Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (8 page)

Nodding numbly, Sally followed Jim to the front door. He reached up into the decorative globe and touched the darkened bulb. Light cascaded through his fingers. A quick twist to screw the old bulb back in place, and the “repair” was complete. He pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack in the entryway. “Only a loose bulb, nothing more. Now, do you want to sit on the couch or in the kitchen?”

“The kitchen.” Sally feared softness would cause her to disintegrate. Her backbone was barely holding her up as it was. She sat in one of the ladder-backed chairs, still in her parka, and Jim sat to her right, his face gentle and grave.

“Let me see it.”

She held out her right hand and he slid the mail from her grip, then opened the hand that had clutched it and pressed her palm to his. His strong fingers kept the contact close and somehow, his skin absorbed the vileness the notepaper had imparted. Her hand felt clean again—felt hers again. Still holding her right hand tightly in his left, he set the mail aside and used his free hand to pick up the notepaper by one corner, setting it on the table in front of them and smoothing it open with his sleeve. The note was printed in pencil with block letters, like the others. They read in silence.

‘I warned you, but you flaunt your sordid affair with Donovan in public. Everyone saw you with him at the Dragon King, in front of Trent’s son. You disgrace your husband, you cheating slut. Semper fi.’

Sally felt sick. “Oh, my God. He was there. He was there and he came back here. He might be outside right now.”

“Relax, love.” Jim’s voice was warm and calm. It seemed to Sally that just listening to it gave her strength. “If he is out there right now, let’s show him you know what to do.” Pulling out his cell phone, Jim called the police.

The watcher stood in a stand of Eastern Hemlock growing by the creek at the base of the meadow, three hundred yards beyond Sally’s house. It was quiet. The stream that watered the evergreens lay silent and frozen in the November night. Despite the cold, his anger burned, rising like the molten rock in a volcano’s throat.

She was foolish, so foolish, to trifle with a man like him, a man of honor and vengeance. She had sent Donovan away once.
I had hoped she would remain true.
Then she had tried to lead
him
on, but of course he had resisted. So she had gone back after Donovan. The veterinarian had no honor.

Now Donovan was there again.
Betraying your husband once wasn’t enough?
Holding aside a needle-laden branch, he watched the police car pull up her drive, lights flashing. When the lights dimmed and the car door opened, the watcher leaned toward his night vision scope to see the slim figure exiting the cruiser—Officer Demarco, practically a rookie. Taking care of the cop—if he had to—would be no problem.

The watcher checked the time—forty minutes from when the she had followed Donovan inside. When time came for retribution, he could count on having at least a full half-hour without interruption. Plenty. Trent would appreciate his loyalty. Trent would commend his attention to detail, his planning, and his execution.

He hated her, now, for making a fool of Trent. She wasn’t worthy of a Marine. She must have used her hot body to suck Trent in, and for that she must be punished. Trent would understand. It might even make her realize how wrong she’d been. Yes, his discipline would give her a chance to prove her repentance. But she wasn’t ready yet. His chapped lips pulled back from his teeth. Getting her ready would be the fun part.

“Sweet dreams, bitch. Dream of me.”

The cold wind swirled around him, its chill biting through the worn leather jacket. He hitched his collar higher and looked at the sky. The snow wouldn’t hold off much longer. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but soon. Turning his back on the house up the hill, he left.

Officer Demarco looked worried as he listened to Sally’s account. Not what one hoped to see in those who serve and protect. Jim wondered when the last serious crime in York had been. Though he took metic
ulous notes, the officer had little else to offer. He said they would attempt to make a list of patrons and employees at the restaurant, but nothing was likely to come of that, with so little other information to go on.

Jim didn’t mention his own scouting expedition the night before. He knew the stalker probably watched Sally from some nearby vantage point, and had hoped to backtrack to that spot from the mailbox. It wasn’t hard to track a man if you knew what you were doing, and he did. Even in the dead of night he would not have missed the trail, if there’d been a trail to find. But the stalker had come along the road to leave Tuesday’s threat. There was no reason to imagine that tonight had been different.

“Well, Mrs. Johnston,” Officer Demarco was explaining, “We can dust your mailbox for prints if it will make you feel better, but a surface needs to be smooth and clean to be a likely place to find a recognizable print. Your box is old and rusty. Our only real hope for a clear print is the notepaper. We need you to come in and get fingerprinted, since you touched the paper. Dr. Donovan too. And please bring the information about the earlier notes that Officer Billings requested.”

Jim spoke up. “I’ll drive in with Mrs. Johnston tomorrow and we’ll take care of all that.” He rose, hoping Officer Demarco was ready to go. Sally had asked more questions about the investigation tonight, and the answers had not been reassuring. Jim thought she was beginning to rea
lize how little the police could do in a matter like this. She looked drained and discouraged.

