To Trust a Stranger (24 page)

This time she didn't move, just lay limply back against the seat with her hands in her lap, battling a renewed urge to heave. When the latch released, he eased the seat belt away from her and took a quick, assessing look at her face.

“Hang on a few more minutes, tough guy,” he said, his voice both rough and surprisingly tender at the same time, and slid his arms around her to scoop her out.

Julie didn't answer. She was too busy trying to keep all her cookies on board. Instead, she curled her arms around his neck and burrowed her head into the hollow between his neck and shoulder and closed her eyes, trusting him to take care of everything, to take care of her.

It was amazing to consider how much, in such a short span of time, she had grown to trust Mac.

“When we get inside,” he said, striding toward the emergency room doors with her in his arms, “here's what I need you to do .... “

Later, after the police had arrived along with a frantic-seeming Sid and, some ten minutes after that, Julie's even more frantic-seeming mother and sister, Mac slid out from behind the potted
ficus
and the newspapers that had served as his cover and left the hospital. The circus was in full swing inside. He didn't want any part of that. And Julie didn't need him anymore. At least, not at this end.

Dawn was just beginning to outline the eastern horizon in glowing orange. Not that the early hour made any difference to his plans. He slid into the taxi that waited, and made a second phone call as it pulled away from the curb.

When Mother answered, clearly peeved at having his beauty sleep disturbed, Mac cut him off with a few well-chosen words.

“I need some information.”

17

BY TUESDAY MORNING JULIE WAS BACK AT WORK. She'd spent Sunday night in the hospital for observation and Monday night at her mother's. Although to everyone else she insisted that she was fine, to herself she acknowledged that she was still not mentally over the attack. Or physically over it either, for that matter. As Mac had suspected, she had suffered a slight concussion-or, as he'd so descriptively put it, scrambled brains. She had a baseball-sized bruise on her temple, three more in the approximate shape of ladyfingers on her throat, and one small crescent-shaped one just to the left of her belly button. All were an ugly shade of purple, and the ones on her face and throat were all but impervious to attempts to hide them with makeup. In their honor, she wore a petal-pink sleeveless sweater dress with a high, concealing turtleneck that she would have ordinarily deemed too hot for the weather, and accessorized it with a narrow purple belt and a pair of sinfully expensive purple sandals.

At least, she thought with a glimmer of humor, eyeing herself in one of the mirrored walls of her shop, no one could say she wasn't color-coordinated.

They could say plenty of other things, though. She was starting to feel like a one-woman sideshow. She'd been badgered for details by everyone from the police to Sid to her mother and Becky to friends and neighbors to people she didn't remember ever meeting in her life.

Only Sid's combined cajoling and threatening of the publisher had kept the story out of the local newspaper. The consensus was that the attack was probably related to the theft of her car: either the thief had come across her picture in her purse-on her driver's license, maybe and been moved by it to attack, or the attack had been part of the original plan, which had been aborted for some reason, and the criminal had come back to finish the job.

After all, what were the chances of two unconnected crimes occurring at the same address within two days?

Not to worry, though: The police assured her that (a) they would solve the case; and (b) it was unlikely that the criminal would return.

Given what they knew, Julie supposed that both were reasonable assumptions. She was not convinced of either point, however: look how easy they were to fool. She was sure that the man who had attacked her was not one of the punks who had stolen her car. No way, no how. Number one, the punks who stole her car had her keys, a fact of which the police were not aware and which she could find no way of letting them in on that did not involve admitting her lie; they would not have needed to jimmy the back door, which her attacker had done. For obvious reasons, she discussed that small glitch in the official theory with no one but Mac. He had called her twice, once at the hospital and once at her mother's, and they'd spoken briefly and guardedly, but she had not seen him since he'd left her in the emergency room.

To her own dismay, she caught herself missing him. A lot.

It was an unusually busy morning, both because Monday's appointments had been blended with Tuesday's and because of the looming start of the Miss Southern Beauty pageant. Besides Carlene, Julie was dressing seven other contestants.

All had come in for final fittings, and finding herself knee deep in adjusting built-in padded bras and waist whittling spandex dress liners was cathartic. Life was, more or less, back to normal, and Julie was grateful for that. She never in her life wanted to go through another weekend like the one she had just spent.

When the phone rang around one, Julie was on her knees putting the last few stitches in a client's competition evening gown. Her mouth was full of the pins she had removed from the aqua silk-satin creation as she worked her way around the hem, tacking it up.

