Cold Hearts (5 page)

The only person she needed to talk to was God. She mouthed the proper words, and then cried until her eyes were so swollen it hurt to blink before she dropped to her knees. Despair was heavy, weighing her down as she stared at the floor in disbelief.

Why had this happened?

She felt like she was being punished, and yet Paul Jackson was the one who had died. So was it his punishment and she’d just become the tool, or was it hers and his life was gone because of it?

Sick at heart and too exhausted to get up, she slid forward, stretching out facedown on the cold hardwood floor, and closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear forever.

* * *

Along about 6:00 p.m. Jim Farley, the pastor from Paul Jackson’s church, stopped by to express his condolences. By Mack’s count he was visitor number seven, and when this one left, Mack was leaving, too. He couldn’t take any more well-wishers and didn’t want anyone else to pray for him. He didn’t want prayers. He wanted answers.

Mack took a deep breath, bracing himself for yet another painful conversation. “Pastor Farley, thank you for coming,” he said.

The little man smiled, which made the scar across his upper lip—the result of a hockey puck gone wild during his youth—pull sideways just the tiniest bit.

“Good afternoon, Mack. I came without calling. I hope that’s all right,” Farley said.

“Of course it’s all right. No one stands on ceremony here,” Mack said, as he led the way to the living room.

The pastor took a seat in the recliner as Mack said, “I have coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“That would be wonderful. It’s a bit chilly outside today. As for the coffee, I take mine black,” the pastor added.

“I’ll be right back,” Mack said and headed for the kitchen. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying two mugs.

Pastor Farley took his mug, then cupped it in his hands to warm them as he took the first sip.

Mack set his aside and waited.

The pastor was just as off balance as Mack. The horrific nature of Paul Jackson’s death was the elephant in the room. He took a second sip of the coffee and then set his cup aside, too.

“Of course I came to offer my condolences,” the pastor said. “The news of your father’s death is heartbreaking. I am so very sorry for your loss.”

Mack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Farley asked.

Mack shrugged. “I appreciate the offer. Of course I’ll have a memorial service, but I can’t think about that just yet.”

“Of course, of course,” Farley said. “You just let me know your wishes and we’ll make it happen for you.” He took another sip of coffee and then leaned forward. “Know that prayers are being said for you, son. Know that we weep with you. Your father was my friend.”

Mack tried to swallow past that lump again, but it didn’t happen. He put his head down as tears welled once more. He heard the pastor saying a prayer, but he wished that Farley would just leave. He wanted this to be a terrible nightmare, so that all he needed to do was wake up.

Fifteen minutes later Pastor Farley was gone and Mack was on his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly running away from home. He just needed distance from the pain of being here without his dad. He had no destination in mind when he got in his SUV and drove away, but it didn’t take long to realize he was retracing the paths of his youth, from the park where his mother used to take him to play, then past the elementary school where he’d lost his first tooth and broken his arm two years later when he’d bailed out of a swing.

He turned down the street that led to the baseball field, parked behind home plate, and then stared past second base to center field and the fence beyond.

The sun appeared to be hovering atop the trees, setting them ablaze with the color of late fall. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. Once again, he felt his dad’s presence.

“I lived half my childhood in this dirt, didn’t I, Dad? And you sat on the third row of the bleachers watching it happen. I don’t know if I ever said thank-you, but I’m saying it now.”

Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He sat until the sunlight was fading and the fire was gone from the sky before he started the car and drove away, heading north out of Mystic. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was out of there.

* * *

Reece Parsons woke with a hard-on and a rumble in his empty belly. He thrust muscular arms over his head, stretching like a big cat and arching his back just enough that the covers pushed against his erection. He thought about jacking off for the pleasure of it, then remembered a prior commitment with Melissa Sherman and decided to save the good stuff for her.

He got out of bed and peed off his erection, then walked naked through the darkened house with Bobo at his heels, irked that Louis always left all the lights off. Just once he could at least leave the one on in the kitchen. Then he shrugged. Louis was just like Mama. She was as tight as a bowstring and had gone behind them turning out lights when they were growing up, like wasting a second of electricity was going to put them in the poorhouse when they were already there.

He let the dog out in the backyard and then glanced at the windows, making sure the blinds were pulled and the curtains drawn before he turned on the lights. He liked being naked, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He’d come to learn as he grew up that flying under the radar was far safer.

He read Louis’s note, then dug out a couple of covered dishes from the refrigerator and stood at the counter, eating the food cold with a fork. He covered up what he didn’t eat and put the dishes back, and then popped the top on a longneck beer and drank it standing at the sink.

Bobo scratched at the door, and Reece opened it just enough for the little terrier to squeeze in, then locked it behind him, tossed the bottle in the trash, burped, farted and went to get dressed. He thought about logging on to the computer and checking the NASDAQ or maybe seeing how his international investments were doing but changed his mind. He didn’t want to keep the little lady waiting.

