Familiar Stranger (22 page)

Bethany.

Nice name. Probably a nice enough woman. Damned shame his brother's blood ran in her veins.

He moved the penlight along the mantel, and when it fell on the snapshot of David with the fish, he caught himself from grunting aloud. It was a kick in the gut feeling of déjà vu that made him sick to his stomach.

David was laughing, making fun of the size of the fish on his line, and before Frank thought, he was grinning, too.

Stupid little shrimp of a fish. Why the hell would he want to have his picture taken with something like that?

And then he jerked as if he'd been slapped, reminding himself of why he was here. He was wondering about David when he should have been asking himself what the hell was wrong with him. He didn't give a damn about what David liked to do for recreation. It didn't even matter that David had looked so happy, or so at peace. He set the picture back on the mantel and turned away.

It, by God, does not matter.

Making himself focus on why he had come, he headed for the hall, remembering the direction of Cara's bedroom as he went. It should be the one at the far end of the house. Sure enough he was right.

He stood quietly just outside the doorway, listening to the soft, even sounds of her breathing, and checked his pocket for the knife that he carried. He favored knives over, guns, two to one. They were swift and silent killers, much cleaner than a gun. Bullets always tore up the body. A knife, when used properly, could empty a body of blood within a minute, often less.

Confident that she was still asleep, he took two steps to the right and then one forward, then smiled.

He was inside her bedroom.

He could tell she was above average height and quite slender, although she lay on her side with her back to the door.

A dim glow from the outside security light pierced the gap in the curtains, highlighting the hair spilling across her pillow. From where he was standing, it looked like gossamer, and he had a sudden desire to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Resisting his carnal urges, he moved to the foot of her bed instead, and then slowed his breathing as he watched her sleep. Her breasts were full, her skin firm. She was a woman in every sense of the word. As he stood, watching her sleep, his palms began to sweat. It had been a long, long time since he'd lain with a woman like that.

She shifted in her sleep, quietly sighing and then rolling over onto her back.

He froze. Only when he was certain she was still asleep did he shift position again, this time moving slightly toward the doorway for a better view of her face.

God. She was beautiful.

He shivered with sudden anger, unable to believe that a woman other than Martha could awake any sort of emotion. His hands curled into fists and he tried to make himself move. In one single leap, he could be in her bed, lying on top of her, hearing her scream. He could have her with ease, savoring her panic as he whispered what he was going to do to her and her lover. It would be easy, so easy.

As a jealous lust for what was David's gained momentum, he leaned forward. Then he heard her take a deep breath and exhale on a sob. He paused again, frustrated by his hesitation.

So she's grieving. So what? So am I.

He took another step forward, his fists uncurling, his fingers itching to encircle the fragility of her neck.

Frank … I'll always love you.

He jerked as if he'd been slapped. Martha's voice was as loud in his head as if she was standing beside him.

His eyes narrowed. He wondered what she would think if she saw him now. Would she still love him, or would she look upon him with loathing for what he'd become?

 As he watched, a tear rolled down the side of Cara's face then he heard her whisper a name.

David.

He cursed silently. Damn her. Damn her to hell. Fingering the blade of his knife, he started across the floor.

* * *

Bethany sat up in bed.

One moment she'd been sound asleep, and the next she was wide awake and cognizant. It was a skill she'd perfected after the birth of her first child, and it had yet to prove her wrong.

Glancing over at Tom, who was still sound asleep, she smiled to herself and then slipped out of bed. The roof could fall in and he wouldn't hear it. Out of habit, she reached for her robe as she left their bedroom.

As she entered her daughters' bedroom, she instinctively moved toward Kelly's bed first. As the youngest, she was still prone to more of the childhood illnesses than her sister, Rachel, who was almost ten.

But a quick check of her daughter's cool forehead eased her worries. Obviously, it wasn't Kelly who'd awakened her. She turned then, moving quietly to Rachel's bedside, but she, too, was resting quietly and fast asleep.

