewhere with him.”

Jack shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. She promised me she’d stay here. You’re sure it was Winger?”

“Yes. There’s a pie with Mrs. Winger’s name on it by the door, and she doesn’t drive.” Debi scrutinized him. “So you don’t know who’s after my sister?”

“We were looking at Donald Sheffield, but he was pulling down a traffic ticket on his way to the casino boats in Vicksburg at the exact time the car tried to run us down.” He looked at his watch, then checked his gun. “How long ago did you take your shower?”

“About twenty minutes. I thought she’d be back by
now.” Debi clasped her hands together. “Find her, Jack. Don’t let anything happen to her.”

He clenched his jaw. What if he couldn’t stop it? What if he was too late? He’d left her alone again, to go chasing after a dead end. If he’d stayed on Sheffield’s lawyer, threatening jail time for violating his restraining order, he might have given up the traffic ticket as an alibi.

But Jack had been too eager to get back to Holly, to be beside her for her aunt’s funeral. He’d let his emotions guide his actions, and now her safety was threatened. Hell, not just her safety, her life.

On the way to the Winger’s house on Pecan Circle, his cell phone rang. It was Reese, a lab tech at the Quantico lab.

“Decker told me to call,” he said. “Seems there’s no magnesium carbonate in the control sample from your parking lot.”

“Yeah? So what does that mean? Where did it come from?”