“Julie, you have a phone call,” Meredith said, entering the dressing room and looking down at her. “Someone named Debbie.”

Julie almost swallowed the pins. In the interests of personal health and safety, she spit them out in her hand.

“Thanks.” She motioned Meredith over to continue the task, and stood up, smiling at her red-haired client through the mirror. “Excuse me. I'll be right back.”

This one-Tara Lumley-was sweet, as most of them were. Her handler sat quietly in a corner thumbing through a magazine.

Absolute dolls, both of them. Too bad that, in Julie's expert opinion, Tara didn't have a prayer of defeating Carlene.

Julie was all for someone, anyone, defeating Carlene.

Julie deposited the pins in a crystal container on her desk, and picked up the phone.

“Hi,” she said, her voice far huskier and more intimate than it would have been if she truly had been addressing a Debbie whose name and gender matched.

“Hi, yourself.” The sound of Mac's voice made her heartbeat quicken and her hand tighten on the receiver. Julie recognized her response as a bad thing, and enjoyed it anyway. “You got any plans for lunch?”

“I've already eaten.” Two carrots and some crackers, just before noon. Oh, God, she wanted to see him. So much it scared her.

“Me too.
So's
how about you heading across the street to the Taco Bell anyway? I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Tell you when you get here.”

Julie hesitated, thinking of Tara. Amber had gone to lunch, which meant that Meredith would have to handle everything alone. But Amber would be back within the hour, and Meredith was perfectly capable of dealing with anything that came up, as long as Julie was back by three. That's when Carlene was scheduled for her next fitting. Thinking of Carlene, Julie groaned inwardly and made up her mind. She deserved a break today. “Be right there,” she said, and put down the phone. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall across the room, Julie frowned. Suddenly pink and purple to match her bruises didn't seem like such a good idea-and the clingy skirt seemed to make her butt look enormous.

Frowning, she walked into the showroom and rifled through the racks until she found the square-necked lilac sundress she sought. It was short, slim-cut, and far more chic than the pink sweater dress, and had the added advantage of working well with her sandals. Hurrying back into her office, she changed, hanging her discarded dress on the rack with some of the newly arrived stock that had yet to be put on display. With the addition of a four-strand pearl choker to hide the worst of the bruises on her throat, and pearl earrings, also from stock, she was ready. Observing herself in another of the ubiquitous mirrors as she left, she smiled. With her black hair and tanned skin providing a nice contrast to the lilac linen and pearls, she looked good. Very Jackie O, but good.

Butterflies took flight in her stomach at the idea that Mac was waiting for her right across the street, and she shook her head at herself. She was reacting like a teenager in the throes of her first crush. And over Debbie! The thought made her smile.

After calling Meredith aside and telling her that she had to run a quick errand, Julie walked across the street to the Taco Bell. She said a cheery good afternoon to one of the clerks from the candle shop next door, who was outside smoking a cigarette and stared at the still faintly visible, despite her best efforts with makeup, bruise on her temple with unabashed curiosity. The sun was blinding as it bounced off the pavement, the heat hung like a translucent veil in the air, and the passing cars were no more than shooting flashes of color and carbon monoxide. Traffic was heavy as usual at midday as shoppers patronized both the strip mall where Carolina Belle was located and the larger shopping
center
directly across the street. Julie was careful as she hurried across the road, shielding her eyes with her hand and looking both ways. Jaywalking was officially illegal, but everyone did it, including the tourists. Summerville was that kind of town. The Taco Bell was busy. A line of cars crept toward the drive through window, and through the plate glass Julie could see that the restaurant was full. She was just about to head inside when a short, sharp whistle drew her attention. Glancing around, she spotted Mac, and her pulse rate immediately increased. He was near the back of the parking lot, leaning against the Blazer with his arms crossed over his chest, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt under a Hawaiian shirt so bright it rivalled the sun. A pair of
Oakleys
were wrapped around his face. It was clear from the smile just touching the corners of his mouth that he was watching her, but the sunglasses kept her from seeing his eyes. God, he was gorgeous, was the thought that immediately sprang into her mind. Then, with an inner groan: Why did he have to be gorgeous? Even as the thought hit her, Julie felt an answering smile curve her lips quite of its own volition. Gorgeous or not, she was glad to see him. Really, really glad to see him. And a little embarrassed, too, she realized, which wasn't surprising when she thought about it. After all, this was the man she had kissed shamelessly the last time she'd set eyes on him. The man whose lap she had straddled and whose hand she had boldly pressed to her breast. The man she had all but begged to make love to her. The man who had said no. She didn't know whether to be mad at him or grateful for that.