Frowning, she left their room, pausing momentarily in the hallway to listen. The house sounds were normal.

A clock ticking.

A tree branch scratching at the eaves of the house.

The intermittent sound of Tom's occasional snore.

Nothing that should have awakened her in such a manner.

Shivering now from nerves rather than cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and thought about waking Tom. But he had to go to work tomorrow and she resisted the notion. Telling herself that she must have been dreaming, she started toward their bedroom.

No sooner had she begun to move than she heard the faint sound of a board squeak, and when it did, her heart skipped a beat. There was a loose floorboard beneath the kitchen linoleum that squeaked just like that as she stood at the kitchen sink and another by the doorway leading into the living room.

Now she was scared.

Bolting into the bedroom, she shook Tom awake, then put her hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear.

"I think someone is in the house."

Tom's eyes widened. Without speaking, he rolled out of bed and hurried toward their closet. Taking a box down from the top shelf, he unlocked it, took out a loaded hand-gun and motioned for her to call 911.

"What about the girls?" she whispered. "Call the police first and then get them," he mouthed back.

Bethany watched in horror as Tom slipped out of their bedroom, then bolted for the phone. Seconds later, the 911 dispatcher came on the line.

"Nine one one. What is your emergency?"

"I think someone is in our house," Bethany whispered.

"Ma'am, are you alone?"

"No, my husband, Tom, is here, too. He's gone into the front of the house to check. He has a gun."

"Is your address one oh seven Sunset Drive?"

"Yes. Please hurry."

"Yes, ma'am, please stay on the line while I dispatch the call."

Now Bethany's heart was pounding. She needed to be across the hall with her children.

"Hello? Hello?" she whispered.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm still here," the dispatcher said. "I need to be across the hall with my girls," she whispered.

"Ma'am, I need you to stay on the line with me. There is a police unit in your area. It should be there in a couple of minutes."

"Oh, God," Bethany whispered. "That could be too late."

"Just stay calm and listen to me, please. What's your name?"

"Bethany Howell."

"Okay, Bethany, tell me what you hear."

"Nothing now. I don't even hear Tom."

She started to shake. What if something had happened to him? What if someone was already coming this way?

She needed to get to the girls. She needed to get them out of the house.

"Please. I need to get my daughters. I need to get them out of the house."

"Ma'am. Please. I need you to stay calm and stay quiet. Your husband might hear you moving around and think you were the thief. We don't want any accidental shootings, all right?"

Lord. She hadn't thought of that.

"All right, but please hurry."

* * *

The moment the board squeaked, Frank flinched. Seconds later, he heard bedsprings give and then the soft pat-pat sounds of bare feet on tile. His fingers curled around the knife in his hand as he moved toward the doorway. Moments later, he saw the woman come out of the bedroom and walk down the hall into another room.

His eyes narrowed angrily. That woman was David's daughter—but she was also his niece.

A good mother always checks on the children first.

The thought came out of nowhere and then he realized it was something his mother used to say when she would come in to tell him and David good night.

Son of a bitch. Why am I dwelling on all of these people who are already dead? They don't matter anymore. I need payback, not a stroll down memory lane.

Moments later, the woman exited the bedroom and stopped in the hallway. Instinctively, he slid into the shadows, and as he did, another board squeaked. He rolled his eyes, wondering why the hell these people hadn't nailed down the floors like they should have done. He stood there in silence, well aware he'd been made. Should he run, or just finish what he came here to do?

When she bolted into the bedroom, he hesitated only moments before his decision was made.

* * *

Bethany stood at the window, the phone still at her ear, watching and praying for the police to arrive. At that moment, she got a glimpse of flashing lights topping the hill just beyond their house, then they disappeared behind the trees.

She started to cry softly.

"They're here. They're here," she whispered.

"Ma'am, are you saying the police are at your door?"

"No, but I saw their lights on the hill."

