Deadly Obsession (15 page)

But he didn't think facing Alan Thompson would be any less dangerous if the man was responsible for the vandalism to the house and crashing into Jillian's Jeep. If the man was that determined to keep people from living in his ex-wife's house, they could be up against a lunatic.

He turned south on the coastal highway and drove for the next fifteen minutes in silence.

“What happened back at the shelter?” Jillian asked out of the blue.

Chance lifted his foot from the accelerator. He'd been so buried in all the scenarios that could play out between them and Alan Thompson, he hadn't expected Jillian to bring up the trance he'd been in at the shelter. That seemed like hours ago. “Nothing.”

How could he tell her of all the thoughts that had blown through his head in that moment he remembered Ruger? She couldn't begin to understand what it did to a man to watch your friend get blown apart hugging an animal that had done nothing to be a part of the war but be born in the wrong place.

Jillian sat for a while without saying anything.

Chance thought she'd given up questioning him.

“Do you have dreams about your time in the military?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard it like a shout. Every other sound faded into the background, amplifying her words.

His heart hammered even harder than when Loki had had him pinned, and the blood thundered against his ears. Sweat beaded on his lip and he started to reach for the button to lower the automatic window and let cool air in. When he realized what was happening, he remembered what the therapist had said when he'd processed out of the military. Anxiety was natural for a soldier attempting to reintegrate back into society. The hardest thing was to recognize what was happening. Once he did, he could deal with it.

Inhaling deeply, Chance willed his heart to slow and his fingers to loosen their death grip on the steering wheel.

Jillian reached out and touched his arm. Though her hand was light on him, he still flinched.

“It's okay. I have nightmares, too,” she said.

He nodded. Her admission to the dreams seemed to give them something in common. Although he doubted her dreams were from watching buddies die, being shot at, bombed and constantly looking over your shoulder for the enemy. “You had one last night,” he said, preferring to deflect attention to her.

She nodded. “I haven't had one in a very long time, until last night. I used to get them a lot when I was a child.”

“Did you have a traumatic event that triggered them?”

Jillian shook her head. “None that I remember.”

“What do you mean, you don't remember?”

She shrugged. “I only have memories back to the fifth grade. Anything before that is a blank.” Jillian fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “Do you remember back when you were a kid?”

Chance nodded. “Not all the way back, but I can still remember my first grade teacher letting me erase the board. I thought it was an honor to be chosen.” Mrs. Talbot had been so kind and caring to every student in his class. “But I don't remember my other teachers until my seventh-grade math teacher.”

“So it's not unusual to forget so much,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

“I do remember wanting a puppy for Christmas, but my parents wouldn't let us have an animal. My father didn't want the bother, and my mother agreed with anything my father said.”

“Did your brothers and sisters ever ask for a puppy?”

Chance gave her a crooked smile. “I have a brother I never see, and parents I see even less. My parents didn't let us have pets.”

“I'm an only child. But my mother allowed me to have a dog. Daisy was always there when I came home. She was my friend when I didn't have any.”

“What kind of dog was Daisy?”

“A German shepherd.”

Chance laughed out loud. “And her name was Daisy?”

Jillian smiled. “I know. She looked like a badass guard dog, but she was all mush where I was concerned. I loved that dog so much.”

“What happened to her?”

Jillian glanced out the window, her smile fading. “She crossed the rainbow bridge the same year my mother and stepfather died in an airplane crash.”

“When was that?”

“The year before I moved to Cape Churn. I was ready for a change. Everything about Portland reminded me of what I'd lost. I needed to get away.”

“Why Cape Churn?”

“I saw an ad for a beach cottage rental when I was at my lowest and decided it was time for a change. I came to visit and moved here three months later.”

“And you haven't regretted it?” He glanced her way. “Until now?”

“Even with all that's happened, I still don't regret it. This town, that house—they make me feel more at home than my apartment in Portland. With my mother and stepfather gone, I had nothing holding me back.” She turned toward him. “Have you ever had a place call to you?”

