====================== Risky Alliance by N. C. Anderson ====================== Copyright (c)2002 by N. C. Anderson First published by The Fiction Works, February 2004 The Fiction Works www.fictionworks.com Mystery/Crime --------------------------------- NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppy disk, network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. --------------------------------- *CONTENTS* NOTE: Each section is preceded by a line of the pattern CH000, CH001, etc. You may use your reader's search function to locate section. CH000 Prologue CH001 Chapter 1 CH002 Chapter 2 CH003 Chapter 3 CH004 Chapter 4 CH005 Chapter 5 CH006 Chapter 6 CH007 Chapter 7 CH008 Chapter 8 CH009 Chapter 9 CH010 Chapter 10 CH011 Chapter 11 CH012 Chapter 12 CH013 Chapter 13 CH014 Chapter 14 CH015 Chapter 15 CH016 Chapter 16 CH017 Chapter 17 CH018 Chapter 18 CH019 Chapter 19 CH020 Chapter 20 CH021 Chapter 21 CH022 Chapter 22 -------- -------- CH000 *Prologue* Des Moines, Iowa Only minutes before the terror began, six-year-old Amanda Sue Borgson felt especially happy sitting at the kitchen table with her best friend, Penny, the housekeeper's four-year-old daughter. "Martha, I ate all my soup." Sue lifted her empty, colorfully striped bowl as she watched Martha Johns pouring milk into her glass. "Can I have a cookie?" "Me, too," echoed Penny, tipping her bowl to show its spotless interior. Leaning forward, and resting her hands on the table, Martha pretended to scrutinize how well they'd cleaned their bowls. "Yes," she said. "I believe you both deserve a cookie." Thinking about what had happened nearly five years ago, and how much she loved her job, Martha walked to the counter and opened the large, cupcake-designed cookie jar that the girls were staring at expectantly. She'd worked for the Borgson family for almost five years now. But before she'd needed a job, Kevin, her husband, had worked for the local school system, and they'd rented an apartment from the Borgsons. Four years and eight months ago, winter had made a last ditch effort to cover the city in six feet of snow. Filled with excitement, Martha had been waiting at home with a special dinner, waiting to tell Kevin about the baby. Kevin lost his life that night -- freezing to death because his car slid into a tree during that Iowa blizzard, and no one noticed his car or him. He never knew he was to be a father. In less than an hour her life had all but crumbled to dust. Coming to her rescue, the Borgsons, God bless them, offered her work and encouragement. No, she thought, so very much more than that. They had made her, and eventually Penny, feel like members of the family. After pulling two huge cookies -- the sort children yearn after -- from the jar, she returned to the table and placed them in the tiny, eager hands reaching for them. If it hadn't been for the Borgson's generosity, Martha didn't know how she would have survived, pregnant, alone, no income. She smiled at how gentle and sweet the girls were. She loved that Suzie Q as much as she loved her Penny. Her daddy had dubbed her Suzie Q, and it fit perfectly. She might be two years older than Penny, but she wasn't any taller, and so tiny -- A muffled curse, a grunt of pain, and the clatter-jangle of glass breaking came from somewhere in the house. Startled by the alien and menacing noise, Martha swept Penny from her chair and grabbed Sue's hand. "Hush, now," she whispered, hurrying them across the parquet floor and opening the solid folding doors to the pantry. She followed the plan worked out in her mind if something should pose a threat to the children -- tornado-type storm outside or an always probable human menace within because landlords were prime targets. "Sit on the floor and hold hands while I see what's happening," she ordered. "Don't make any noise, and don't come out until I come back for you." She returned the Borgson's generous support through loyalty and watching out for the children, and, thank goodness it wasn't often, by handling any disgruntled renters who came around to harass the family. The sheriff served on two such people just last week, and one kicked out windows in the Mrs. Borgson's car that same night. The Borgsons could call them disgruntled if they wanted. But Martha saw them as cancerous professional renters, sponging troublemakers who often destroyed an apartment before finally being forced to leave. She intended to look for the source of the noise, then call the police. She couldn't see the Borgson's taking any more guff off that type of people. It made Martha furious, just plain furious. The urgency in Martha's voice and her sudden disappearance frightened Sue. In the darkness of the closed pantry, she tightened her grip on Penny's hand. Penny pulled away. "That hurt, Suzie Q." "Sh ... Sh..." Sue hissed with a finger placed to her lips. The tersely given orders from Martha made her tummy feel as if she'd eaten rocks, not soup. A loud, sharp bang echoed through the house. Sue heard a scream, though she couldn't tell whether it came from her mother or Martha. Hopelessly, Sue tried to hang onto Penny and keep her in the pantry as Martha instructed. The determined Penny yanked away, shoved back the folding door, and sprinted from the kitchen. Sue followed her through the swinging kitchen door and stopped when she reached the broad archway that separated the dining room from the sunken living room. A few more steps and she would be where the staircase began its winding way to the upper floor. A strange man with a shiny brown face, and no nose, or eyes, or mouth, stood at the top of the stairs near her daddy. "Dammit. You open that safe," the man growled, and raised his hand that had a butterfly on it, a beautiful red, purple, yellow butterfly. "Or I'm going to shoot." "You don't steal from this family," Raymond Borgson yelled. "Teenager or no, I'm going to see you in jail." He grabbed at the gun in the man's hand with one hand, and with the other he yanked at the top of the man's head. Her daddy had to've made a mistake. He called the man a teenager, and to her that meant an old boy like her brother Pete -- this man looked bigger than Pete. She had to look way up at her daddy, and when he told younger people to do something, they usually did it. He never had to get mad like he was right now. Sue couldn't remember ever seeing him mad before. It made her mad at the man too. When her daddy quit yanking on the man's shiny skin, Sue thought that he had removed the man's face -- but no, now he had a nose and eyes and hair. And, an ugly, puckered line that ran from his eye to his mouth. The gun in his hand suddenly exploded, and plaster rained down on them both from the ceiling. She watched her daddy shake the big boy's arm and the gun flew into the air, then flipped over the railing and fell to the carpet in the living room. Run! Get that gun, Sue commanded herself, begged herself. If I get the gun and run, the man will leave Daddy alone. Yet her body wouldn't listen, she couldn't move. Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw another man, and with him, an old boy like Pete. They both had the same shiny skin on their faces, and the man had a hold on her mother's arm. He forced her mother to walk with him across the room toward the gun. Seeing her mother's pale face and terrified eyes made Sue's muscles tighten even more; it was useless. She stared at the boy. Except for him, they all looked like men to her. She realized it was like the stockings her mother wore on her legs when he tugged it from his head and shoved his hand through his long, greasy-looking brown hair. Near his ear was a little picture that reminded Sue of the cross she'd seen at church and his ear had an ugly twist running down the side. He wasn't as tall as the others, and thin -- just like Pete. "You crazy, dumb-shit," the big boy who struggled with her daddy hollered. He shoved, hard, and her father rolled end-over-end down the thickly carpeted steps, with the boy running after him. Before her father had stopped rolling, the man pulling on her mother's arm reached the gun. He scooped it from the floor, waved it in the air, and then he hit her mother and fired the gun at Martha as she pushed Penny behind Daddy's big chair and reached for the phone on the end table. Still unable to move, Sue could hear herself screaming as her mother landed on the floor and Martha fell back against the couch then slid to the carpet, a red color now staining the front of her dress. She opened her mouth to scream again when the hand with the butterfly landed hard against her cheek, bouncing her head to the wall. The men then barreled past her and disappeared into the kitchen. But the thin boy stopped in front of her. He grinned, baring his teeth, and took her neck between his hands, squeezing, cutting off her breath. His grip loosened when one of the men yelled at him, "Move it, LA. That's enough education for one morning." Laughing, he released her neck and ran. "Bates, we didn't get no money." "We got jewelry, kid. A real haul," were the last words Sue could hear when the door slammed. Penny ran to Martha. "Mommy, Mommy," she cried. "Call the police, Suzie," Martha moaned, while she held Penny's hand. "Hurry, child, the number is on the phone where I showed you." Sue couldn't make her voice work as she gasped for breath, her throat burning in pain. The words Bates and jewelry echoed in her head. She wanted to scream again, wanted to run, but could do neither. Sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, was Daddy. And Mommy was lying near Martha, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. Penny calmly knelt beside her mother. "Mommy, Suzie won't move." Martha touched her daughter's face. "Remember how I taught you to use the phone for an emergency, baby? Not like calling your friend Kay?" Penny nodded. "Can I, Mommy? I know how." Sue heard Martha's whispered, "Yes." She wanted to help her and Mommy and Daddy, too. Tears burned her eyes. She wanted to help. Penny lifted a satin toss pillow from the couch and placed it under her mother's head and patted her cheek. "I call now, Mommy." Penny climbed on the brocade couch and put the phone receiver to her ear, then carefully punched the numbers. "My mommy and Suzie Q's mommy and daddy are hurt," she said clearly. "Men were here and hurt them." She listened. "Our street is Elmhurst. Okay, I won't hang up." Penny turned her head and looked at Martha. "They will come, Mommy. I'm not to hang up." Martha moaned. "Good girl, baby," she gasped. "You're such a good girl. Now, tell them 4737 Elmhurst." And I'm bad, Sue thought. I can't move. Mommy needs me, and I can't move. She didn't understand. No one had shot her, she was standing on her feet; yet, she had fallen asleep all over. Even when she heard the sirens outside the front door, her legs wouldn't work. She kept seeing the brilliant sparks from the gun, the wet, red stain on Martha's dress, her daddy falling.... Unsuccessfully, she tried hard to remember what had outlined the vivid colors on the back of the man's hand. But she could see the cross and the ear with its crooked scar, and the boy's bold, hard stare that seemed to stab her flesh. Several people lunged through the front door. The first three were policemen. The next had red jackets and carried big boxes. Then Sue couldn't see them or hear them anymore as she closed her eyes and toppled to the floor. -------- CH001 *Chapter 1* California, Twenty-four years later Amanda Sue Campbell took two large cookies from the Panda Bear jar on the counter and turned to look at her two children who had just finished their lunch. Sue smiled as she studied them a moment. Though only eight, Michael stood nearly as tall and nearly as heavy as his ten-year-old sister Andee. His black hair and blue eyes were duplicates of his father's; while Andee's ash-blond hair and dark-brown eyes mirrored Sue. Their rooms looked sharp, and they'd helped in the kitchen, just like she had asked them to. They deserved a treat; she hadn't had to badger either of them all morning ... or, for that matter, remind Jacob of anything, she thought. I just might take him a treat, too. She knew exactly what treat she would rather share with him. It didn't do any good to think about it until later in the evening after the children went to bed. The mere thought of lying in his arms, the touch of his lips, his hands, always made her body glow in anticipation and impatient in waiting. Eleven years of marriage had merely made her love him more with the time. Trying to ignore where her thoughts were leading, she focused on the children and held up the cookies. "Anyone interested in dessert?" "Mom, you're funny." Michael's grin mimicked his father's, and Jacob Tyler Campbell could win most anything his heart desired from her with a mere twist of the lip. Andee reached out a hand. "Always, Mom, always." Before Sue could step forward, the snapping sound of gunfire and a yelp followed by a moaned curse from Jacob froze her to the spot. The earsplitting noise came from the front of the house where he had his office. As a private investigator, Jacob made enemies, and though they hadn't discussed it much, Sue often worried about the day that one of them would come looking for him at home. Her children were in danger. "Priest's closet, now!" she ordered, her voice low, raspy. After dropping the cookies on the counter and grabbing the cordless phone from near the sink, she followed them across the kitchen to the large closet between the back door and the dining room. She had considered sending the children out the back door to the neighbors. However, Jacob had warned her that if anything like this ever happened, someone could be waiting behind the house. If they could get to it, he insisted that she use the hidden closet he'd designed when they built the house -- taking the Priest's hole idea from ancient designs. Only, unlike the ancient design, this one was safer and the kids could get out. When she yanked down the obscure lever in the corner, the wall in the rear of the closet slid opened. Michael and Andee hurried inside, then Sue closed the wall and pushed on the phone. It was dead. It came instantly to her that Jacob's cell phone wouldn't be dead, and it was only a couple of steps away. Moving quickly, she sucked in a deep breath, lifted it from the table near the closet, then stepped back inside and dialed 911. While whispering their address and the situation into the phone, she glanced through the crack in the door. Dining room furniture obscured some of her view, so she knelt to see under and around it. Jacob's long body draped down and across the wide, half-circle step leading into the living room, and his gun lay on the floor more than an arm's length away. His eyes seemed riveted on the two men advancing on him. She described what she was seeing to the woman on the phone and looked up. Just out of view and above the closet's shelf hung a .25 automatic pistol, and she had hidden the bullet clip in a shoebox under it. Her hands shook violently, her mind, shouting at her to grab the small gun and help him. She would get it, she would, but all she could do was stare, as one of the men raised a gun and pointed it at Jacob's head. Stretching her neck to the side, she looked for the second man who seemed to have disappeared. Probably watching out the front, Sue thought. Slowly, she rose to her feet, and though she'd only done it twice because she hated touching the cold steel of a gun, fully intending to get and load the weapon. A weapon Jacob called worthless, but the only one she could bring herself to handle. "I told you I'd get you, Campbell." The man's laugh was ugly, and had a familiar ring to it. "I'm putting your interfering lights out forever." Raising his bloody hand away from his hip and settling it against the clay-tiled step, Jacob tried unsuccessfully to sit up. "Murder new on your list of things to do, Bates? Or is it just something I've missed?" "You're pretty stupid, Campbell." Bates' tone sounded harsh, contemptuous. "You don't know a damned thing about my personal record." He laughed, waving the gun at Jacob, then toward the kitchen, and obviously enjoying the taunting. "First you, big man, then your wife and kiddies. We been watching you, so we know they're in the house." The name Bates seemed to swirl in her mind as Sue snatched the small gun from its hook and pulled the shoebox down. While loading the clip into the gun with shaky fingers, she thought about what the man just said. If she moved into the kitchen, behind the archway and away from the closet, they would never find the children if she and Jacob couldn't protect them. "Just get it the hell over with before someone comes," the second man growled from somewhere outside Sue's visual range. "Someone could've heard that shot." When Bates moved a step closer to Jacob and before she had the chance to leave the closet, Sue could see his hand clearly, his arm, his gun. Unexpectedly, and as had happened before in her life, fear seemed to firmly lock every muscle in her body and transform her warm flesh to solid stone. Red, purple, yellow. The colors seemed to beam from his hand. A butterfly. What she had forgotten so many years ago, was that butterfly. She raised her glance to the man's face, and what she dreaded seeing, yet knew would be there, was the puckered scar that ran from his eye to his mouth. First a butterfly came striking toward her face, then pain grasped at her throat like strangling fingers as a picture of her mother's pale, terrified face, and her father's twisted body burst into her memory in a bloody red haze. It didn't seem possible -- couldn't be possible that after two decades the same man who had robbed her father of the use of his legs was now about to rob her husband of his life. Her mind screamed at her to raise the gun and help Jacob, screamed at her to get further away from the children's hiding place, but she couldn't make any of her muscles respond. Her hands ached from their death grips on the gun and phone. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes as she prayed desperately for the power to move. The man, Bates, cocked the gun and Sue's body sagged against the doorframe and wall. Unsteady, dizzy, her fingers relaxed and both gun and phone slipped from her hands, clattering to the closet floor. Bates looked straight at the closet, and Jacob wasted no time as he grabbed for his gun. Sue sucked in her breath when he missed, but still managed to throw the man off balance with a kick. The sharp blast from a gun filled her ears. But it was Bates' body that jerked sideways, stumbled, and then righted itself. Through a veil of tears Sue could now see Bates' partner belly-down on the floor with his hands on his head and with blood oozing through his fingers. Over him stood Jacob's closest friend, Tim Benson, and he had his police revolver in his hand. Bates raised his weapon, Tim's gun exploded again, and Bates tipped against the walnut-paneled wall near Jacob and dropped to the floor. Bates. The butterfly was dead. The butterfly could no longer hurt Jacob, or intrude on my dreams, Sue thought as her eyes closed. I'll never be a good girl. Against her will, Sue slid deeper into darkness, and quickly realizing how wrong she was about the dreams. She could still see the red, the purple, the yellow. Vainly, she tried to fight the terrible haze covering her eyes. Jacob, her beloved J.T., needed her and she could no longer see him, because now she saw a scarred ear and a cross tattoo. As the darkness filled her, an urgent voice, a voice she hadn't heard since she was six years old, shrieked, loudly, hysterically at her from somewhere in her soul, her self-preservation, "You can't take this any longer. You have to get away from all this. You can't be around to see Jacob killed. You can't let the children see him die, can't let them live with the danger...." * * * * Sanger, California For a Thursday morning, traffic seemed unusually light on the street fronting the cemetery. But Jacob Tyler Campbell, J.T. to his friends, and, to his Sue, before she'd left him months before, was trying to comprehend the words Dottie Delaney choked out between her sobs. A June breeze made the midmorning heat bearable as they stood together beside Robert Delaney's open grave, and while he watched Delaney's dozens of friends as they worked their way back to their cars. Jacob had known Robert since grade school and his death still didn't seem real. He just wished that Sue were here, that eighteen months ago she hadn't chosen separation as the answer to their problems, that she hadn't chosen to live so damned far away. With her capacity for love, Sue would be the person to help Dottie through her grief. Maybe even help him with his. No ... that wasn't quite right. They had already helped each other on the phone two days ago. She wouldn't come, but he'd heard the pain in her voice after he'd told her what happened to Robert. He knew she had called Dottie. Dottie brushed at the skirt of the black dress she wore that didn't look to Jacob like it fit her very well. He started to worry that she was losing weight, when she said, "I wanted to wear my own black dress -- Robert liked that dress." She sobbed. "Mom went to the house to find it for me," she whispered. "Couldn't find the dress," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Couldn't find it. I couldn't go there.... "You knew him, J.T." Dottie took the handkerchief Jacob held out to her, clutching it in a tight fist. "He would never kill himself for God's sakes. He survived the over-running of his Special Forces team." She dabbed at the new tears trickling down her cheeks. "He saved the entire unit. If Robert ever had a day of weakness, I never saw it." Dottie knew nothing about his and Robert's discussions the past few months, and, though it had surprised him, Jacob had seen some weakness. He glanced at the ground where the green grass grew only when forced by constant watering, and recalled how badly Robert's hands shook when he told about the agent who hounded him. But then, he also remembered that when the agent confiscated their car, then their cottage in the mountains, most of Robert's fear had back-pedaled while anger and an itch for a payback took over. Jacob had managed to slow Robert down by offering to help. Armed with positive evidence that the Delaney's owed nothing, and that the agency couldn't take their property legally, Jacob went in to see an agent named Williams and asked questions. A few days later he found a letter in his mailbox from agent Williams, requesting that Jacob attend an audit. Because he learned real fast, because he hated making the same mistake twice, he stopped boldly asking the questions that brought harassment and not the answers he needed. Changing his tactics and quietly sleuthing the agency's ink-slingers revealed some mind-boggling facts. Findings that were leading him down a shadowed, twisted alley; an alleyway pot-holed with an illegal activity that should stick out and prompt an investigation within it's own walls. The agency was so damned massive with people and data that it could never detect theft without such an investigation. It seemed whatever was in their database was fact, period. Even the local newspaper stated that the agency itself was so big it was unauditable. However, he chose to believe chaos and lack of management the cause. Soon, he would have all the answers about the seizure and selling of real estate -- answers that would prevent him from having the involved agent busted. Because one man didn't stand much chance nose-to-nose with a giant, agency that appeared to swallow up everyone in its path. It hadn't taken him long to realize that they protected their own, no matter what. He shivered to think how many closet millionaires hid within the agency. It didn't take all that many properties to line their pockets with gold. After watching how despondently she slipped the black lace scarf from her sienna-colored hair, Jacob pulled Dottie against his chest, trying to comfort her the best he could. Consoling women wasn't something he knew much about, and he felt as uneasy as all hell. "The coroner called the judgment, Dottie. No extensive inquiry seemed called for, and the police didn't initiate anything past their preliminary investigation." One of his best friends lay in the earth, hounded into killing himself, unnerved, dehumanized until he couldn't take it anymore. He blinked several times trying to ease the ache behind his eyes. "Please, J.T.," Dottie said, her voice crackling, strained. "You were his closest friend. Please don't let him go this way. He didn't kill himself. Someone murdered him. Please, J.T., make the police at least look around." Dottie's sobs tore at Jacob's heart. "All right -- all right, Dottie, you win. I don't know what success I'd have with the police, but I'll go to the house and see what I can find. Since you and the kids are staying with your folks, you'd better give me the keys now." He touched her chin gently, tipping it so he could see the mixture of grief and anger in her hazel eyes. "Promise me you'll feel satisfied with whatever I find." He dropped his hand to his side. Robert killed himself; but for Dottie, for his three godchildren, he would do this investigation if it would help them with Robert's death. A touch of color returned to her wan cheeks. "Thank you, J.T.," Dottie said. She handed him the house keys he'd requested. "You have my promise." Jacob looked at the clear-blue sky, feeling the sun's heat penetrating the back of his neck and shoulders, hoping she meant those words. * * * * Fresno, California Three hours later "When we get Campbell out of California, we'll break in and destroy his files. We know exactly what photocopies he's been able to get his hands on, and once they're gone, he won't be able to replace them. We've made sure of it." Clinton shook his head, rose from a leather wing-backed chair, and leaned against an ornate bookcase beside the older, shorter man who slowly thumbed through a heavy law book. "We'll have to be smart, Keats. The word in Sacramento is that he's the best." He shoved a hand in his pocket. "Not to mention, fast," he added, impatiently. "Because of his damned talent, he often does investigating for the DA in Sacramento." Seated on an elegant Chippendale chair in the high-ceilinged library, Kimba cleared her throat. "I agree with getting him out of the state. Campbell works out of his home, and the way his place is designed, it would be dangerous to try for the files with him anywhere around." She straightened the sleeves of her beige silk blouse. "We can't afford to be careless. Things have gone too well." She smiled, tapping her manicured fingernails against the lustrous cherry-wood table in front of her. "He's been a real benefit to us, though. He's shown us the holes in our transactions, and we've plugged them up." She had talent of her own. Free access to any file she wanted, freedom to alter any information she wanted, made her talent more fun. The best part was the agency didn't have time to give a damn. Agents who got caught making mistakes, merely found themselves transferred to another state. Kimba found it profitable, and for the most part an ever so safe a shield that government and embarrassment just didn't go together. Keats replaced his book on the shelf, and then brushed his hand across his partially gray, receding hairline. He stopped beside the other man. "I want you to fly to Des Moines, Clinton. I want you to visit Campbell's wife, and give him a reason to leave California. My informants tell me that they've been separated for well over a year, but Campbell would take her back instantly. He calls her residence no less than three