Familiar Stranger (21 page)

He looked up, gazing blankly at the people passing by him and the others sitting glumly in their seats, as stranded by nature as he. Despite the fact that David had summoned him to D.C. and was already there waiting, Frank didn't want to pass up an opportunity to turn the knife after he'd plunged it into David's chest.

He turned, searching for a place where he could make some calls without being overheard, then realized there was no such place. Considering the small risk he would take in making the calls, he headed for a bank of pay phones, opting for one of the cubicles. He waited for one to vacate then slipped into the seat and took out his cell phone, pausing momentarily as he debated about who to call first. A few moments later, he punched in a series of numbers then waited for his call to be answered.

"Petroski Heating Oil, Pete speaking."

"I need a favor."

"Like what?" Pete asked warily.

"There was an incident in a small town in upstate New York yesterday. Something about a man rescuing a bunch of hostages from a supermarket."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that. Some hotshot, huh?"

Frank frowned. "Maybe, but that's not the point. Is your brother-in-law still on the police force on Wykomis?"

"Yeah, but he ain't gonna go for—"

"Just shut up and listen to me," Frank said. "All I want is some information. I want to know the name of that town and what this David Wilson was doing there. I want to know how old he is, what he looks like, and was he just passing through or visiting. Get it?"

"Yeah, sure," Pete said. "I can do that. Give me an hour and I'll see what I can come up with. How can I reach you?"

"I'll call you back," Frank said, and disconnected.

He moved from the pay phones to a seat near his gate. This time when he sat down, his patience had taken itself to a new level. If there was a way to make David's life more miserable before he died, it would be Frank's pleasure.

Outside, the storms continued to hover over the city of Chicago, but it was the storm inside Frank Wilson's heart that was the most dangerous. Neither wind nor time was going to move it away. Only the sight of his brother's blood was going to put out the fire of his hate.

He sat without moving, his eye on a clock across from where he was sitting. When the minute hand finally ticked over for the sixtieth time, Frank took his cell phone from his pocket and made the call.

Pete answered on the first ring. "This is Pete."

"Talk to me," Frank said.

"David Wilson, mid to late fifties. Dark hair with some gray at the temples. A little over six feet tall and physically fit. They're calling him Rambo or something like that. He was picking up this woman and when she didn't come out, he went in after her."

"What woman?" Frank asked.

"Her name is Cara Justice. Gossip has it that she had his kid way back when. He was staying at her house when the incident occurred."

A slow smile began to spread across Frank's face, crumpling the sears and pulling the flesh until the smile turned into a grimace.

"The name of the town, please."

"Chiltingham, in upstate New York. It's up by the Finger Lakes region. Nearest airport would be at Canandaigua."

"Your check is in the mail," Frank said softly, and disconnected.

Then he stood abruptly and strode to the check-in desk.

"I want to change my flight," he said.

"But sir, none of the planes are taking off now," the clerk said.

"I know that," he said softly. "But when they do…"

The clerk felt herself resisting the urge to shiver as the man thrust his ticket across the counter and continued.

"I need to reroute from D.C. to Canandaigua, New York."

"Yes, sir," she said. "You do know there will be an extra fee for—"

"Just do it," Frank said. "Money is no object."

Chapter 12

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I
t was just after nine the next morning when Frank's plane landed at Canandaigua Airport. He disembarked without notice, just one of the twenty-three passengers to arrive, and proceeded through the terminal to rent a car. Within the hour, and armed with a map of the area, he drove out of the airport toward Chiltingham. He had no plans beyond finding Cara Justice's home. After that, he would let impulse lead him.

A couple of hours later, he entered the city limits and was surprised by the quaint New England charm of the small country town. Saltbox houses abounded, some painted a pure robin's-egg blue with white trim, others in varying shades of pastels and whites. Lawns and hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower boxes at the downstairs windows of the houses overflowed with splashes of color.

