Don't Look Back (8 page)

“But how did he get in my house?” Frustration boiled in her voice and she didn’t bother to hide it. Dakota reached under the table to grasp her fingers. The warmth of his hand soothed her ragged nerves and she gave him a squeeze.

Connor spoke up, “We checked the alarm wires. Nothing was cut.”

Dakota said, “And I had someone come out and change all the locks on your doors and windows.”

“You did?”

He looked at his watch. “Yeah. They should be done by now.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out two keys and handed them to her. “Here you go.”

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. “Oh, Dakota, thanks.”

The waitress chose that moment to deliver the food, and for a few minutes silence reigned as they dug in. Jamie finally set her fork on the edge of her plate.

“I appreciate you guys believing me.” She gave a little humorless laugh. “To be honest, I don’t know if I would have believed me.”

Dakota rubbed her shoulder and she let him. “Until it’s proven different, we’re going to treat this as a stalker situation, all right?”

“Thanks.”

George spoke up again. “You know, it’s hard to come up with a profile of a stalker with so little information, but they generally have some kind of personality disorder, some kind of mental illness. A lot are delusional. Can you think of anyone who you may have come across that might fit that description?”

“Just one,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” George looked confused.

Jamie blew out a breath and stood. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I need to get back to work.”

“Jamie . . .”

“I’m sorry, guys. I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m . . .” She laid some money on the table and headed for the door.

Back out under the hot sun, she paused and wondered if she’d be considered rude for walking out, but she felt so restless – and helpless. Like she had no say in the direction her life was taking. And that made her mad. She headed for her lab, wishing Samantha was available for a heart-to-heart sister chat.

A lilting whistle alerted her and she turned to find Dakota walking behind her. She stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“Jamie, would it help to have Maya sit in on any discussions we have of whoever’s after you?”

She resumed her walk. “
If
someone’s after me. And no, I’m just going to have to find a way to deal with it.”

He grasped her hand. “Come on, let’s walk in the park.”

Fear darted through her. “No. I don’t want to go to the park.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too hot for one thing and I’ve got to get back to work.”
And I’m scared to go there. It’s not on my safe-places-to-go route.
But she kept this information to herself.

He watched her for a moment, then acquiesced. “All right. I’ll walk you on back.”

They walked in silence for a minute or two, then Dakota said, “There was nothing on the security tapes.”

“Of course not,” she muttered. “Because there was no one in my office, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Connor and George are still talking about the stalker thing.”

“Connor’s got better things to do than sit around talking about me. He needs to be working on a case or something.”

A faint smile edged Dakota’s well-shaped lips. “He is.”

Back in the comfort of her lab, Dakota watched Jamie relax for the first time since they’d left for lunch. As she checked out her office for any more indications of an intruder, he watched her methodical movements. He had an idea. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Startled brown eyes latched onto his. “Huh?”

“You wanted me to teach you to shoot. Let’s go down to the firing range.”

In the act of shrugging into her lab coat, she paused. “Really?”

“Might as well.” He smiled. “Do you have anything better to do?”

She looked over at the bones laid out on the table. “Actually . . .”

“You might need this, Jamie.”

She shuddered. He hated to add to her stress level, but knowing how to defend herself might just save her life. She must have read that in his gaze because she nodded. “All right.”

“I’ll let Connor know what’s going on. He can continue the investigation into the bones and will call me if he needs me for anything.”

“All right. Just let me tell my boss and we can go, I guess.”

They made their necessary phone calls and within minutes were walking down to the firing range located in the basement of the station.

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asked.

“Yes, when I first came home from the hospital, I tried it a couple of times, but I never got very accurate before . . .”

“Before what?” he pressed, seeing the distress on her features. “Before I ended up too afraid to leave my own house.” She pulled her hair up in a ponytail and pinned the escaping tendrils with a couple of bobby pins. She placed the earphones over her ears, the goggles over her eyes, and grasped the gun he handed over.

He brought up a fresh target and said, “Aim for the chest.”

“What about his head?”

“Hit him in the chest first. You can go for the head once he’s down.”

Her jaw gaped a little as she studied him to see if he was serious.

He was. And he let her see it.

Swallowing hard, she nodded and turned her gaze back to the target.

Dakota moved behind her and said, “Now plant your feet apart about shoulder width, get into a comfortable stance.”

She followed his instructions to the letter as he explained how to grip the gun, how to aim and pull the trigger. “It sounds so easy.”

“It is once you do it for a while.”

“What if I miss?”

“That’s why you have more than one bullet in the gun.”

“Right.”

By the time they finished up an hour later, she was hitting the chest area of the target with almost every shot. No bull’s-eyes, but she could do some damage if the need arose.

He prayed it never would.

The Hero laughed softly to himself as he studied the pictures in the album. His treasure, his keepsake. One by one he flipped the pages. His first damsel in distress, then the second, the third – the one that got away.

