Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (118 page)

“Well, I'm happy something put a smile on your face,” I say softly as he opens the driver's side door for me.

He sighs as he looks down at me, and he gently caresses my face. “I'm sorry, Sam. I know that I've been quiet and moody since yesterday, but it's nothing for you to worry about. It's just work.”

“Okay,” I say, letting him off the hook. “I'm glad you got your wish.”

He laughs slightly, and I can tell he's relieved. “I got my wish the day you said 'yes,' baby. I love you so much,” he says as he kisses me. “Come on. In you go, back to work.”

I turn and climb into the car, still wearing my goofy, so-in-love-with-my-husband smile as I fasten my seatbelt.

“I'll see you at home. You drive safe,” he instructs as he closes my door. As I back out of my parking space I see him walk over to the unmarked police cruiser, and I blow him a kiss as I pass by. And as I drive back to my office I can't help the growing sense of excitement I feel, knowing that I'm carrying a boy. Somehow knowing his sex makes it more real, and I can stop calling him 'peanut' or 'the baby' and start thinking of a real name. That thought makes me smile.

But my excitement isn't just about little what's his name. It's the holidays in general. I've always loved this time of year. Christmas was something that Daddy always did really well, going to great lengths to manufacture a perfect Norman Rockwell setting for Lucas and me. It was his favorite holiday, and when he first passed away, this was a really difficult time of year for me. Suddenly what used to be a time of great celebration and joy had become full of such sadness and gloom. But all that changed again when Joshua stepped into my life. When we celebrated our first Christmas together, we had been married for about a month, and I was three months pregnant with the twins. It was such a romantic, magical time…

*

I watch the slowly twinkling Christmas tree lights as I sit in Josh's arms, and he softly kisses my neck. I smile looking up into his impossibly blue eyes, and he gently runs a hand over my growing baby bump as he holds my gaze.

“Just think,” he whispers as he smiles at me. “Next Christmas Eve, we'll be putting these two to bed early so that we can assemble toys!”

The light in his eyes is so animated and playful that I can't help but giggle, and he laughs with me. “I hadn't thought of that,” I say softly. And I feel physically unable to wipe the smile off my face. I don't ever remember being this happy before in my entire life. “Wow. Daddy,” I whisper as I lightly poke my finger to his chest and he laughs again, warm and deep, as his arms tighten around me. I love that sound!

“Yeah, that's pretty shocking, huh?” he says. “What about you? Mama!” He smiles at me and I shake my head in amused disbelief. His hand moves from my tummy to my face with a soft caress and his eyes lock onto mine. “Thank you, Samantha,” he whispers.

His voice is so earnest and his gaze is so intense that it takes me by surprise. “What for?” I softly ask.

He hesitates a moment before he answers. “For choosing to love me. For giving me a family.”

“Joshua.” The word is a whispered prayer on my lips before he kisses me, and we make love on the couch in front of the Christmas tree.

*

That is one of my favorite Christmas memories, and my goofy smile only gets bigger as it runs through my head. That was such a wonderful time in our lives when our marriage was new and we were so in love.
Like you're not still ridiculously, nauseatingly in love?
I roll my eyes at my subconscious, but she's right. And I stroll into the foundation's offices with the slyest of grins on my face.

I get right to work, making up for the lost time this morning. I have so much to do, and with the holiday fast approaching, I'm quickly running out of time. The foundation is planning a New Years Eve gala that will showcase the works of several promising young artists while also helping to raise funds for the local battered women's shelter. This is only the second year for the event, and I'm hoping to turn it into an annual bash. I want it to become one of the can't-miss, social events of the holiday season for Seattle's most prominent art patrons. This year's theme is a black and white ball, and it's being held in the beautiful and spacious Lola Thorne Gallery.

I glance down at my watch and realize that I have just enough time to grab my notes from my desk and to go through my messages before it's time to leave for a scheduled meeting with Lola and the event planner we're working with for the event. Lucky for me the art foundation offices are just half a block away from Lola's Gallery, in easy walking distance. Not at all why I chose this building, but I can't argue that it has made planning this gala a whole lot easier.