“
Yo
,” Mac said by way of a greeting as she got closer. His arms uncrossed, his hands dropped, and Julie realized that he was holding one end of a leash. A black leather leash. Eyes widening, she followed it down past the front of the Blazer just in time to see Josephine emerge from behind one of the small, scruffy bushes that grew in the grassy strip that separated the Taco Bell parking lot from the Kroger parking lot next door: Josephine, minus her pink hair bows and nail polish, sporting a black leather collar with silver studs. Spotting Julie in turn, Josephine gave a sharp little yap of recognition and danced to meet her.

“Hi, Josephine.” Julie squatted to pet her. Josephine waxed ecstatic, wagging her tail so hard her whole body shook, licking Julie's chin and her hand and in every doggy way possible giving Julie to understand that she was delighted to see her.
 
“What did you do?” Julie glanced up at Mac accusingly. He had straightened away from the car, she saw as her gaze traveled up the lean, hard length of him with appreciation, and was at that moment in the act of removing his sunglasses.

“What? Oh, you mean the collar? I got her a new one. The pink was doing bad things to my self-esteem.”

“She looks like dominatrix poodle.” Julie gurgled with laughter as she stood up.

“She does not.” Tucking the
Oakleys
away in his shirt pocket, he looked at Josephine, who was balanced on her haunches in front of Julie with her front paws waving in the air in an obvious bid for more attention.

“Damn, she does.”

“Yes, I know. He has no taste,” Julie said to Josephine in a commiserating tone as she picked the poodle up. “You can tell from his shirts. But don't worry, I'll talk to him about getting your collar back, I promise.”

“You got a problem with my shirts?” Mac sounded affronted. He was also grinning. “Not at all. Except that a person needs sunglasses to look at them.”

“They make me look like a tourist. I'm trying to blend in.” “I'm sorry to be the one to break the news, but I don't think it's working.” Julie was smiling as she glanced up from petting Josephine. Her eyes met Mac's and held. The memory of the last time they were together quivered in the air between them, as intangible but indisputably there as the heat, and Julie felt her body quicken in instinctive response. Then, from the security of Julie's arms, Josephine wriggled and whined, drawing Julie's attention away from Mac to her doggy self, as was, no doubt, her intent. Which was probably a good thing, Julie thought as, acting as Josephine's surrogate, she unfastened the offending collar and handed it, leash still attached, to Mac with an audible sniff, while Josephine shook her head in obvious pleasure at being liberated. She was still a married woman in the first throes of a divorce, after all, and Mac was still, hard as it was to accept the Oprah certified truth, probably no more and no less than a predictable phase she was going through. A hunky predictable phase. A hunky predictable phase who had saved her life. A hunky predictable phase who had saved her life and whose mere presence made her day.

“Just like two females to stick together. For your information, Mr. Blackwell, she's lucky to be alive to get a new collar,” Mac said, shooting Josephine a dark look as he unlocked the passenger door.

“While you and I were out having fun the other night, she ate my bathroom wall. Chewed a hole in it the size of a basketball.”

“Oh, dear.” Julie couldn't help it. She laughed. “She must have been bored.”

“She must have been something. Like suicidal.” Mac opened the door and waited for Julie to get in. As she passed him, his gaze touched on her bruised temple and the corners of his eyes tightened in obvious concern.

“How are you feeling?” His tone had gentled.

“Better than I look.”

“Not possible,” he said, and closed the door before she could reply. Julie sat there with her arms around Josephine and her heart skipping like a little lamb in springtime while he came around the front of the car to slide in behind the wheel. He's a phase, she reminded herself sternly once again as he tossed the collar and leash in the back and she got a good look at an athlete's muscled arms and torso in motion. Just a phase.

“So what do you want to talk to me about?” she asked in as businesslike a tone as she could muster as he started the car. Josephine wriggled out of her hold, then stretched her length across her lap and closed her eyes. The warm weight of the little dog was soothing. Absently, Julie stroked Josephine's frizzy coat.

“Word on the street is that nobody local did this.” His gaze touched meaningfully on the bruise on her temple. The Blazer headed for the street. “At least, if it's someone local, he's not one of the usual cast of criminals and perverts.”