* * *

It was just after midnight, and Lissa still couldn’t sleep. Her heart was so heavy that even taking a deep breath seemed impossible. The weight of her guilt was more than she could bear.

And she kept thinking about Mack.

He would come home, if he wasn’t already here. Sometime she would have to face him, if for no other reason than to get her car before she could get rid of it. Their lives had been so intertwined and then shattered in a way she would never have expected. Now, knowing she would most likely see him again as the owner of the instrument of his father’s death seemed the height of all irony.

She gave up trying to sleep and sat in the dark with the TV remote in her hand, watching a sci-fi classic with the sound on mute.

Even after she began hearing footsteps on the porch, she was so numb she didn’t react. If it was the stalker who’d been bothering her, she was going to pretend she wasn’t home.

But then she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock and threw back the covers. Her heart was pounding as she moved barefoot through the house. Surely this wasn’t a real visitor—not at this time of night. It had to be her stalker! Didn’t he know what had happened? Wasn’t there a rule in the universe that if one really bad thing was happening to you, then you were no longer fair game for anything else? If there wasn’t, there should be.

The house was bathed in shadows of varying shades of darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlights showing through the blinds. When she got to the living room she peeked out, but there was no one in sight. She turned on the porch light and peered through the small window in the door, but the yard was empty. Hesitantly, she turned the dead bolt and then opened the door.

Still focused on looking for some
one
, she stared intently into the shadows beyond the yard before she happened to look down. Breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw a stream of blood seeping out from under the overturned rattrap. When she realized the feet of the dead rat were still twitching, the world tilted. She began to scream and was still screaming when she slammed the door and ran for the phone.

* * *

When Mack left Mystic, he drove straight back to Summerton and holed up at his home. He’d spent years remodeling the old two-story house into the showpiece it was now, and it represented everything he loved about architecture.

The interior was also a reflection of the things that made him comfortable: oversize sofas with accents of dark wood and rich oxblood leather upholstery, heavy damask draperies hanging floor to ceiling. He had a king-size bed, large walk-in closets and wide plank hardwood flooring in a warm walnut stain.

It was not only a source of great pride that it was his, but he’d come back to it because it was his safe place to fall. Only, once he got here, nothing had changed. There was nowhere to go to get away from the fact that his father was dead. The last time he’d felt this sad and empty was the day he’d found out Melissa had aborted their child. And knowing he would have to see her again at some time during this nightmare didn’t make him feel any better. He had lost all faith in women after that day. But he knew his heart and, while she’d shattered it completely, after the years in which they’d loved without boundaries, she was still under his skin.

Now that he was home, he changed clothes, brought in the mail and began going through some phone messages regarding work before he dug through the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he felt empty and it was all he could think to do to fill up the space.

When he began looking at his options, his stomach turned. There was a refrigerator full of food at his dad’s house, but he didn’t want any of that, either. He wound up eating a piece of leftover cake and emptying the entire pot of coffee he’d made.

As time continued to pass, the urge to stay here was overwhelming, but the last thing he could do for his dad was stay strong and see this through. So he cleaned up the mess he’d made, locked up the house and headed back.

It was past midnight when he drove into Mystic. The sky was overcast, and the moon that had been high in the sky hours earlier was hidden somewhere behind gathering clouds. He was wondering if Chief Jakes had been in contact yet with the people who serviced the lift down at the garage when he braked suddenly for a cop car. It went flying through an intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

Someone was in trouble.

He started to accelerate through the intersection when another police car appeared at the far end of the street and took a sharp left, obviously heading to the same location. He frowned. It wasn’t his practice to be a siren chaser, but since this was where he’d grown up and he knew almost everyone in town, he turned and followed the disappearing lights.

Five

L
issa was standing in her living room in the dark with her arms wrapped around her waist, still struggling with the urge to scream. Her bare feet were cold on the hardwood floors, her eyes wide and fixed on the front door. She had locked onto the faint sound of approaching sirens as if they were her lifeline, and when the lights from the first cop car appeared in the driveway and swept across the wall behind her, her knees buckled.

They were here. Thank God, thank God. She was no longer alone. Without hesitation, she stumbled to the front door and then opened it wide.

* * *

The two police cruisers arrived at the house within seconds of each other just as Mack turned the corner at the far end of the block. He watched the officers emerge from the patrol cars and immediately recognized the Doyle brothers. Now he was even more curious as to what was going on.

When it dawned on him that they were at the old Sherman house and he remembered Melissa was living there again, he tapped the brakes, slowing even more. Then he saw the front door open, and when he saw the blonde with a familiar tangle of curls appear in the doorway, he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He thought about driving away—letting her business be hers—but something held him here, so he stopped in the middle of the street to watch.