times a week, and he's gone there several times in the past few months. If she needs him, he'll go." Inhaling the opulent smell of leather-bound books, of antique furniture, and the ethereal fragrance from the roses strategically placed about the room, Kimba banged her hand impatiently on the long red table. "Why bother? We're infallible. No one's going to touch us." She would rather see Campbell dead, lying in the hardpan California dirt alongside his buddy. It would be the easiest, most efficient way to stop his prying. At any rate, she knew that Keats was a manipulator, not an exterminator, and he didn't have much in the way of patience. If she told him her thoughts, he'd get pissed off, and that being the case, she could not seem overly eager. He would never approve of taking her easiest way. "Darling, you know your people always go after anyone who speaks against them," Keats said. "This man isn't just speaking, he's shoving his way straight to the heart of your employer." He moved forward and touched her shoulder. "Besides, Kimba, I don't jeopardize any business I'm involved in." Kimba chuckled, though she recognized the do-what-I-say gravity of his expression. "Who would really care? It wouldn't matter if he exposed the truth to the world. A Judge wouldn't dare cross me in court no matter what the charges were. They love their jobs, their fat checks, and looking the other way. They're wonderful at making people look stupid, insane, and cover any embarrassment." And, she loved the omnipotent agency. Before long, and with the already approved new title of Global Resource Service camouflaging its power, it would control unimaginable amounts of revenue through the New World Order. And she planned to have a cushy position in that domination. Keats looked skeptical. "Then, my darling, why did you drive Delaney to suicide?" "Delaney became threatening in other ways," Kimba answered quickly. "His intellect got him qualified as a Green Beret at a tender-young age. The man was acting less intimidated and seemed to get smarter every day." Kimba laughed. "Don't look so worried, husband mine. They put Delaney in his grave today, and no one knows what caused him to take his own life -- except maybe Mr. J. T. Campbell. I'm certain Delaney talked to him and that's why he's nosing around local agents. And why he's resumed his poking into what happened to the confiscated real estate." Campbell could investigate till he rotted -- nothing would touch her -- Washington would see to it. She felt certain that Campbell already knew that. The man might be capable of getting to them another way, and she wanted rid of him. "Well, I can tell you that auditing him didn't fray one nerve, or make him back off. I'm glad I quit the agency. It's safer with me handling the buyers and just one of us fixing data." Clinton moved away from the bookcase. "I'll leave you two to discuss this." After walking across the plush, slate-gray carpet to the double, hand-carved doors, he looked at Kimba and winked surreptitiously. "I'll see you this afternoon at your office." He then turned his attention to Keats who busily stuffed papers into a briefcase. "I'll arrange to leave tomorrow or the next day. I have a file on the Campbells so it won't take long to organize my moves. It'll be a piece-of-cake. One day to locate her, rough her up, and return the same day." He left the room. Kimba glanced at her husband, wishing he had Clinton's younger, stronger body, his silky, sandy-colored hair. Instead, his slenderness and small, delicate hands gave him a deceptively feminine air. "You know, if this doesn't stop Campbell from snooping, we'll have to handle him in a more permanent way." She flipped one hand in the air. "I don't think he's the suicidal type." However, he was the dangerous type. "Yes, I understand perfectly," Keats said, his tone leaving no room for argument with any of his decisions. "However, I insist it be our last resort. Getting a man with his reputation jailed on trumpet-up charges would require risks I'd rather not take." She hadn't meant anything as long-term as jail. Her thoughts held something shorter and completely permanent for Campbell, but Kimba nodded her head anyway. Keats might cooperate, but, he had limits, and she would be careful not to let him know when she surpassed them. He accepted what happened with Delaney, though not pleased about it. Yet, in the courtroom he always intimidated, showing no mercy, a genius at his work. "I have a client waiting." Keats lifted his black briefcase from the library table and hurried to the door. "Since your car is in the shop, I'll have the car come back and take you to the office. This afternoon I'll pick you up, and we'll have dinner at the club." "Fine," she mumbled, rising from her chair as he closed the door behind him. Keeping her positioned job and marrying a rich man were the goals she'd reached. No one would get in her way. She smiled. As long as she proceeded with care, her husband wouldn't allow anyone to get in her way, and he pulled the strings on many a puppet. He might look small of stature, but Keats had a thuggish quality that somehow belied his social background and the teachings of the saintly Aunt he often reminisced about. The aunt who had left him everything. Kimba didn't like admitting it, but there were times when even she felt a bizarre fear of him. Trying not to, she worried about Clinton being the one to go to Iowa. He tried to be cunning; she would allow him that. Nevertheless, she had found the small mistakes he'd made in their lucrative real estate ventures. If she hadn't, someone would have noticed Keats' activity, and they would all most likely be in prison right now. The agency wouldn't have a reason to protect Keats, and she didn't doubt that if he went down, he wouldn't go alone. Her agency shield would evaporate with her swept under a rug like so much dust. Yes, she felt apprehensive about Clinton's petty mistakes -- mostly concerned about not being around to catch them. Eminently concerned that J.T. Campbell would be. She, too, felt a relief that Clinton had left the agency. Keeping track of him there had been a stress she didn't need. The sound of a car startled her, and she smiled as she slid her chair under the table, scribbled a note for the chauffeur, and grabbed her purse from the desk. Clinton had come back for her. They would go to his place, make love, then he would be in the mood to go over every detail. And she would make sure he avoided any screw-ups. * * * * Jacob entered his office, pausing as he took in the disarray on his side of the room. His secretary, cum-student-investigator, Carley Tibbs' side of the large office looked neatly systematized. Oh, everything was where he wanted it, where he could find it -- it just didn't look like it. Vowing that he would get it cleaned up one of these days he shoved a pile of papers off the phone and lifted the receiver. After punching in a number, he heard detective Tim Benson's gruff growl. "Yeah, Benson here." "You left the funeral before we could talk, buddy. Are you all right?" His friend's coloring had looked totally gray, and his expression pinched with grief. "J.T., I just don't like saying good-bye to friends that way." After a long pause, Tim added, "I'll be fine, but how about you?" "I'll probably feel better after I ask you some questions." He would have preferred to wait a few days and see Tim in person, but he couldn't. "If it's about Robert, I don't have many answers. You saw him more this past year than I did." Jacob leaned his hip against his massive desk. "Dottie believes someone killed him, Tim." "I know. And to tell you the truth, I don't see him killing himself either. Robert could get upset, but he always attacked trouble straight on. He'd figure out just how to skirt a problem, or go straight through it. But I scanned the detective report. Short, sweet, no frills. Autopsy report, death by gun shot to the head." "Could the detective's have been too short?" Tim sighed. "Yeah, definitely. But the Chief refused to let me question it. Told me to mind my own workload." "I promised Dottie that I'd check for evidence. I could use a copy of that report, Tim. Then we'll go over it together." "I'm headed for the station now. I don't think anyone will care what I'm doing today. Chief Lowe's got meetings all afternoon." Jacob replaced the cordless phone on its base. Some of Tim's words hit home real hard. Robert wouldn't have committed suicide. Admitting it out loud or not, they all knew it would never be Robert's style. Yet, people did things no one ever would have guessed they could do. Hell, he never would have guessed Sue would take the kids and move eighteen hundred miles from him. He walked to the large windows behind his desk and stared at the blue-gray mountains that seemed to caress the lighter, cerulean sky. Though he couldn't be sure how she understood it, he believed mentally, self-preservation the reason she left, and she hadn't intended to destroy anything. She hadn't destroyed anything, though she sure as hell put their marriage on hold. Did people change that much? Sue really hadn't. It had just taken him a while to realize that he'd managed to use his observation training on everyone and everything but his family. He should have realized how fragile her apprehensions were, had always been, and that she had reached the end of her endurance. He didn't believe for a moment that Sue had stopped loving him. One day, he would have his family back. Self-preservation. That was what was wrong with the Robert-committing-suicide scenario. Robert was a classic fighter, not one to succumb without a showdown. At barely eighteen, he had saved himself and a multitude of others, and with a gaping gunshot wound in the shoulder. Some people would save themselves by leaving, a sometimes wise decision, while others put-up-their-dukes, even in no-win situations, and for Robert it would have been the fists. If the Sheriff's men had overlooked anything at the Delaney's, he would find it. He would find it if he had to examine every inch of that house. -------- CH002 *Chapter 2* Sunnyville, California Saturday morning Abby Campbell liked to set aside what she called life's nerve-jangles every Saturday. She always looked forward to a few hours with friends, maybe going to a movie with one or several, but not today. Today it seemed that each and every one of her nerves jangled, and she couldn't do a thing about it. "I can't keep up this pacing, Spike," Abby told her cat when she passed near her front door for the umpteenth time. The fifteen-pound, half-Persian half-Siamese cat jumped onto the settee in the foyer and sat watching her while washing his face. Most of Spike's heavy body was a muted whitish grayish stripe, but his nose and chin looked like someone had shoved his face in a bowl of dark chocolate. He could, also, display a fierce temper, but Abby easily overlooked his faults and considered him beautiful. Across the white carpeting in the living room, across the blue-slate tiled foyer, she kept walking anyway -- anything to relieve the tension that was storming her. When things went wrong for her son, they really went wrong. Three times in his thirty-five years she had seen tears in his eyes: when he was twelve and his dog died, when he was twenty-five and his father died, and when Sue and the kids boarded that airplane eighteen months ago. And, he looked darned close to them when he raced out this morning. First she heard rushing footsteps, then she looked through the thick lace curtains covering the tall, vertical window flanking the double front doors and saw Lieutenant Tim Benson cross her front verandah. She reached out and opened one half of the heavy entry doors. His hand was out in front of him, exactly where he would have lifted the doorknocker had it not suddenly swung away from him. "Why, hello, Tim. I haven't seen your welcome face for a while." He sucked in a deep breath. "Dang, but you scared me, Abby. Opening that door like you were reading my mind." Abby couldn't help but chuckle at his wide-eyed seriousness. "Not reading your mind, Tim, I heard you coming." She opened the door wider and motioned him to come inside. "What brings you around with such a solemn expression?" It wasn't possible for him to know about Jacob's reason for being gone. Jacob didn't have time to tell anyone. "I've just come from J.T.'s house. Someone broke in about thirty minutes ago and set the alarms off at the station." "Broke in?" Her knees suddenly shaking, Abby sat down on the plump cushion that lined the wicker settee in the foyer. When Spike growled at Tim, Abby brushed her hand down his back to quiet him, and he curled up on the other cushion, but he didn't take his eyes off of Tim. Jacob wouldn't take this well, not on top of everything else. "Can you tell if anything was taken?" Tim shook his head. "Someone did a number on the office, then the house -- and in the damned broad daylight. I've seen places trashed before, but never anything quite like this. The blasted thieves get more brazen everyday." She felt his hand, gentle on her shoulder. "I need to find that son of yours right away. He needs to inventory and see what's missing -- " "He's forty thousand feet in the air," Abby interrupted. She searched the pocket of her sweater for a handkerchief, found it and gripped it tightly. Tears were something she'd spent her life shedding in private, and it irritated her that anxiety was getting the best of her. "What?" "I should have just gone with him." She dabbed at the unexpected wetness in her eyes. "Something awful has happened to our Sue. And Michael and Andee are not at home." Abby shook her head. "I wanted to go to her, but Doctor Baid said I can't miss my check-up Monday and he has new medication for me." She called the doctor because Jacob insisted she couldn't go with him unless the doctor approved. He was right, of course, but she just hoped she wouldn't be sorry for not going. "Easy, sweetheart," Tim said, kneeling beside her with one knee resting on the slate floor. Ignoring the glaring cat, he took her hand in his, rubbing it gently. "What's happened to Sue and the kids?" "That's the worst part, I don't know. Her mother called and said someone had attacked her in her apartment, however Kathleen hadn't seen her yet. She said the kids weren't in the apartment, but she also said they usually have softball practice early on Saturdays." Tim's hands holding hers gave her a new strength. "Jacob grabbed a suitcase and left for the airport around quarter to eight, and I've been waiting beside the phone ever since." She slipped her hands from his and glanced at her watch, and was amazed to see that not much more than an hour had passed. "We'll wait together, Abby." "Don't you need to see about Jacob's house?" She looked at Spike, who was getting progressively louder. "And you can stop that. You know Tim's a friend." The cat had a name in the neighborhood as the attacker. Sometimes she thought he lived to defend her -- even if she didn't need defending. "I left two lab men looking around when I came over here. They hate it when I hang around while they're working." She studied the pleasant creases in Tim's face; the firmness of his jaw; the deep blue of his sharp, knowing eyes; the clean glisten of his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. "Thank you, Tim," she said, feeling some of her anxiety easing. Long ago Tim had been her husband's partner on the beat, always a friend, and after Kenyan died, Tim had been there whenever Jacob needed him -- and when she needed him. He stood and held his hand out to her. "Got any coffee?" Abby took his hand, allowing him to tug her to her feet. "Well, the last time I looked, the pot was full and keeping company with a plate of chocolate-chip cookies." "Now," he said, smiling. "That's my kind of kitchen." Just as they entered the archway to the kitchen the phone rang, and Abby grabbed the white receiver from its wall unit. "Hello," she said breathlessly, then listened as Sue's mother, Kathleen Borgson, explained why she was calling from Sue's apartment house, that Sue hadn't been the one attacked, beaten, and that she needed to speak with Jacob right away and tell him about the mistake. "Kathleen," Abby said, trying to get a word into the conversation. "Jacob is already on his way to Iowa. At least I think he is. I'll call the airport to make certain." "Oh, I'm so sorry, Abby. It was all such a mistake. Karen looks so much like Sue they could be sisters. Her neighbor and the police thought it was Sue because it is her apartment." "Then, you know exactly where Sue and the kids are?" Hysteria lurked in her mind as she envisioned the children being kidnapped. "I knew Sue intended to go to her dad's office this morning, so I called Raymond and he said Sue had just left him. He said the kids were at softball practice and Sue had come by for paperwork." There was a long pause. "Poor, Jacob -- such a mistake." Abby sighed, relieved that the children were safe, that Sue wasn't the one injured, yet troubled for her daughter-in-law's friend. "It's a mistake that's bringing Jacob to Iowa, Kathleen. Of course, I don't know if he'll stay there long enough for anything positive to happen." Like some real communication, she thought. "Maybe they'll talk -- I mean, really talk," Kathleen said with hope filling her tone, and seeming to read Abby's mind. She took in a deep breath. "I promise to keep you posted." So many months of waiting for Jacob and Sue to really talk had dimmed some of Abby's hopes. "I'd appreciate it," Abby said, twisting the coiled phone cord between her fingers. "I'll check and see if there were any unexpected delays at the airport. If I don't call you back, I missed him. You'll have to call the airlines about arrival times, Kathleen. Then you must have him call me as soon as he gets there." Abby quickly explained about the break-in and destruction at Jacob's house, and then said her good-byes. Jacob had jotted the number to the airport on the small chalkboard she had on the wall beside the phone, so she dialed it and found out she had missed Jacob's flight by twenty minutes. He'd managed to catch a commuter plane to LA in order to make connections. She could phone the airlines there and leave him a message. But, she wouldn't. What happened would be a terrible trauma for Sue and the kids, and Jacob needed to go to Iowa and see his family. Strange, she thought, two break-ins on the same morning, eighteen hundred miles apart, and involving the same family. "Sue and the kids are okay?" Tim asked. Abby jumped. She'd forgotten he was there. "Yes. Kathleen said that the injured woman was a close friend of Sue's." But, it could have been Sue, it could have been the children, and the thought made her shiver. Tim touched her arm encouragingly. "You know Jacob will phone as soon as he knows what's going on there." He gestured toward the coffeepot and cookies. "Does your invitation still hold?" Abby chuckled, relief finally reaching some of her tense muscles. "I'll get the cups." * * * * West Des Moines, Iowa "Hell's bells!" Amanda Sue Campbell gasped in surprise as she turned her mother's car onto the normally quiet Rosemond Street where she lived. A rare abundance of police cars and pedestrians, along with a huge fire engine and an ambulance, blocked the street in front of her apartment building. Sue parked the classic '56 hardtop convertible, her mother's pride and joy, near the curb a half block away, grabbed her sack of groceries from the passenger seat, and hurried toward the mob. Since she didn't see any smoke, she didn't think a fire caused the commotion. No wreckage blocked the street. Someone could have had an accident in their home, or, since there was more than one police car parked on the street, a break-in. Anyway she looked at it, this was a little much for West Des Moines. And if it was a robbery or something, city crime elements ordinarily stayed east of Fleur Drive. When she left the house at eight to drop the kids off and pick up paperwork at the office, all had been quiet on Rosemond Street. An accident, a crime, whatever, she hoped it didn't have anything to do with her parent's apartment building -- especially since she was the manager of this one. "Sue!" a familiar voice shouted above the grumbling fire truck engine and the twittering from the people standing around on the sidewalk, the yards, the street. "Mom?" Sue spun around, searching for the owner of the voice. Her mother sidestepped a boy on a bicycle and hurried across the sidewalk. "Oh, darling. Thank goodness you're all right. I know your father said you were, but I needed to see for myself." Kathleen Borgson's arms hugged Sue until she felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen. "Mom, please," Sue wheezed. "What's going on around here?" Her mother's concerned words and tone intensified Sue's alarm. "Something happen at the apartment house?" Kathleen released her fierce hold. "It's your friend Karen. Someone broke into your apartment and attacked her. When your neighbor called me and said it was you," she rushed on, "I hurried right over and -- " "What!" Sue interrupted, still trying to get a rational grasp of her mother's words. She started for the ambulance. Why would anyone hurt Karen? No one even knew she was in town, and she wasn't the type to make enemies. "Sue, wait," Kathleen puffed, taking hold of Sue's arm. "There was a fire." Sue stopped. "A fire?" That did mean the apartment house. Glancing around, she could see nothing black or charred around the redbrick building. "Your alarm went off immediately, and your neighbor Mr. Gier put it out. Thank goodness the firemen and police got here so fast, because that's when they discovered Karen. There wasn't any serious damage to the apartment. The firemen are getting rid of the smoke now. The police let them back in right after they finished collecting and doing whatever-it-is that they do." She hesitated, sucking in a deep breath. "You know, they even turned all the trash cans upside down. What a mess. And so quickly, couldn't have taken them fifteen minutes." Knowing her mother's penchant for giving out information in slow dribbles, and not exactly as it happened, Sue clutched her mother's hand, pulling her with her toward the ambulance and the slight figure lying on a stretcher. "You'll have to give me the rest of the details after I see about Karen." Blood covered Karen's small features, matting her ash-blond hair at the temples. Clear liquid in a plastic bag hung from a pole attached to the stretcher; tubing directed the liquid into a vein on Karen's arm. Two male paramedics and a nurse were preparing to lift her into the ambulance. "Will she be all right?" Sue whispered throatily, her stomach rolling. Stay calm, she told herself. Get a grip. "Are you a relative?" the closest paramedic asked as he adjusted the plastic tubing in Karen's arm. "Karen Orr is my friend. She was staying in my apartment, and just visiting for a few days." He picked up a clipboard from beside Karen, and asked Sue several questions to verify Karen's identity, about any health problems, and her home address. When finished, Sue stepped back and out of the way. "Please tell me how she is. Her mother's going to be frantic." Sue knew she wouldn't call Karen's mother unless Karen told her to, or, as a last resort. At the moment, Karen and her mom weren't the best of friends, she wouldn't want her to make a rash call, and she didn't want to think about what a last resort meant. The second medic eyed Sue a moment. "Your friend has a broken nose, multiple cuts and abrasions, and a possible concussion and broken wrist. We would appreciate your coming to the hospital so someone is there for her who knows about her, but you will let us do the notifying unless the doctor there says otherwise. Since there's no way for us to know how long she'll be unconscious, we could need more information before we can make any calls." Sue nodded her head. "Did they catch the person who did this to her?" The medic gestured toward some neighbors clustered tightly together on the lawn behind them. "The police are questioning those people now. I don't know if they have any answers yet." He and the other man lifted the stretcher slightly, the legs collapsing as it slid neatly into the ambulance. "Where are you taking her?" Sue asked, as she turned her head and gazed at the police officer. It wasn't just neighbors congregated around him. Reporters with their microphones held in the air were shoving closer to him, too. For the first time she noticed the channel thirteen and channel five news vans parked across the street. "Mercy Hospital emergency is expecting us in ten minutes," he said as he shut the doors, enclosing Karen, the nurse, and the other medic. Seconds later the high-pitched wail of its siren shattered the air as the vehicle pulled away, and then made a perfect U-turn. Did a burglar do this? She would have to see if anything was missing. Her mother said there was a fire. A fire to destroy Karen? The mugger, or muggers must have wanted Karen dead? Wanted to cover up what happened? Sue turned her attention to her mother. But what she really wanted was to talk to that policeman. Kathleen nervously straightened her blue cardigan sweater, then ran her fingers through her curly gray hair. "Lord, I hope she'll be all right." "Mother," Sue said gently as Kathleen wrung her hands. "I need you to get the kids from the school grounds in about fifteen minutes and take them to your house. Are you going to feel up to it?" "Yes, yes of course, dear," Kathleen answered and reached for the grocery sack Sue clutched tightly. "You'd better give me that before you flatten the bread completely. You're going to talk to that policeman before going to the hospital, right? When Sue nodded, she added, "The kid's softball practice is nearly over so I'm leaving." She paused. "Call me, please." "Right on all counts," Sue said, handing over the wrinkled sack. "I'll call you when I'm ready to leave the hospital. Oh, and Mike has a camera class at one. Tell him to cancel it for today." She paused, studying her mother's slight frown. "Thanks, Mom, for watching the kids. I hope this isn't ruining any plans for you." "Oh, Sue, dear," Kathleen began, her voice breaking, her cheeks glowing pink. Sue recognized the tone. Her mother had done something, and Sue wasn't certain she wanted to hear about it. "Mom?" "Mr. Gier called me right after he called 911. He was talking to me when they found Karen." Kathleen glanced down as if inspecting her low-heeled leather pumps. "He thought it was you lying on the living room floor. When Mr. Gier said it was you, said the children were nowhere in sight, I -- I panicked and called Jacob -- " "Oh, Mom, you didn't," Sue burst out, feeling a headache coming on. Kathleen shifted the grocery sack into both arms as if it were a shield and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Sue. But, yes, I did. I also tried to call him and correct the mistake." She paused, her tone dropping. "But Abby said he's on his way here." Sue stared at her mother. What could she say? Her mother loved her and the kids. Her mother had panicked. If things were reversed, she might have called Jacob, too. And though Jacob tended to seem laid-back to most people, it was a fallacy, and he was a lightening-fast mover when the occasion arose. "Okay. I guess we'll take one problem at a time." And once he became upset, a usually cool Jacob posed a heady problem. He thought she was in the hospital and he had no idea where Mike and Andee were -- Oh, Lord, upset was a tranquil idea. J.T. would be one raging man by the time he got here. "Like you said, I want to talk to that policeman, then go to the hospital. And if