Julie felt her stomach tense as she tried to ward off memories of the attack.

“What does that mean?”

“It could mean a lot of things. A burglar escalating things to a whole new level. Somebody just moved in from out of town, whose MO's still off the radar. I'm not sure yet. Which is one reason 1 wanted to talk to you. 1 want permission to search your house.”

Julie stared at him. A blue Corvette just outside her window kept pace with the Blazer, and Julie realized that they had reached the street and were moving with the flow of traffic. The wizened little man driving it, natty in a linen sport coat and striped shirt, had to be at least eighty. You go, guy, she thought with a tiny inner smile, and returned her attention with some difficulty to the topic at hand.

“The police have already searched the house.” Her voice was constricted. She did better if she just flatly refused to think about the attack.

Something in Mac's expression made Julie feel like there was a drop of ice water trickling slowly down her spine.

Looking at him, she gave an involuntary little shiver. Josephine, apparently feeling the movement, looked up from her nap with big, questioning eyes. Julie rubbed her ears, and found some relief in doing so.

“I know,” Mac said. Julie was starting to recognize that impassive face. It meant there was something he wasn't sharing with her. “But you've got to understand that the police are busy. They've got lots of crimes to investigate-and your husband made it clear to the powers that be that he wants to minimize this one. Any clue why he'd want to brush a brutal assault on his wife under the rug?”

Julie gave a bitter little laugh, and burrowed her fingers deep in Josephine's coat. “That's easy. The subdivision. Sid's company developed it, you know. It might hurt property values if people started thinking that women were being attacked in their own homes there. And Sid is really, really against anything that might hurt property values.”

Josephine responded to the attention with an enormous yawn. Her lids drooped, and her head returned to her paws. Julie wished that she could rid herself of her own worries that easily.

“Property values are important.” Mac's tone was dry.

“I thought you were supposed to be finding out who my husband bought the Viagra for.” Julie deliberately tried for a lighter note. Having her stomach tie itself in knots was not a pleasant sensation and she was getting tired of it.

Mac grinned, glancing at her, and the atmosphere did indeed lighten. “Hey, what can I say? I'm a full-service investigator.”

Julie made a face at him, relieved that the knot in her stomach was easing. “For your information, Mr. Full Service Investigator, Sid's going to Atlanta this afternoon. He'll be gone for three days. So what are you doing about it?”

“I know that. You think I don't know that? That's another reason I wanted to talk to you. Ordinarily, I'd follow him, because cheaters tend to hook up with their honeys on out-of-town trips. But under the circumstances I think it's better if I stay here. I don't like the idea of leaving you on your own.” A serious note entered his voice as he said that last.

“You think the guy's coming back, don't you?” This time her spine was assaulted by an icy river instead of an icy drop. Julie shivered again, more violently this time.

“Slow down.” He saw her shiver and shook his head. “I don't necessarily think he's coming back. What I think is, it pays to be careful. Whatever happens, I'll make sure you're safe until we get this all sorted out. Trust me.”

Julie took a deep, steadying breath. “I do.”

The smile he gave her then was slow and sweet, and sexy as hell.

“That's my girl.”

His girl. God, what she wouldn't give to be. Phase or no.

The Blazer stopped, and Julie realized that they were pulling onto the grass verge in front of the DeForests' big brick house, which was across the street and catty-corner to her own.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, I want to search the house. Now's the best time, because none of your neighbors are home during the day, and Sid's headed out of town. What I'd like you to do is come in with me, show me around, maybe walk me through what happened Saturday night. Are you up to it?” He put the car in park and looked at her steadily. Julie's every instinct quailed at the prospect. She had not entered the house since Mac had carried her out of it; Sid had spent the last two nights in it alone. Left to her own devices, she was more likely to fly to the moon than walk inside that house again.

Even thinking about it made her start to hyperventilate.

But if Mac thought this guy would be coming back ...

She took a deep, calming breath, clenched her fists so that her nails dug into her palms, and nodded. Josephine, sensing her unease, looked up again.

“I'll be right with you every step of the way.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he glanced down at Josephine, who was getting to her feet in Julie's lap and arching her back in a luxurious stretch like a cat.