The officers were all the way up on the porch by the time Mack noticed the porch light highlighting the terror on her face. He would never be able to drive away without finding out what was wrong, so he shifted the car into Park and headed for her house.

* * *

Lonnie Doyle arrived in his patrol car only seconds ahead of his brother Carl and was all the way up on the porch before he saw what was on her doorstep. He stopped, startled by the sight.

“What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Carl asked, as he came up the steps behind his brother. When he saw the rat beneath that overturned trap, the first thing he thought of was Paul Jackson beneath that lift. Some sick son of a bitch was messing with her big-time.

“Someone was just here,” Lissa sobbed. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s been harassing me for weeks, and tonight he left this.”

Mack was walking toward the house, pulled toward her presence like a moth to the flame, when he heard the words and the fear in her voice. He was shocked that a stalker was at work in Mystic. And then he reminded himself there was already an open murder investigation and the possibility that his father’s death might somehow be connected. A stalker only added to his disillusionment. He didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again, but the look of pure terror on her face wasn’t okay. He didn’t see the rat until he was on the steps, and then he almost stumbled. The reference was impossible to miss. Who the hell would do something this cold?

Both officers heard the footsteps behind them, and their hands were on their weapons as they turned, but when they recognized who it was, they relaxed.

Before they could ask what he was doing there, Mack walked between them and stopped just shy of the rat, his gaze fixed on Lissa’s face.

“Melissa.”

She stared, too stunned to answer.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She was already in shock from what had just happened, but after his father’s death, she had known this moment was coming and dreaded it. She swayed on her feet as the world began to spin.

Mack leaped over the bloody trap and caught her before she fell.

Lissa grabbed hold of his forearms to steady herself, then hid her face against his chest, too rattled by his appearance to think.

Lonnie glanced at his brother. “Carl, get a couple of pictures.”

Carl arched an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about the rat or the lovebirds?”

Lonnie glared.

Carl grinned as he pulled out his cell phone and went to work.

Mack looked down at the little pink pigs on her white flannel pajamas and sighed. Who knew that it would be an old girlfriend in pink-pig pajamas who would settle a tiny part of the ache in his heart?

“Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” he asked.

She came to her senses just as his hand cupped the side of her face, and she stepped back and away from him so fast she stumbled.

“I’m not hurt,” she said, scrubbing the palm of her hand against the side of her face, trying to remove the sensation of him from her skin.

Lonnie interrupted, anxious to get this dealt with. “Miss Sherman, I need to take your statement, but it’s a little chilly and your feet are bare. How about we go inside?”

Lissa turned on the living room light and then led the way back into the house. Mack followed the sway of her hips all the way to the sofa, with Lonnie behind him, leaving Carl to bag the evidence and search the area for the perpetrator or any clues to his identity.

Lissa sat down with her chin up and her eyes brimming with unshed tears, then pulled an afghan over her legs and absently tucked it beneath her feet.

Mack sat down in a chair with a clear view of her face without being invited to stay. He’d already inserted himself into the ongoing drama without asking, and he wasn’t about to follow protocol now.

Lonnie pulled out his phone, laying it on the coffee table near her as he settled at the other end of the sofa.

“I’ll record and transcribe your statement, and you can sign it later,” he said.

Lissa sighed. Hyperconscious of Mack’s presence and the lingering fear of the stalker in her life, all she could think was
I can’t believe this is happening.

Lonnie hit Record and then asked the first question.

“I gather from what you said earlier that this isn’t the first time you’ve been harassed. Am I right?”

She nodded, and then realized that wouldn’t translate to a recorder and answered, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you know who’s doing it?”

She clutched the afghan as if it was body armor, unaware she was crying.

“No. I have no idea.”

Lonnie kept firing questions. “How long has this been going on?”

She shivered. “Almost a month.”

“Can you elaborate on what’s happened?”

She did, telling him about the progression of phone calls, the frightening innuendos that had turned into stalking, ending with what happened tonight.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she added. “Today has been a nightmare, and I couldn’t close my eyes without—”

She stopped in midsentence, remembering who else was in the room. She might resent him for the way they had parted company years ago, but she knew he was hurting for what he’d lost, and it was all her fault. She couldn’t face him and see the accusation in his eyes.

Lonnie inserted a quick question to shift the focus.

“Have you been having problems with any of your students?” he asked.

Lissa was startled by the question, and for the first time reacted without thinking.

“No, of course not! My students are six-year-old children. Whoever’s been calling me is a grown man.”

Lonnie tried another angle. “What about parents? Have you had any run-ins with them?”

Lissa shook her head. “No. My life was fine, unexciting, but fine until the phone calls began. And now this.” She pointed toward the porch. “How do I take that? Is this a direct threat aimed at me, or just an ugly reminder that I caused a man’s death?”