The patrolman paused at the doorway. “You have Officer Billings’ card, don’t you, Ma’am?”

Sally nodded her head. “Yes, thanks.”

At last the ordeal was over. As Sally closed the door behind Demarco, Jim put his hands on her shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Are you ready to take that coat off yet?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I was just so cold at first.”

He slipped the jacket from her shoulders and hung it on the rack in the corner, then stood close behind her. “What do you need, Sal? What can I do to help?”

She shrugged, and stepped away. Jim’s arms ached to hold her, but remained empty.

“I don’t want to try to sleep yet. I’m exhausted, but not tired enough that my brain will settle.” She hesitated,
then turned to him with an appeal in her eyes. “Could you sit up with me awhile? Maybe we could talk or something? I can’t lie down yet.”

She was afraid to sleep. She wouldn’t admit it, but he was certain. She didn’t want to risk the terrors her imagination might create if she closed her eyes. He felt a white-hot rage toward the faceless man responsible. “Sure, Sal. Shall I build a fire?”

“That would be nice.” Her voice was weak, vulnerable.

Jim busied himself with wood and kindling, turning his back to be sure she wouldn’t see the emotion in his face. His Sally was a strong woman, a fighter. Hearing the helplessness in her voice, he recognized
how much injury the unknown stalker was doing to her. It took a moment to banish the pain and anger from his expression. Then, with the fire blazing brightly, he sat next to her on the couch, stretching his legs over the braided rug toward the flames and threw a friendly arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

“So, I ran into Mrs. MacDonald from Green Thumb Nursery last week and she was telling me about some new cultivars they’re expecting in the spring. Seems they are really impressive…” He kept talking, using her interest in plants to coax occasional responses from her, drawing her mind away from the stalker and into less painful paths. He knew exactly what he was trying to accomplish, and was prepared to talk all night in order to give her mind a safe place to rest.

After a while, she laid her head on his shoulder. Her responses became less strained, less frequent, and finally ceased altogether.

Jim talked on for another hour—hoping to help her slide into peac
eful dreams. Then he allowed himself to rest as well, staring into the dying fire. One-handed, he grabbed the afghan draped on the corner of the couch and arranged it over the two of them for warmth. He leaned his head against the cushions, but not to sleep.

He’d called her ‘love’ when he’d been trying to help her deal with the sick fear he’d seen in her eyes after she read the second note. It had slipped out—inevitably, he thought, since that was how he thought of her in his mind.
It was probably lucky that she didn’t notice.

It felt good to finally say it aloud, to set free the reality he’d been keeping chained inside for so long. He was going to allow himself that freedom, he decided. Sally would have to get used to the idea sooner or later—she may as well start now. He was tired of waiting for a sign from her that might never come. It was past time to make a move, and not only with Sally.

Staring into the fire with the steady eyes of a hunter, Jim went over every detail of the last five days, holding each up to his extensive knowledge of terrorism. Stalking was, of course, a personal form of terrorism, but many of the same principles would apply. He had never planned to play this game on defense. And he thought he had found a place to begin the offensive—with the stalker and with Sal.

chapter seven

Sally woke before dawn. After taking a moment to realize where she was, and why, she lifted her head. Cold crept in through the darkened windows, undiminished by the dying embers in the stone hearth. She turned her head and saw Jim in the orange glow, awake and watching her.

For a fleeting moment a thrill ripped through her as she met his gaze. Then she blinked. Poor man. She had slept peacefully, snuggled against his warmth beneath the afghan. But sitting up all night with her couldn’t have been much fun for him. She gave him a sleepy smile. “Thank you for staying with me, but why didn’t you put me in my bed? Then you could have stretched out.”

“I wanted to be with you in case you had nightmares. You were pretty strung out last night.”

He was right about that. “I know.” She leaned her
temple against his chest. “I hate feeling weak and afraid and helpless.”

He lifted her chin
with his fingertip and smiled. “That’s the woman I know and love.” He pushed aside the afghan and stood to add more wood to the fire.

Sally went still inside. It was the second time he’d used the word love. Her heart rate increased. Nerves. She wanted nothing to do with love.
But the way he used it—so comfortably, as if it was a given—argued that the word meant friendship to him, nothing more.
Settle down, girl. Don’t overreact.
She drew her knees up to her chest, shifting to sit in the corner of the couch.

Jim plucked up the afghan and spread it over her legs, tucking the ends behind her shoulders. He leaned toward her in the dull red
light, bringing his face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke softly into her ear. “Would you like to do something about it?”

Her heart raced. “About what?” Her mind was still stuck on his cal
ling her love.

