Blind Witness (8 page)

“Shall I have my nurse come in and draw some blood then?”

“Yes, thank you,” Rachelle said, after a slight hesitation.

“You’re welcome, but I haven’t done anything yet.” The doctor reached out and squeezed her hand in reply.

“You’ve been very kind. I appreciate what you’re doing.”

“Well, let’s see what happens for now. I want you to take it easy today. No bending, lifting, or climbing on things. If you start to feel nauseated or dizzy, I want to know.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised.

“Good, if there’s nothing else, I’ll have my nurse call you when I hear something. She’ll be back in a moment to do the blood. I’ll see you later, Britt.”

“James.”

The two shook hands.

When Rachelle remained quiet after the doctor left, Britt stepped to her. “Are you upset that I pressed for an appointment with the specialist?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I was thinking about maybe I had let things go too easy before. At first I was overwhelmed and didn’t know who to go to, to fight. So much was happening, I was just trying to survive and keep my sanity.”

He reached out and lifted her hand in his. “I’m going to talk to my Human Relations people, and make sure there aren’t any more of my people left in similar situations like this.”

“You’re a good man, Britton
Clairbourne.”

“It’s the company I’m keeping.” Britt rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

They were still holding hands when the nurse came in.

“Mr.
Clairbourne, Miss Harris. I was going to call you both later,” Detective Todd greeted them as they entered his office. “Miss Harris, this is Agent Stevens. He’s working with us.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Miss Harris.” The agent took her extended hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Is it normal to have an agent?”

“A bomb was used, which makes it federal and also Clairbourne Industries handles some government contacts, sophisticated equipment, like the scrambling device that is being used,” the agent replied.

“Won’t you have a seat?” Todd suggested, moving back to his own chair. “We haven’t made much progress yet. The media people have agreed to give me copies of their photos. I only told them we wanted to check just in case, like in some arsonist cases, the person likes to watch. So they know nothing of Miss Harris, and that she might be able to identify the man.”

“Thank you,” Britt answered. “But we have another problem. He attacked Rachelle.”

“What?
When?” the men asked together.

“Right after she left us, in the hall outside her office. He pulled her into a closet, and threatened her about coming near me. He’d seen her at the news conference. She was knocked out.”

“I hit my head. I fell when he released me,” Rachelle clarified, and then repeated everything that happened for the two detectives, who then went over the transcript.

“All right,” Todd said finally. “We’ll have a team go check for any evidence, but a storage closet that is used by the whole floor will probably not
give us anything useful in the way of prints.”

“Harlan has the room sealed up for you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. While we’re talking prints, there was none on the angel except yours. We’re still trying to track down where it was purchased. No one saw anyone near your apartment or in your building that stuck out, but we’re still looking.”

“What are you talking about?” Britt interrupted, looking at the two detectives then to Rachelle.

The men looked at each other then Stevens answered. “Our man left a package outside Miss Harris’ apartment last night with a porcelain angel in it.”

Britt’s attention shifted to Rachelle in time to see her shift uneasily in her seat.
She’d better be uneasy
. “You didn’t tell me?”

“It was nothing. I called the police, and they came and got it.”

“That’s why you didn’t sleep well last night. You should have called me.”

“And you would have acted like you are now. I can hear the tightness in your voice. You would have come over and packed me up and moved me out.”

“That’s right.”

“No, it’s not. I told you before. I won’t let him run me out of my own home.”

“He knows where you live. It’s not safe.”

“He probably knows where you live and that’s not safe either. You haven’t moved yet, have you? And don’t tell me that’s different.”

“It is. I don’t want you hurt.”

“I don’t want you hurt either. But he doesn’t want to hurt me. He does want to hurt you though.”

Britt wanted to continue the argument, but it wasn’t getting them anywhere. He fell silent for a moment. “He hurt you today.”

“I don’t think he meant to. He was warning me away from you.”

“Well, maybe you’d better listen. From now on, I’ll stay away from you. That way you’ll be safe. Can you take her home?” He turned to Todd, not waiting for the man to answer. “I better get back.” He started out of the room, leaving Rachelle behind.