you don't hurry, you'll miss the kids." The expression on Kathleen's delicately wrinkled face looked skeptical. "I can't help but think you're taking what I've done remarkably well." Kathleen turned to leave. "I believe I'll reserve any conclusions until this day is over," she mumbled. "Or, at least until nine this evening." Kathleen glanced over her shoulder as she stepped from the curb. "That's when Jacob's plane is due to land." * * * * Patience wasn't one of his attributes, and 600 miles per hour wasn't fast enough. Any feelings of helplessness made his temper edgy. And, damn it, he didn't like it. Jacob crammed the lumpy little pillow behind his neck. It didn't help that the talkative steward for the first-class passengers on the 737 chafed Jacob's nerves like a dull razor on sensitive skin. But, he had known when he called for his tickets that riding coach and sardined between other passengers in his keyed-up condition would never work, and a seat in first-class would at least give him some elbowroom. It was just unfortunate there wasn't another passenger to keep the steward off his back. It was also unfortunate that after a two-hour delay in Los Angeles there would be an even longer delay in Dallas. He stretched out the tightness in his arms, laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles, then rested his foot on his briefcase under the seat in front of him. He had intended to go over the information stuffed inside the steel-gray case, knowing that doing so would make time appear to go faster. His mind, however, focused totally on Sue and the kids. It wasn't going to budge until -- Sue -- beaten, the kids gone. He checked his watch as beads of sweat built on his temples. It would be at least six more hours before he could see her, touch her, and find his kids. Anger wanted to take over his mind; protecting him from the vision of Sue he had conjured up when Kathleen breathlessly told him just enough information to give him the shakes. She didn't know where the kids were -- dammit anyway. He stared out the window at the deep-blue sky and the endless clouds below the plane, the sun giving them the appearance of thick waves on a stormy sea. No one could get him rattled like Sue could. He hadn't handled it well when she gave birth to their children, passing out cold at her first moan and missing both blessed events. Blood, pain, didn't bother him, unless it was happening to his Babe, his Sue. When the kids got scraped or stitched, he could handle it like a father should with strong support -- that was, if no one made him watch too closely. Yet, with Sue, he got immediately nauseated, dizzy -- and the weakness disgusted him. Maybe she affected him that way because she had the gentlest hands, the softest voice, the most patience of anyone he'd ever met. Not that she didn't have spunk. She practically blazed with energy, especially when keeping up with the kids. After they'd been married only six months', he'd decided there just wasn't anything on the earth that could ignite Sue's temper. She just didn't have one. "Are you comfortable, Mr. Campbell?" the steward's carefully modulated voice asked. "Would you care for a drink?" Jacob glanced at the thin, perfectly groomed young man in his dark-blue suit. He yanked the pillow from behind his head and tossed it onto the empty seat beside him. "Yes," Jacob answered, keeping his jaws loose, keeping his teeth from clenching. His frustration wasn't the steward's fault. "You can bring me a cup of strong coffee and the phone." By the time Jacob pulled himself up straight in his seat the steward was back, flipping a linen napkin across the seat's built-in tray and setting a cup of steaming coffee before him. Jacob held his hand out for the cordless phone the steward pulled from the large, square pocket on his suit jacket. "Thanks." Doing his best to ignore the hovering young man, Jacob punched the numbers to his mother-in-law's phone. The "Sorry, we're not in right now" recording of Kathleen's voice wasn't what he wanted to hear, and he fought the urge to hurl the phone at the carpeted bulkhead in front of him. Could they have found the kids? Were Sue's injuries so critical that not even the housekeeper was around to answer the phone? He swallowed hard and thrust the phone toward the steward. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Campbell?" "No," Jacob mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning back on the dark, rough fabric that covered the spacious seat. He opened one eye. "You could tell the pilot to step on the gas." -------- CH003 *Chapter 3* At Mercy hospital, Sue had Sister Anne paged before entering the emergency room area. Sister Anne would take her straight to Karen without the hassle she would most likely get by looking for her herself. Not being Karen's relative, she knew she needed the aid of her mother's childhood friend. It also helped that Sister was second-in-command of Mercy hospital, had been like a second mother since her birth, and Sue's mentor the past year and a half. Sister was the one person who understood what had driven her away from her life with Jacob -- she was also the person who was helping Sue find the path back. But she wasn't ready yet ... she just wasn't ready. In only a few moments the tiny nun made her way across the vast, marble lobby, and Sue waved at her. Sister Anne's short stature and slenderness tended to make her appear as frail as a bird. She might be in her sixties, but Sue knew that the last thing Sister was, was frail. Tough, ageless, sinew was what held that little body together. "Why, Suzie Q, I haven't seen you in three months." Sister Anne always greeted her by using the name her parents had dubbed her long ago. She smiled widely and hugged Sue. Sue hugged back. "I'm sorry, Sister. My only excuse is being bogged down in work. And I know that's pretty lame." Sometimes it felt as if a day blurred past her each time she blinked her eyes. Sister Anne chuckled. "Let's say it's a perfect excuse, because I have to use the same one." She released Sue from her bear hug. "Now, what brings you to my hospital?" After Sue related what little she actually knew about what had happened to Karen, Sister Anne ushered them toward the long hall leading to the emergency area. "Why, I know our Karen," Sister said, her eyes rounded in surprise. "That girl couldn't have an enemy in the world. It must have been a prowler." "I hope that's what it was," Sue murmured as they stopped at the emergency desk. "Otherwise, I'll have to find a new place to live." Managing the apartments had its down side. Forcing a tenant to move out always begot the risk of creating an enemy. Sometimes an angry relative, whom Sue had never even seen before, would show up pounding on her door. In the past, some of those relatives had looked violent and behaved the part. None, neither tenant nor tenant's ally, had actually attacked her, but the possibility was always there. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to give up being a landlord. The thought that the kids could have been in the apartment this morning gave her chills to the bone. "Seems a suggestion I've made to you on occasion." Sister had voiced her concerns about Sue being a manager many times before and looked as if she wanted to comment further on the idea of Sue moving then changed her mind. "Stay right here, Sue, and I'll see what's happening to Karen." The cavernous waiting room had rows of padded seating, and in half of those seats were mothers holding cranky children and people with bandages on heads, arms, and feet. A nurse with a clipboard moved among the throng. Sue jerked slightly when Sister touched her arm, yanking her attention away from the noise and unhappy faces. "Karen is in room six," she said, a frown marring her forehead and revealing her grave concern. "The police are with her. You can wait outside the room and go in when they come out." Sister adjusted her thin, wire-rimmed glasses. "I realize they have a job to do, but sometimes they can be over-aggressive and, in my humble estimation, completely thoughtless. I let them know the doctors and I won't tolerate them overdoing it. The poor girl." Sue moved with Sister Anne in the direction she pointed. "I won't stay long, Sister. I want to reassure her that I'm here for her. She may want to tell me who she wants notified." Karen could be stubborn when it came to giving information to strangers. A page for Sister Anne echoed through the room. "I must go, Sue." Sister patted Sue's shoulder. "Don't worry too much. I'll keep an eye on Karen, and call your mother later." She paused. "And we'll talk soon?" "Thanks, Sister." With a nod, Sue smiled as she turned toward room six. "Don't forget us in your prayers." The way things are going, I have a feeling we're going to need them, Sue added to herself. First for Karen, then for her when Jacob discovered what had really happened that day. She would need a little heavenly assistance in calming him, and herself for that matter. Since her Adrenaline was already making her feel as if she could clean the apartment building from roof to cellar, she wasn't looking forward to having an over-hyper Jacob adding to it. Sister Anne waved her hand down in her you're-so-silly gesture as she walked away. "You're family's always in my prayers. We have to talk, though," she added, her voice fading in the distance. "Doug says you're becoming a real markswoman, and I want to hear all about it." Doug, Sister's nephew and a hunting enthusiast, might be saying that, Sue thought. She had grown up with Doug, and he was a fun teacher, but it didn't prove a damn thing. It didn't prove that she could act differently if someone pointed a weapon at any of her loved ones. She could clean her .38, load, aim and fire, could even hit a bull's-eye -- all of which would surprise Jacob -- but would she ever be reliable in a crisis? She wasn't ready for any such test. She didn't ever want to face such a test again. Living with Jacob nearly guaranteed that she would. Living without Jacob was a hell all its own. A few moments later she was leaning against the outer wall beside the door to room six. Sue listened to the sound of voices coming from inside. "You're certain you never saw the man's face?" "Never," Karen answered, sounding so weak Sue had to force herself not to go in and yell at them to stop the questions. "All I can remember is his threat." "And the man said, 'This is what happens to people who marry snoops.' Right?" "Something like that," Karen said. "Please, can we stop?" She sobbed faintly. "My head hurts." "If you have more questions, come back tomorrow," a woman's voice intervened. "Mrs. Orr needs to rest, and she still has to go through more tests." "All right, nurse. We'll check with her tomorrow." Three men filed out of the room, one in uniform, the other two in street clothing. They were so intense with their murmured discussion that they didn't seem to notice Sue. She peeked into the room, and the nurse waved for her to come in. Karen was lying on a wide exam table; the IV tube still in her arm, an oxygen mask beside her bandaged and bruised cheek, and she now had a cast on her right wrist. "You are Sue Campbell?" When Sue nodded the nurse continued, "Sister Anne said you could stay for ten minutes. We have to take Mrs. Orr to the X ray unit and then get her settled in an observation room." "I'll try not to stay even that long," Sue assured her. "I don't want to cause Karen any more pain than she already has." "Good," the nurse said firmly as she left the room. After shifting closer to Karen, Sue reached out and lifted her friend's left hand, holding it gently. "Oh, Karen, I'm so sorry this happened." With her left eye completely covered with gauze, Karen looked out from under the wide bandage that stretched across her forehead with a very frightened expression in her right one. "You've got to be careful, Sue," she rasped through swollen and split lips. "I'm sure that man was looking for you." "I heard a little of what you told the police. If he thought you were married to a snoop, then you weren't the person he wanted." She paused, lowering her voice. "We both know who's married to a snoop." She wondered what Jacob's reaction would be when he learned about all this. She had a feeling it wasn't going to be a pretty sight. "That wasn't all he said." Karen's fingers gripped Sue's hand tightly. "Every time he hit me, he said he was leaving a message for the snoop to back off. I was to tell the snoop that his kids would be as easy to find." Karen coughed and moaned, tears slipping from her eye. "Please, Sue, stay away from the apartment. And, for God's sakes, call J.T. I was half conscious, but I think the guy said he'd do something permanent to J.T. if he didn't listen." A slow heat began first in Sue's chest, and then she felt it everywhere. Since it had never happened before, it took her a moment to know what caused it. Anger. She was suddenly intensely wishing she could feel the man's neck between her fingers. A profound anger that someone had injured her friend, threatened her children, her Jacob, stoked her blood's temperature up considerably and had her clenching her teeth, then taking three, slow deep breaths. She had never before wished harm on another human being and it startled her, big time. Trying to soothe away Karen's anxiety and gain control over her newly found hostility, Sue gently rubbed Karen's fingers. She could feel the anger seep away, and the pounding of her heart slowed down as she concentrated on her friend. "J.T. is on the way here, Karen. If this has something to do with him, he'll be here to take care of it. The kids are with Mom and Dad and the best security system in the city." Ever since the day her dad tumbled down the stairs, never to walk again, they had kept their security system up to par with an ever-changing technology. She felt especially glad about that today. Her children were in safe hands. Karen's hand relaxed only a little. "My things...." "Don't worry about them. I'll take your clothes to Mom's. You won't have to go back to the apartment." "Thanks," Karen whispered. "Who do you want me to call? Your mom? Dennis?" "The nurse called Mom. I know Mom won't call Dennis, but I want him to know I'm here." Karen closed her eye for a moment; a tiny smile formed on her swollen lips. "I need him." "I'll call him before I leave the hospital," Sue promised. "He'll come, Karen. You know how much he loves you." They'd divorced a year ago, but not, it seemed, for the lack of loving each other. Always, when one had problems, the other would show up with support. Karen never wanted to talk about it, so Sue didn't know the real reason for their separation. After writing down the names of the relatives Karen wanted notified besides her mother, Sue watched Karen's eye close, and she appeared to have fallen asleep. Sue turned to leave when the nurse reappeared. "Is she going to be all right?" Sue whispered. "The doctor is worried most about her head injury," the nurse said, softly. "We'll know more after he runs some tests." Handing the nurse a card with her name and phone number, Sue said, "Please call me if she needs anything. Maybe you could put this with her chart and a note?" "I'll do that, Mrs. Campbell. Trauma victims usually need all the support they can get, and we always do our best to help." Sue called Dennis from a pay phone in the lobby, then walked slowly to her car. She wanted to go home ... wanted to go home and crash in peace and quiet for a little while before facing J.T., the kids, her parents. All the heinous events of the day, plus the intense sadness she felt for her friend Dottie and the kids in California made her feel completely drained. * * * * Ten-year-old Michael bumped into his sister as he lugged his photography equipment up the steps to his grandparent's home. "Why'd you stop so suddenly?" he grumbled, steadying his favorite camera bag. "I break one of these, and you get to pay for it." If anything happened to his stuff he'd never talk his mom into the new camera he wanted. And he wanted a video camera with lights and everything. Today he was supposed to find out which one was the best. Bud was the best teacher in the world, and he was gonna show them about video cameras and using them for surveillance. He didn't want to miss his class. According to Grandma, though, it looked like he might. He turned toward the front door, deciding to go find her and make sure. "Stop worrying about those silly cameras. Did you hear Grandma? Dad's on his way here." Andee gestured for him to wait. "We have to talk." He'd definitely liked her better before she turned twelve. Now she kept mothering him. He hated it. "I want'a put my stuff away and find Grandma." "Later," she said, pointing at the swing near the end of the enormous porch and walking to it. "Mom's got trouble, and Dad's coming. We have to take advantage of the time we've got him here." She paced in front of the swing. "Think about it. Things aren't getting better. They aren't getting back together, and we need to take a stand." He shrugged, ignoring the ache in his heart the way he'd been practicing. "We can't do nothin'. I don't want to talk about it." He stacked his camera bags on the floor. If he couldn't have his class, maybe he'd go hangout at the Red Burger. It'd be a long walk, but what the heck. Some of the cool lookin' dudes with wired hair would be there. Maybe he'd learn something. Andee stared at him, her brown eyes looking hurt. She pushed a hand through her long hair, catching her fingers in a curl. "Mike, please don't do this. I need you. We have to be a team." Mike blinked away the tears he refused to acknowledge. "Once more," he said. "This is it, Andee. You got that?" He sat on the swing and gave it a push with his heel to the wooden floor. "You promise right now. If they stay apart this time, you leave me alone." She plopped down beside him. "Deal," she said as they slapped palms in agreement. He looked up as his grandmother came through the front door. "Come on, you two," she said, approaching them. "I decided we couldn't do much here but worry, so I'm taking you to camera class, Mike." He nearly sprang from the swing, and she patted Mike on the shoulder as he grabbed his camera bags from the floor. "While you're learning about video cameras, Andee and I will go shopping." "Thanks, Grandma." Mike wanted to take his mind off his parents and the family split. He could forget their betrayal for an hour. -------- CH004 *Chapter 4* As Sue unlocked the front door of her apartment and stepped inside, the potent scents of cleaning fluids assailed her nose. While she'd been visiting with Karen in the hospital, her father had sent in the clean-up crew he always hired for his apartment buildings. Max and his gang were pros and could accomplish in a very few hours what other people would take weeks to do. She made her way to the kitchen where she stopped and stared at her new carpet, stove, refrigerator, and ceiling tile. Only the slightest odor of smoke reminded her that a few hours ago her mother said there'd been a fire in her kitchen. Her mother had said the police were fast, taking their pictures, going through her garbage, and whatever else they did to wind-up their investigation. Of course the place wasn't all that big and she didn't have much furniture. Three small bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen and living room just wouldn't take much time to look for prints, or what-have-you. She placed her purse on the breakfast bar, sighing, glad she hadn't looked at the damages. Especially after seeing what had happened to Karen. Just like she couldn't seem to make her mind accept what had happened to Robert, it didn't want to believe what happened to Karen. Even seeing her, the bandages, the bruises, the cast on her arm, her swollen, split lips, didn't make it seem any more real. Nevertheless it was all real, and Sue wanted to scream out her new feelings of rage. She wanted the guy caught. She walked around the bar and into the living room. A new contemporary couch sat in front of her coffee table. Luckily, she'd kept her favorite chair protected with a cover, and it was still there, minus its cover. She sank onto the familiar groves and textures of her recliner, flipped the footrest into place, and glanced at the freshly shampooed living room carpet that was giving the room a light, floral scent. It didn't matter what she looked at, the vision of Karen's battered face seemed superimposed on her eyes. Since Karen's ex-husband was a farmer with a hefty amount of black Angus cattle filling his pastures, the message of being married to a snoop hadn't, of course, been for her. No, Jacob was the snoop in question. A snoop who lived nearly two thousand miles away. How could Jacob's enemies find her here? Pointless question, she thought. Jacob didn't have any problems finding people, and most of the ones who hated him were far from stupid. The challenge for Jacob was in out-smarting and out-thinking the people he investigated. Holding open the armrest on her chair with one hand, she removed the TV remote and pushed the power button with the other. The first thing visible on the screen was obviously the end of the local news, and the front of her apartment building and Karen on the ambulance stretcher. "No one knows yet why Mrs. Orr was attacked," the commentator's voice said. "The police stated that she was visiting at the Campbell apartment where the assault took place." Then unexpectedly Sue saw herself on the screen, walking toward the policeman. She had thought she would be safe from the all-seeing camera eye, since she had watched the reporters return to their vans before approaching the officer. She couldn't help wondering just how much information the reporters had already given about her, and her frustration grew when they switched to commercials. Resting her head back, she glanced at the ceiling, then shivered, remembering each of the threats Karen had relayed to her. If the man who hit Karen should happen to be watching the news, he would realize his error, and he might come back. Jacob would explode if he found out that she had come back here before his arrival. She checked her watch. In a little less than three hours his plane would land. She should take the kids and meet him. But she didn't want to. If Sue could think of some way to escape seeing him at all, she would use it. For the past eighteen months he had called the children several times a week, and she had managed to avoid talking to him. In the past eighteen months he had come twice, and once was to take the children to California for a six-week stretch. She had to see him then. When he came, her haunting memories came with him -- but they didn't leave with him. About the time they abated, and her heart and soul felt healed enough to give her some peace, he would show up again. Liar, she thought. Your real peace was having your family together, being in Jacob's arms, and you know it. Too tired to think, Sue brushed the thought away. After a long, crazy day, and with less Adrenaline running through her veins, sitting so still made her incredibly sleepy. She closed her eyes, thinking to enjoy only a moment of the quiet atmosphere around her, instead, numbness set in and she dozed off. However, the calm didn't reach beneath her eyelids. She could hear chimes, then thumping, and she could see her father rolling down an endless, floating flight of stairs, pushed by a shadowy butterfly; Martha bleeding, shot by the same butterfly -- a cross, a scarred ear, and Jacob with a gun held to his head by the stick-like legs of a butterfly. Sue blinked open her eyes, sat up and brushed her hair from her forehead with an unsteady hand. Jacob hadn't even shown his face yet and the memories were becoming nightmares. Maybe, to be absolutely fair, it wasn't just Jacob making her feel as if she were about to fall off a cliff, but the events of the day. The sight of violence, anywhere, always stirred images of her father's wheelchair and why he would never be without it -- stirred the now faded images of a man's scarred face and the colors purple, red and yellow. Then, there was the boy -- the shape of his ear and the cross tattooed under it -- the way he'd laughed at her father's unconscious figure, stared at her. And his image wasn't the least bit faded. She shuddered. At the time, her father had described to the police that the scarred one and his buddy, were both teenagers, that the third man was an adult. They were never caught. They just seemed to vanish off the earth. For a long time Sue searched male faces, looking for that ugly scar. The third man she couldn't remember at all -- and he had shot Martha. For a long time when she saw anything violent on television, she had to leave the room. Then she went and fell in love with a man who carried a gun and made grim enemies almost daily. Twice she'd explained to him what happened to her long before they married. Jacob had talked and looked sympathetic and seemed to understand the pain her memories gave her; she felt certain of it. Sue had also felt certain she was over the fear of those memories. But when Jacob lay bleeding in their living room, shot by the man from her past with the purple, red, yellow butterfly on his arm, Sue couldn't take living on the edge any longer. Her nerves felt shattered, and she could think of nothing but escape -- escape seemed the only path guaranteed to maintain her sanity -- escape because, for a reason she couldn't for the world explain, let alone understand, she knew her past wasn't finished with. Maybe, she had decided, if she stayed miles away from Jacob, she could make the fear and uncertainties disappear. Maybe the boy with the disfigured ear and cross tattoo would not come back into her life. Sue prayed for his image to fade. She loved J.T. There wasn't a chance she could ever stop loving him, loving the sight of him, the heat he roused in her, the smell of him. But until she was absolutely certain that she had overcome her weakness, and she worked on it daily, she couldn't live with him, couldn't take the chance of seeing him hurt -- or, most of all, of failing him again, like she'd failed her parents, Martha. Making a decision, Sue pushed down the footrest, rose from her chair, and headed for the bedrooms. First she would gather Karen's things, then she would pack a little for herself and enough clothes for the kids to last a week. It wouldn't be safe for them here. She just wished she knew if the danger would pass or if she would have to find another apartment. After stowing Karen's belongings in the trunk of her car, and hauling her three suitcases into the living room, Sue sank down on her chair again. She needed to prepare herself for seeing Jacob. Sue closed her eyes. Nothing ever prepared her for seeing Jacob. * * * * It was six twenty-five when Clinton switched on the TV in his room. He didn't care what was on; he wanted to hear voices. Maybe even forget some of his frustrations. Trying to blend-in he had had to fly second class rather than first, and, because of the cheaper fare, they'd bumped him from his four o'clock flight back to California, messing up all his plans. Since the weekend turned out to be a busy one, the only reservation they would give him was seven a.m. Monday. If they hadn't stupidly overbooked, he could have been home in his spacious condo before midnight; instead, he was hanging around a cheap motel that offered little space and no comfort. The bed was rock hard. And even though there was a table and two chairs wedged between wall and bed, he didn't have room to merely sit in the chair, so he propped his feet on the bed. He started to yawn and think about going to sleep when the news announcer's words had him