Bodyguard/Husband (6 page)

It was a telemarketer. She deleted the message.

“Holly, it’s Bob again. Maybe we could get together Wednesday instead. Have lunch at Benson’s Restaurant. Please call me as soon as you get back.”

She pressed Delete. That was the last one.

“Who is Bob and what’s that about lunch?”

“He teaches at the high school. We have lunch together every couple of weeks. Bob has a lot of issues and he says I’m a good listener.”

Jack rubbed his neck in frustration. “Issues. What kind of issues?”

“You know, problems with his mother, problems with…dating. Stuff like that.”

“You didn’t put him on your list.”

“I’ve never gone out with him.”

“Then, what do you call those lunches?”

“Lunches.” She sent him a challenging glare.

“See, this is what I was talking about. You may think they’re just lunches, but this guy sounds pretty desperate. Maybe he, like Sheffield, thinks you two have a relationship.”

Holly opened her mouth to protest, but Jack shook his head. “Now, is there anyone else you’ve neglected to mention?”

She frowned and lifted her chin a fraction of an
inch. “No, or maybe I should say, not that I can recall right now.”

Jack ignored her sarcasm. He knew it was difficult for victims to understand the depth of obsession that could lead to stalkings. She’d given him every name she could think of. He’d already known he’d have to dig for some of them.

“What’s Bob’s full name?”

“Robert Winger. Jack, he’s very shy. What are you going to do?”

“Add his name to the list you gave me. I’m having a background check run on each of them.” He’d call Decker first thing in the morning and add Winger’s name.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in hours. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat, do you?”

“Old popcorn,” she said dryly as she filled the coffeepot. “I’ve been gone for two weeks and Debi never cooks. It’s remotely possible there’s bread for toast.”

He flexed his shoulder and neck. He hadn’t managed to cadge more than three hours of sleep in the past twenty-four. “Want me to see what I can find?”

“Sure, but don’t get your hopes up. You’ll probably take your life in your hands opening the refrigerator.”

He stepped behind the counter into the small space of her kitchen. She’d taken off her shoes, and he noticed that she wasn’t as tall as he’d thought. Her head came up to his chin, she was not that much taller than the women he usually dated. But there was a strength, an assurance in the way she carried herself that made her seem larger than she was.

He considered his thoughts as he opened her refrigerator and peered inside. The words his brain had con
jured to describe her were not words he normally associated with women. Still, they fit her, and intrigued him.

Her refrigerator held the usual staples of a person who lived alone, plus the obvious signs of a messy houseguest. Besides the basic condiments and soft drinks and bottled water, there were stained Chinese takeout boxes, a half-eaten pizza and packets of soy sauce strewn over the shelves.

Grabbing a package of single-wrapped American cheese and a squeeze-bottle of margarine, he nudged the door closed with his hip. He’d have preferred an imported sharp cheddar and real butter. It was obvious he’d be doing the grocery shopping while he was here.

“Where’s that bread?”

Holly was staring into a cabinet. She closed it and opened another one. “Hmm?”

“Bread.”

“Oh. Left side of the freezer, toward the back. There should be half a loaf.”

He found the package of sliced sourdough bread exactly where she had said it would be. Within a few minutes he had produced two plates of spiced, melted cheese over toast triangles.

“Here we go. Pour the coffee.” He took the plates to the table and sat down.

Holly still seemed distracted when she sat. Then she looked at the plate for the first time. “What
is
this?”

“Welsh rarebit.” Jack stuck a forkful into his mouth.

“Well, I’m impressed. Not only can you cook, you can make something out of nothing.”

He shrugged. “I like to eat and I’ve lived alone for a long time.”

She nodded absently as she pushed back from the table and went over to peer inside the dishwasher she’d just finished loading. Then she propped her fists on her hips and frowned as her gaze swept the kitchen.

Jack eyed her. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t hear broken glass rattling in that garbage bag you put out, did you?”

“Nope. Why? D’you lose something?”