He tried to picture the man known as Jonah living in a nondescript place like this, but the image wouldn't come. He reminded himself they'd grown up in a place not unlike this. He sneered. So little brother was trying to return to his roots. Too damned bad.

His stomach grumbled, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, so he pulled in at the curb in front of a small café and went inside.

The scent of frying bacon and coffee only increased his hunger as he took a seat in a corner booth. Before he could reach for the menu resting between the napkin dispenser and the salt and pepper shakers, a waitress was at the booth with a pot of fresh coffee.

"Coffee, sir?" she asked.

He nodded and turned over the cup already at the place setting.

"Do you know what you want, or would you like a little time to look at the menu?"

"Bring me a couple of eggs over easy, bacon and hash browns and some whole wheat toast."

"Yes, sir. Would you care for juice?"

Frank looked up at her and smiled. "Sure, why not? How about grapefruit?"

The waitress nodded, although her attention had been transferred from the order she was taking to the mass of scars on the side of his face.

"It isn't catching," Frank said, taking some satisfaction in her embarrassment as she hurried away.

But the incident only served to remind him of why he'd come.

An hour later he drove out of town with a full belly and the directions to Cara Justice's home. It was relatively easy to find. His confirmation that he was at the right place was the name on the mailbox at the end of the drive.

Justice.

He smiled. How ironically perfect. That's what he'd come for—some justice. He paused at the mailbox to look at the house, making a quick assessment of the layout of the grounds. Since there was no need advertising his presence yet, he would come back after dark. As he put the car in gear to drive away, a woman came around the corner of the house with a garden hose in her hand. He hit the brakes, his eyes narrowing as he watched her watering the shrubs next to the house.

So, you take good care of what belongs to you. That's good. My Martha was a woman like that.

Suddenly angry with himself for even thinking of Martha and this woman in the same breath, he accelerated angrily and sped away.

At the sound of flying gravel, Cara turned, noticing a tan sedan as it sped past her house. She shook her head as she returned to her task, thinking that some people should never be allowed to drive.

As the water began to flow, a small fly buzzed at the corner of her eye and she turned to brush it away. When she saw her reflection in the windows above the shrubs, she couldn't help but flinch. The bruise on the side of her face was huge now, a dark, purplish-green. It was also the main reason she'd skipped going to church services this morning. If she'd gone, she would have had to talk about the incident at the supermarket and she wasn't in the mood. And there were bound to be questions as to why David wasn't with her, and where he had gone, and she darned sure wasn't in the mood to talk about him. So she was here, watering her plants and fussing at flies as if those were the only important things in her life, when in reality she wanted to scream. At least she would have Bethany and her family as dinner guests tonight. The vitality of their growing family should be enough to keep her mind off of what was happening with David, if only for a while.

A short while later, she went back inside and began making a strawberry tart for tonight's dessert.

* * *

Frank had always liked the dark. Even as a kid, he'd felt safe within the thick velvet shadows. It gave him a feeling similar to that of being cosseted beneath a warm comforter on a cold winter night. Tonight, he had the added adrenaline rush of a foray into new territory. He'd driven his car off the road into the woods about a quarter of a mile below Cara Justice's house and now he stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as she bid her company goodbye.

From the way they were all behaving, he took them to be family—a man, a woman and two young girls. He moved closer, staying within the tree line but wanting to hear what was being said. When he heard Cara Justice call the woman Bethany, he flinched. By God, two birds with one stone. If he had a rifle, he could fix it right now. David's woman. David's child. The perfect justice. If he popped both of them, he might just walk away from baby brother and let him live with the hell of knowing he was the cause of their deaths.

Then his flights of fancy settled. No need to make hasty decisions. The only certainty in his life was meting out a justice of his own. He leaned forward, listening intently as the people bid their goodbyes.

"Dinner was great, Mom," Bethany said.

"No, it was fantastic," Tom added, and Cara chuckled.

"I sent you the rest of the strawberry tart, so you don't have to keep bragging," she said.