closing his mouth, jerking himself wide awake. Watching the scene in front of Mrs. Campbell's apartment, he heard the name of the victim and swore maliciously. But when a bystander in the crowd near the sidewalk caught his attention his mouth went dry, his jaw ached. He ripped open his wallet and yanked out the photo of Amanda Campbell. How the hell could he have made such a mistake? But he could see why. The two women could pass for twin sisters. He threw the wallet on the table. When Keats and Kimba heard about this screw up, they wouldn't buy any excuses, and his life wouldn't be worth shit for months. Life pretty much went to hell whenever Kimba lost her damned temper. Keats seemed more human. But he wasn't interested in Keats, and he knew Kimba would punish him by making him wait for her to come to his bed. Clinton slung his feet to the floor, rose from the chair, and paced the small space between the bed and bathroom door. He would have to go back to the apartment and get the bitch. But what if she wasn't there? What if the cops were watching the place? He shook his head. The cops would have finished their investigation -- that's what the news commentator said, that they'd investigated and had nothing yet to report. He stared at the phone near the bed. If he called Kimba, he would piss her off. Yet, if he didn't call her, he might never hear the end of it. Against his will he lifted the receiver and waited for the desk to pick up so he could make a long distance call. "Kimba," he started after the housekeeper brought her to the phone. "What are you doing calling me?" her whispered voice interrupted him. "I really hope you were smart enough to use a pay phone." "Oh, sure, yeah," he lied. Then he explained to her what had happened. "You go back and see if you can catch her alone," Kimba ordered. "Campbell's already on his way to Iowa. His plane was due to arrive in Des Moines at seven tonight, but there've been delays. You know damned good and well that he won't stay there long if he doesn't have a reason. We didn't find what we need yet, and the cops were crawling all over his place this morning." "Why are you whispering?" "We have a house-full of guests. If you can't change what's happened, idiot, you'd better let us know before Monday." There was silence for a moment. "Damn it, Clint, Keats was sure you could handle this. I think you'd best try really hard to give Campbell a reason to stay for a while. And you'd better remember that J.T. Campbell is sharper than most at what he does, and you'll still be in the same town with him." Clinton wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his fingers. "I'll let you know exactly what happens, Kimba." He hung up the phone before she could reply. Clinton stared for a moment at the curly, dark-brown wig he'd tossed on his suitcase, then picked it up and adjusted it over his hair. Kimba's warning about Campbell buzzed in his ears as he grabbed the keys to the room from the dresser and headed for the door. He'd walked over to the airport this morning and rented a cheap car. This morning the sun dominated the sky and he hadn't had a problem finding his way around, this evening they foretold storms and tornadoes and it was blacker than hell outside. He could hardly wait to see the last of this place. As he reached for the doorknob, Clinton looked at his shaking hands with disgust, hating the way he allowed Kimba to unnerve him. He envisioned her slender neck between his hands as he squeezed the breath out of her. But he banished the vision as her breath turned into dragon fire. He hated her; he loved her. He would do what she told him to do. -------- CH005 *Chapter 5* After waiting ten minutes near the entry gate and no one appeared to meet him, Jacob's already pushed-to-the-limits patience gave out. Damn it, he thought as he made his way through the long tunnel. Where the hell was everyone? He stopped at the first car rental agency he found at the front of the terminal where no one was standing in line. Quality didn't matter at the moment, because speed was his main concern. Three minutes later he scooped car keys from the counter top. If someone showed up now, he'd either follow them or take off on his own. Shoving the keys into his pocket, he felt a little better, having the car gave him the freedom he needed to keep his nerves in check, his thoughts controlled. For the first time in his life he was feeling real fear. Fear that he may never hear Sue's voice again, feel her near him, touch her. Fear about his children in the same manner. Fear that he would not hold it together if anything happened that took any of them away from him. Before entering the baggage area where he could see a crowd in front of the conveyor belts, Jacob opened his briefcase, dug out his cell phone, and punched in the Borgson's number. If he got a recording this time, he didn't think he would be responsible for his actions. His grip tightened on the phone until his fingers ached. He had expected to see Kathleen, or at least Martha, but if either one was here somewhere, she was invisible. He leaned his shoulder against the marble-tiled wall and kept looking for a familiar face. There weren't many people left around the entrance or ticket area. His was probably the last flight of the day. "Borgson's residence, may I help you?" His irritated emotions eased just slightly with the sound of a live person. "Martha, this is Jacob, and I'm at the airport," he announced smoothly, holding a tenacious grip on his frantic worry, his wobbly nerve. And trying with all his ability to sound polite when he wanted to shout. "Please, let me talk to Kathleen." "Jacob?" Kathleen questioned, sounding confused, which hit him immediately as strange. "I'm at the airport, Kathleen," he said, attempting even harder to remain calm, but his heart was pounding, and it seemed that every hair on his body stood on end. "How's Sue and what hospital is she in? Where are the kids?" And what the hell is going on, he finished to himself as he puffed out a breath. It wasn't like the Borgson's not to have someone waiting for him, especially since the situation was so grave. Being beside Sue and making certain that someone was protecting his kids were the main objectives dominating his thoughts. Where had the kids been when some bastard broke into the apartment? Questions were driving him nuts. He could hear what sounded like a relieved gasp. "Oh, my, Jacob, I'm so glad to hear your voice. Sue is all right. She wasn't the one hurt, Jacob. It was her friend Karen. The minute the police told me about the mix-up, I tried calling you. But you'd already taken off." He could have sworn that his heart stopped. Stunned to silence for a moment he took in a slow deep breath, and with a suddenly shaky grip on the phone, Jacob finally asked, "What happened? A robbery? What?" At that moment he understood what it meant when someone said they felt dizzy with relief -- his Amanda Sue was okay -- not in pain, not bleeding, not dying. But he felt twenty years older. "As far as we could tell nothing was missing. So nothing about this whole thing makes any sense, Jacob. A fire in the kitchen alerted Sue's neighbor and he found poor Karen unconscious and bleeding in the living room. He thought it was Sue. They look so much alike, you know." She sighed. "I wish I could take back the anguish I know you've suffered today, Jacob. But -- " she sputtered, her voice rising several octaves, "Sue's supposed to be there explaining everything!" Relief short-lived, he was standing well away from the wall now; his muscles so tense they hurt, his throat not wanting to work. "Where is she, Kathleen? Where are the kids?" he demanded, patience oozing away from his very soul. "You're making me worry again, Jacob. She should be there at the airport. Sue said she wanted to come and meet you alone. That's why the children are still here." He walked toward the black, well-worn conveyor belt where his was the only bag left circling through one hole in the wall and back out another. More questions about the kids would have to wait. At least he knew that the Borgson's was a safe place. For the first time, he was completely thankful that it had never been Sue's habit to leave the kids at the apartment when she wasn't there. They were either with her, with grandparents, or with their friends who lived across from their school until she picked them up. He would never again think that perhaps she took her protective nature too far. The kids were also tough. The last time he practiced karate with them, they'd cheated and had him flat on his back before he'd had a chance to get his feet set. "Take it easy, Kathleen," he said, swiping the bag from the belt and setting it on the floor. Relentlessly he buried his fear, calling forth the strength he'd relied on his entire life and continued with words he said mostly for controlling himself, "Let's not panic yet. Just tell me where she was when you last talked to her." The idea of Sue meeting him alone was a first. Did he dare hope that it was a good sign? The notion was risky, but he took risks all the time. "She called me from the hospital at six. She said she was going home to pack clothes for the kids before taking them to meet you. Then she called from home and said that she'd changed her mind and wanted to meet you alone." "As far as you know, the last place she went was the apartment?" He already knew what her answer would be. If there had been some sigh of a robbery, he wouldn't feel nearly as concerned that the perp would return. His gut feelings abruptly switched on high. If the perp had a specific purpose, and it wasn't Karen, if he learned he'd made a mistake, that he'd attacked the wrong person -- He had to get to the apartment to see that Sue was okay. "Yes. Do you want me to call her there?" Kathleen said sounding dazed. "Do you want me to come and get you, or have Martha come?" "I rented wheels and I'm heading for the apartment, Kathleen," Jacob told her gently, wanting to soothe away the tremble in her voice, wishing he could do the same for himself. Circumstances be damned -- there was just no way in hell that he could bring himself to call that apartment Sue's home. "I want you to stay right where you are in case Sue calls you. I'll let you know when I find her." He hesitated. "My cell phone is on, Kathleen, so if you hear from her call me." "Oh, Jacob, you need to call Abby, too. I called her about the mix-up and she said it was urgent that she talk to you." "I'll do it on my way, Kathleen. Thanks." After touching End on the phone, he pocketed it, grabbed his suitcase and briefcase and headed for the rental lot to the left of the air terminal. * * * * Six blocks from his destination, Clinton located a huge shopping mall with a vast parking lot. He couldn't have felt happier. The place was perfect for what he needed. The cement lot looked like miles of yellow-striped patchwork. He decided that the few dozen cars left parked near the mall entrances probably belonged to employees. He parked his rental car on the outermost row, but left it running as he listened to the weather report. It had been raining and the wind blowing like the devil when he first started out. He had turned on the radio and heard there were tornado warnings for most of the areas surrounding Des Moines and West Des Moines. The clouds had looked like they were coming from hell, and not knowing exactly what to do he had returned to the motel. By eight the weather service had lifted the warnings, but the rain had let up only minutes ago as he made his way to West Des Moines. Now the weather eggheads were speculating on the storm dangers for the rest of the night. He cursed Keats and all his esteemed ancestors while switching off the radio and yanking the key from the ignition. He hated the damned rain. He looked through the window at the horizontal, corkscrew-shaped black clouds that seemed to be traveling faster than the cars on the highway beside the mall. He had never seen a tornado, and damned-well didn't want to see one now. Home was where he wanted to be. It was too bad Kimba hadn't persuaded Keats to send someone else; he certainly wished that she had the moment he'd stepped from the airplane last night. This wasn't his line of work. When he was an agent, he intimidated people by threatening them, taking their property, leaving them destitute. He didn't have to burglarize them by climbing through windows. Now all he had to do was organize buyers and give them their cut -- Maybe he was selling himself short. Maybe this wasn't such a bad deal after all. Beating on that woman this morning had given him a powerful buzz. Given him a feeling of domination that he wouldn't mind feeling again. After taking the wig from his head and tossing it on the front seat, he shrugged into a dark-gray windbreaker and pulled an equally dark ski mask from its pocket. Leaving the car here was a good idea, he thought as he slammed the door, then hurried across the busy street that lay between him and the residential area he wanted. No one would pay a bit of attention to him when he returned for the car. He cursed when a passing car's tires shot him in the back with a heavy spray of filthy water, and again when he stepped in ankle-deep water near the curb. He developed his plan while cutting through someone's back yard and skirting a hedgerow with weird shadows that gave him the damned willies. When he had crawled through the window of the apartment this morning, he'd noticed a tennis racket leaning near a closet. He would whack her a few times with it and give her the warning to control her husband. The thought inspired him to walk faster. * * * * At nine-thirty Jacob drove up to the apartment garages and cut the engine of the roller-skate rental car. It irritated him that his hair brushed against the interior ceiling. A sardine would love this damn thing, he thought, while he lifted his left leg out the door. Once extricated from the vehicle, and deciding that whether or not he found her here, he would leave his stuff, he hauled his suitcase and briefcase from the tiny wedge obviously meant to be a back seat. Twice since he left the airport, he had tried her number and gotten no answer. He stepped over and peered through the garage window. The classic Chevy Sue always drove was in her space. She hadn't answered the phone, and the sight of the car didn't alleviate the uneasiness that twisted at his midsection. The feeling always came when something wasn't right, and he never ignored it. He hurried toward her front door; impatient to see her, impatient to make certain she was all right. Abby had just told him about the mess his house was in. A mess in California and a mess in Iowa could be a coincidence, but his gut didn't believe it for a minute. Who, if anyone, had he really pissed-off in the past couple of months? Could be the cop who confiscated cars in the mountains and made major kickback bucks from the tow company who sold the cars. The guy had covered his tracks well until he forced a young man and his family to drive to the highway and the tow company. The little-god-in-uniform stranded a super-nice guy; a guy Jacob admired, his pregnant wife and two small children in the hot sun, ten miles from home -- and with a hefty tow bill for a car that no one ever towed. Jacob tempted the cop, using a borrowed compact car with a missing taillight. He'd hardly driven a mountain mile when the guy stopped him, then followed the same procedure by making him drive to the tow company. Shaking his head as he remembered, Jacob tucked the briefcase under his arm when he reached the door, then pressed the doorbell. In that tow yard, and before they could leave him stranded, he'd less than subtly let the cop and his tow-company partner know that someone was on to them. It pleased him to see both of them turn red, then pale, and in that order. The cop wanted to threaten him -- Jacob saw it in his face. Jacob got a ticket for the taillight and sent on his way with the borrowed car. Via the Attorney General's office, his report should be sitting on a police captain's desk by now. He stopped pressing the doorbell and used the brass knocker instead. It could be that he was in for a bout of revenge. Then he remembered the news article in the paper a few weeks before -- his report might merely have gone into the ATG's nearest wastebasket. Kick-back for the Big-guns, too, he thought, because suddenly there was legislation to expand certain police jurisdiction and license them to rip-off all the cars they wanted with the intention of selling them -- on any charge, and Jacob knew how inventive they could be. Forget that, he decided. They'd never bother to reach eighteen hundred miles for revenge. If there was a connection between what happened to his home and what happened here, it would have taken someone time, and money -- Then, of course, there was Robert Delaney. He'd definitely pissed-off at least one agent when he'd nosed around the Delaney's affairs. However, that investigation ended with Robert's suicide. He remembered his promise to Dottie -- remembered why he'd brought the briefcase filled with his notes about Robert's problems. Well, maybe not ended, not totally anyway, since he had plans to begin where he'd left off when he got back home. Before he finished, he intended to know who, or what, had pushed his friend over the edge. He'd given his word to Dottie to investigate further, and she'd promised to be happy with his findings. For certain, when pissed-off, the agency did have arms long enough to reach across country, and endless supplies of money -- But, he couldn't imagine the entire agency being that interested in him. The agent with the data freedom couldn't possibly know how much information he'd gathered on property theft. When Sue didn't respond to his knock or the doorbell, Jacob set his two cases down and turned to look at the large statue of a lion that occupied most of the cement stoop near the door. The cream-colored lion appeared majestic; one paw raised high as if in greeting. Placing his hands on the extended paw, he rotated it counter-clockwise until he heard a slight click. With the slightest bit of pressure from his fingers, the paw slipped sideways on now visible hinges. He lifted the key from a small hook inside the paw, and then closed it. * * * * Even though he had more than half expected it, Clinton breathed out several foul expletives when he found the screen he'd removed from the bedroom window that morning neatly replaced. He took a small screwdriver from his windbreaker pocket, quietly popped the aluminum screen frame from its molding, and lifted it down. Once he had it leaning against the redbrick wall, it was nothing to slide the window open and hoist himself onto the window sill. He had no reason to believe anyone expected his return, and that excited him, quickened his pulse, made him eager to see the look of horror sure to contort the lovely lady's face. Come to think of it, this transcended anything he had ever done. Much better even than when he'd used intimidation to cower people as an agent. Though the room was pitch dark, a light illuminated the bottom of the door, and he could hear the laughing voices from a television set. Someone was home. It'll be her -- and after what I did here this morning, he thought, she'll be on edge, but not expecting me. He figured she would be alone. If she wasn't, well he could take care of that, too. He yanked on and adjusted his ski mask, then switched on his pocket-sized flashlight, moving it around until the tiny beam exposed the tennis racket he was looking for. Silently, he walked around a twin bed and across the carpeted room to where he stopped and lifted the racket with his gloved hand. After shifting it and weighing its balance out of habit, he tightened his grip and crept to the door. This shouldn't take more than five minutes. The thought disappointed him. If things went really well, he would stretch it to ten. The power Clinton had felt that morning returned, overriding his nervousness as he turned the brass knob. -------- CH006 *Chapter 6* "Sue, are you in here?" Jacob called out. Hearing no answer, he elbowed the elaborately carved front door open all the way and entered the spacious foyer with his bags, then dropped them near the wall. Part of the living room was visible through the wide archway, and it didn't take him long to spot the unmoving curve of her body asleep in her chair. Even before he saw her, he caught the scent of her, felt her presence, the way it had always been ... things hadn't changed. She had some explaining to do. For starters, what the hell she was doing here. Anger and exasperation banded together in his mind as he closed the door. Anyone could walk in here and she wouldn't blink an eye. She shouldn't even be here, and definitely not alone. He walked toward her, but a slight scuffing sound coming from the direction of the bedrooms stopped him. First he saw the tennis racket and gloved hand coming around the corner, then the ski-masked head and the wide shoulders connected to a masculine-shaped torso. Though Jacob was too far away to see the color, he did see the eyes in the ski mask widen, then the dark figure, flinging the racket as if it were a hot poker, disappeared into the hallway. His reflexes taking over, Jacob dropped his briefcase and hurdled over the low, oblong coffee table that stood between him and Sue and the hall. He cursed as his foot became entangled in a lamp cord that trailed down the side of an end table, tripping him. After kicking himself loose, he scrambled to his feet and raced down the hall. He hadn't heard any door slam, so he opted for Michael's open bedroom door. Not wanting to give the prowler a moment to think, he drove straight into the room, but he, the furniture, and a curtain that was billowing in the window, were the rooms' only occupants. "Cursed hip," he muttered, trying to ignore the twinge of pain running down his leg from his eighteen-month-old wound as he climbed through the open window and dropped to the ground. When he had entered the apartment, the wind had been dead quiet. Now it wailed through the trees, thwarting his ability to hear which way the intruder could be running. Thinking he heard the rattle of a trashcan, he jogged to the garage at the side of the building. One of the cans wobbled back and forth on its side, and its lid rolled down the driveway like a runaway tire. The odor of wet, rich soil and cut grasses permeated the air. The wind-whipped dirt hitting his face forced him to protect his eyes and kept him from seeing any movement in any direction. Suddenly the black sky released a mixture of marble and Ping-Pong-ball sized hail with a velocity that had him yelping as he sprinted around to the front of the building. The hail immediately changed to rain, drenching him to the skin before he reached the first step. A bolt of lightning seemed to ignite the universe, and a deep-throated, ear-shattering clap of thunder followed almost without a moment's delay. He burst into the foyer and stood, dripping on the slate tiles and glancing around for Sue, who was now nowhere in sight. "Amanda Sue, where the hell are you?" "Coming," she yelled, from somewhere down the hallway. She came around the corner; her ash-blond hair tousled, coming loose from its French braid at the back of her head, her chocolate-brown eyes wide. She's so beautiful, he thought. So beautiful. Sue started across the room. "What happened, Jacob? Why did you climb out the window?" Gesturing at her to stop, he said, "Grab me a towel from that bathroom, and I'll tell you." While unbuttoning his shirt, he watched her retrace her steps and disappear into the bathroom. By the time he undid the last button, she was standing before him holding out a bath blanket and a regular-sized towel. His instinct told him to reach out and pull her into his arms, then touch every inch of her, but he didn't. "You might as well strip and let me put your clothes in the dryer," she said, not at all thrilled with making the suggestion. Though his image was a constant in her mind, she hadn't seen him physically for nearly six months'. The thought of seeing him in the buff after over a year was bringing a heat to her cheeks she'd rather he didn't see. As the same heat filtered to other parts of her body, she turned her face away from him, but it didn't stop her from hearing and identifying each article of clothing as he stripped it off. "All finished," he said, handing her his shirt, briefs, socks, and pants. He draped the huge towel around himself, then flopped the shorter one across his shoulders. His Babe had turned her face away from him and it hurt. Though he thought he understood her reaction, he found it irritated him no end. He couldn't conceal the displeasure in his tone as he sharply added to her retreating figure, "And call your parents so they can stop worrying. Kathleen knows you didn't meet me at the airport." Taking the loose ends of his neck towel, he swiped the water from his hair. A year and a half ago he wouldn't have undressed in the hall, and they would have been sharing a hot shower by now. That wasn't the only hot thing they would have shared. Jacob wanted it all back, and he wanted it soon. After a few moments he followed after Sue, hesitating at the kitchen entrance, then advancing on her. The dryer in the alcove near the back door already tumbled noisily, and Sue was turning the coffeepot on while talking on a cordless phone when he reached her. She opened a cupboard and removed two mugs. "We'll see you in a while then, Mom." Pushing a button, she placed the phone on the table. Avoiding eye contact, she looked at Jacob. "I didn't tell her about what just happened. Mom and Dad won't get any sleep tonight if we tell them." She brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "I don't know what happened." "About your parents, I agree. It can wait until morning." Again he watched her mentally retreat from him as she took napkins from a basket on the counter. Along with the cutting frustration of her withdrawing behavior, the better than sixteen hours of stress finally became too much for Jacob. Forgetting the towel, Jacob reached out, turned her around and brought her against his chest by wrapping his arms around her. He easily ignored her stiffened resistance. He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing. His Babe was not battered and bleeding. He needed to hold her and determine for himself that it wasn't just a bad dream. And, oh god, how beautiful her body felt against his, where it belonged -- had always belonged. It suddenly dawned on her that Jacob didn't really seem all that surprised in his attitude about the intruder. "You know about Karen?" she murmured into his shoulder towel, trying to avoid touching his warm, seductively strong neck. A place she longed to nestle into. "You already know what's happened here today?" Sue felt a tremor go through him and relaxed against his broad chest. A grave error. Familiar sensations, his heady scent, his racing heartbeat, the feel of his large hands on her back, were all ganging up on her, bringing forward the emotions she had worked months to discourage her mind and body from remembering. She wasn't ready. She just wasn't ready. Her body called her a liar, but it wasn't her body that needed time. When she lived with Jacob again, she would know for certain she couldn't fail him, ever. Realizing that his emotions were also wound tight, and his hard body signaling arousal, she stirred uncomfortably. Sue didn't want to deal with an aroused Jacob; let alone herself. Gently, and annoyed with herself for wanting to stay where she was, she pulled away, trembling, and dared a looked into his eyes. Steam, that was the best term for what she saw in their dark-blue depths. "I only know what your mom told me when I called from the airport. Your not being there to meet me was the heart stopper." "He came back, didn't he?" she said, voicing the reason for the sudden chill that ran the length of her spine. A vision of Karen's face appeared in her mind, and with it came anger plus the desire to see the guy punished -- to punish him herself. "The sonofabitch who hurt Karen was here when you came in." Waking to see Jacob flying over her coffee table was an apparition she hoped would not become a new nightmare. Reluctantly, Jacob let his hands fall to his sides. Cursing either at or about people was something new to hear from his Babe. He hid his surprise. "Well, I sure-as-hell chased someone out the bedroom window." He gestured at the gleaming white coffeepot as he stepped to the counter. "How about we sit while you tell me what's going on around here." After filling the two mugs she'd placed on the counter, he set them on the table and pulled a chair out for her. "I'd rather go in the other room," she said, grateful for the breathing space. Demanding herself to cool off, Sue took the coffee mugs from the table and walked with Jacob to the living room where she handed him his. The potent feeling of animosity was completely new to her and frightened her into shoving it to the back of her mind. She would deal with it later -- when she had time to pick it apart, digest it. "To begin with, I came home to a disaster this morning." As she sat on her chair, she watched him lower his towel-clad body onto the couch near her. "The street was full of police cars and fire engines. The ambulance scared me the most." She told him about later visiting Karen in the emergency room and the verbal warnings Karen's attacker had left while beating her. "I found nothing missing, Jacob. And, you're the only snoop with any connection to my apartment," she finished. He had to have been mistaken about her furious reaction. The flush in her cheeks had disappeared, and her voice sounded normal. "I suppose it was all over the television screen," he stated. "All over the screen, and telling the culprit he had missed his mark." Most of his clients knew nothing about his marital status; let alone where Sue and the kids lived. So, since a client wouldn't attack his family, it could have been ... a client's enemy? Perhaps. He had three cases going at the moment, not counting Delaney. To his knowledge, the people he had helped ship to prison were all still there. Even before he'd heard the ominous snoop message, instinct had told him that the mess his house was in and what had happened here was not merely a fluke. Someone had long arms and a deadly attitude. "I thought about that when I saw myself on the news. I was really hoping that if the man saw the news, he wouldn't notice me in the crowd." Feeling shaky, she gripped her mug with both hands and sipped the hot brew. "I guess he did, after all." "How did you know I was chasing someone? Did you hear him?" Sue shook her head. "No, you're the only person I saw and heard. But I followed you, and there're muddy foot prints going both ways down the hallway, and leading directly to the open window in Michael's room." She stared at him for a moment. "Do you think he might have used the same window this morning?" Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, she added, "I'm sure Karen wouldn't have let him in the front door -- she would have remembered. Whoever it was, surprised her -- terrified her -- " "Was it raining this morning?" Jacob interrupted. "No, we've been having dry weather until this evening." "Then there wouldn't have been mud all over this morning." He placed his mug on the coffee table, leaned forward, and fought the frustration that urged him to take hold of her slender shoulders and shake them. "If you thought this guy might come back," he grumbled, "why the hell are you still here?" He studied the flush building in her cheeks. "I've told you the possibilities for a perp to return to a crime scene." Recognizing the anxiety in his tone of voice, Sue rose from her chair and lifted his mug with her free hand. She didn't bother to deny knowing what he was talking about. "I meant to leave right after I packed the suit cases." She sighed, watching the muscles in his tanned arm flex; watching the soft, dark hair on his broad chest ripple with his breathing; lord, she wished he had left his clothes on. "But I sat down to rest for a moment." Shrugging her shoulders, she added, "I fell asleep, J.T. Quit looking at me like that. I didn't do it on purpose." He stood up too. "Come here," he ordered gently, placing his hand on her arm and leading her toward the hallway. "Is that Michael's racket?" For the first time Sue saw the tennis racket lying on the carpet and a smudge above it on the wall. "Where did that come from?" Jacob turned to her, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. "The sonofabitch was carrying it. I'm sure he intended using it on you. But when he saw me, he chucked it." First was the blatant warbling of a siren out front, then only seconds later came a loud hammering on the door with a shouted, "Police. Open up, or we'll break down the door." Jacob noticed Sue's stunned expression. "Take it easy, Babe, it's just the cops," Jacob said, heading for the laundry cove. "Keep them in the living room until I get my pants on." While working to get a grip on herself, Sue opened the door to find two patrolmen with their guns drawn. "There was a prowler, but everything's fine in here," she said quickly, hoping neither of them was trigger-happy. They looked nervous to her. They pushed past her into the foyer and stopped. The biggest one kept looking around as he talked. "A Mister Gier called 911, saying a prowler was running around the building," the one with Harvey on his nametag stated. "We met Gier out front, and he said the man ran away from your rear window, then came in through the front door." "We know a woman was attacked in this apartment this morning," the other officer added. "There's a plaque outside the front that says manager's office. Are you the manager?" Sgt. was on the nametag over his shield, but Sue wasn't about to try and pronounce his name. She gestured toward the kitchen. "My husband and I are the only ones in here, now." She didn't want them startled when Jacob made an appearance. "And, yes, Sergeant, I'm Sue Campbell, and I'm the manager. The prowler and my husband went out the window. It was my husband who came in the front door. He chased the man, but he got away." "That's right, officer," Jacob said from the kitchen entryway. "I'd just let myself in when I saw the guy with my son's tennis racket in his hand. He dropped it before going back out the bedroom window." "How come you didn't phone in?" As she watched Jacob start to shrug, Sue said, "Shock. We were getting ready to when you showed up. It's only been a few minutes -- " "Okay," Harvey interrupted, holstering his weapon. Harvey moved toward Jacob. "Where's the racket. Maybe we can get prints." "I doubt it," Jacob said, pointing at the racket on the hallway floor. "The man was wearing gloves. He also had a ski mask over his head and wore a black windbreaker." He finished buttoning his shirt. The masked man didn't act much like a professional, Jacob thought. He had displayed too much fear. Wearing a knit hat in June, and with a price tag flapping around on the back, didn't seem terribly bright either. Jacob decided that the guy probably wasn't one to ski or one much used to winter gear -- but he'd sure-as-hell had held a knowing grip on that tennis racket. He looked at the patrolmen. "Where would someone buy a heavy ski mask and gloves in Des Moines this time of year?" The officers glanced at one another. Harvey said, "I'd have to check around. Stores are pretty much seasonal around here, and the winter stuff is usually off the shelves by the last of April." "You aren't from around here are you?" The Sergeant looked suspicious. Jacob shook his head. "I live in California." "How about showing some ID." "We're separated," Sue threw in as Jacob took his wallet from his briefcase, flipping it open for the cops to view, then handing it to Harvey. "My mother thought I was the one attacked this morning, and called him." "Same day's mighty fast," Harvey said. "What time did you arrive?" "Not so fast," Jacob supplied. "When you consider that I left before eight this morning and didn't get here until nine tonight. I had delays in LA and Dallas." "Can never be too careful," Officer Harvey said, returning Jacob's wallet to his outstretched hand, "especially after what happened here this morning." He looked at Sue. "Had to be sure you weren't in some danger we couldn't see." Harvey turned toward the sergeant. "I'm going to look around outside." "We both will," the Sergeant said, still staring at Jacob. "Why the questions about the stores?" "There was a price tag on the guy's hat. Could mean he bought it recently." Could also mean he wasn't from Iowa, needed a disguise, and wasn't terribly inventive. "You seem real observant. You a cop?" The sergeant didn't look amused, or impressed as one dark eyebrow lifted in complete speculation. Time, Jacob thought, that he let these guys know this wasn't a game to anyone here. "I'm a private investigator, Sergeant. The idea that some crazy is stalking my family doesn't settle well with me. I believe the man who was here this evening is the same one who was here this morning." After giving the sergeant name and phone number information, he hesitated. "Did detectives come out here this morning?" "Yeah," the sergeant said. "Three of them." "I'd like to speak to the one in charge. I'd like to call him in the morning." "Manning's the one in charge. I'll tell him about you when I get back to the station. When we report this incident, he'll probably want to talk to both of you." Jacob walked with them to the door. "Thanks, I appreciate it." After closing the door, he turned toward Sue. "If you have your things together, let's get out of here. If we're lucky, that masked joker doesn't know anything about your parents, and you'll all be safer there." "Where are you going to stay, J.T.?" Her mother would ask him to stay at her house. Sue didn't want to sleep in the same house with Jacob. She wouldn't sleep. Just being this close to him had a disconcerting affect that unbalanced her. He had a way of making her feel bewildered. "Unless you have a problem with it, I'd like to stay here in the apartment." She breathed easier, but only for a moment. "You're welcome to stay here, but what if that guy comes back?" She might not want to sleep in the same house with him, but she didn't want him in danger. "He won't come back." He retrieved his suitcase from near the front door and placed it beside his briefcase in the living room. He stared at the smaller case for a moment. The case where he had the Delaney file, a completely uninformative copy of the police report, and his vast collection of real estate notes. Instinct told him to take it with him wherever he went. He never ignored that instinct. "What makes you so sure?" "He knows that you are no longer alone. Karen said the message was for me. He knows I'm here, that I've gotten the message." Sue started for the door with two of the three suitcases she intended to take to her mother's house. "I hope you're right, J.T. There's been enough blood spilled in this place." She looked over her shoulder. "I'm sorry that Mom panicked and called you. She tried to reach you in time, but forgot what a fast mover you can be." Releasing one case long enough to open the door, she then retrieved it and stepped outside. "I know, and it's all right," he called after her. "Can't think of a place I'd rather be." Except, he thought, for the circumstances. But there was one positive sign, she had called him J.T., which he hadn't heard her say since the day he was shot in the hip. Grabbing her third case with one hand, he lifted his briefcase with the other and hurried to catch up with her. "Do I follow you, or do you follow me?" She couldn't help smiling. Jacob had always let her have options ... always allowed her space. "I'll let you follow me." Jacob spoke again to the two police officers who'd returned to their car, letting them know he and Sue were leaving and where they would each be if Manning wanted to talk before morning. Then he leaned down near the window of her car. "I'm starving. Is there still a fast drive-thru near the mall?" Businesses tended to come and go too quickly to keep track where he lived, let alone knowing about a place he saw once a year at most. "Sure," she answered and laughed and glanced at her watch. "I'll take you there if you'll order me a burger, too. It's nearly eleven, so we have to hurry. I think they roll-up the sidewalk at midnight." "Just lead the way," he said, backing toward his car. "Just lead the way." * * * * In a yard nearby, and from the vantage point of a fork in the apple tree he had climbed, Clinton could see the cop's flashlights disappear around the corner of the building. He wiped the sweat from his brow with unsteady fingers. He couldn't see over or around the huge garage, but he heard two cars start and breathed easier. Then he heard a third vehicle's engine and knew the police car was pulling away from the front of the apartment house. When all was quiet, he jumped down from the tree and walked slowly across the yard and down the driveway in the direction of the mall. Kimba would just have to deal with Campbell when he returned to California. Clinton wasn't a small man, and it galled him that Campbell made him feel like Jack to the Giant. As soon as he returned to the motel, he would call her. Knowing Kimba, she would arrange something interesting for Campbell to deal with the moment he stepped off the plane. He wondered if she would tell Keats what happened. Probably, but Keats never did anything more than give orders and file papers. Keats was a man who kept his butt well covered. * * * * A narrow side street separated the entrance for the Burger Barn's drive-thru and the mall. Jacob noticed that one small car occupied the vast, otherwise-empty mall parking lot. He also noticed the words U-Use Me rental around the license plate when he drove past, and memorized the R-JV l on the plate. Instinct again, he thought. But, he never ignored that intuition. It was a habit to repeat this to himself. Once, he had disregarded this innate gift, and it nearly got him killed. And that error of insight placed his family eighteen hundred miles away. -------- CH007 *Chapter 7* He noticed the rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking up as he waited in the drive-thru line for the car in front of him to pull away. Unable to stop thinking about the vehicle across the street, Jacob paid for the food, then parked beside Sue. He climbed out, opened the passenger door of her car, and sat down beside her. Ignoring her surprised expression he said, "Mind if we eat this sitting here?" Having her alone seemed too damned good to be true. He intended to make the most of every minute. "No. But we'd be more comfortable at Mom's table." The Chevy's soft leather front seat had always seemed wide to her, but it suddenly felt as if it shrank to compact. If she wanted, she could reach out and touch his cheek, his lips, his chest. She wanted, but she wasn't going to do it. She'd sworn never to give false hope to either of them. The determination didn't stop her from wishing she could sit on her hands before they acted on their own volition. He gestured toward the mall. "See that car over there?" Since it was the only one sitting where he pointed, Sue didn't have any problem finding it. She nodded. "Is this a trick question?" Maybe the heavy smell of rain and mud were making him tipsy. After all, native Californian's didn't often get the privilege of experiencing thunderstorms with tornadoes. The poor things, she thought, smiling. She knew how large the hail had been earlier when he'd gone through the window, and hoped he hadn't gotten a concussion. Jacob chuckled and handed her a hamburger and a small container of fries. "I just thought we'd watch it while eating our snack." I want this day over, she thought. "Why?" To keep from staring at the always-enticing dimple near his mouth, she turned her attention to the vehicle across the highway. Taking a bite of her sandwich, she realized how hungry she really was, that she'd forgotten to eat since breakfast with the kids that morning. He placed two coffees in the cup holder below the dash. "I'm not sure," he said, popping open the drink-slot on the plastic lid. "If the man who broke into your apartment is from out of town, he might have rented a car like I did. That one has plates that indicate it's rented." She sat up straighter, munching a fry, and happy he hadn't wanted to start the personal discussion they would ultimately have before he left Iowa. Jacob's powers of observation always amazed her. It didn't seem possible that he would have any enemies living in Iowa; they would have to be imports. "You don't think he'd be miles from here by now?" "Most likely, but I don't think it'll hurt to watch for a while." He unwrapped his triple burger, his first food in twenty-four hours, and took a bite. Seeing her alive and well and knowing the kids were safely with family had restored his appetite, despite the intruder. If I'd actually caught that guy, we'd be looking for a steak place, he thought, even though he knew there wasn't a chance in hell that they would find one open. Jacob tried to disregard the speck of catsup on her lip, tried even harder to overlook her action as her tongue slowly licked it away just as he'd imagined doing the very same thing with his. He drew in a deep breath. Determined to keep the conversation going, and in keeping the content away from themselves, she dove into a subject that had been bothering her for days. "How's Dottie doing, J.T.? I phoned her yesterday, but her mom said she felt too ill to speak to anyone." "She refuses to believe Robert killed himself. It's tearing her apart, so I told her I'd investigate." He lifted his coffee cup. "It seems like the kids are holding up pretty well." "Didn't the police look into it?" Sue tried not to stare at his hand holding the cup, nor at the wedding ring he never removed for any reason -- since the day they married, he had decided that it would bring bad luck if he took it off. She tried to ignore the thudding in her chest, as if sitting here with him was the most exciting thing she'd done in months. Her heart seemed determined to rule her head. Jacob sipped the hot brew, and then shook his head. "They found nothing that gave them grounds to initiate an investigation. Tim and I decided to have a look-see." He shifted his back toward the side window so he could see her better in the dim lighting. "Robert had financial problems because an agent for our country's beloved taxing agency was ripping him off. The same agent harassed him no less than once a week. Pretty much, everyone thinks the stress caused him to kill himself, but it contradicts how ticked-off Robert was the last time I saw him. I had proof of their errors, but the agent I talked with ignored my presentation." He laughed without humor. "Then I had the honor of being audited." "Scare tactics?" she asked. She talked with people who'd gotten the same treatment. He ate the last of his hamburger. "No doubt about it." He shrugged. "But, it gave me the opportunity to meet the parasite hounding Robert and Dottie." Jacob stuffed the leftovers from their snacks into a paper sack. "If there's a way to touch this excuse-for-humanity, I'm going to find it." As he saw it, the agency was the cause of Robert's death. If they kept track of their conglomerate, the innocent wouldn't become victims. He felt pretty sure who the thief was. With a little more time, a little more proof, he intended to give him some heat. If it became necessary to wait until some day when the guy made a mistake as a civilian, so be it, because he would be there. Sue wanted to touch him; make him decide to leave the aggressive agency alone. "People have gotten hurt messing with them, J.T. Even slammed in jail like political prisoners, and only because they questioned their rights." She handed him her empty coffee cup. "I don't suppose you could just leave it alone?" Before she had said the words, she knew what his answer would be. He opened the car door and stepped out. "Now, you shouldn't talk like that, Babe. You know it's illegal to have political prisoners in America." He closed the door and leaned down to the window. "Your mom and dad are probably chewing their fingernails by now. Let's get going?" With the gleam in his eyes and his slight note of sarcasm, he was reminding her that treasonous, conniving activity were simply part of an ordinary working day for the governmental society. The headlines proved it each and every day. Glancing at the car in the mall lot, Sue turned the key in the ignition. Jacob had appeared to forget why they had stayed to watch, but he had never really taken his attention from that car. As she drove away from the restaurant, she thought she saw movement near a tree in a yard across the four-lane road that fronted the mall, and then decided it was only the wind. Two hours with Jacob, and now she was on a stakeout observing, analyzing, feeling suspicious, and to her horror, loving it. But his scrutinizing always led to anxieties she couldn't handle. Like Karen being attacked ... like Jacob being shot ... like her failure to be in control of a damned thing when the chips were down. * * * * The Borgson's lived in a three-story brick home four blocks north of Grand Avenue on Elmhurst. An area of stately mansions built in a by-gone era, but nonetheless impressive. Actually, as he thought about it, it seemed that the buildings positively bloomed, improving with age. When Jacob pulled onto the well-lit circular drive, he saw Michael and Andee sitting on the wide front steps. Sue kept going, disappearing behind the house to park near the garages, but Jacob stayed on the front drive and parked beside the ramp built for her father's wheelchair. He barely had his feet on solid ground when Andee flew into his arms. "Oh, Dad, I'm so glad to see you," Andee cried. "Are you going to stay here at Grandma and Grandpa's?" "Negative," he answered, hugging her and watching his son's slow approach. "I'm going to stay at the apartment." Michael held out his hand and Jacob gave him a handshake, firm, defending, and designed to let him know that Jacob was there for him. "Good to see you, Dad." "Why can't you stay here?" Andee asked, releasing her hold around his waist. "We want to be with you." "You know why I can't stay here, sweetheart. But don't worry, I'll be with you as much as possible." His words didn't do much for the glum look she was giving him. He chucked her under the chin. "Come on now, give me a smile. You never know how this will all work out." He turned to Michael. At nearly ten, he was already over five-feet tall. But he was hanging back, looking withdrawn -- something he had never done before. Handshakes weren't enough. "Too big to hug your old dad, huh?" Though Michael's young mouth tilted in a smile as he moved into Jacob's arms, it didn't squelch Jacob's concern. "No, Dad. You said no one ever gets that big." "Good boy," Jacob whispered, knowing that was a phrase Sue said to the kids often. "We all need each other." "I know," Michael whispered back. "Gonna work on Mom this trip?" "Shh, she might hear you. But I think you're right, this is the time." Jacob wished he felt more confident about the idea. But somehow he had backed someone into a corner, and that someone stalked his family. He needed them where he could protect them until he discovered who and why. Moving his Amanda Sue, his Babe, wouldn't be easy. Her feet were planted. He could imagine skid marks all the way to California. "We'll help," Andee said while looking toward the house to make certain her mother wasn't near. "How can we help?" He reached out and brushed a wisp of her ash-blond from her forehead, enjoying the twinkle in her chocolate-brown eyes ... eyes so like her mother's. "By giving us some space, sweetheart. By letting us have a little time alone. I realize it won't be easy having the patience and all." He studied Michael a moment, wishing he could remember more about being ten. "I can promise that I'll give it my best shot." "You've got it," they replied in unison as they raised their hands for a high-five with Jacob. "You've got what?" Sue asked as she came around the corner of the house. Jacob winked at them. "I promised to take them out for dessert tomorrow night if they didn't make a mess for their grandmother while they're here." "Jacob," Kathleen called from the front door. "Come in, come in." A soft whir announced Raymond's wheelchair as it drew up and stopped beside her. "Yes, all of you get in here and tell us what's going on," he said. "We've waited long enough." * * * * Showered, ready for bed, and tired from all the nervous energy he'd exerted throughout the day, Mike pulled back the covers from the bed he always used when staying with his grandparents. He loved them, for sure -- they were always cool. But he wanted his parents together -- he wanted his family acting like a family. He remembered the dream about instant aging he'd had the night before. They were going to make him gray-haired before he was ten years old, that's what they were going to do. He ran into the bathroom across the hall to look in the mirror, making sure the process hadn't already begun. After searching through his dark hair and finding no silver, he sighed with relief and opened the door. He hoped the dream didn't reoccur just because he'd thought about it. Andee leaned against the bedroom doorframe. "I'm tired," he said, passing her and walking to the bed. "Me, too," Andee answered, yawning. "But, we've got to talk a minute." Mike sat down on the bed, half on the blue-silk sheets, half on the downy bedspread. "What's to talk about?" After stepping inside, Andee closed the door. "How we can help Dad, of course," she whispered. "Dad doesn't want help." Shaking his head, Mike plumped up his silk-encased pillow. "Just don't pull one of your getting sick ideas again, okay? They haven't worked yet, and they ain't goin' to." The last time she'd had Mom believing she had pneumonia and ready to call Dad, but the doctor didn't fall for it. One time she'd used a red pen to put dots all over her body. Geez, was Mom ever mad. "I haven't done that for over a year. I'm long past the juvenile stuff, Moron," she said her chin rising. "Let's get serious." He would keep the name-calling simple. He was too darned tired to get creative. "All right, Ms. Dumber," he said, wishing she would go away. "Why don't we get Dad alone longer so we can ask him? He didn't have time to say much, but he's gonna work on Mom." Andee nodded. "But if he's not getting anywhere, then we think up our own plans, right?" Mike smiled. "Agreed. If Dad looks stuck or losing, I say we try more dynamite moves. Something that gets their attention -- or else." Andee opened the door. "You got it, Bro. Good night." "Yeah," he mumbled, slipping under the covers. When Mom told Dad about what's happened at school, dynamite might be a mild explosion compared to his dad's reaction. He wished he knew. He'd never made his dad mad before, so he didn't know what to expect, really. His teacher had said to put themselves in their parents shoes once in a while. Mike could barely fathom how he himself would react if he had a kid doing similar things. He closed his eyes. That wouldn't be good. Not good at all. * * * * Jacob didn't stay long. After seeing the kids off to bed, and watching and waiting as patiently as she could while Jacob finished a quick beer with her father, Sue walked with him to his car. "The kids probably won't sleep because of all the excitement," she said. "I'm not going to have an easy time of it either." It wouldn't just be Karen's disaster that would keep her awake. The natural musky scent that was J.T., had always driven her crazy, and she'd had it surrounding her in her apartment, in her car, and right now standing beside him. Nodding, Jacob leaned against the passenger door. "We have to talk, Babe." She stopped and leaned against the car beside him. "I know, J.T., but it's too late." His blue eyes seemed to penetrate her skin, while he paled visibly under his rich tan. She touched his arm. "I meant that it's too late to discuss anything tonight, not that we couldn't talk." Taking her hand in his, he said, "You had me scared for a minute." His Adrenaline had shifted to overdrive. He might have been tired a moment ago, but now he was wide awake. The idea that they could never again communicate scared her, too. What if she had been the one in that apartment this morning? And how much would she have missed if she'd died today? That seemed too unbearable to think about. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough day for both of us." She'd hopelessly considered the same what ifs the day Jacob lay bleeding on the living room steps -- and she didn't help him. "Yeah, too rough." "Why don't you divorce me and marry someone like Carley Tibbs? I think -- " "Hold it," he interrupted. "Why would I even consider such a move?" Sue had never used the word divorce before, and he didn't like it. He had a nervous feeling that this trip would turn out to be the now-or-never he had dreaded for the past two years. "Carley and you have loads in common. She loves what you do and all the explosions that go with it." Sue hesitated, working to control the shakiness in her voice, her hands, her knees. "It doesn't matter how much I'd like to fit the bill, I just can't do it. It's not fair to you, J.T." Carley, so cute, so young, so darned psychic it was scary. Jacob opened her hand, one finger at a time, and then gently touched the lines in her palm. "Let's see now. Carley is a great secretary, and she's going to make a fine P.I. It is strictly my own opinion from observation that Carley lives for Carley, and believes only in Carley. She has no desire to become a part of another person. She has no desire to share herself with children or anyone else. I asked her once about her love life. She said, 'Use 'em and lose 'em is my motto. Men are completely perfect when there's a ring in their nose.' Carley believes that moral value and commitment have no business existing in life's cycle because they are myths. And family is all right, if it never interferes with a show of concern." He closed Sue's hand, but didn't let go. "Now, tell me again, what is it we have in common?" Sue pulled her hand from his grasp, ignoring the slightly hurt tone of his voice, and considering only his words. "You certainly know a lot about Carley." She hadn't meant to sound contradictory, but she couldn't help it. Before she realized what was happening, Jacob pushed away from the car, his hand came under her chin, and his lips were touching hers. The kiss was not passionate; it was soft, slow, and ever so mesmerizing. Jacob stepped back and dug the car keys from his pants pocket. "It's getting late, Babe," he said huskily. "How bout we discuss this over breakfast in the morning?" Sue clasped her hands together to keep her fingers from touching her mouth, and disregarded the weak sensations in her knees, the thundering beat of her heart. If she told him that she didn't want to discuss it, they would have an argument. She felt too weary to argue. She cleared her throat. "What time?" He walked to the driver's side and opened the car door. "We need to visit Karen together, so six would give us some time." * * * * After walking her parents to their bedroom door and saying good night, Sue entered the guest bathroom and began filling the large tub with water. She added scented bath oil, and then stepped in. As she leaned back, the silky water caressed her belly, her breasts. When she closed her eyes, it became Jacob's hands touching her skin, arousing her nipples to hardened peaks, making her feel empty and wanting him there to fill her, bring her to the euphoric climax he could manage so well. She sat up immediately, destroying the mental pictures. Instead of reaching for the bath sponge she wanted, she touched her lips. If he hadn't kissed her, she would be fine. However, he had, and she wasn't. She wasn't the only one who wasn't all right. Each day she reminded herself that every move she made affected four people. Grabbing the sponge and running it down her arms, she remembered the way the kids had reacted when he'd said good night to them. They'd pretended it was a normal evening, she could see it in their faces. But she also saw the tears shining in Andee's eyes, though they didn't slide down her cheeks. It had taken her a while to read the look in Michael's. He was wondering if she'd had time to discuss his behavior with Jacob, but was afraid to ask. Out of nowhere, it seemed, Michael didn't trust her. She'd promised him that she would warn him when she would discuss it with Jacob. She pulled the plug, stepped from the tub, and wrapped a bath blanket around herself. Her image in the steamed mirror was nearly nonexistent. Was that really her? Had she become a mere shadow? She touched her lips again. No, she was still the Amanda Sue Campbell who desired Jacob. Tears gathered in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Time was running out, she could feel it. If she died tomorrow, would he know how much she loved him? Would the kids know how much she loved them? She prayed that they would. Somehow, and soon, she had to come to terms with her life. Her children suffered from the miles between them and their dad. Sue hated each and every one of those miles as much as they did. She knew the visits they made would never be enough for them, knew they were running out of courage. Sue brushed away the guilty feelings as she dressed for bed. She was doing her best, working on her shortcomings every day. God willing, she'd conquer them. * * * * When he drove past the mall, Jacob was thinking about Sue's words, the taste of her, and his arousal. He loved Carley like a sister, respected her as a partner. He could probably use her psychic abilities right now -- she wasn't perfect, but ninety percent of the time what she saw helped them solve client's problems. But Sue's words about him and Carley being more compatible didn't make sense. A car pulled out in front of him, and he recognized it and the license plate. At first he thought the driver was a female because of the outline of curly hair, and then changed his mind. Not many women looked comfortable hunched to the side with their elbow protruding from the window. Slowing down, he dropped back, deciding to follow the car. When it pulled in at the motel across from the airport, Jacob turned into the gas station next door. He stopped at the full-service pump. "Fill it up," Jacob told the station attendant as he stepped from the car and stood where he had a clear view of the motel. He had made it in time to watch the man climb the brightly lit outside staircase and enter the room with the numbers one twenty-four. Figuring that he had wasted time following the guy, he paid his bill and drove back toward West Des Moines. The man he chased through the apartment could not have had that much hair. Even mashed down, there would have been some lumps in the ski mask. Yet, something about the guy's walk and build seemed vaguely familiar. Balancing a small note pad on his knee, Jacob jotted down the date, name of the motel, and room number. If he had time tomorrow, he would try and get the guy's name. Just to keep my notes straight, he thought. It had always paid off when he kept his notes straight. When he got to the apartment, he would add the information to the license number and rental company. He sighed. When he laid down in that apartment, he would remember how soft, warm, and right Sue had felt against him. Her scent would be everywhere, and he was a glutton for punishment. -------- CH008 *Chapter 8* At four in the morning Sunday the incessant ringing of Abby's phone awakened her. She knocked the phone onto the bed in her haste to grab it. "Hello," she mumbled incoherently, blinking her eyes, struggling to arouse her senses. The soft pastels in her bedroom seemed non-existent in the pale glow of the nite-light. "Abby, I'm sorry to be calling you at this hour. But, it's happened again." "Tim? Is that you?" She pulled her toes out from under Spike, who raised his head off the bedspread long enough to blink his golden eyes at her. "Yes, sweetheart. Someone vandalized Jacob's house again, less than an hour ago." He took a deep breath. "This time they trashed the garage and the third level." Sitting up now, Abby clutched the delicate curves of the phone receiver with both hands. "This has never happened before, Tim. It's scaring me, I can tell you that." Jacob's home was only about six city blocks away. Lots of things happened to Jacob, but having his house under attack was a new one. His five acres, just like her twenty, had a six-foot-high chain-linked fence and electronic gate, and when he left home he always locked the gate by remote. "I want you to get a hold of Jacob and have him call me at home around five tonight our time. His house isn't the only thing that happened this morning. Someone torched the Delaney's house. We've had a patrol car keeping an eye on the place so they got it before it did much damage. Dottie and the kids didn't see it 'cause they're staying with her mother, but she's in a state of hysteria." Abby laid a hand against her chest. Calm down, she told herself. You have things to do. She glanced at the time, knowing it was two hours later in Iowa. "I'll call him, Tim. Then I'll go over and see what I can do to help Dottie and her family." "I was hoping you'd say that, Abby. Dottie's mother sounded like she's about to snap herself. I know they could use a friend there to hold them together." She swung her feet over the side of the bed, and the sudden action knocked Spike over the foot of the bed, his front paws swiping for a hold and missing. "Do you think any of this has a connection to what happened in Iowa?" "It wouldn't do any good to speculate, sweetheart. Jacob should have a handle on what happened back there by now. That's one of the reasons I want to talk to him. He might have some ideas I haven't thought of, so it won't help to worry until we've talked about this." Right, she thought as she watched Spike's full, gray tail twitch with insult as he swaggered from the room -- Don't worry. Tim didn't seem to realize his words reeked with double standard. Whether he knew it or not, Police Lieutenant Tim Benson sounded very upset, indeed. "I'll try not to, Tim. But it isn't going to work." At least not until she went out to Jacob's ranch in the mountains and brought in his German Shepherds to watch the house. Should the culprit decide to come back a third time, the dogs would give out some painful regrets. First, though, she had to go and see Dottie. The poor girl needed all the support she could get. * * * * At exactly six o'clock the stereo system in Kimba's bedroom switched on. Soft-rock music seemed to caress the air as she stretched against the white silk sheets. She fought the desire to burrow into her pillow and sleep for another hour. Her extended arm found only emptiness on Keats' side of the bed. She knew that Keats would already be sitting in the dining room drinking coffee, and probably eating a bagel. In some things, he seemed completely predictable. The music ended and the announcer's voice proceeded with the news. He talked about an early morning fire in Sunnyville. She was reaching to turn it off when he gave the address; now, he had Kimba's full attention. "Luckily," he went on, "a fast acting patrol unit making a routine round of the neighborhood spotted the fire on the outer wall of the garage. None of the Delaney family were at home when the fire broke out." Kimba sat up, shoving her legs over the side of the bed. Why, she wondered, irritated, would her guys set fire to the Delaney's? Their job was to take care of Campbell's office and find the damned photocopies. She reached for her cell phone. She couldn't afford for Keats to overhear that there was another mistake. Her ears were still ringing from his screaming at her after she told him that Clinton managed to get himself stuck in Iowa. She'd put off telling him that Clint had to make a second trip looking for Campbell's wife. She dialed a number. "Okay," she said without a greeting, "what the hell have you guys been doing?" "No go," the male voice slurred. "Hell, baby, we spent the past three hours going through the junk we took from the house. Ain't no photocopies of nothing about house sales or your office in the whole mess." He belched in her ear. "So, what next?" "Why did you set a fire at the Delaney house?" she asked, clenching her teeth. "Why the hell are you drunk at six a.m.?" "We didn't set no fire," he said gruffly. "And, neither of us is drunk. It's been a damned long night." "You'd better be telling the truth, slug." The last thing she wanted was for more police attention focused on the Delaneys. When a property owner got too much public attention, they usually dropped the prospective takeover and moved on to easier marks. "Oh, baby, is that any way to talk to me after all I've done for you?" She laughed without humor. "You're well paid. I'll talk to you later." Kimba pushed End and tossed the phone on her pillow. Maybe they'd get lucky and the fire started from faulty wiring. It wasn't going to help their extra-curricular business if the police suddenly decided Delaney didn't commit suicide. A fire on the property two days after the funeral would certainly grab her attention. The announcer had said the garage was all that was damaged. Too bad, she decided, rethinking the situation, it would have been better if the whole damned place had burned down. Especially if it renewed any police interest in Delaney's den. Maybe she slipped up not having the guys look for any files in Delaney's cabinets. She'd been in that room. Had she touched anything left behind? No -- no, she didn't think so. She combed her fingers through her hair. What was she worrying about anyway? They'd already made the decision to stop trying to take any of the Delaney property. She'd doctored the computers so a fault document would show up at the next audit and restore the property to Mrs. Delaney. Delaney's stuff should merely validate the error and nothing more. She would just double-check everything when she got to the office. Keats had prepared some of the paperwork on that property, but she'd already found and destroyed all copies. Except, perhaps, that Campbell could have one. If he did, and she didn't get it from him, Keats would kill her. He'd meant it when he said he didn't allow anything to go wrong with the businesses he manipulated as a lawyer. There had been people in the past who had gotten in his way. He'd plowed them under as if they'd been dried-up corn stalks. Keats had given her almost everything she'd ever wanted, and that should make her feel safe, protected. But it didn't. The few times she'd seen him angry had taught her to be very careful; had also taught her to wonder if Keats could ever be truly under any one's influence. Getting the photocopies from Campbell would clear Keats of any involvement and save her ass from his retribution. The thought made her feel fear and she hated it, hated him. The day would come when she would change it all. Change it so he was the weaker one, the one to shiver with fear. She rose from the bed and headed for the shower. She would double-check everything just to make sure. They would get those papers from J.T. Campbell -- or else. * * * * It was nearly seven-thirty when Sue entered the apartment the next morning. She found Jacob saying good-bye to his mother on the cordless phone and thumbing through the phone book, and his slightly shaggy brows were coming together in a frown. "All right," she said, dumping her purse on the glowing surface of the dining room table. "What's making you look as if you're ready for war? If it's because I'm late, I'm sorry -- " She stopped because his left eyebrow had risen, which usually meant serious things were happening and war might turn out to be a mild thought. He cleared his throat. "While someone's been causing problems here, others are continuing to take our house apart in California. Not only that, last night someone tried to make a fireplace out of the Delaney's place." He poked his finger at the phone book. "Dealing with the somebody here, I've narrowed it down to five possible places to buy winter gear. However, I can't check them out until after ten because they aren't open." When he got with Tim this evening, he wanted to have several unanswered questions clear in his mind to discuss with him. He hoped a visit with Karen would answer most of the easy ones. If there was a connection between the destruction in California and here, he had the intense feeling he'd better find it fast, before anyone else got hurt. Jacob reached over and pulled out a chair for her. His words would be like dropping a bomb, and he would rather avoid it, but there just wasn't any time to waste. And the one thing they really needed was time. "You'd better sit down for the rest of this discussion." He gestured toward the toast and coffee on the table. "Maybe you should eat something?" She had always seemed more relaxed with a full stomach. He really needed her cheerful before telling her his ideas. He really needed her calm. But he knew it wasn't going to happen. It had taken him most of the night to figure out what was different about his Babe. He had never, not once since the day he met her, seen her lose her temper. Something had happened to change that. What happened to Karen might have caused it, since he'd noticed the new reaction after he'd chased the man out the window. If he was imagining it, he would know for certain in a few moments. After sitting down, Sue poured herself a cup of coffee. "I'm not hungry, J.T." She didn't care for the way he was looking at her. Then what he said hit home, and her tummy did a flip. "Our house is trashed and the Delaney's burned down...." Jacob shook his head. "Not burned down, it was caught and put out shortly after it started. But that's really beside the point, someone wanted it burned to the ground. It could be there's incriminating evidence somewhere in that house. Tim and I were about to go through it when I got the call from Kathleen." "I said I was sorry that she dragged you away with a false alarm -- " "Babe," Jacob interrupted, "it wasn't a false alarm and you know it. What nearly happened last night had to have told you that." Her words, our house, furnished him with the grit for igniting his bomb. She'd seen that look in his eyes before, but hoped she was wrong. "Okay," she conceded, "and you're leading up to something I don't want to hear. Right?" "Tomorrow, you and the kids have to go to California with me." He couldn't help holding his breath, and just managed to control the urge to cover his ears. Her mouth went from a cute little bow to a grim frown faster than he could blink. The deep red creeping up her slender neck seemed an amazing sight to him. The explosion he predicted took a mere second. "Tomorrow!" She wasn't going anywhere, let alone tomorrow. If all this time spent waiting for the nightmare vision of him lying in a pool of blood to fade away was long enough, the thought of returning wouldn't be causing this panic. She needed more time. "I can't be in two places at once. My entire family appears to be in danger, and I can't protect all of you if we aren't in the same place." He stood up and paced between the table and the bar that separated dining room and kitchen. "Abby could be next on their list. I'm sure Tim will keep an eye on her until I can get back. But, he is only one man." At least she hadn't said never. He didn't want to push this, but it seemed the only way. Sue hadn't thought about Abby being in trouble. "We'll just have to look out for ourselves here." The doubt he heard in her voice spurred him on. "Like you did last night? Come on, Babe, you can't protect Michael and Andee and your parents. At least in California we have a better chance to put a stop to all this. I'm certain whoever's warning me off is doing it from California." He stopped in front of her. "Can't tell you why, but my gut tells me it has something to do with Robert and Dottie." He hoped to have a better argument by the end of the day -- after talking to the detective here -- after Tim told him if the fire at Delaney's was arson or not. Sue stood, too, facing him belligerently. "You mean it has to do with your snooping and spying and prying." He wouldn't think of denying it. "At times I step on people's toes while getting to the truth." He shrugged. "You've always known that it goes with the career." And he had been re-thinking his career for a long time. There had to be a compromise his Babe could accept; nevertheless, it would take communication; they would have to find it together. He'd given her time. He was finished being passive. The new intense emotion she was displaying might just be the key to that communication. "Yes", she said, adding to herself, your risky career. However she knew the problem wasn't his career, wasn't within Jacob, it was within herself. She believed herself healed. But, what if she wasn't? That was the problem -- the damned doubt -- the risk. She didn't trust herself. How could she? When he'd lay on the floor bleeding, she had intended to help him -- then paralysis had struck like a bolt of lightning out of nowhere. She couldn't seem to forgive herself for that major shutdown. "I have to think -- I can't talk about this anymore right now. Are you ready to go visit Karen?" She hesitated. "If we hurry, we could catch Mass at the hospital chapel." Jacob reached over and closed the phone book. "Then what are we waiting for?" He could tell she was thinking about what he'd told her. It was the plus he wanted. * * * * Sue watched Jacob purchase a dozen yellow roses from the gift shop, then they caught the elevator. He borrowed her pen and wrote: To a terrific Lady, signed his name, and handed back her pen. Sue looked at him. Jacob shrugged. "Buy your own roses," he said, grinning. He sobered. "Not many people would take a beating for a friend -- and still talk to that friend. I want her to know I care about what's happened -- really care." Though visitor's hours weren't until afternoon, Sister Anne met them on the third floor and escorted them to Karen's room. Sue wanted to give Jacob some moments alone with Karen, so she lingered near the door with Sister. "Thank you, Sister," Sue whispered as they watched Jacob sit down in a chair beside Karen's bed on the other side of the room. "Jacob really needed to talk to Karen, otherwise he won't know if there's anything he can do about what's happened." Sue knew that Karen wasn't fond of being inside a hospital for any reason, and hoped she wouldn't have to stay long. Sister patted Sue's hand and turned toward the door. "Just don't stay very long. If she gets enough rest today, the doctor will let her go home tomorrow." She stopped in the doorway long enough to grin and say quietly, "Dennis wants her to do her recovering at the farm, and Karen has agreed." Knowing this was a turn-of-event that could bring joy to her friend, Sue couldn't help smiling as she crossed the room and pulled a chair up beside Jacob. There were several similarities in their problems. Karen had wanted to go home, but insisted that the idea was too precarious. Karen worried that if she blew it, she couldn't handle it if she lost him altogether. Eventually she intended to get home -- Karen had said -- she needed time. Except for the dread of forever alienating the ones they loved, that was where the similarities ended. Violence, or physical danger to Dennis and the children hadn't been a factor in their domestic problems. Karen hadn't copped-out on her family in any life-threatening situation. She sighed. Karen might not have copped-out at all. Though they had discussed their fears together, they hadn't been able to talk about the intimate reasons for their predicaments. "Think hard, Karen," Jacob requested quietly, gently, while holding her uninjured hand. "He came from behind you and you never saw him because he covered your head with a sheet or something, but did you touch him?" Karen's visible eye closed. "He hit me, yelling what I told you. I grabbed behind me and caught his shirt -- no -- it wasn't a shirt." Her fingers moved together as she remembered. "It felt silky." "Like a windbreaker?" She opened her eye. "Yes, that's it. It was too heavy to be a shirt, but too light for a coat. I caught a glimpse of black-leather sneakers from under the edge of the sheet." Sue sat back in her chair, thinking about the guy Jacob had chased. "It's really been way too hot even for a windbreaker." "Not if you're from somewhere else and think it could be cold here," Jacob said rising to his feet. Or, he thought, if you're from windbreaker country -- like California. "You rest, Karen. We've several errands to run, but we'll call you this evening." The last thing he wanted to do was cause Karen any added pain or to tire her. When Sue approached to say her good-byes, Karen clutched her hand weakly. "J.T. says he wants you to go with him tomorrow, Sue," she whispered. "Don't be a fool, go with him." She sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. The man knew exactly how to get a champion for his cause. She wished it was all that easy. "I'll let you know what I decide. Like J.T. said, get some rest. If I can't get back here later, I'll call and we can talk about it." Karen lifted her good hand. "J.T., I just remembered something else. I think he had some sort of mask over his face, because I tried to reach up and scratch him. It felt like wool." She closed her eye and sighed. "Course, I couldn't really tell if I was even near his head." Jacob stood waiting by the door. "Good girl. If anything else comes to mind, you can tell me this evening." Black-leather sneakers didn't come cheap. The man he chased last night had been wearing dark shoes. Another image hovered near the surface in Jacob's mind; however, he couldn't quite reach it. "I need to spend at least twenty minutes at the office picking up papers for Dad," Sue explained as they entered the elevator. "He hopes to finalize a real estate deal in the morning." "There'll be people in the office?" He wanted her to stay visible when they weren't together. A stranger to the area would have trouble following Sue around, but he preferred safe to sorry. Sue didn't hesitate. "Three, and they'll want to leave as soon as I've put the stuff together." After they walked off the elevator, Jacob guided her to the chairs in the vast lobby. "Okay," he said, satisfied that she wouldn't be in the building alone. "Let's stop a minute. I need to think. We have a lot of things to cover today, and still be out of here tomorrow." Refusing to take the bait, Sue ignored his last remark as she sat down beside him. This wasn't the time or the place for the discussion. She studied his serious features, waiting for the list of places he wanted to go. Her raised eyebrows and total silence weren't at all the reactions he had hoped for, and this day was already getting shorter and shorter. "I arranged to meet with detective Manning at ten. You can drop me off at the station down town, then pick me up after you've finished getting your paperwork." "Okay, then what?" "I won't know until after the meeting. It could be that Detective Manning's information will save us some foot work." "Why would you be meeting him in Des Moines? He's from West Des Moines." "I realize that," Jacob acknowledged, rising to his feet. "He said to be at the Des Moines station at ten. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask him." He held his hand out to her and she accepted his help to stand. Trust, he thought, she still trusts me. And it wasn't just that she'd placed her hand in his; it was the easy way they'd communicated since she handed him the towels last night. He added a mark to his mental chalkboard list with hope being the title that scrawled across the top. "Aren't you going to say 'watch your back?'" Whether he realized it or not, she had learned a few thing during the eleven years she'd lived in the same house with him. She'd kept track of his business accounting, plus recording the reason for and outcome of each job. They had, however, never worked together like this to put pieces of a puzzle together. Jacob had discussed things with her, 'bounced ideas off her,' but he'd never asked her to travel around with him. Not even on local cases. She was so busy with the kids that she wouldn't have asked to go. Right this minute, she couldn't think of any reason why she'd never thought of it. If she'd gone with him a few times, just maybe she wouldn't have fallen apart like she did when the damned butterfly shot him in the hip. Up to that point she hadn't felt any terrible fear. Sue didn't think she would ever understand what happened to her that day. Somewhat amazed with her question, he nodded, smiling. "I sure as hell wanted to, Babe, but I didn't want to scare you." He didn't want her out of his sight, either -- not even for twenty minutes. "I don't think this guy knows Des Moines well enough to keep track of anyone. The trouble is, it's mere speculation." He hesitated. "I'd feel better knowing you intended to keep one eye on your rearview mirror." It seemed the uneasiness she'd awakened with that morning corresponded exactly with his. "Then you'll be pleased to know I've had one eye on it since I left Mom's this morning." -------- CH009 *Chapter 9* Downtown traffic stayed light all morning, and exactly an hour and a half after Sue had dropped him at the police station Jacob climbed back into the Chevy. While he fastened his seat belt, she made no move to drive away, merely stared at him. He looked out at the old neighborhood of wood-sided homes and buildings that surrounded the police station constructed of gray-white stone and pillars. One did not compliment the other. "You buy me lunch, and I'll tell you everything I know," he said. "That little bribe won't work today. It's noon, J.T., and Mom will have Sunday dinner waiting for us by one or one-thirty." "Right," he said. "Guess I'll have to fill you in on the way." He flipped open his notebook. "Do we have time to stop at the motel across from the airport?" "Sure," she said, guiding the car into traffic. "What's at the motel?" As if in some sort of cerebral limbo, they hadn't really communicated with each other verbally for at least six months. And had spoken nothing of a personal nature, except when it came to the children, for most of the past year. Last night and today he treated her as if they were partners in an investigation, respectful, friendly, yet distant. If it hadn't been for the kiss last night, Sue would guess he had forgotten that they were still married. "When I left you last night," he said, "I followed that car we'd been watching. Curly-headed guy drove straight to the motel. I doubt if it means anything, since the man in your apartment couldn't have had that much hair under the ski mask." He shrugged. "But I promised myself to keep my notes straight, so I want to get his name and see if he made any long-distance phone calls." Silence hung thickly in the air like Iowa humidity until Sue couldn't stand it any longer. "Hell's bells, Jacob, what did the detective tell you?" He loved the way her lower lip pouted when she became impatient with him, loved the way the sound of his name seemed to float from those same lips. "Not enough," he said as he flipped back a page in his notebook. "Manning discovered that the Goodhouse Sporting Goods store sold a ski mask and leather gloves to a man Friday evening. The sales lady remembered because it was the first request since they removed the winter stuff from the shelves a month ago. Said the buyer was tall, sandy headed, and claimed he was going on vacation to snow country." Which, by way of description, left out the motel man, but Jacob couldn't ignore his intuition. "There wasn't any bloodied sheet found in your apartment. They searched the garbage cans and the garage and found nothing. I had to convince Manning that Karen wouldn't have imagined the details of what happened to her. I suggested they ask the people at the motels and car rentals to keep an eye out for any stained sheets or blankets. After seeing Karen, I know there would be plenty of stains." Through the years he'd gotten battered a few times himself. Just thinking about Karen made his skin hurt. Knowing it might have been Sue gave him the shakes. "What did you mean, imagined the details of what happened to her?" "Manning isn't totally convinced that the attacker covered her with anything. Trauma victims sometimes remember odd things that didn't actually happen. Oh, the cops'll look into it, but not always very enthusiastically." There was a bloody sheet or blanket somewhere, and he would bet his shorts that it would show up eventually. "Then, what makes you so certain Karen's remembering accurately?" She already agreed with him, but she wanted to hear what made him believe it. He thought back fifteen years to when he met Sue and Karen at Drake University in Des Moines. Days when studies were hard, but life seemed so very much easier. "Even when we went to college with her, Karen was always a controlled, down-to-earth person. She was never one to shake easily. The sheet blinding her was the first thing that happened to her." He hesitated, watching as Sue stopped for a red light, then turned the corner. "It also kept what the attacker did to her contained," he went on. "I realize the crew came in and cleaned carpets et cetera, however, I called Max and he said the only stains they found were where Karen was lying on the floor. They found no staining on the couch, coffee table or anywhere else. The guy knocked her around the living room, Babe. He hit her hard enough to lacerate her skin and nearly kill her." Sue paled visibly, and Jacob reached out and gently rubbed her shoulder. "Sorry, Babe, but you asked." He thanked God Karen survived; he thanked God again that Sue wasn't the one lying battered and broken in the hospital -- that the kids hadn't been home. He had to get the sonofabitch before he hurt anyone else. She stopped the car in front of the motel and turned to face him. The image of Karen's ravaged face made her queasy; despite how she felt, Sue forced a smile. Max and his crew were great because they paid close attention to details and no one ever had to stand over them. "But Max brought me a new couch -- " "Yes," Jacob interrupted, "because he decided it had smoke damage." "All right," she said, gesturing at the motel. "You seem to have eliminated the man in the rental car, so, why are we here?" "Intuition," he answered as he climbed out of the car. "I'll be back in a minute." Sue felt well acquainted with Jacob's intuition. His gut feelings as he referred to them -- his guardian angel was more her guess -- and he kept his extremely busy. She watched his long legs carry him into the motel office, and through the window she watched him introduce himself to the desk clerk, who started shaking her head and continued to do so as Jacob talked to her. All night and throughout the time she had run errands without him this morning, Sue had tried to think of every argument she could use when he brought up the subject of leaving tomorrow. And it wouldn't be long before he waged his campaign. Right now he kept busy, but he was arming himself with compelling support for them going with him -- this business wouldn't last much longer. He might even wait until after dinner ... she hoped, because no excuse convincing enough had come to mind. Being locked up in the car with him all day wasn't helping her firm resolve not to leave Iowa with him. First thing she saw him this morning, she wanted to brush his wayward hair off his forehead, run her fingers over his muscled shoulders, feel his mouth on her again. Tears stung her eyes, and she sucked in a deep breath. No, she didn't want any of those things. She wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She wasn't ready to give up her quieter, more normal existence. Maybe she would never be ready. The confusion was always there. But a clear vision of Karen on the stretcher that morning reminded her that nothing, at the moment, was either quiet or normal. And Jacob Tyler Campbell was the reason. He had stepped on someone's toes, as he liked to put it, and they were stepping back. Sue didn't want herself or the children to be around again when they stepped directly on Jacob. Once was quite enough for her. Sue jumped nervously as Jacob opened the car door at the same moment that a jet roared over the top of the motel and them. It made the car vibrate before it finally touched ground on the landing strip across the highway. When he climbed back into the car, Jacob smiled, trying to shake off his frustration. "The guy checked out early this morning. I suppose that means he's left town." There was an early flight this morning to Denver, and booked solid. He didn't even bother to consider the bastard might have left town by any other means. "What about his name?" He gestured at the motel office. "Took some kindly persuasion, but she finally gave me that much. William Caine was what he'd written on her registration log. Checked in Friday, and paid cash, so there weren't any credit-card numbers." The motel clerk had jotted added costs on that log beside Caine's name, but she had quickly grabbed it away from him before he could determine what for. But he would bet his undershorts that the guy made long-distance phone calls. "Something's putting a light in your eyes, J.T." Sue stated her observation as she put the car in gear and drove away from the motel. "I thought you decided the man who stayed here had too much hair." Jacob nodded. "Most likely he isn't the man in the apartment. But, I like to cover all the possibilities." Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes and heard his stomach rumbling. "Do you think your mom made that great pot roast of hers today?" * * * * Dressed in lounging pajamas and silk robe, Kimba leaned against the desk in the library and watched her husband pace in front of her with his hands jammed into the pockets of his walking shorts. "I told you the files weren't found, Keats. My guys tore the whole house apart." "But are they smart enough to know their heads from their asses? I've defended a couple of the bums you deal with. How do you know they didn't overlook anything?" "What papers they didn't have time to search through, they brought to me. That damned alarm system of Campbell's went off even though they disabled it." She moved around the desk and sat down in the chair, tipping it back. "One of them is an expert on the systems and couldn't figure it out." Keats stopped pacing and appeared to study the bookcases. "Do they have time to look some more? And what about that idiot Clinton, have you heard from him?" Kimba shook her head. "My sources tell me that Campbell booked a flight for tomorrow morning." She swiveled the chair so she faced Keats. "Clint failed to reach Campbell's wife. He ambushed some woman staying with her and got stuck in Iowa until tomorrow morning." Keats glared at her. "I thought he was smarter than that. Didn't he interview Campbell about his taxes, and in his own office? Do you mean he intends to take the same flight as Campbell?" Keats asked, his voice rising. "Damn it, Kimba, you aren't dealing with an amateur. Campbell won't be twiddling his thumbs just because it wasn't his wife Clinton attacked." "Yes, he had Campbell in his office, and didn't make it a pleasant interview. But don't forget he quit the agency right afterwards." Clint's unwavering capacity for making small mistakes continued to worry her, but she didn't want Keats to know. "If he calls before leaving Iowa, I'll make certain he takes a different flight. If he doesn't, there isn't much I can do about it. "Campbell's reservations are for four people. If he intends to bring his family back to California, he should be too busy to notice Clint on the plane." She rose to her feet. "Clinton's wearing a disguise of sorts. He took a wig, let his whiskers grow, and is wearing clothing that makes him look like a slob. Believe me, no one at the office would recognize him." Kimba wanted to add that it had been Keat's idea to send Clint on the job. She would have chosen someone else. And one of her loyal burglars would have gotten it right the first time and not needed a second chance to get the job done. She kept her guys happy, kept their pockets filled with enough money that she didn't have to worry about them. Also, they might not be perfect, but they weren't as stupid as Keats thought they were. In actuality, they just got better and better at their work. "Well, my love, I certainly hope you're right. Otherwise, Campbell's computer-like brain's going to kick in and he'll remember where he met Clinton. With the photocopies he's hidden somewhere and what he'll know about Clint, he'll have a great deal of proof. I may have to see you explaining your extra-career real estate activities to a grand jury." He grabbed her arm. "I wouldn't like that, Kimba." There was a level of threat in his tone she had never heard before. It frightened her, and nothing ever frightened her. She had always considered him, for the most part, rather wimpy physically. But there was an almost supernatural strength in his fingers as they continued to dig into the tender flesh on her arm. Doing her best to disregard her nervous foreboding, she reached up, stroked his cheek, and kissed him, trying to ease his tension, and he released her. Stunned because he had never touched her that way before, and curbing the urge to rub the pain from her arm, she drew away from him. "I'll do my best to see that never happens, darling. You know how careful I am. If Clint doesn't call, I've arranged to have something waiting for Campbell to help him decide not to pursue his investigation." Actually, she was working on several ideas to sway Campbell. Vulnerable family members were always useful for the prime approach for persuading anyone to back off. Now some major idiot had convinced the government that it was a crime to conspire against the agency, and stealing big time became easier and easier because any defense looked like conspiring. God it was funny that people actually thought someone could conspire against a mere collection agency. Gullible America -- what a laugh. But for Campbell, conspiracy might be an easy case if nothing else worked. Clint was a crafty business thief, but he wasn't a burglar or hit man. Perhaps Keats now understood that, and wouldn't give him such inappropriate assignments in the future. She doubted it. He expected everyone to do what he said. If they weren't qualified, they had better get that way in a hurry. However, Kimba had a feeling he would blame her for anything that went wrong regardless of who gave the orders. He suddenly looked relaxed and his usual self as he glanced at his watch. "I'm going to be late for my golf game," he mumbled. "I'd ask you to join me, but Clinton might call." If he was going to be pleasant, she wanted to keep him that way. "I'll take the cellular phone, darling. And have all the calls transferred to that number. That way I can watch you play and we can have dinner at the club." To her relief, Keats smiled for the first time that morning. "Then go get dressed, and let's forget Campbell for a while and enjoy some of this day." -------- CH010 *Chapter 10* Sunday was always Martha's day off, and Sue knew that Kathleen used the day for doing her own cooking and all the little personal things she missed because business kept her weekdays filled. The best part was, Sue had helped Kathleen in the kitchen with making dinner rolls, and now felt more relaxed than she had in hours. She had managed to use up some nervous energy kneading and punching dough. After dinner, and after helping to clear and clean the dishes, Sue challenged Michael to a game of chess, while Jacob installed himself in her father's den with the telephone. Her parents relaxed in their favorite recliner chairs with the Sunday paper as they always did after dinner, and Andee was listening to music in her own private guest room. "Did you tell him yet?" Mike asked, his tone hinting at betrayal. He didn't look at her, but stared at the game board. Shaking her head, Sue took his knight with her bishop. "He will have to be told, Mike. Would you rather be the one who does it?" She welcomed the idea. Just why Mike did certain things was the unanswered question she hoped Jacob could get an explanation for -- or at least come up with some insights she obviously missed. "No. No, I don't think I could do it." He moved his queen out of harms way. "He's going to be really mad at me." Sue reached out and touched his hand. "Has he ever been really mad at you?" Jacob had never even raised his voice at the children, but she supposed a feeling of guilt could make Mike imagine a heavy-duty response from his father. "Well, maybe not. But this is different, Mom." He stood up. "I wanna ride my bike for a while." "Fine," she said. "But don't go very far, because I think we're in for a family discussion." When his expression seemed to shut her out, she added, "I don't think this parley will be about your behavior. Anyway, not this time." With a wry grin, Mike grabbed his baseball cap from the coffee table and headed for the front door. As the door closed behind him, she heard Jacob call to her from the den. She peered inside the den with its vaulted ceiling and oriental rugs. "You wanted me?" Still speaking into the phone, he waved at her to come over to her father's massive desk. "I understand, Tim. But if you can get your friend to check on the phone calls from the motel, we won't have to wait for Manning to get around to it." Placed near the desk, was a brocade, wing-backed chair with matching ottoman. Sue sat down, resting her feet on the comfortable perch, and listened to Jacob ask to have Abby back on the phone. "She just came in, Mom." Jacob handed Sue the phone. His mother thought she could persuade Sue to come home. It was a matter of need for Abby -- a matter of desperation for Jacob. "Why?" Sue whispered, taking the receiver from his outstretched hand. She figured Jacob put his mom up to something. "Because she wants to talk to you," Jacob answered quietly. "She loves you, you know." He rose from the chair. "I'm going to get some coffee. Be back in a minute." Great answer, she thought, knowing his answer was nothing but the truth. Loving Abby came easy. "Hello, Abby. It's been a long time." In reality, it was only a couple of weeks. She and Abby communicated at the least once a month, though she had made Abby swear not to let Jacob know about it. After fifteen minutes Sue replaced the receiver on its cradle and leaned against the comfortable upholstery, exhausted. Abby could talk a starving squirrel out of its last peanut. Dottie was having a terrible mental battle, Abby said. Her children and her mother were having a hard time reaching her. Abby had tried to help, but after taking a new medication, Abby didn't feel so well, didn't have the energy to stay with Dottie. Just come for a visit, Abby had begged, we need you here. I need you -- Dottie needs you. I promise, she had added, you can stay with me and we won't discuss Jacob or anything you don't wish to talk about. She heard Jacob enter the room, but did not turn to look at him. He placed a cup of coffee on the lamp table near her and resumed his earlier place on the desk chair. Sue watched him sip the liquid steaming in his cup. "You did a good job of putting her up to convincing me, J.T." He shook his head slowly while his navy-eyed gaze met hers and held solidly. "No. Mom says what Mom wants to say, you know that. You also know how she feels about you and the kids. Though she has never mentioned it to me, I could tell how much pain she went through when you left." He set his cup on the desk. "Having the kids visit three or four times this year has helped. But, Babe, you know she loves you as much as she loves them. "We have a situation. There's a better chance for your safety if we are all in the same place -- at least until I know what the hell's going on. Mom wants you to come for a while because she needs you." He combed his fingers through his hair. "Dottie needs you." He forced himself to end with those words, knowing that she would sprint from the room if he added how much he needed her. Sue rose from her chair and stood still in front of him. "But I don't want to go. I haven't the slightest desire to be anywhere around when you find out 'what the hell's going on.' I don't want Michael and Andee around when the refuse-hits-the-fan either." Just thinking about it made her feel queasy -- and she hated it, hated the weakness. "Do you really believe they're safe here?" he asked, resisting the urge to raise to his feet. He would tower over her and that kind of dominance wouldn't be a bit helpful. "I'm in the wrong place, Babe, to get to the bottom of the situation." He slid his thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans to keep from touching her. "I'm leaving in the morning. I need your help -- your cooperation on this, Babe, or my hands are tied." During his speech, she noticed the pinched worry around his nose and mouth. He meant it; he was leaving. How would she protect Andee and Michael alone? They were his children, too. They would have to protect them together. But, what if he wasn't there and she failed them, freezing as if made of solid ice? Slowly, Sue sank back onto the wing-backed chair. "You win," she mumbled. "I'll go, but only on one condition." "Name it," he said, studying her pallid features. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he couldn't help thinking she gave in much too readily. "Don't look so surprised," she said, staring at him. "The children have to come before any preferences I might have, so that's where I'm putting them. Here's the deal. Someone besides me must be with the children at all times. Someone who can't be easily intimidated. Someone you trust completely -- " "That would be a fairly simple demand if our kids weren't escape artists. You and I both know how they can disappear when they think they have something better to do." "Then I guess you'd better talk to them and get the seriousness of the situation across." Taking her coffee cup, she got to her feet and walked to the door. "I guess we'd best talk to them now. "By the way, how can we leave on such short notice? Are airline tickets that easy to come by?" Following her out the door, he said, "I made the reservations this morning. First class usually has an empty seat or two." She stopped, and he nearly ran into her. "You made arrangements this morning." Sue wanted to scream in frustration. She hated being forced into anything. "Pretty sure of yourself, huh?" "No," he answered. "Just a risk I had to take." His risk-taking was what frightened her. "Michael went outside to ride his bike. Why don't you find him while I tell Mom and Dad what's happening." Delighted that she gave him the least complicated job, he said, "Deal." * * * * When Jacob followed Michael into the house ten minutes later, Raymond moved into his wheelchair and was waiting beside the door. "Would you give me a few minutes, Jacob?" He gestured at the front door. "We could go out there for a short while." Jacob opened the door and waited for the wheelchair to clear the frame before he followed. Raymond swung his chair around near the wooden swing that hung from the ceiling at one end of the vast verandah. The scent of lilacs sweetened the air. Purples, Blues, Reds, bright colored flowers twined down from the hanging pots that lined the outer edge of the roof. Birds sang as if nothing was wrong with the world, and Jacob wished it were so. "Suzie Q says you want her and the children to go with you to California." His wide forehead wrinkled, his thick dark eyebrows nearly touching. "Don't get me wrong, Jacob. I think that's exactly where they belong -- normally." "I understand your concern, sir," Jacob interrupted quietly. He had great respect for this man whose six-foot frame didn't have feeling from the waist down. "This whole business scares the hell out of me, too." Raymond nodded. "I would never interfere -- you know that. But, I want a promise from you, son." Jacob laid a hand on Raymond's shoulder, knowing that Raymond's hard muscles beneath his shirt came from daily workouts. Muscles that he knew the man relied on to keep him independent. Raymond never seemed to allow anything to get the best of him. "You ask it; I'll give it." "Keep them safe -- keep us informed. Have someone call us at least once a day, Jacob. Kathleen and I will be basket cases if you don't." Jacob understood what his father-in-law felt. Eighteen months' of wondering what his family was doing when they weren't with him had taught him a great deal about worry. This was a man who had risked everything to protect his family. "One of us will call, Raymond." He paused, making eye contact with his father-in-law. "I'd give my life for them, sir." Raymond's brown eyes were moist. "I know, son. I know." He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "She's afraid to go back." "Sue's made that pretty clear." Still, there were changes in Sue. A temper that hadn't been there before. A different type of stubbornness he couldn't pin a description on. But, he liked it. "But, do you understand why?" "Can anyone ever truly understand someone else's why? I know that a year and a half ago the stress became more than she could take. I've tried to give her all the space she needs to come to terms with it." He sat down on the edge of the swing. "I'm still waiting for her to discuss it with me." When Raymond's eyebrows lifted, Jacob added, "I mean really discuss it with me." Raymond raised his hand, indicating interruption. "Suzie was only six when this happened to me. She might not remember all that happened, but the terror she felt, we all felt, still exists. What happened to you renewed the terror, Jacob." Jacob nodded. He'd felt some terror of his own then and when Kathleen called him about Sue. "She's handling what happened to Karen better than I could have hoped." "One thing about us Borgsons, we try hard to overcome our weak points. Trouble is, we tend to keep what we think is weak a secret until it is worked out." He placed his hands on the wheels of his chair, moving it toward the front door. "As an observer, son, I think she's winning her secret battle. Just hang in there." Sitting back on the swing, Jacob watched Raymond disappear into the house. A few months' ago Martha had told him all she could remember