Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (27 page)

And now Scott had to be taken care of. Why did it always come down to this? He liked the kid, felt sorry for him.

He stopped pacing in front of the mahogany desk in the corner to pick up the first page of the Sunday paper.

Wilson.

Another problem. What did the retired cop know? Or was he just blowing off to the reporter? He’d driven by his house on the way home from the hospital. Wilson hadn’t answered the doorbell, and there was no way to get inside the house the way it was barred up.

Tomorrow. He would take care of Wilson tomorrow. Tonight, he had Scott to worry about. And Taylor. Always Taylor, ever since she’d started looking for James again.

But for not much longer.

T
aylor groaned as she turned over in bed and groped for the clock. If the red numbers were to be believed, it was only five-thirty. Outside her window, the first gray steaks of dawn lit the sky. Less than eight hours since she’d rolled the Rav4 and four since the hospital released her. A fact her body knew all too well, especially her ribs. If bruised ribs hurt this bad, she’d hate to break one.

She closed her eyes and tried to capture another hour of sleep, but nightmarish images flitted through her head. Headlights. Flashes of gunfire. Her window exploding. Taylor flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling.

Who wanted her dead?

Trying to figure that out was like putting a five-hundred-piece puzzle together without all the pieces. She punched her pillow and tried to find a comfortable spot. But her mind wouldn’t shut off. She replayed each event as it happened, from the beginning. The first anonymous gift, the candy that arrived in March, a month later the roses and the photos, followed by the poem in her pocket, the attack, then the bracelet, and now the shooting.

It’d been the black roses that first made her suspect Scott with his Goth attire, and if someone was framing him, what better way? But why?

Her mind spun with the question.

Where did Scott fit in the Coleman case? And that was the problem. He didn’t fit anywhere. He was too young and too messed up to plan such an elaborate scheme. One thing was for sure—it took an evil person to play on Ralph Jenkins’s hatred just to send Taylor a message.

Thinking made her head hurt along with her ribs and muscles. But if she didn’t think about the case, she’d have to think about her feelings for Nick and that he’d written the poem used in the threat. Why hadn’t he told her?

That was a no-brainer. He loved his brother, believed in him.

With sleep impossible, she threw back the sheet and sat on the side of the bed, triggering a wave of dizziness and nausea as pain racked her body. The busy day loomed before her like a giant elephant.
How do you eat an elephant
? One bite at a time.

She smiled at Kate’s adage. Her head dictated that the first bite she needed was something for her throbbing ribs. The ER doctor wanted to prescribe a pain tablet, but Taylor had nixed that. She planned to drive today and settled for Tylenol. While she was up, she might as well get dressed. Maybe after a shower, she could focus more than two seconds on the intricacies of the case.

A little after nine, Taylor gripped the banister as she took the stairs one step at a time. She’d just spent fifteen minutes explaining to Livy what had happened the night before and another fifteen convincing her friend she was all right. But at least Livy volunteered to make the meeting with Wilson. As for examining her case further, there’d not been any time. Maybe she could bounce ideas off Livy.

Taylor stopped halfway down and took a deep breath. Who would have thought rolling a car would make her so sore. She’d called the rental agency over an hour ago, and hopefully, they’d have a replacement car here before her mother discovered her plan to go out.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Her mom’s voice stopped her at the bottom of the steps. Taylor turned as Mom stepped from her office, carrying several envelopes.

“Livy and I have an appointment this morning.”

“You most certainly do not, unless it’s with a doctor.”

“Mom, I’m not a child. I have work to do.”

“What if that maniac tries to kill you again?”

“He won’t. It’s daylight.”

“Meaning?”

“Two attacks, both at night. The man’s a coward. He won’t attack me when there’s a possibility he might be seen.”

“You didn’t hear anything I said last night, did you?”

“Mom.” Pain shot through her ribs, and she tried not to show it. “I could get killed walking across the street on a sunny afternoon.”

“I don’t want you to get killed at all.”

Taylor didn’t want to worry her mom, but . . . She licked her lips and tried to make her words as final as she knew how. “I have to go.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

Should have seen that one coming.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me today. Livy will be with me.”

“In other words, I’ll be in the way.” Her mom eyed her for a few seconds. “Where
did
you get this stubbornness?”

She was not being stubborn. Since last night, priorities had crystallized in her mind, and finding her father had risen to the top. Taylor softened her voice. “I’ll be back in three hours. Then I’ll take it easy the rest of the day. Promise.”

“If you’re not, I’ll have Ben put out an APB.”

“I think it’s BOLO now, Mom.
Be on the
lookout
.”

“You know what I mean.”

The doorbell rang.

“That’ll be my car,” Taylor said. She hugged her mom and winced as pain radiated through her chest. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’ll be all right.”

