Dead Reckoning (21 page)

“Enough.” Pushing away from the desk, she rubbed her eyes. She could tell by the soreness that she’d strained them again. “So much for pacing,” she muttered.

She was in the process of saving the file she’d been working on when the screen blinked and Kate found herself plunged into darkness.

Realizing the electricity had gone out, she let out a long sigh. “Crap.”

More concerned with the possibility of data loss than the power outage, Kate rose and started for the kitchen. There, she snagged the flashlight from the top of the fridge, used the beam to locate a spare fuse in the drawer, and headed toward the garage. She was nearly to the hall when movement at the window above the sink sent a hot zing of adrenaline through her belly.

Heart pounding, she snapped off the flashlight. Never taking her eyes from the window, she pressed her back flat against the wall and ordered herself to stay calm.

For a full minute Kate stood there, shaking, her breaths coming shallow and fast. Around her the house was so quiet she could hear the wind whipping through the trees. Dead leaves skittering across the driveway. The ticking of the mantel clock in the study. The rhythmic drip of water in the sink a few feet away. Slowly her pulse began to slow. Had she seen someone outside the window? Or had she seen nothing more than the silhouette of the tree branches as they swayed in the wind?

Taking a final look at the window, she switched on the flashlight. “You’re jumping at shadows, Megason,” she whispered.

But she was thinking about the bandanna that had been left on her porch a few days earlier. Her senses were on high alert when she checked the bolt lock on the back door. Finding it secure, she proceeded through the utility room and into the two-car garage where the fuse box was located. Her stocking feet were silent against the concrete floor as she crossed to the fuse box.

The sight of the folded piece of paper tucked into the seam made her blood run cold. Her hand was shaking when she plucked it out and unfolded it.

 
Kate couldn’t believe what she was reading. Nobody knew what had happened eleven years ago. How could someone have written this?

The realization that someone had been in the garage struck her brain like a bullet. Lowering the paper, she looked toward the pet door that led to the backyard. The family who’d lived in the house before her had had two Newfoundland retrievers. A giant breed that had required a large pet door. Kate had always planned on replacing it, but it was one of those household tasks she’d never gotten around to.

Raising the flashlight, she shone the beam on the pet door. The rubber weather flap swayed in the wind. The opening was large enough for a man to crawl through, which meant someone could have gained access to the garage and tampered with the fuse box. In fact, they could be hiding in the garage. . . .

A sound sent her heart slamming against her ribs. She jerked the light in the direction of the sound, but the car was in the way. And she knew that whomever had placed the note in the fuse box was still in the garage.

She backed toward the door. “The police are on the way,” she called out. But her voice was breathless with fear.

Something clattered to the floor to her right. Gasping, she jerked the beam to the corner where a steel-shelving unit was stacked with gardening tools. A hand shovel lay on the concrete floor. She stared at the shovel, certain it hadn’t been there that morning when she’d left for work.

Kate was not easily frightened. But standing in the cold silence of her garage with nothing more than a flashlight for protection, she was afraid.

Lunging back, she darted into the house. She slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. Spinning, she ran through the utility and into the kitchen. Her stocking feet were silent against the tile as she darted to the phone, snatched it up, and punched 911.

“I want to report a prowler,” she blurted.

Another layer of fear settled over her when she realized the line was dead. “Hello?” She hit the plunger several times, but the line remained silent.
“Hello?”

Kate couldn’t believe this was happening. She could feel the fingers of panic digging into her, stealing her control. “Cell phone,” she whispered, trying to remember where she’d left it.

A gasp escaped her when the kitchen doorknob rattled. She spun. A scream tore from her throat when she saw the silhouette of a man through the glass. She’d checked the lock; it was secure. But if he broke the glass he could be inside in a matter of seconds. . . .

Dropping the phone, Kate leapt into a sprint and raced through the living room. Breaths tore raggedly from her throat as she burst into her bedroom in search of her cell phone. “Oh, God. Oh, God.
Where is it?
”

Her heart pounded like thunder in her veins. She could feel the panic encroaching. The terror grabbing her and shaking her like a giant beast.

She spotted her purse on the night table. Dashing to it, she yanked out the phone and punched 911. The operator had barely answered when Kate shouted, “I want to report a prowler! He’s trying to get into my house. 3553 Bluffview!
Hurry!
”

Taking the phone with her, she strode to the night table and removed the .22 mini-magnum revolver. Kate had taken the state-required test to qualify for her concealed weapon permit; she went to the range every couple of months. But the tiny revolver felt inadequate in her hands as she wrapped her fingers around the grip and pulled back the hammer with her thumb.

There was no lock on her bedroom door, so she didn’t bother closing it. If someone was in the house, she wanted to see him coming. Kate had vowed a long time ago she would never let anyone hurt her again. She would kill to protect herself. Or she would die trying.

Leveling the gun on the doorway, she moved to a corner of the bedroom. She crouched, shaking, listening. But all she heard was the wind in the trees. The frantic beat of her heart. And the echoing whisper of winter-dead leaves.

FOURTEEN

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 8:15 A.M.

“Congratulations.” Mike Shelley handed Kate a copy of the
Dallas Morning News
across his desk. “You’re famous.”

“What is it?” Dread curdled in her gut as she took the newspaper from her boss.

“A potential problem,” he said. “Have a seat.”