He shook his head. “Can't say that I have. Other than the US in general. When I was fighting in the war, I wanted to come home to America. But no place in particular.” Until now. Cape Churn was wrapping around his heart the longer he stayed. Could it be a trick to his senses, or a desire to belong somewhere? His gaze drifted back to Jillian. Or was it this woman? Though her house had been vandalized and she'd been attacked, she still believed in Cape Churn as her home.

If he could help her discover the root of the attacks and lay them to rest, he'd feel a lot better about leaving after the wedding.

Chance faced the road, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Hell, who was he trying to kid? Cape Churn, his friend Nova, Molly, Gabe and most of all being with Jillian gave him purpose. Her spirit was infectious and her dogged determination to make that old house her home made him want to fight alongside her to ensure it happened.

Chapter 15

“M
r. Mortimer said we should be looking for a mailbox with an old tire attached to it.” Jillian shook her head and chuckled. “That shouldn't be hard to see.”

Chance slowed as they neared the area Mortimer had indicated. They'd climbed a rocky hillside, and the road clung to the edge of a cliff. At the top, the road wove inward amid tall stands of trees. Between bunches of bushes and trees, they could see the rocky shoreline.

“There!” Jillian pointed to a mailbox with an old rubber tire.

Chance pulled into the gravel driveway and drove through a stand of ragged bushes and old evergreens to a rustic cabin of cedar and stone, perched on the edge of a cliff. An old truck was parked to the side.

“Let me take this one,” Chance said.

“Mr. Mortimer didn't say anything about Thompson owning a dog.”

“He didn't say anything about Thompson owning a gun either.”

Jillian sighed. “Okay. I'll stay until you give me the all-clear sign.”

Chance started to get out, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“By the way, what is the all-clear sign?” She grinned.

“Thumbs-up.” Chance left her in the vehicle, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Jillian was like sunshine on a foggy day.

He climbed the porch steps, carefully scanning for any sign of vicious dogs or a gun pointing out of a window. Nothing made his hackles rise, so he knocked on the door.

For a moment, nothing happened and no sound came from inside.

Chance knocked again, louder this time. “Hello! Anyone home?”

Footsteps sounded from the side of the house. A man wearing painter's pants and a flannel shirt and carrying a paintbrush rounded the corner of the wraparound porch and stopped, a frown lowering his brows. “I'm not interested in buying anything, if that's why you're here.”

“We're not selling anything,” Chance said. “You don't have a big dog, do you?”

The man's frown deepened. “No.”

“And you don't have a gun in your pocket?” Chance continued.

“No. Why?” He glanced from Chance to the car. “Should I have a gun? If you're here to rob me, you're going to come up on the short end of that stick. I don't have much to steal. Just this house and some old clothes.”

“Are you Alan Thompson?”

The man nodded. “I am.”

Chance gave Jillian a thumbs-up and then held out his hand. “I'm Chance McCall.”

Alan shook Chance's hand, his brow wrinkling. “Nice to meet you. But why are you here?”

“We hope you can answer some questions for us.” He nodded toward Jillian, who'd climbed out of the vehicle and crossed the yard to the house. “Mr. Thompson,” Chance said, “this is Jillian Taylor.”

Alan's gaze fixed on Jillian as she walked up the stairs. Something like recognition flashed in the man's eyes for a moment. Then he glanced toward the road leading out of his property.

Jillian stuck out her hand. “Thank you for seeing us with no notice.”

Thompson was forced to look at Jillian, and he took her hand, his own wrapping around her fingers for longer than was necessary. “Miss Taylor. Do I know you?”

She tilted her head. “Perhaps you've seen me in Cape Churn?”

He shook his head. “I never go there.”

“Never?” She raised her brows. “From here, isn't it the closest town to purchase groceries and gas?”

“Yes, it is.” Thompson pulled his hand free of hers and tucked it in his pocket. “I prefer to go farther south.”

“Why?”

“Too many bad memories in Cape Churn.”

“Memories of your wife and daughter?” Jillian asked softly.

“Ex-wife.” Again, Thompson stared at Jillian, his gaze combing over her face and her hair. “Are you sure I don't know you?”

“I'm pretty sure. I grew up in Portland and moved to Cape Churn two years ago. Perhaps you met me in Portland?”

Thompson shook his head. “Haven't been there in fifteen years.”