Holly came back and sat down, her eyes troubled. “I can’t find my favorite cup. It was the last piece I had of my mother’s good china. I hope Debi didn’t break it and hide the evidence.”

Jack’s pulse sped up. Her favorite cup was missing? Was it an accident? Or was the stalker collecting mementos?

Chapter Three

Jack ate his rarebit, pretending casual interest as he mentally went over everything he’d seen since he first entered Holly’s house. There were no signs of a break-in. And as meticulous as she was, she would have noticed anything out of place.

Holly pushed her hair back, and Jack saw a faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Maybe I just misplaced it. I hope so. I loved that cup.”

He tightened his grip on his mug, resisting the urge to touch the corner of her eye and catch the tear that clung there. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d never in his life thought about stopping a woman’s tear with his finger. He’d never felt the slightest attraction to an assignment. He must really be tired. He concentrated on the missing cup. It could be a vital clue.

“Did everybody know how much that cup meant to you?”

“Everybody?” Her gaze turned sharp. “What are you saying? You think someone took it?”

He drank the last of his coffee, cursing silently. She was quick. He’d have to be careful. His question had reminded her that she wasn’t safe in her own house.
He’d intended to use this first night to let her get used to having him around, become comfortable with him.

Too late now. This information was too important.

“Who has access to your house?”

She picked up her fork and drew circles in the congealing cheese. “Nobody, really. Debi, of course. And Uncle Virgil. I always lock my doors.” She stopped.

He watched her, waiting. Carefully keeping his expression bland, he resisted the urge to prompt her.

She toyed with her food and took a sip of coffee. “You think this person who is obsessed with me broke in and stole my cup?”

“You don’t seem like the type to lose things. You’re methodical, precise. You leave nothing to chance. After two weeks away, you knew exactly where the bread was.”

She laughed shortly as she picked up her plate and took it to the sink. “That’s because Debi never looks in the freezer. She orders out. It’s really not a big deal, Jack. I’m sure Debi broke the cup and threw the pieces away. Just forget it.” Her eyes flashed.

“Have you misplaced anything else in the past year or so?”

She sighed in exasperation. “I lost a makeup kit a couple of years ago. I’m certain Debi borrowed it and never brought it back. I’ve misplaced Brad’s class ring, but it’s probably in a box somewhere. And I couldn’t find a particular nightgown when I was packing for this trip.”

Jack’s skin prickled. “When was the last time you saw the nightgown?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Back in October. I bought it for—” Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes turned sad. “I’d never worn it.”

“What color was it?”

She stared at him, confusion clouding her gaze. “W-white.”

“And where did you keep it?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “In the second drawer of the chest in my room, on the right side under some…other lingerie. Maybe Debi…”

Jack watched her slow journey from disbelief to doubt. “Is that really what you think?”

Her eyes were on him, the doubt gone, replaced by fear. “You’re telling me he comes into my house when I’m not here and takes things that belong to me.”

He felt her silently begging him to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He needed her to accept the reality of her situation, the reality of a killer who would do anything to possess her.

“Holly, there
is
someone out there who knows which of your possessions are most important to you, who watches you, who roams through your house while you’re not here. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner we can catch the bastard.”

He waited for her to crumple. Once stalking victims accepted the truth, they experienced an overwhelming helplessness and fear that sprang from a loss of control of their life. Some of them never recovered from that, even after the stalker was caught.

Her shoulders bowed and she gripped the edge of the counter as her face drained of color. Her eyes were huge, their golden-brown depths reflecting bewilderment and a flicker of panic. The corners of her mouth were white with tension.

He wanted to go to her, to gather her into his arms. It was an unfamiliar urge, an uncomfortable one. He’d received a few hugs from frightened or grateful vic
tims, but he’d never in his life initiated a hug. He was pretty sure this was the first time he’d even thought about it.

“How does he get in without anyone seeing him?”