There's nothing pressing in my small pile of messages so I am out the door again in minutes. I make the short walk to the gallery and greet Lola with a warm hug. We jump right in and work steadily, going over all the tiny decorating details of the party, and Sasha, the event planner, walks Lola and I through her interpretation of my concept. I've envisioned an elegant affair with tasteful and sophisticated holiday décor, delicious food, and beautiful musical interludes provided by several of the students who are benefiting from the foundation's many art and music programs. It's going to be a grand affair for all of them, and I get more excited with each passing day.

After that meeting ends, Lola and I make our way to a small café across the street for a quick lunch. We chat about the foundation and how things are going at her gallery, and before I know it, it's time to get back to work. I spend the rest of the afternoon in a meeting with our financial director and the program's coordinator going over the foundation's plans for the coming year. And when I finally get back to my office and take a seat at my desk, I am exhausted! Why does pregnancy seem to zap all your energy? Right now, I want nothing more than to go home, kiss my babies, and collapse on the couch for a nice long nap. But I know that won't happen, because when I do get home and kiss my babies, they'll want to play and tell me all about their day. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Then I'll finish up the dinner that I know Olivia has already started preparing as I try and persuade her to stay and join us. Whether she'll agree to eat with us or not is really the only variable.

I smile at the notion that I know exactly how this day is going to play out because that knowledge comforts me. I love the quiet little life that Josh and I have created for ourselves. It may not be typical in the sense that we don't have any of the money worries and financial struggles that a lot of young couples our age do, but we don't live extravagantly either, much to my mother's chagrin. It's simple and it's genuine and it suits us.

I'm still smiling as I gather my things to leave for the day, and my office phone rings. I pick up the receiver with one hand as I'm tucking a file folder into my messenger bag with the other.

“Samantha Colby Pierce,” I say politely. But I hear no one on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

I don't hear a voice, but what I do hear instantly fills me with fear. Music. Creepy, mechanical music, like from a music box, and I shiver as my skin crawls from the base of my spine all the way up to the back of my neck, and an image of a flaming heart tattoo flashes in my mind's eye. I am so startled that I drop the receiver. It hits my desk with a loud clanking thud, and I am paralyzed for a few moments as I stare at it.

This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is not happening! My heart is pounding and I'm unable to speak, or even yell. My brain is too stunned for tears as I quickly push my chair away from my desk with my hands. As I do, I realize that they're shaking.
No! This is not happening. This is some mistake, it has to be!
With frantic, still trembling hands, I reach for my cellphone on the edge of my desk and hit the speed dial. As always whenever I call him, he answers on the first ring.

“Hi, baby.” His voice is deep and soft and welcoming. I can hear his smile over the phone. And as shaken as I am right now, I'm instantly soothed by his seeming presence.

“Josh?”

“What's wrong, Sam?” he asks, and I can hear the concern in his voice. I don't know how he's able to discern my state of mind from just one uttered word, but he does. It's one of the things that has always fascinated me about him. How he always seems to know when I'm upset or scared or worried, usually without a word from me. Like he has some direct line to my emotions.

“I don't know,” I begin, feeling silly now for having called. I feel even sillier when the office phone begins to beep incessantly, indicating the line is dead and the receiver needs to be hung up.

“What's that noise?” Josh asks.

“It's the phone,” I reply, and I can hear the unshed tears in my voice. “Josh … something just happened. I think …”

“Sam?”

“I think I just got a call from … Timothy Echols.” The fear washes over me anew at the mention of his name.

“What? You got a call from the prison?”

“No, it wasn't from the prison,” I say loudly, trying to explain and growing very flustered. “I mean … I don't know where the call came from but …”

“Baby, calm down for a minute,” Josh says. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

I do as he asks and inhale deeply, allowing the air to fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “The phone rang just a few minutes ago. And when I answered it, there was no one there. Just music. Just creepy mechanical music. The same music …”

“Samantha,” Josh's voice is calm and even, but I can tell he's finding it hard to believe me. “Baby, are you sure about what you're saying?”