“Mr. Thompson, we'd like to know a little more about the house Miss Taylor purchased in Cape Churn. It used to belong to Sarah Thompson.”

Thompson's jaw tightened. “I wish that house had burned down a long time ago. Nothing but bad memories for me there.”

“Why?” Jillian asked. “Because of what happened to your daughter?”

“That house was nothing but a stick in my craw from the day we moved in.” Thompson turned away, shoving a hand through his shaggy gray hair. “Hell, it wasn't really the house's fault. To be honest, everything that went wrong in that house was my fault.”

“Even the disappearance of your daughter, Julia?” Chance asked, holding his breath, wondering if he'd get a confession out of Julia's father.

“Yes, damn it.” Thompson turned back to Chance, his face haggard, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “If I'd been a better husband...if I'd been there for Julia...maybe none of that would have happened. And I wouldn't have lost Sarah.” He pushed past Chance and Jillian and dropped to sit on the porch steps, burying his face in his hands. “It was all my fault.”

Jillian glanced at Chance and then sat on the step beside Thompson. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Thompson, that was a long time ago.”

“It's like yesterday. I lost everything.”

“What happened?” Jillian persisted.

“We had a good life, Sarah, Julia and I. We had a nice little place on the beach in Cape Churn. Julia was a beautiful little girl. She looked like her mother, all shiny blond hair, but she had my eyes.” He lifted his head and stared at the driveway as if seeing the past, not the vehicles parked there.

“Then I was laid off at the bank. Hell, the bank closed down. That was about the time the bubble burst in the stock market. I lost my job, and Sarah lost her parents in a terrible car wreck.” He shook his head. “I tried to be there for her, but I didn't know where my next paycheck was going to come from. We had a mortgage on the house, and I couldn't pay the note. We lost the place on the beach.”

“And you moved into the house Sarah grew up in,” Jillian stated.

Thompson glanced up at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “I should have been thankful, but I was so bitter. I was a failure to the woman I loved and the child I wanted to look up to me. I started working as a bartender in a bar on the edge of town. Sarah went back to teaching. It seemed that for every drink I served, I served one up for myself. I came home drunk more often than sober. Sarah, bless her heart, tried to understand, but she didn't want Julia growing up around an alcoholic, and she told me to shape up or ship out.”

Jillian rubbed her hand on the man's arm. “So you moved out.”

“Sarah gave me six months to get myself together. I was buried too deep in the alcohol. I couldn't see to get straight until the divorce papers arrived at my apartment. I signed them, knowing Sarah and Julia were better off without me. Then Julia disappeared on her way home from school.” Tears slid down Thompson's cheeks.

Chance's chest tightened. Nothing in the man's demeanor indicated he had anything to do with the child's disappearance. From the look on his face, he had been devastated by the loss of his daughter.

His voice turned to wet gravel. “I was so drunk when the chief of police came to tell me, I couldn't lift my head off my couch. It wasn't until the next morning that it sank in. By then, every able-bodied man and woman in Cape Churn had been searching all night for my little girl.” He stared at Jillian. “And I'd been passed out, too drunk to care.”

Jillian fished in her jacket pocket and pulled out a clean tissue, handing it to Thompson. “But you did care.”

He nodded and blew his nose. “I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since. But it was too late. Julia was gone and Sarah hated me for not being there when Julia needed a father to look out of her.”

Chance slipped by Jillian and descended the stairs to stand in front of Thompson. “They questioned you about your daughter's disappearance.”

Thompson looked up at Chance. “I would never have taken Julia away from Sarah. Those two were so close, and I was a terrible excuse for a father.” His fists clenched. “But if I ever find out who took her for that thirty days, I'll kill him. No child should have to go through that kind of trauma.”

“Did you see Julia when she came back?” Jillian asked.

He nodded. “Sarah asked me to come speak to Julia when she couldn't get her to open up about what had happened to her while she'd been gone. She thought maybe I could get her to talk.” Thompson snorted. “That poor kid had been through so much, she had some kind of amnesia. Julia couldn't remember anything. I don't think she remembered me.” His tears started again and he looked into Jillian's face, his own ravaged with his memories. “My own daughter couldn't remember me. She barely remembered Sarah, but she remembered enough to come back to the house when she finally got free of the bastard who was holding her.”