“Wait, these came for you Saturday. With the picnic and then everything that happened yesterday, I’ve only just now sorted through the mail.” She handed Taylor several envelopes.

Taylor glanced at the top envelope and recognized Christine’s bold handwriting. She’d told her friend to forward anything that looked halfway important. The doorbell rang again, and she stuffed the mail in her purse. “I’ll see you in three hours.”

Nick glanced at the clock on the Logan Point library wall. Nine-thirty. He’d gotten the librarian to let him in when she arrived an hour ago and had been researching articles on James Martin ever since. He squelched an impulse to check on Taylor. She would not appreciate it. He wasn’t sure if she accepted his explanation about the poem, which had come right on the heels of him agreeing with Allison about her job. Right now he was persona non grata, but at least today, Taylor was home, safe.

Last night when he’d walked through those hospital doors and down the corridor to Taylor’s ER cubicle, morbid thoughts had flowed like the blood from the gash on Taylor’s head.
What if
she dies?
The question kept running through his head. Then to see the dried blood on her face . . . it’d almost been more than he could stand. They had to talk. He couldn’t protect her if she wouldn’t listen to him, if she kept chasing criminals. One of them would get her, almost had last night.

Just like Angie.

His phone vibrated in his shirt pocket, and he slipped it out. Allison. He answered and couldn’t believe what she told him.

“Taylor is doing what?”

“She’s keeping some appointment in Memphis today. But she hasn’t left yet.”

“I’ll be right there.”

A blue jay fussed overhead as a slight breeze touched Taylor’s face. The giant oaks provided shade but didn’t let much air through. Taylor winced as she bent over and signed the rental papers. She
handed the Gordon’s Rent-a-Car agent his copy and accepted the keys to the Civic. “Sorry about the other car,” she said.

He waved his hand. “Your insurance company is covering it.”

Taylor fanned herself as he and the driver of the second rental car pulled away from the house. At the end of the drive, the car waited as Nick’s red Mustang turned in. Seconds later his tires screeched to a halt on the asphalt drive, and Nick got out, his face set for an argument. Overhead, the blue jay screeched at the new intruder.

“What are you doing here?” She continued to fan with the insurance papers. Today promised to be another scorcher.

“I’m going to Memphis. Need a ride?”

“My mom called you.”

“She’s concerned.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t call Ben Logan.” She opened the door to the Honda and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. “I can drive myself, and I don’t need a babysitter. Besides, I’ll be with Livy. We’ll be at a retired cop’s house.”

“I’m not offering babysitting services. Just a ride to Memphis until you meet your friend.”

She did not want Nick going with her.

“Come on, Taylor. Let me do this. You rolled your car, and you’re bound to be sore. Probably on pain meds. You don’t need to be driving.”

“I’m only taking Tylenol, and I’m not that sore, at least not too sore to drive.”

“Okay, how about the argument that someone tried to kill you last night. Maybe if I’m with you, he won’t try anything today. And I want to make up for not telling you about the poem. Let me drive you.”

“I wouldn’t have a car.”

“Then at least let me follow you. When you finish your interview, you can call me and I’ll follow you home. I have plenty that needs my attention in Memphis—like checking with Scott’s girlfriend to see if she’s heard from him.”

She couldn’t deny she’d feel safer if Nick followed her. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay. No rushing me, though.”

“Deal.”

By the time Taylor pulled to the curb in front of Wilson’s house, her body screamed for her bed. Maybe she should rethink this.

Nick tapped on her window, and she lowered it. “You sure you’re up to this?”

He had no clue how bad her ribs hurt or her muscles throbbed. She forced a smile. “Don’t hover. Don’t you have to be somewhere?”

“It can wait until Livy gets here.” He nodded toward Wilson’s open wooden door. “Looks like your guy is home.”

Taylor climbed out of the Civic and limped to a shaded wrought-iron bench in Wilson’s front yard. A wave of nausea made her wish she’d eaten. Nick sat beside her on the bench. Down the street, a commercial lawnmower clattered, and the scent of fresh-cut grass wafted through the air. A house wren hopped at their feet. “Looking for crumbs, mama bird? I bet Lieutenant Wilson has been feeding you.”

Nick cleared his throat. “What’s your thinking about who shot at you last night?”

“Muddled. I can’t focus.” She uncapped her water bottle and took a sip. “Tell me again why you didn’t say anything about the poem the first time I met you.”

He shrugged. “Because I didn’t believe my brother sent it to you. But you were so sure that Scott was your stalker, I was afraid if I mentioned it, you and the sheriff in Newton would focus on him instead of the real criminal.”

“How can you be so sure the real criminal isn’t your brother?” After last night, Scott had jumped back on her suspect list. “He could’ve been my shooter last night—he had the opportunity.”