“I’m sorry,” Rachelle said after him. “I promise next time to tell you immediately if something happens.”

Britt paused in the doorway. “Hopefully, there won’t be a next time if I stay away from you.” He walked out.

Rachelle didn’t know what to do. She felt an immense sense of loss. She tried to tell herself it was foolish because Britt was never hers, but for one incredible kiss. After all, she only met him a week earlier. The only meal they shared was not really a date, no matter how nice it had been. And his kiss, she felt tears rise.

“Miss Harris, we’ll give you a ride home now.”

“Thank you.” She hoped she could make it home before the tears came.

****

Britt sat at his desk, but the chair was turned toward the window, away from the work that required his full attention. Never in his life had he thought the word ‘jerk’ would apply to him, but it did now. He couldn’t believe he had walked out on Rachelle that way. Even if he knew she was safe with the police, safer than with him, he’d been wrong.

He knew he had to stay away from her for her own sake, so the psycho didn’t come after her again. But he could have handled it better. His male ego had gotten in the way though when she hadn’t come running to him after receiving the package. Rachelle was right. He would have packed her out of there. She was his to protect. That kiss had proved it to him, if not to her. Now if she’d just talk to him ever again. That was, if they caught the guy, and if he didn’t get killed first. If, if, if, well he had too many plans for the future to give in without a fight.

Turning back to his desk, he pulled the phone book from the bottom door and thumbed to florists, dialing the number.

“Flower Basket.”

“This is Britt
Clairbourne. I’d like to request a delivery to go out as soon as possible. Can you do it within an hour?”

“It depends on what you’d like, sir.”

“Something fragrant.” He thought about what Rachelle said, but roses were too normal. “Pansies don’t smell much, do they?”

“No, sir.”

“What about sweet peas?” He was not even sure what they were.

“They have a very nice smell.”

“I’d like them then.”

“Let me check if they’re available.”

He was put on hold for a moment then the woman was back on the line. “We can do that, but it will be about two hours.”

“That will be fine.”

“Are mixed colors all right or do you want a certain color?”

“Mixed would be fine.”

She gave him a price. “Make it two bouquets.” He gave her the address and his credit card number.

“What would you like the card to say?”

“No card, but add an extra five dollars to the tip for the delivery person to give her a message. Just say, “I’d like to apologize for losing my temper, but it is for the best right now that I don’t see you. I won’t have you put in danger because of me. That will be all, thank you.”

Britt hung up as the intercom sounded.

“Mr. Clairbourne, Mr. Laslow and his security people are here.”

“Send them in.”

Four men walked into the office. Brett remained seated motioning them to chairs.

“
Laslow, Dickerson,” he greeted the two older men, turning to the younger men that settled on the couch. “Warren, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir, Dustin Warren.” The tall, brown-haired man who looked like he spent all his free time in the gym spoke up.

“And,” he couldn’t come up with the name, though he had seen the stocky man often.

“Jordan, Mike Jordan.”

Britt nodded, turning back to Laslow. “What did you find out?”

“No usable prints. There must be a hundred people in and out of that supply closet. No other evidence.”

Britt nodded. He was afraid that was how it was going to be.

“We figured out where the scrambler disappeared from, but it’s hard to say how long ago it was taken. It could have been a month or more.”

“I can’t believe someone could just walk in and take one and walk out and no one notice,” Britt exclaimed.

“It wouldn’t have been that easy. But we’re still checking on how it was managed. Who would have had access and who knew it was there.”

“I want to see the list when it’s available.”

“Of course.”

“Ryan, who isn’t here right now, along with Dickerson, Warren, and Jordan, are going over the security groups. Ryan and Jordan are night shifts. Have you considered a personal guard yet?” The security chief asked, not for the first time.

“No,” Britt said firmly. “But I’d like someone assigned to Miss Harris. I don’t want that guy hurting her again.”

“Is Miss Harris all right?” Dickerson asked.

“Yes.”

“Where is she? She wasn’t at her desk when I stopped to ask her some questions,” Dickerson asked.

“She should be home now. A doctor checked her out and suggested she should rest today.”