Chance nodded. “I've seen soldiers with posttraumatic stress disorder have a kind of situational memory loss. I think they call it dissociative amnesia. The soldier who has been exposed to a traumatic event can't remember that event and sometimes even everything prior to that time. The trauma was so severe that the soldier's brain shuts off access to that memory. It's a defense mechanism.”

Thompson turned to Chance. “My daughter couldn't remember anything before her disappearance. She was in a state of shock, and I couldn't do anything to help.”

Jillian slipped an arm around the man's shoulders. “No one could. She probably had to have time to get over it.”

“We still had no idea who took her.” Thompson shrugged off Jillian's arm, pushed to his feet and paced the length of the porch. “Sarah lived in fear that whoever took Julia was still out there. I felt the same. She didn't know it, but I slept on the front porch in a sleeping bag. She took Julia to school and picked her up after. She even slept with Julia, afraid to let her out of her sight.”

“Who could blame her?” Jillian still sat on the porch step, her face drawn and sad. “She got her baby back. She wasn't going to lose her again.”

Thompson nodded. “Exactly. And the police had nothing to go on. No description. No location. Julia just appeared out of nowhere in the rain. Her tracks were washed clean, and dogs couldn't trace them back to where she'd been. With no lead on Julia's abductor, Sarah couldn't live in the house, knowing someone was still out there. She found me on the porch one morning and told me she was going to take Julia away, change their names and start over.”

“Why didn't you go with them?”

Thompson shook his head. “Sarah and I were divorced. They had a better chance of starting over without me.” He leaned his hands on the porch rails. “I let them go. I didn't hear from them again until I received legal documents from an attorney in Portland asking me to relinquish all rights to my daughter so that she could be adopted by her stepfather.” The man's voice faded off and he drew in a deep breath. “I still didn't have a real job. I wasn't fit to be a father after being an alcoholic. My wife and daughter deserved the happiness I couldn't give them. I signed.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Jillian said, her eyes swimming in tears as she pushed to her feet.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Thompson said.

Chance climbed the steps and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. The woman had so much empathy for others. She probably felt Thompson's pain as acutely as he did. It made Chance want to hold and comfort her.

Thompson straightened, looking old and tired. “That's my sob story, and why I think nothing good ever came from that house.”

Jillian's arm slipped around Chance. “But like you said, it's not the house's fault.”

“It was my fault for failing my family.”

“It was Julia's abductor who made it worse,” Chance pointed out.

“It kills me to know he's still out there.” Thompson's hands clenched. “Not a day goes by that I'm not racking my brain trying to figure out who took her.”

“Any thoughts on who might have done it?”

“The police questioned a lot of people in town but kept coming back to me and George Williams. George had been panting after Sarah since high school. As soon as he knew we were divorced, he came calling.” Thompson's lips turned up on the corners. “Sarah wouldn't have anything to do with him. I'd bet he had something to do with it, but he had an airtight alibi.”

“We ruled him out when he fell victim to one of the attempts to get me to leave,” Jillian said.

Thompson's brows rose.

Chance told the other man what had happened and went on to tell him about the wreck and the graffiti.

“Wow. Someone really wants you out of that house.” Thompson touched Jillian's arm. “I'm glad to see you're okay. If it were me, I'd burn the house down. But then, that house only reminded me of what I couldn't provide for Sarah.”

“I love the house,” Jillian said. “It just needs the right person to care enough to make it a home again.”

Thompson gave her a sad smile. “That's what Sarah said. I guess I wasn't the right person, or I didn't care enough to make it a home.” Again, he stared out at the driveway. “If I had it all to do over again, I'd have done it right. Sarah and Julia were worth the effort. I just couldn't see past my own problems to know that. I'd give anything to beg their forgiveness. Even after all these years, I still love them.”

“Mr. Thompson, I have to ask,” Chance started. “Where were you last night around eight o'clock?”

Thompson nodded. “I understand. I'd be asking the same question in your shoes. I was at my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I've been going for the past seventeen years. Funny thing is, now I'm leading it.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed Chance a card. “Call my assistant, he can verify.”