Her son-in-law laughed. "You don't think I laid it on too thick?"

"Well, yes, but it was unnecessary. You were going to get the leftovers anyway."

Cara leaned in the back seat of the car and blew kisses to her two granddaughters.

"You're going to have to come spend the night with me at least one more time before school starts," she said.

"Oh, Nanny, don't even mention school," Rachel said.

"No school," her little sister, Kelly, echoed, although she wouldn't even attend preschool for another year.

Cara laughed and then stood back as they drove away, waving until the taillights of Tom's car disappeared.

Rubbing her arms with her hands and wishing David was here to hold her close, she took a deep breath and looked at the sky. The night was clear, the sky littered with stars.

"I'm here, darling, under the same sky, looking at the same stars. Just come home safely," she said softly, then dropped her head and said a brief, silent prayer.

An owl hooted from a nearby tree and she turned to look, hoping for a glimpse of the nighttime visitor, when something told her she was no longer alone. She turned abruptly, raking the area with a nervous gaze, but saw nothing to cause her alarm. Still the notion wouldn't go away. Uneasy, she hurried inside, locking the door behind her, then quickly moved throughout the rest of the house, making sure all the windows and doors were locked. Only after she'd set the security alarm did the hackles on her neck begin to settle. By the time she had turned out the lights and was moving toward her bedroom, she had almost convinced herself she'd been imagining things.

Almost—but not quite.

A short while later as she lay in bed, drifting between restlessness and sleep, the feeling came back. But it was too brief to hang on to. Exhaustion claimed her, and she slept.

* * *

Frank had the license number of Bethany's car. It would be simple enough to hack into the DMV and find her address. She would come later, after he'd dealt with her mother.

He waited until Cara had turned out the lights before making his move, still impressed by the fact that she'd sensed his presence. That wasn't something he'd expected. But then he thought of the man David had become and decided he wouldn't have settled for any ordinary woman. Jonah had to have a mate comparable to his talents.

A frisson of anticipation rippled through Frank's body. It stood to reason she would be perceptive enough to sense something amiss in her world. Would she sense him again—when he was standing at the foot of her bed?

When more than an hour had passed, Frank was satisfied that enough time had passed. He started toward her house, thankful that she didn't own a dog. He hated dogs.

For more than half an hour, he moved around outside, looking in windows, peering into the place where David had left his heart. From the little he could see, the house looked warm and inviting, and again he thought of Martha and ached. People lied when they claimed the passage of time made a loss easier to bear. For him, it was the opposite. The longer he was without her, the emptier his world became.

When he discovered the windows to Cara's bedroom, he ran his fingers along the edges, just to check and make sure they were locked, which they were. It didn't stop him from watching her through the part in the curtains. He watched for several long minutes until he was certain she was soundly asleep, then he headed for the electrical box he'd seen on the backside of the house. He knew the house was protected by a security alarm, but for a man who'd hacked into top secret computer files of the United States government, bypassing a personal security system was simple.

A few snips here, a couple of connections there and he was in. After that, he picked the lock on her front door and walked inside.

Once in, he stood for a moment, letting his vision adjust to the absence of light, until he could easily make out shapes of furniture as well as a hall leading toward the back of the house.

As he began to move, he smiled at the thickness of the wall-to-wall carpeting. Perfect covering to mask his steps, should she be a light sleeper.

He took a small penlight from his pocket and raked the walls with the tiny beam, more out of curiosity than anything else. He'd seen what Cara Justice looked like. Now he wanted to know what turned her on. Did she like bright, vibrant colors, or was she as subdued as she appeared?

As the light fell on the mantel, he saw the pictures she'd displayed and moved closer. From what he could tell, she had three, not just one child as he'd first believed, and she'd obviously been married to someone other than David. Two of the children looked like the stocky blond man standing beside her in one of the pictures. But it was the tall, slender woman with dark hair that Frank was interested in—the one who looked like David.