A ripple of unease moved through her when she saw her name in prominent black and white on the front page of the Metro Section. “Must have been a slow night for news,” she muttered, sinking into the chair.

 
Kate looked up from the newspaper and made eye contact with her boss. “I can’t believe this garnered space in the metropolitan newspaper of a city the size of Dallas.”

“Were you going to bother telling me about it?”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, but her heart rate was up. She was perturbed by the story and uneasy because she could tell he was pissed. “This sounds a lot worse than it really was.”

“You’re about to prosecute a capital case. You reported a prowler last night. Did it cross your mind that those two things could be related?”

“Look,” she said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “My electricity went out. I heard a noise in the garage. I got spooked, and I overreacted. There was no prowler.”

“Kate, how long have we known each other?”

“Three years.”

“Long enough for me to know you don’t overreact.”

“Mike . . .”

“Tell me what happened,” he snapped. “And don’t leave anything out.”

Quickly Kate recapped the incident from the night before, beginning with her electricity blinking off and ending when the two police cruisers arrived on the scene. She played down how frightened she’d been. She didn’t tell him about the note. In fact, she hadn’t even told the
police
about the note. She knew omitting pertinent information wasn’t a very smart thing to do. But Kate had a terrible feeling that what happened last night hadn’t been some random prowler.

There
had
been someone in her garage. But she didn’t think it was related to the Bruton Ellis case. Whoever had been in her garage was somehow connected to what happened eleven years ago. That was the one thing she did not want dredged up.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Mike said when she finished.

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think it was important enough to mention to you this morning.”

“Or maybe you wanted to see if this would slide by unnoticed because you don’t want anything getting in the way of your prosecuting the Bruton Ellis case.”

“I thought no such thing because there is no connection between what happened last night and the case.”

“You sure about that?”

Kate escaped having to answer when someone knocked on Mike’s office door. She glanced over her shoulder to see Frank Matrone enter. His hair was mussed as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, toweled it dry, and hadn’t bothered to comb it. He was wearing a nicely cut black suit, a burgundy tie, and cowboy boots.

“Sorry I’m late.” He smiled at Kate, then addressed Mike. “You wanted to see me?”

“I wanted to see you twenty minutes ago.” Mike motioned toward a second chair. “Have a seat.”

Irritation rippled through her when Matrone walked to the chair next to hers and sat down. “Hi, Kate. How’s it going?”

Ignoring him, she glared at Mike. “What’s he doing here?”

Mike frowned at her. “In case you’ve forgotten, he works here. He’s your investigator.”

She shot Frank a withering look. “I know that. I’m asking you what he’s doing at this meeting.”

“Be nice,” Mike said, then shot a look at Frank. “You seen the paper?”

“Not yet. What’s up?”

“Give him the paper, Kate.”

For an instant she was tempted to roll it up and hit him with it, but decided that wouldn’t be very productive and instead passed it to him with a tad too much force. “That story is hardly newsworthy.”

Frank took the paper, his heavy brows knitting as he began to read. Kate made eye contact with Mike, but her attention was on the man sitting next to her. His chair was too close to hers. So close she could smell his aftershave. A pleasing scent that spoke of masculinity and the out of doors . . .

Silence reigned for a full minute as he read. Slowly Kate’s initial irritation began to give way to uneasiness. She didn’t like surprises, but she had a sinking feeling she was about to get one thrown in her face. She could feel her shoulders tightening, her neck muscles following suit.

Frank lowered the paper and gave her an assessing look, and suddenly she knew why she was here. Why Mike was looking at her as if she were a naughty teenager about to be grounded for the rest of her life. Why Frank Matrone had been called to join them.

“You think this has something to do with the Bruton Ellis case?” Frank asked after a moment.

“You’re the ex-cop. I was going to ask you the same thing,” Mike said.

Frank rolled his shoulder. “Hard to say.” He looked at Kate. “Did you see anyone? Did they say anything?”

“No and no,” she said.

“Did he call you by name?” Frank asked.

Kate met his gaze, words from the note flashing in her mind’s eye.
Are you still as sweet as you were when you were seventeen, Katie?

“No,” she replied.

His gaze lingered on hers for an instant too long before he turned his attention back to Mike. “Life, Inc., has been making noise since you announced the DA’s office would be seeking the death penalty.”

“Prowling around an ADA’s house in the middle of the night isn’t their usual modus operandi,” Kate interjected.

“Anyone you put away been released from prison recently?” Mike asked.

“I look at the report from TDOJ every month, and there have been no cautions for this office,” she said.

“What do you make of it?” Mike asked Frank.

Frank gave Kate an assessing look. The kind of look a cop gave a hostile witness when he wasn’t getting the whole story. “Hard to tell on so little information.”

Sighing as if he were annoyed, Mike looked at Kate. “You should have brought this to my attention immediately.”

“I thought—”

“You thought I wouldn’t find out and you wouldn’t have to deal with it,” he cut in. “Give me a break, Kate, I didn’t get to be DA because of my outgoing personality.”

“Believe me, I didn’t think that for a second,” she said under her breath.

Mike didn’t smile. “I’m an inch away from assigning you personal protection.”

She stared at him, frustrated because that was the last thing she wanted to happen. Angry because he was right and she was coming very close to looking like an irrational fool. But she didn’t want anyone in the DA’s office to know about what had happened eleven years ago. She especially didn’t want anyone to know she’d hired Jack Gamble to track down the men responsible. Or that she planned to take care of the rest on her own.