"Don't go to the door, ma'am. Wait for them to knock, okay? They'll search the outside of the house to check for signs of entry before they attempt to come inside."

"Yes, all right," she said, her heart a little lighter now that she knew help was here.

Seconds later, she heard the crunch of gravel as the car pulled in the drive.

"They're outside now," she said.

"Just stay with me, ma'am."

"Yes, all right," Bethany whispered. Then to her horror, she heard her oldest daughter call out.

"Mother! Mother!"

"My daughter is awake," Bethany said. "I've got to get her before she walks into danger. I won't hang up, but I'm going after them."

Without waiting for permission, she bolted out of the room and down the hall. Rachel was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Mother, there's a police car outside the house."

"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I'm going to get Kelly and we're going to go to Mother and Daddy's room, understand?"

The confusion on her daughter's face turned to fear as her voice started to shake.

"Mommy … what's wrong?"

"Maybe nothing," she said. "Daddy's just checking the house." She scooped Kelly up in her arms and laid her across her shoulder and then grabbed Rachel's hand. "Come with me, baby, and don't talk anymore."

In seconds, she was across the hall and inside her bedroom. Quietly, she shut the door and then laid Kelly down on the bed, pulled Rachel into her lap and then picked up the phone.

"I'm back," she said.

"Are your children with you?" the dispatcher asked.

"Yes."

"Where is your husband?"

Bethany wanted to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath and made herself focus.

"I don't know."

"You're doing fine," the dispatcher said. "Tell me … what are your children's names?"

"Rachel and Kelly."

"Rachel Howell? Is she in the fourth grade?"

"She will be," Bethany said.

"I know her. My son, Billy, is her age. My name is Jenn Parker. My dad owns the bakery."

The image of a familiar face to go with the voice on the other end of the line was somehow encouraging.

"Jenn, I'm so scared."

"You're doing really good," the dispatcher said. "The police tell me they're going to your front door. Is there someone there to let them in?"

"Tom. Tom should be there."

"All right. Just stay with me a minute until I know they're inside."

Bethany could hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of someone knocking at the door. She caught herself holding her breath, praying that the sounds would stop, because that would mean that Tom had let them inside. They knocked again. Tears were rolling down her face.

Please God, don't let anything happen to my husband.

"No one is answering," the dispatcher said. "The police are asking me to tell you that they're going to come inside."

"The door is locked," Bethany said.

"They know. Just stay where you are, okay?"

"Yes," Bethany said, then dropped her head and started to sob. Something was terribly wrong.

* * *

David paced the floor of his room—from the bed to the windows and back again. He couldn't sleep. Every instinct he had told him something was wrong. What if Simon saw the broadcast of the robbery? What if he put two and two together and went looking for answers? Then he relaxed. No way! Simon never even knew about Cara, so he couldn't know about Bethany either.

Damn it to hell, but he hated being cooped up in this place. He was no better than a caged rat, waiting for someone to open a door so he could make a run for the cheese. Only the cheese in this maze was his brother, and his brother was taking his own sweet time about answering the e-mail that had been sent out.

Damn him
, David thought.
Damn him to hell.

He started for the phone, the need to talk to Cara uppermost in his mind, but then stopped. It was after three in the morning. Just because he couldn't sleep didn't mean he needed to disturb her rest. He hoped she'd taken a sedative to help her relax. The kidnapping and the assault were so recent, he knew she would still be suffering from the memories of the incident. Even worse, it galled him to know that just when she needed him most, he'd left her alone.

Damn Frank Wilson to hell and back. Why had he survived? What possible good had his existence proved?

Then he thought of Frank's daughter, Lise Meldrum, who by now was probably Mrs. Russell Devane. Her life was proof that there had still been some good left in Frank—that he'd at least been capable of loving a woman long enough to father a child. From what he knew, Frank's wife had been dead for years and Lise had been running their Australian cattle station in her father's absence. If Frank had died in that fire all those years ago, then Lise would never have been born.