“About weakness, fear, and helplessness—those feelings you hate.” He laid an arm across the back of the couch and sat close enough that her toes felt the warmth radiating from his thighs.

“Sure, I’d like to feel differently. But how? Self-defense classes, I’ve already had.”

Now he was grinning at her, and his voice held a challenge. “Let’s go after him.”

“Are you nuts?” She shrank away from him. “He could be dangerous. And I’ve got Tyler to think of.”

Jim gave her a confident look. “Truth is, love, I’m dangerous too. And you’re a basketball power-forward who knows self-defense.”

Sally stared for a moment. This was the Jim look-alike, right? The one who’d power-kissed her two nights ago. He’d called her love again, and sat there calm and cool, claiming to be dangerous.

Only, watching him now, she was pretty sure the claim wasn’t idle. How could he look just like the man she’d known for years, and yet be so different? Jim had always been confident, but never overtly physical. He’d been accommodating, helpful,
and sensitive. The man sitting here on the couch oozed power from every pore and made her heart accelerate in a crazy way, yet last night he, too, had been completely accommodating, helpful, and sensitive—even to the point of sitting up all night with her asleep on his shoulder.

Sally gave her head a small shake, trying to clear her confusion. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jim Donovan?”

Jim’s ego gave a satisfied nod.
About time she took a closer look.
He smiled at her as he shifted on the couch so they were facing one another. Leaning forward, he took her hands in his. “I guess the middle of the night is as good a time as any for confessions.” He let his gaze roam over her face for a moment. What he was about to say to her might end things between them.

“Sally, I was in the service before I went to vet school. I worked counter-terrorism. Most of our missions were covert.”

She stared at him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Black ops.” Those words made it clear she understood what he was saying. Her eyes skittered over his face as she absorbed it. “You worked black ops.” Except for the movement of her lips, she sat immobile.

Not too bad a reaction, considering he’d just told her he’d been trained to kill, with or without a weapon, one on one, and had, in fact, excelled at it. But she still hadn’t moved.

Don’t run on me, Sal. Please. Stay.

He nodded, though
her words hadn’t been a question. “Yes.” The fire blazed as the wood he’d added began to burn. “I was good at it, Sally.”

“I know you were.” The light from the flames shifted across her face, making it hard to read her expression.

He looked a question at her.

“You’re alive.” With a small smile, she squeezed his hands tightly, not letting go, not pulling back.

The tension in him eased, and he nodded. There would be no need for details. “When I came home, I put the warrior on the shelf. His time was over.”

“I understand.”

He’d hoped she would. She’d been married to a warrior for seven years.

“I didn’t expect to ever need him again.” He was intent on his expl
anation, thumbs stroking up and down on the back of her hands. “But then this stalker threatened you, and the warrior came leaping down off the shelf.” His gaze dropped to their hands then lifted back to her eyes. “I hope you like him, because he’s not going to be leaving.”

She smiled at him, complete acceptance in her eyes.

The movement of his thumbs stilled. It meant more to him than she could possibly know.
Acceptance isn’t love. Don’t rush her.

Her head tilted. “In the end, you have to be who you really are. There will always be a place for warriors. What branch of service were you in?”

“The Marine Corps.”

“And you never told me…” He saw hurt on her face, and her hands began to pull away.

Dammit, no. Stay.
He held onto her more tightly. “At first, it felt like the wrong thing to talk about. Then later, it never came up.”

She nodded, but pulled her hands away and sat a little straighter on the couch.

His heart sank without a ripple.
Why now?

“Did you know my husband?” she asked primly.

“No. I never had that honor. I was based in Virginia—Quantico.” It was the truth, but he wondered if it was what she’d hoped he would say.

Her posture relaxed a bit, and her head tilted.

He felt himself relax. Thank God she’s not going to turn it into a big deal.

But her voice was cool. “So, what were you saying about going after the stalker creep?”

Shit. Apparently it is a big deal. But she hasn’t run—yet—she just doesn’t want to talk about it now.
He sat back and turned his head toward the fire. Inhaling deeply, he let the tangy scent of smoke and wood relax him. If she wanted to wait, he could wait.

He turned toward her again. “I’ve been going over each incident in my mind. This is what I’ve been thinking... You understand that this stalker didn’t choose you at random, don’t you?”

She drew the afghan up over her shoulders, as if she was chilled, and nodded.

Jim kept his tone of voice professional. “And you’ve had this kind of thing happen before, right?”

She nodded her head slowly. “Yeah.”

“It’s not likely that you’ve attracted three different stalkers. So one or both of the previous times will probably connect with what’s happening now. This person knows you or at least feels that he does.

“And the tone of the notes has changed. That means either your situation has changed, or his has. Usually fixations like this escalate over time. Maybe he’s been looking for you and just tracked you down. Or maybe he’s known where you were but couldn’t do anything about it before now.”