“I still think you should consider having security with you,” Laslow urged.

“No, I like my freedom too much to have someone always watching me.”

“You’re an open target,” the security chief countered.

“He doesn’t want me yet. He wants some blood and pain first, but I want him before it gets to that. So let’s find him.”

****

The nap Rachelle had didn’t help much, nor did the two pain relievers or the music as she cuddled on the couch, hugging a pillow to her. Tears had started almost as soon as she had closed the door behind the officers that escorted her home, and showed no sign of stopping. If this is what it was like when you truly loved a man, she didn’t want it and didn’t want anything to do with Britton
Clairbourne.

The thought was punctuated by the doorbell. Wiping the tears away, she went to the door. “Who is it?” she asked, through the chained door.

“Delivery for Rachelle Harris,” the voice of a young man came through the door.

“What is it?”

“Roses,” he said, as if she were a little short on brains.

“Let me guess, red.”

“Yeah.” The kid definitely thought she was nuts.

“Is there a card?”

“No.”

“Who are they from?”

“They were billed to Britt Clairbourne.”

Rachelle felt her heart skip a beat.

“Ma’am?” the voice said from the hallway.

“Just leave them outside. I’ll get them.” Rachelle closed the door, debating whether or not she was going to bring them in. After his attitude and actions for him to think that he could make amends with a dozen roses. She wondered how many women he’d sent roses to. It was probably nothing to him.

Well, she wasn’t that easy. Opening the door, she let her nose guide her to the flowers. She picked them up, and then moved down the hall to where two elderly, widowed sisters lived. Rachelle knocked on the door then waited for it to open.

“Rachelle, this is a surprise. Do you have the day off?”

“Yes.”

“Come in, oh, what beautiful roses. You have an admirer.” Mabel gave a girlish laugh.

“Actually, I thought that maybe you and Ruth would enjoy them.”

“Oh, dear, how sweet.
Ruth you have to come see what Rachelle has given us.”

“Roses.”

Rachelle heard another voice that had the same warm cadence as her sister’s, but was a little higher pitched.

“We haven’t had roses for so long. Thank you.” The woman came over and gave Rachelle a hug.

“Won’t you stay and have a cup of tea with us?” Ruth invited.

“I can’t stay today. I just came to drop these off.”

“At least take a piece of cake with you. I just finished it,” Mabel insisted.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” Rachelle talked to Ruth a minute while waiting for Mabel to get the cake before returning to her apartment. She was at the door when someone approached her.

“Are you Rachelle Harris?” the female voice asked.

“Yes.” Rachelle turned to the woman.

“These flowers are for you.”

“Flowers?”

“Yes, Mr. Clairbourne didn’t send a card, but asked to have the message delivered personally. He said to say, ‘he was sorry for losing his temper. But that it was best for right now that he doesn’t see you.’ That must be about what I saw on the news. Wow.”

Rachelle caught the fragrant scent and was having trouble fighting back the tears.
“Sweet peas.”

“Yes, he was quite insistent on them. I have to admit we don’t do many bouquets with them.”

Rachelle reached for the vase bringing the blossoms to her face.

“Would you like me to carry the other one in for you?”

“The other?”

“Yes, both vases are for you.”

“Oh,” Rachelle unlocked the door. “Please come in.” She moved the entertainment table, after taking in one more deep breath of the sweet fragrance she placed the flowers in the middle. “Would you put the other flowers on the kitchen table?”

“Of course.”

Rachelle found her purse to get out a tip.

“Mr.
Clairbourne already took care of that,” the woman said, moving back to the door.

“Thank you.” Rachelle showed her out. With the door locked, she headed to the kitchen and the other bouquet. Cupping the soft petals, she inhaled deeply. He remembered. She couldn’t believe it. He actually remembered what she’d said, what she liked. Her first instinct was to reach for the phone to thank him but remembered what he said. He didn’t want her near him now. That probably went for calling him, too. Though she thought he was wrong, she would respect it and wait for him to call her. That is, if he ever did. Refusing to dwell on that thought, she made her way to the piano and started to play.