He’d gotten careless with her. She’d begged him not to slit her throat. “Anything but that,” she’d wept. “I know you’re going to kill me, but do it any way you want, just don’t use a knife.”

He stroked her cheek with a finger, captured her tears with the digit and watched them drop to the floor. She sucked in such a brave breath and looked him in the eyes, his bright green eyes, the only thing showing through the mask he’d donned. His special mask. The one that turned him into a hero; the man who made everything better. “Then how do you wish to die, Jamie?”

“You’re my hero,” she whispered, thrilling him with her willingness to say the words without the knife in her face, “you can save me from death.”

“But only death stops the pain, Jamie. You have to die in order to be free.”

She looked away for a moment, then back. He saw her desperate struggle to keep her terror under control, but she gritted through her teeth, “Fine. Shoot me.”

He raised a brow. “I don’t shoot women, Jamie. That’s simply not . . . acceptable.”

A minute passed as she looked down, swallowed, then looked him in the eye. “Fine. I choose drowning.”

That surprised him. He hadn’t thought she’d actually choose. But it seemed she surprised him just about every time he turned around. Intrigued with her, he kept her longer than some of the others. But in the end he’d honored her request.

And look where he was now. She’d escaped. And he still didn’t know how. Fury rose up in him, hard to contain, writhing to get out.

“Stop the pain, stop the pain. Only you can do it,” the voice whispered, pushed him. “Only you can save me. Be my hero.”

He slapped his hands over his ears and eventually the voice stopped. Picking up the bottle on the seat beside him, he looked at the label. He must remember to get it refilled. Maybe. Actually, he’d been doing pretty well without it.

The bottle itself was a reminder. He had to keep it together, keep up the façade, or everyone would know. And they must not know.

His mind went back to Jamie. He’d honored her and her request, and she’d not responded in kind and honored him. She’d fought death. Had lived and gone on without him. How dare she? After he’d rescued her? Become her hero? Did his best to make the pain go away?

The rage built and he threw the book across the room. The pictures scattered and one fluttered next to his shoe. He bent and picked it up.

And knew what he was supposed to do.

8

Jamie slipped the new key into the shiny lock of her front door and turned to her bodyguard. “You didn’t have to walk me home, Dakota.”

“I know. I wanted to.” He leaned in a little. “I like spending time with you, Jamie.”

She pulled back, her heart in her throat. “Don’t . . . don’t like it too much, okay?”

“Jamie . . .” He threw a hand up. “When will you trust me? We’ve known each other over a year and a half and you still hold me at arm’s length. When are you going to let me in? Just a little?”

She knew he wasn’t talking about her front door.

A long pause followed his outburst. What should she say? What
could
she say?

“I told you . . . I warned you . . .” She bit her lip, wanting to cry – and punch him – all at the same time.

“I’m not playing games, Jamie, I care about you – a lot.”

“And I care about you. As a friend. Okay, more than a friend, but not . . . I don’t know if I can do more than friend. I honestly just . . . don’t know.” Keeping her tone neutral was hard. Almost impossible. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and be normal, like any other thirty-year-old single girl looking to meet someone, fall in love, and get married.

But she wasn’t normal.

Thanks to
him
.

“Then let’s find out.”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. “What do you mean?”

He followed her in and shut the door behind him. “I don’t know. I just . . . I . . .” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Hold that thought. Let’s do a walk-through of your house and you tell me if anything looks out of place.”

Pivoting on her heel, she let her eyes scan the room, then she walked into the kitchen. Nothing weird here. She followed him through the two bedrooms and the bath she’d had enlarged and turned into a small spa.

“Everything seems fine,” she reported. Thank goodness. A chill spilled onto her arms, causing goosebumps to pop up. Bumps that had nothing to do with the air conditioner. Could she get Dakota out of her house before he went down a path she wasn’t ready to explore yet?

“Good, now back to what we were talking about.”

Nope, he was determined.

She cocked her head as she walked back into the foyer and set her keys on the side table next to the front door. “You want more.”

He flushed and stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. I do.”

“I think I wish you didn’t.”

He froze. Then looked at the ceiling. “Why?”

“Because . . . I . . . don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t know or you’re scared to find out?”

This time it was her turn to go red. She turned and headed into the kitchen. Dakota followed at a slower pace. Jamie pulled a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator. She handed him one as she considered his very valid question. “I think it’s a little of both.”

“Look, Jamie, I know something horrific happened to you. That you were attacked. I understand he hurt you – ”

She whirled, cutting him off, the anger rising up like a tsunami. But her voice was barely above a whisper. “
Hurt
me? You think he
hurt
me? He didn’t
hurt
me. He
raped
me, then he
tortured
me, then he made me pick which way I wanted to die. Like I was picking out a car. Only instead of the choice between blue and red, I had to choose between having my throat slit and drowning. Only I didn’t drown. I lived.”

“Oh, Jamie . . .” He reached out a beseeching hand, but she waved him off.