Sally made a face. “Or maybe he only recently went around the bend,” she said. Scrunching forward on the couch, she leaned her chin on her knees.

Stay with me, Sal.
“Could be. And he’s deliberately made a Marine connection with ‘Semper fi.’ Which might mean he’s fixed on you because you’re Trent’s widow. That would explain the nonsense in the note about disgracing your husband.” Jim leaned forward. “You and Trent were based at Pendleton. Does anyone from the base stand out in your mind—best friends, enemies, hero worshippers, anyone who felt funny to you somehow?”

Funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?
She almost said it out loud. Drat, she hated talking about a stalker like this: so clinical and cold. It made her flesh tingle with revulsion. She shuddered and stared at the dark windowpanes, thinking, then shook her head in frustration. “I can’t think of anyone who seemed odd. Besides, the guys that I knew, and their families, are still in California. And Trent had no enemies that I know of. He was a fair guy—no disciplinary gripes or anything like that.”

“But you can give me a list of all the names you remember? I’ll see if I can find out where the men from Trent’s old unit are.”

“Sure, but wouldn’t that be a police thing?”

“Maybe, but they haven’t asked about it yet, and I have a few friends that might be able to help in the meantime. Where was Trent from?” He laid a warm hand on the afghan covering her feet. A tingle ran up to her knees and over her thighs, giving her a
melty feeling in her belly. Even offended as she’d been by his reticence about his past service, her body still responded to the slightest touch. She made herself focus on the question he asked.

“Trent and I both grew up here in Pennsylvania. He was from Bet
hlehem, and we met at Penn State. He was planning to go into the military even then.” Her thoughts turned inward and feelings shifted toward Trent as she remembered how it had been...

The sun shone brightly as she and
LaTisha Grant, the six foot three inch team center, came out of the library. One moment they were talking, the next LaTisha grabbed her by the wrist and started dragging her across the grass toward three young men. “There he is. Come on, Sally. He’s a great guy and he told me he wanted to meet you. Trust me, girl, you’ll like him.”

Laughing, she’d gone along.
LaTisha was pre-med and had high standards for men. If she said the guy was great, he’d be worth meeting.

And oh, boy, he had been. Trent Johnston was handsome, virile, and three inches taller than she was. He looked intently into her eyes for a moment, his face expressionless. Then he smiled and it was like standing in a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Without taking his eyes off her, he spoke to his friends. “Guys, about the party tonight… Sorry… ‘I ha
ve to go and see about a girl.” His friends moved away, laughing at the Robin Williams line. Then he took her hand, and they walked off together.

She smiled at the memory. I was his from that minute until the day he died. Longer, even…
Wait a minute.
Her emotions stopped flowing and held still for examination.
Was?…Yeah, was.
Maybe that explained her wayward reactions to Jim lately. And he was still talking. She pulled herself back to the present.

“So the most likely possibilities are someone who knew one or both of you in California, or someone who knew you from college.
Someone with a connection to the Marines—either real or imaginary. Someone new in this area, or who only recently learned you were here.”

“What good does all this do, Jim?”

He looked surprised by the question. “It will help us make a list of possibilities—keep us alert to the circumstances we should be watching for.”

“I guess just analyzing things doesn’t feel very satisfying.”

He grinned again. “Don’t look so down, love, there’s more.”

He’d called her love again. Each time he did that, her body gave her mixed messages. Her stomach tightened, fearful of involvement and, ultimately, the pain of loss and the rest of her got hot, wanting what she’d been without for so long.
Stay cool, girl, he doesn’t mean it either of those ways.
“What more is there?”

“Odds are that the stalker’s chosen a particular vantage point to watch you from.
Probably a place that would give a view of both this house and the shelter. Sitting in the parking lot or on the road would be too noticeable, and there’s not a whole lot of cover around here. I’m guessing he’s either watching from the scrub pine on the ridge east of the house or from somewhere in that band of trees running along the creek to the south.”

“And you want to go see if you’re right.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to relieve her uneasiness at being left alone. She grabbed her courage with both hands. “Okay, we’ll be fine for a bit.”

Jim smiled in approval.
That took guts.
“You misunderstood me. I’m not leaving you and Tyler alone. As soon as Tyler gets picked up for school, I want you to come with me to see if we can find the spot. It shouldn’t be hard. A man standing around in one place leaves plenty of signs.”

“And then? What if he’s there?”

Jim looked out the darkened window, as if he could see the landscape beyond. “He won’t be. If he is and sees us coming, he’ll leave. You’re a game to him. His hobby. He’s getting his jollies by tormenting you. He won’t want the fun to end yet. Besides, the odds are good he has a normal nine-to-five like everyone else and won’t even be around when we go looking.”