“Yes, I'm sure! I know what I heard, Josh,” I practically yell.

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” he says soothingly. “I'm assuming you're still at your office, is anyone there with you or has everyone gone for the day?”

“No, Brenda and Tom are still here.”

“Okay. I'm sending Conner over right now to take a statement from you. And I will be there as soon as I can, alright?”

“Alright,” I whisper, feeling anxious.

“Hey,” he says softly, sensing my uneasiness. “I'm across town at a crime scene, but I am leaving right now. I'll be there soon, baby,” he assures me.

“Okay,” I say softly, my anxiety growing by the second. We hang up and I sit at my desk, wringing my hands for a while. Unable to stand the wait, I get up and begin pacing the room like a caged animal as my eyes dart over the artwork on my walls and the pattern on my floor. I hear that music again in my head and it makes me shudder. I have to get out of here.

Walking quickly, I leave my office and make a bee line for the small but well-appointed break room and busy myself making a cup of lavender tea. And as I go about the ritual of heating water in the electric kettle I'm dismayed to find that my hands are still shaking. I try to ignore it as I continue on my task, placing the tea bag into the cup and pouring in the water. I place a stirrer into the cup and hold it in both hands as I inhale the delicate, soothing aroma. I'm carefully carrying my tea back to my office when I'm met with Dave Conner and his new partner standing at my door.

“Hi, Dave. I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” I smile somewhat sheepishly as he gives me a brief kiss on the cheek.

“No, it's okay. We just got here,” he says, studying my face in that way that all cops do when they're talking to you in a business-related fashion, even if they're talking to a friend. “You remember my partner, Anne Marsh?”

“Of course, how are you, Anne?”

“Good, Mrs. Pierce.”

“I know I'm the boss's wife, but please call me Samantha,” I smile as I turn and lead them into my office and take a seat in one of the chairs across from my desk. “I'm sorry that Josh sent you here,” I say, looking up at them. “The truth is I'm feeling very foolish right about now.”

“Don't be silly, Sam,” Dave says as he sits in the chair beside me, taking out a notepad and pen from his pocket. “Guy sent me here because you were obviously upset enough to call him. Why don't you tell us what happened?”

I take a deep breath, followed by a sip of my lavender tea. And then I tell them everything I remember about the strange phone call.

“The music was so … familiar,” I whisper as the unshed tears sting my eyes, and I shake my head slightly.

“I don't mean for this to sound condescending, Sam,” Dave says after a slight pause. “But Guy said you mentioned Timothy Echols. Are you sure that the music was the same, or could it maybe be that you just associate all music boxes with Echols now?”

I take a moment to really consider his question. And I'm aware that Josh has just quietly walked into the room and is listening intently, watching me closely. I think back to four years ago when Echols attacked me and then proceeded to stalk me. How many times did he call me and play that eerie, hair-raising music? And how could anyone think I would ever forget it.

Silently, I wipe an escaped tear from my cheek with my fingers as I slowly shake my head. “For nearly a year afterwards, I would hear that music in my nightmares, Dave,” I say softly. “It was the same.”

“Okay,” he nods at me.

“Baby,” Josh says as he walks further into the room and kneels down beside my chair, taking my hand. “Is this the first unusual thing that's happened at your office lately?”

My eyes meet his in a questioning gaze as I wonder briefly why he's asking. And I frown as something comes to my mind. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, and I see him exchange a look with Dave.

I shake my head again. “No. Yesterday, there was a strange package in the mail. Addressed to me with no return address on it.”

“Is that unusual by itself?” Dave asks.

“Well, it actually wasn't so much the missing return address that was unusual,” I answer. “Normally all the mail I receive here comes addressed to Samantha Colby. Or to Samantha Colby Pierce. This came to
Mrs. Pierce.
”

“What was in the package?” Josh asks.

“Rose petals.”

“Rose petals?” he repeats as his brow knits together.