“He knows what he’s doing. Your neighbors may even have seen him around and thought nothing of it. Remember, it’s probably someone you know, someone your neighbors know.”

Holly felt the words peppering her like hail, stinging as they hit. Her mug rattled as she set it down. She wrapped both hands around it, holding it still, using it to stop herself from shaking. “How—how likely is that?”

He shrugged. “It would be hard for a stranger to be inconspicuous in this town. Besides, this has been going on for six years, if we believe the notes.”

“But Brad didn’t die here. He died while we were living in Texas. It was an accident.”

“And your fiancé disappeared, and Detective Barbour apparently had an allergic reaction. Seemingly unrelated events.”

“Tied together by the notes.” She didn’t want to acknowledge that truth, but she couldn’t help it. She shuddered. “I hate this! How can this person just come in and take over my life? Kill people I love? I can’t stand it.”

Jack reached across the table and put his hand over hers, squeezing gently. “Feeling exposed and helpless is natural.”

“Not for me.” She lifted her chin. She couldn’t give in to those feelings. She was afraid if she did she’d fall apart like Humpty Dumpty. “I need to figure out who’s doing this. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”

“The only thing you need to do is stick close to me and let me do my job.”

She sniffed and shook her head. “I will not sit back like a southern belle on a verandah waving a paper fan while I wait for you to save me. I have to do something.”

“You’re doing exactly what you should be doing, pretending to be my wife. It’s important that you act like nothing has changed. Don’t forget, I’m the one he’ll target, and we have to let him do that without arousing his suspicion. Because when he comes after me, I’ll be ready.”

Holly heard the steel in his voice and saw the cold resolve in his gray eyes. This was more than just a job to him. “Why do you do this?”

Jack’s expression closed down and he dropped his gaze to his mug. “Do what?” he asked too casually.

“Set yourself up as a target to protect a perfect stranger.”

He shrugged without looking at her. He obviously didn’t like the question.

“It’s my job.”

“That’s no answer. You chose your job. My question is why.” This man who was so controlled, so professional, acted as if no one had ever asked him the question before, as if he didn’t know how to answer. He shifted in his seat, then stood and took his dishes to the sink. He spoke without turning around, his voice remote and carefully even.

“Someone I knew was stalked and killed a long time ago. I decided I wanted to keep that from happening again.”

“Oh, Jack…” She didn’t know what to say. So this
wasn’t just a job for him. He’d obviously cared deeply for whoever had been killed.

Before she could think of an appropriate response, he faced her, back in official mode.

“By tomorrow morning I need a list from you of everything that’s gone missing in the past six years.”

She stood and paced. “Why is this person doing this? You know all about stalkers. What does he want from me?”

Jack wished he could take her in his arms and calm her agitation and fear. But that would only help for a moment. He needed to stay focused so he could help her rid her life of this menace forever.

He crossed his arms over his chest, quelling the urge to reach for her, to comfort her. His next words would terrify her, but he hoped they would also prepare her for what was to come. “He wants to possess you. He may even want to
be
you. He probably has a shrine where he keeps pictures and mementos.”

Her eyes filled with anguish.

“Pictures?” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “How can I not know who he is? I know everybody in this town. They know me. These people grieved with me when my parents died. I treat them in physical therapy. I teach them in aerobics classes. I have lunch with them.” She pushed herself to her feet and picked up her dishes.

Jack felt a jolt of compassion for Holly as the dishes she carried rattled against each other. He tried to make his tone comforting, because he knew his words were ominous. “That’s the classic serial-killer profile. Most of them are quiet, unremarkable people. People you could live next door to and never know what they were doing.”

He stepped aside as she went to put her dishes in the sink. Then, without thinking about what he was doing, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “We’ll get him, I promise,” he said gently.

Holly looked at Jack, at his straight, generous mouth, his sculpted cheekbones, his cold, determined eyes. She thought about the way he’d assessed and cataloged every single person on the airplane, his immediate suspicion about her missing cup. She believed him.