At that point, Mack could remain silent no longer.

“That’s bullshit, Lissa. You didn’t cause anything. That could have been anyone’s car. It happened. You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

“But it
wasn’t
anyone’s car. It was mine,” she said, and then began to sob.

Mack had never been able to hear her cry, and now he got up and walked toward the kitchen to keep from taking her in his arms. He hurt for what she was going through, and for himself. And he knew something she didn’t. His dad’s death might turn out to have been a murder, which should free her conscience of any culpability.

Lonnie could see she was too upset to continue and stopped the recording before slipping the phone back in his pocket.

“I’m sorry this is happening, and while we don’t have much to go on, maybe we’ll get lucky and pull a print from the...evidence,” he said. “In the meantime, I would suggest you put up some security cameras. That might be the fastest way to identify your stalker. And remember, we’re only a phone call away. In the meantime, I’ll let myself out.”

And then they were alone.

Lissa began wiping at her tear-streaked face as Mack walked back into the room. She didn’t want him to see her tears, so she looked at the floor between his feet.

The past ten years looked damn good on her, Mack thought. She wasn’t any taller, but the wide-eyed innocence of childhood was gone from her face, leaving her with a sultry pout to her lips and those sleepy green bedroom eyes. The flannel pig pajamas were more tease than cover, her bare feet a reminder of the bare body he’d once known as well as his own.

“How does this work?” he asked.

The question surprised her. The last time she’d seen him, nearly ten years ago, he’d been so enraged she didn’t think he would even want to be in the same room with her, let alone act as if nothing was wrong.

“It doesn’t,” she said.

“Will you let me help with the security system?”

She shrugged. “If you mean you know someone who can install it, I would appreciate a name.”

She’d shut down, and he felt it. Even more, he got it and knew it had nothing to do with his father’s death.

“Then, I’ll be in touch. I am sorry about what’s happening to you.”

Lissa strode to the front door with as much confidence as she could muster, then opened the door and stepped aside.

“And I am so very sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

Mack sighed. She was staring at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. He got the message. He walked outside and was off the porch before he heard the lock turn. He didn’t belong here any more than that dead rat.

* * *

Reece Parsons was dancing with excitement, waiting for the reaction to his latest little love note. He hadn’t been certain of his next move tonight until he’d found out about Paul Jackson’s death, and then he’d known immediately what came next.

It had taken a good five hours to find and catch a live rat before he could even go to her place, and then it was a matter of getting everything on her porch and waiting for the sound of her footsteps before he dropped the trigger on the rat and left it in its death throes on her doorstep.

The moment he dropped the trap, he bolted into the shadows between her neighbors’ house and hers, then slipped down the first alley he came to and kept running. He was breathing hard when he finally reached the truck and unlocked the door. Everything was fine, just as he’d left it. His little dog was asleep in the seat, but he wasn’t through with Melissa Sherman. He clipped the leash on to the dog’s collar and dragged him out.

“Come on, Bobo, let’s take a walk.”

Bobo’s legs were short but his attitude was big, and the word
walk
was always welcome.

Even though the night was chilly, sweat was drying on Reece’s forehead as he walked Bobo through the park, purposefully taking a shortcut that would take him within two blocks of Melissa Sherman’s house. He’d heard the sirens and guessed she’d finally called the cops. He wanted to see what was happening. It was a different kind of high to know she was that kind of scared.

The wire-haired terrier was nosing beneath every bush and sniffing trails left by nocturnal creatures but Reece had other business and all but dragged Bobo back toward her house. They exited the park at a side street and immediately headed for the sidewalk. The moment he saw two cop cars at her place, he grinned. There was another vehicle at the curb and he wondered who it belonged to, but this was no time to get too curious. He decided he would just walk Bobo by the house and maybe get a peek at what was going on as they passed.

Then, as if on cue, a stray cat slunk out from beneath the SUV parked at the curb and took off across the street. Bobo leaped forward so fast the leash slipped from Reece’s hands and he took off running after it. All of a sudden Melissa Sherman’s welfare was playing second fiddle to recovering his dog.

* * *

Carl took the pictures, then bagged up the dead rat and trap, securing everything inside his vehicle before he began to check out the neighborhood.

The lights had been off in every house when they’d arrived, so he doubted there would be any witnesses, but it was his job to ask.

He began with the house north of where Melissa lived and asked them if they’d seen anyone running away from her place earlier. He got a play-by-play of where the residents had been sleeping and what they’d had for supper before going to bed, but no one had seen anything.

He went down the block, knocking on doors and asking the same question without getting a useful answer. He had just started back up the block on the other side of the street when he heard a small dog begin to bark. He turned around to look just as a man came running out of the shadows.