“And hey, you've even got a guard dog on duty. What could be safer than that?” It was hard to picture Josephine as a guard dog, Julie reflected, but she smiled gamely nonetheless. And, paradoxically, smiling made her feel better. And braver. She still had her Fm so brave smile firmly in place when she walked around the front of the Blazer, Josephine cradled in her arms, to discover Mac affixing a large, white, magnetic sign to the driver's door. LAWN-PRO LAWN AND LANDSCAPING, it said, above a local telephone number. Reading it, Julie's eyes widened.

“I keep it in the back for occasions such as this,” Mac explained, in response to Julie's look. “Nobody: ever gives me a second glance with this thing on the door. You'd be surprised how many of these services operate in
neighborhoods
like this during the day.” Indeed, now that she thought about it, Julie could hear the muted roar of a lawn mower in the distance. A glance around showed her a man sitting atop an orange commercial mower several yards over, paying them not the least attention as he merrily did his thing. Ordinarily, she never would have noticed him. “It's called hiding in plain sight,” Mac said as if he could read her mind. Curling a hand around her upper arm, he practically towed her up her own driveway. The contrast between the relentless sun and baking heat outside and the cool, dim hush of the house couldn't have been more unsettling as, using her key, Mac opened the front door and they stepped inside. He closed the door behind them. Julie's heart raced as gloom enveloped them, and her stomach felt like it was playing Twister. Her breathing quickened; sure enough, she was going to hyperventilate. Stop it, she ordered herself as she took several hesitant steps inside her own front hall. Carefully she regulated her breathing: in and out, slow and steady. At least, she thought, there were no words of warning from her little voice. If she ever heard that puppy again, she was listening up big time. Josephine, lying contentedly in her arms, was a godsend. The little dog gave her something to concentrate on besides her fear. She was no heavier than Kelly or Erin on the day they'd been born, and her woolly coat reminded Julie of a fleece the girls had slept on as babies. Holding the dog closer, she grew calm enough to look around. There was no visible reminder of her ordeal, she was relieved to see: no footprints, no drops of blood, nothing. The house was pristine, and smelled faintly of Murphy's Oil. Of course, the cleaning service came every Tuesday and Thursday morning; that also accounted for the fresh sheen on the marble floor and the gleam on the just-polished furniture. Strange that the house should be exactly as it had always been, unchanged by what had happened within its walls, while she felt as if the attack had altered her inner landscape forever. Fear was now part of her internal language, which it never had been before. Her glance fell on the imposing staircase with its wrought-iron railing, and her breathing quickened again as images of herself fleeing for her life down those steps scrolled unbidden through her mind. She could almost feel the hideous yank of a fist closing on her hair ....

“You okay?” Mac's hands dropped onto her shoulders, making her start. He was behind her, solid and strong and infinitely reliable, and it was this knowledge that calmed her down and enabled her to breathe normally again. She nodded, clutched Josephine closer, and, taking a tight mental grip on her courage, walked on toward the staircase, determined not to give in to the fear that threatened to engulf her. Despite her determination, speaking was an effort; she swallowed, realizing her throat was dry.

“The cleaning people came today. If the police missed any kind of evidence, it's probably gone now.”

Mac muttered something short and probably profane under his breath. Julie was almost at the foot of the stairs now, and he was a few paces behind her, looking around with weighing eyes. The marble floor, the crystal chandelier, the staircase that was designed to impress-the whole house that was designed to impress-would be new to him. “I was in my bathroom ... “ Julie began, looking up the stairs. Then memory assailed her again, and she shivered and shook her head. “Mac, I don't think I can go up there.”

“You don't have to do anything you're not ready for.” He was right behind her again, and his hand just brushed over her bare arm in a comforting caress. “We'll stay downstairs, if you want.” His eyes shifted past her to fix on the open door that led into the den.

“Is that some sort of office?” Julie followed his gaze, and nodded. “Sid's desk is in there, and his computer. He does quite a bit of work at home.” “Mind if I check it out?” he asked, already heading that way. “Go ahead.” She was talking to his back. Trailing him, she stood in the doorway of the den and watched as he conducted a quick search of the desk, opening the drawers and rifling through the contents, then turned on the computer.

“What are you looking for?” She was feeling better. Steadier, less jumpy. Having her back to the staircase helped, she thought, but she also knew that one day-one day soon-she would be able to climb those stairs. The knowledge eased something that had been twisted tight inside her. Coming back inside her house had been a necessary step in reclaiming her life, she realized. Mac shrugged noncommittally. “I don't suppose you know the password to any of these files, by any chance?”

He was staring intently at the screen, typing as he spoke.