about that day, giving Jacob information Sue either omitted or didn't know. She told him about Sue's months of bad dreams, about her wanting to stay beside her dad in the hospital, about her aversion to television, violence. One thing about us Campbells, he thought. We never give up. -------- CH011 *Chapter 11* When Abby reached for the phone, she and Tim had just returned from Jacob's mountain ranch with the dogs, Brandy and Bandit. After listening first to Jacob and then Sue, she was glad she had decided to go back to her house and get cleaning equipment before leaving the dogs on guard at Jacob's, or she would have missed the call. She hung the phone on its base and turned to Tim. "Sue will agree to come home with Jacob tomorrow, I just feel it. She won't stay with him at the house, but it's just as well. I hate to have her see what a mess it's in, you know?" "We can't do a whole lot about that. I'll help you straighten bedrooms, sweetheart. But J.T. needs to sort through the other mess himself. If we fix it, he might miss something important." She nodded as she opened her broom closet. "That's fine. If it's as bad as you say, I imagine he'll need some professional repairs done anyhow." Bandit, one hundred twenty pounds of black German Shepherd, followed her into the closet. "Here," she said, handing the dog a galvanized pail filled with sponges. "You carry this to the car." Bandit took the wooden section of the handle in his teeth and trotted to the door with Brandy following him. Her shining sable coloring was a beautiful contrast to his darkness. Finding the door closed they both sat down and waited. "Some dogs," Tim stated, watching them. "But I sure as hell wouldn't want to meet up with them in the dark." "I'm glad they already know you." Abby smiled. "If they love you, they're pussy cats," she said. "If someone breaks into that house again, they won't have it so easy." Jacob's ranch caretaker, Ben Eagle, worked at keeping the shepherds fit and effective -- and socialized. They were so smart they were pussycats to most people, unless told differently by Jacob, Ben or any family members. Sometimes, though, they would show an instant dislike for someone as if they could read something bad about the person. Abby lifted the phone receiver from the wall unit. "Do you mind if I call Jacob's neighbor and ask her to help me with putting things away? Maggie Rand has been Sue's close friend for several years, and I trust her." Tim nodded. "I've known Maggie and her husband for years, too, remember? I think she's the perfect one to help you. Maggie won't let you go getting overtired." He picked up a bucket and a sack of rags. "Maggie heard her dogs barking this morning and called in at the same time J.T.'s alarm buzzed the station. I'd like to talk to her alone about the lights she saw in the upper windows of Jacob's house. Sometimes it's easier to remember more details when you've had time to relax." * * * * Early Monday morning Sue could barely keep her eyes open as she watched Jacob place their suitcases on the airline's check-in rack. It had been an incredibly long night, and she was running on four hours of sleep. Her parents had encouraged her to leave; said they would take care of the apartment, and would have no problem getting a temporary manager for the building. Her dad's secretary would fill in for her in regard to his real estate paperwork and research. Everything fell into place without the slightest hitch. Michael seemed to snap out of the glum, negative mood he had displayed for the past year. The mood that reflected in his dropping grades, his picking fights at school, his skipping classes to hang out with characters that looked twice his age and of questionable repute. She hadn't yet discussed the problems with Jacob. Mike knew that, but started smiling last night and, at six a.m., was still smiling. The airport had come alive as more and more people arrived. The milling patrons didn't deter Andee from chatting with her grandmother, and excitement seemed to be oozing from every pore. It had been a while since she behaved as her usual animated self. They both loved California. But it was their father they missed. Sue had a feeling that they would love a tar pit if it meant they could be with Jacob. Sue walked over and hugged her mother. "I don't plan to stay longer than a month," she said. "Even less if J.T. can clear things up sooner." Kathleen patted Sue's shoulder. "Now, don't be in a rush, Suzie Q. You need to get away from here for a while. I know your dad has kept you running with real estate projects, plus listening to tenant complaints every day of the year." She laughed. "Why do you think I haul him off to Hawaii every winter? I would go absolutely bonkers if we didn't get away from all the people we deal with." "I'd rather be going to Hawaii," Sue mumbled. "You know how I feel. I worry about Dad working too hard. And, I hate to leave Karen -- " "Oh, don't worry about Karen," Kathleen interrupted. "After I see you off, I'm going over to the hospital and sit with her until Dennis comes. I promise to keep you posted about her health." She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse, and gestured at Raymond who was shaking Jacob's hand and patting him on the arm. "I'll make certain your dad has plenty of help. He might live in that wheelchair, but you know he hates being idle. That's why we have the best equipped van ever built." "That's correct," Raymond said, rolling his chair to a stop beside them. "Your mom always sees to it we both have an over-plenty in the help department. Don't worry about us, but make sure you let us know what's going on." Sue hugged him. "I love you," she whispered. "Thank you for understanding." When she was six years old and had to talk to her dad by lying under the circular frame that was holding him together she had decided there wasn't anything he didn't understand. He had soothed her then. He was soothing her now. "I can thank you for the same thing. Now, just concentrate on what you need to do for you." Sighing, Sue nodded and turned to watch Jacob just as someone on the PA system announced the boarding of their flight. He was waving for them to come. She looked at her mother. "Okay, Mom, I guess there isn't much else I can say." Kathleen took her arm as they followed Jacob, Michael, and Andee up the ramp that led to the departure area. "I pray Jacob can end this thing quickly and you and the children can have a little fun before you come back." * * * * With the kids panting but keeping up with him, Jacob increased the length of his strides. He'd planned to reach the boarding gate before other passengers started onto the tubular ramp, but could see before he reached it that people were boarding. He wanted to see all the passengers. Wanted to see if the guy from the motel might possibly be amongst them. The man might have checked out yesterday, but Jacob couldn't make himself believe the man had left town. It was another of the thoughts he really had no basis for but felt clear to his toes. "You looking for someone, Dad?" Mike asked while sucking in deep breaths. "Ahh, sort of," Jacob answered. "I met a guy yesterday. Said he was going back to California. I just thought he might be taking the same flight." Andee pulled on his shirtsleeve. "Can I sit next to you, Dad?" He looked around to see Sue and her mother and father approaching. "You can sit across from me," Jacob said, handing the flight attendant their boarding passes. He lowered his voice. "I would like your mother to sit beside me." "I get ya," Andee whispered. She turned to say good-bye to her grandmother and hug her grandfather. Jacob gave Kathleen a kiss and a wink, shook hands with Raymond again, and then followed Andee onto the plane. She walked in front of him until they stopped beside the seats numbered on their tickets. "How come you have to be so dumb?" Mike said, bumping her with his elbow. "You know Dad's got to work on Mom." "I am not dumb." She punched him on the shoulder. "Okay, you guys," Jacob said, breaking in before Mike retaliated, "you can't help me that way. Your mother hears you, and she'll be wanting to separate you." "Sorry," Mike mumbled, then grinned. "You mean we can't argue all the way to California?" Jacob recognized Mike's humor, but he was serious. "Exactly," he said, smiling as he watched them look at the seats. "This is important detail we're talking about. Think you can handle it?" "We both want the window seat," Andee said as they all three snuggled against the seats to let people by. Jacob took a coin from his pocket. "Heads for Andee, and tails for Mike." He flipped it and caught it in his palm, then turned it onto his left hand. "Heads," he informed them. "That means, Andee gets window on this plane and Mike gets window when we switch in Denver." Sue stopped beside him as the aisle cleared. "I believe I'll name you mediator for the duration," she said. "Just don't lose that coin." He held up the quarter. "Do you want the window seat?" "No," she said firmly. "You know how I feel about flying. I love it about as much as dealing with an irate tenant with a plugged-up toilet. And looking out that window is not my greatest desire." Climbing back off this glorified boxcar would be her preference. "What are you looking for?" she asked when she realized he wasn't listening to a word she said. "A tall, curly-headed guy," he answered absently. "If you spot one, let me know." He was standing in the middle of the aisle and looking at the impatiently shifting passengers toward the rear. He would have to wait until they were in the air, and then find an excuse to walk back to the tail. "I thought you said he left town yesterday." Taking her carry-on bag and opening the overhead compartment, he said, "A mere assumption." Finding room, he placed his briefcase in with her bag and sat down. "You used to like flying with me." His little single-engine had its own shelter at the ranch. But he hadn't been near it in months. "That was different. You were teaching me to land the thing because it was what I wanted to learn the most. We're trusting someone else to get us on the ground. You weren't a stranger, and I was well acquainted with your life style." She looked him square in the eyes. "And there wasn't room for any of your enemies to get on board." The first-class flight attendant stopped in front of them. "I would have been glad to store those bags for you," she said, her brunette hair shimmering, her blue uniform a perfect fit on abundant curves. Jacob smiled. "I needed the exercise, but thank you anyway." "After we're in the air, we'll have croissants or Danishes, plus, if you like, a cheese-omelet breakfast. Which can I get for you?" "Coffee," Sue requested. "Nice, strong, black coffee." "You could go back to sleep," Jacob suggested. "The coffee wouldn't help much." Sue watched the attendant take breakfast orders from the children and point to the serving tables attached to their seats -- obviously explaining something-or-other, and not realizing that the two of them had flown first-class three times in the past year. "You must be joking if you think I'll be able to close my eyes for a second on this trip." It wasn't merely the trip. She had never been able to sleep worth two cents anywhere but her own bed. Jacob looked at the attendant. "You'd best bring the full breakfast for us," he said as she stopped beside him. "I've a feeling we're going to need the energy." -------- CH012 *Chapter 12* It wasn't until they disembarked in Denver and began boarding the plane to Fresno that Jacob spotted a man that resembled the one he'd seen enter the motel. The guy was ahead of them, and Jacob just caught a glimpse of his profile. He had seen that face before, and it had nothing to do with the curly hair or the motel. He'd met this guy somewhere, but his memory wouldn't jog. Maybe it was the mustache and the unshaven face that threw him off. The guy wore patched jeans, a denim shirt with vest, and, of all things, leather sandals on his bare feet when he ought to be wearing boots. Either the guy was a cornball, or he deliberately tried to look different and wasn't very good at it. Always the skeptic, Jacob decided on the latter. Sooner or later he would remember where he had seen that profile. Could have been a magazine cover, he thought. Maybe he was a model or media guy who didn't want anyone to recognize him. He nudged Sue's arm. "See that guy handing the ticket to the attendant?" When she nodded, he continued, "Ever see him before? Maybe on TV, or the movies, or in the newspaper?" Sue ushered the kids in front of her, then studied the man for a moment. "No. But, if we're presuming he's from California, I can't imagine a westerner wearing sandals with that type of outfit. Unless, of course, he had a cut or sprained foot, or something." She shrugged. "I guess anything goes." Not anything, Jacob thought. Where was his hat? Then again, he would look pretty stupid with a cowboy hat perched on top all the curls. That hair went with a whole different type of garb. "I get it," Sue said. "The curly hair -- you think he's the motel man?" "Maybe." He handed the tickets to the attendant. "Excuse me, Miss," he said. "That tall man who was ahead of us, I think I know him. Do you recall his name?" "I think it was Cane, or Crain, or something like that," she answered, handing him back the folder for the tickets. "I only glance at names once in a while, sir. I just take the ticket and return the seat assignment." Bingo, he thought, remembering the signature at the motel. Not that it would do much good. He would let Detective Manning know about seeing the guy, though he felt certain any tracing would come to a dead end. * * * * "Do we need to call a cab?" Andee asked as she yanked her suitcase from the conveyor belt. She became squeezed between the conveyor and the rush of people frantically grabbing at their cases. Jacob took her hand and pulled her to safety beside him. "Nope," Jacob answered. "I left the van in the parking lot." "Great," Mike said, lifting his suitcase. "I love riding in the back." He looked up at his father. "Do you think they stole my bike when they tore up the house?" "Guess we'll find out the answer to that question together, Mike. Tim didn't have the slightest idea if anything was missing or not. Except he did say the TV, stereo, and VCR were still in the family room." And, he thought, that equipment alone would have gotten a thief enough money to bulge his pockets, big-time. He glanced at Sue's closed expression. "Will you come to the house with me, or do I drop you at Mom's first?" "I might as well see the damage. Then you can take all three of us to Abby's." Then she remembered her car. "If my Ford Mustang is still intact, I'll just use it while we're here." She hoped it was. Sue loved that little car -- charcoal gray, leather seats, four-on-the-floor -- and several neat custom things Jacob had surprised her with through the years. "Oh, it's there," he said moving toward the door with an armload of cases. Eleven-thirty a.m., eighty degrees and beautiful, Sue thought as they stopped beside the long, comfortable silver and blue van. Flowers bloomed everywhere she glanced. Blooms of every imaginable color, and each would smell every bit as wonderful as it looked. She missed it. But she couldn't stay, and definitely not in the same area with Jacob. That idea would never work. That was why she moved back to Iowa. If she lived in the same state with him, she wouldn't be able to stay away from him. But she was lying to herself and she knew it. Fear of failing him, the kids, seemed to conjure up all sorts of useful excuses. She intended to keep saying that to herself until she quit doing it. Solving the problem was what she wanted. While holding each other on their wedding night they'd made a pact, compressing their wedding vows into, always and forever, I'll be there for you. She was muffing it physically, but not mentally. He'd called with his grief over Robert and for help talking with Dottie. Mentally, at least, they were still on tract. The damned guilt just wouldn't let go. He was standing near her, stacking the suitcases beside the van as the kids hauled them over to him. The scent of his after-shave reached her; she could see his muscles rippling, feel his strength, and found herself remembering how he could make her feel when they made love. It had been so long -- She had to stop this, now. These things she would ignore, because the last thing she wanted from this trip was to fall prey to his charm or her longings until she could trust herself. Remembering why she left in the first place always helped with the ignoring. So, with the vision in her mind of him lying on their living room step, of blood oozing from his hip and a gun pointed in his face, she yanked open the van's front door and started to climb in. The heat from inside hit her face and so did the horrifying stench. "Oh, God, Jacob," she yelled, making the sign of the cross. When he saw her gesture, he was beside her instantly. He wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her backward and away from the vehicle, bumping Andee and Michael who were trying to see inside from under his arm. "Stay back," he ordered as he reached inside, lifted his cellular phone from its case and shoved in the battery. He shut the door, enclosing the sight, and the smell. "Isn't that Spike?" Andee and Mike asked in unison, looking at each other, eyes rounded in confusion, anxiety. "I think I'm going to be sick," Andee said, moving to lean against her mother. He dialed Tim's number as he looked at Sue. Tears were streaming down her cheeks while her left arm curled around Andee's shoulders, holding her closely. "I'm calling Tim. He'll bring another car for us." "That's Abby's cat, J.T.," Sue whispered, her throat raw. "How could anyone get to her cat?" Spike was a house cat. He was never far from Abby when she was home. The furthest he went was to lie on a deck chair in the back yard while she exercised in the pool. "Someone must have been in Abby's house" she added, her voice rising. "We have to find out if she's all right." Jacob reached out and touched the tears on her cheeks as he spoke to Tim. "We have a problem, Tim. First, how's Abby?" He listened, sighing with relief as Tim said Abby was fine, that he'd spoken to her an hour ago. He gave Sue a thumbs-up sign, and some of the anxiety left her expression. "Can you get to the airport fast?" Tim's response was to pick up Abby first and they would both come. "No, don't bring Abby. You'll understand why when you get here. Oh, and bring a garbage bag, a box, if you've got one handy, and a can of air freshener." After he hung up, he remembered he had some plastic bags and a pair of gloves stored with the spare tire. "Take the kids back inside the terminal, Babe." Jacob opened his wallet and withdrew some bills. Handing them to her, he added, "Get us all a cold drink. It'll take Tim about twenty minutes to get here." "I want to stay with you," Mike said. "Go help your mom, Mike. You can go with me later." He watched them until they disappeared inside, then opened the back door and lifted the hatch for the spare. The cat hung from the steering wheel, but the strap around its neck wasn't what killed it. Someone had shot the animal in the face with what he thought must have been a small caliber gun. After removing the note attached to the strap, Jacob slipped the animal into doubled garbage bags and tied them shut. Then he opened all the van doors and sat on the curb, waiting for Tim. He left the note on the van seat, thinking that maybe Tim could get prints from it. Whoever it was, was letting him know that he, she, or they could get to anyone they wanted to, at any time, and in any place. The Iowa connection made it they to Jacob, since the culprit couldn't be in two states at the same time. Spike wouldn't have been an easy snare. The eight-year-old animal had defended Abby more than once, even though she didn't need defending. Like the time the mailman came too close and she had to pry the cat off his leg. And, himself the day he surprised Abby by hugging her from behind. She'd had to pry Spike off his back. He had to speculate that someone out there was running around with a few deeply embedded scratches and teeth marks. One thing was certain -- he did not relish the idea of telling Abby about Spike. If it weren't a matter of safety, he would swear everyone to secrecy and let her think he got lost. That would be kidding himself. Abby was too smart to try and fool. "See how easy this was," the note goaded him. "Take the hint, bastard, and stick to divorce cases." Jacob didn't think for a moment that the writer of the note was the brains behind the act. No, it was the work of a not-to-bright hireling. The writer didn't know him well either, because divorce cases weren't his cup-of-poke-into. Tim's Lincoln Towncar pulling in beside the van interrupted his thoughts. "Hope you didn't break any speed laws," Jacob said as Tim stepped from his car. "Wouldn't tell you if I had," Tim said. "What the hell's going on, J.T." "Get a box?" Tim reached inside his car and released the trunk lid. "Right in here. I have to tell you, this is the strangest request you've ever made. And you've made some peculiar ones through the years." Jacob shoved to his feet and walked to the van. He leaned over and lifted the garbage bag. "Just bring the box." As Tim approached, his nose wrinkled. "Damnation's fire, what died?" "Abby's cat, Spike." Tim dropped the box in front of Jacob. "Pass that by me again." Gently, Jacob lowered the bag into the box. "Someone left me a message, Tim. A dead cat, and a note." Tim paled, visibly. "Some sonofabitch was in Abby's house. Where's the note?" Jacob pointed at the van. "Lying on the front seat. I haven't touched it, except with gloves. Thought maybe you could get some prints off it." He looked at the box. "I don't know if the cat will be of any help." "You should have left the damned cat where it was. Did you touch anything else in the van?" "Only to remove the cat and open the doors. Sue touched the other door, but she never got inside." He looked at Tim. "Sorry about moving the cat. But even though I knew better, I couldn't make myself leave him hanging there. All's not lost. You'll find some fur, blood, and the marks on the steering wheel made by the strap" He leaned against the van. "I also couldn't make myself leave the smell in my van." "It's going to take more than opening the doors to help your van," Tim said, walking back to his car. Lifting the mike from his radio, he called the precinct, asked for forensic aid from a couple of buddies. He returned to Jacob. "After they get here, I can take you all home." Jacob shook his head. "I'd rather you stayed with them, then let me know the results. You can come get me to pick up the van." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't look forward to telling Abby about this." Tim jabbed his hand in his pocket. "Abby's looked all over for the cat the past two days. Said he was playing with a stray that kept hanging around. We picked up your dogs yesterday, and she thought he was hiding out because he's not crazy about Bandit." His hand came out of his pocket and his fist came down on the fender of his car. "Could've been Friday or Saturday, but the sonofabucks must have been in her house while we were gone." He hesitated. "I think we'd better find out who's hating your guts this time, J.T. I don't like thinking that Abby could be a target." Jacob lifted a hand, and then let it fall to his side. What could he say? He didn't understand, yet, just what was happening and why. But, he would. "I'm going to tie this in with the damages done to your house as far as the investigation goes." They heard a siren approaching, and Tim waved down the car. "I'll call you the minute I know anything," Tim added. "You going to be home?" Stepping up on the curb and out of the way, Jacob considered his course of action. "I'll take the family to Abby's first. If you don't reach me at home, I'll be at Abby's." He wanted to get home and rummage through the mess. "Forget either, Tim, I'll carry my cell phone." Jacob glanced at his briefcase. However, he felt certain that what they wanted he was carrying with him. They had no conception of how little that really was. Though, perhaps Jacob needed to study the material more closely -- there were several signatures he hadn't checked out yet. And he wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. Their not knowing what he had definitely had them busy -- Dangerously, busy. He didn't believe the car-heisting cop he had been tailing had the kind of help it would take to reach clear to Iowa -- unless he was merely one of a group into car theft. It seemed more reasonable that the They, Jacob speculated, had to be the agent who'd harassed Robert, and any cohorts helping him. The agent who, through free and nearly undetectable computer access, was stealing property by confiscation, selling to hired buyers, then reselling again. Serious, complicated stuff -- and lots of money. He could be wrong. But then again, Robert's was the only information stowed in his briefcase, and the thieves would have carefully gone through all his other files the first time they broke in. He patted the case firmly as he lifted it. Here was Robert's entire case. Even though his data on the agent's illegal theft activity was downright thorough, the agent had to know Jacob could never touch him with the property information, so why would he feel worried enough to go this far to intimidate him? He had obviously struck a deep nerve -- an elusive nerve that Jacob needed to expose to fresh air, after he managed to recognize it himself. When he saw agent Williams again, he wanted every puzzle piece in place. He also wanted the guy on territory totally away from any agency activity. He wanted this guy, period. Jacob shifted his briefcase to his left hand, waved at Tim, then crossed the busy parking lot to the terminal. He hired the first cab in a line of ten parked near the entrance, asking the driver to pick up the luggage they'd left near the curb in front of the van, then to come back and get them. When the cabby drove away, he went inside to find his family. -------- CH013 *Chapter 13* He found them in the airport restaurant, the kids with hurt, somber expressions, munching chips in a halfhearted completely uncharacteristic manner, Sue sipping coffee; her chocolate-colored eyes -- sparkling? After going through the line and getting a tall glass of limeade, he worked his way around several tables and joined them, placing his briefcase on the floor beside his feet. "I suppose no one is hungry," he said, intrigued, and wondering what that satisfied expression on her face was all about. "Give them a couple of hours," Sue suggested, gesturing at the children. "Maybe by then they'll have most of their appetites back." She sat forward. "I saw your curly man, J.T. And I followed him after he grabbed his suitcase." He tried not to show his surprise. "Followed him?" She nodded, brushing her hair from her forehead. "First I sent the kids in here to get our drinks and find a table. Then I watched him use the phones near the conveyor belts, and wait at the far end of the terminal. About ten minutes ago, a woman in a silver Mercedes picked him up." She lifted her coffee cup. "Didn't you see him out there?" "Guess I was too busy with Tim. First, I hope he didn't see you watching him, and second I hope you can remember the guy's face if we meet up with him again." And, this was a first. He couldn't remember Sue ever being this curious about another person, always saying it wasn't fair to infringe on anyone's privacy. If the guy was the one who beat on Karen, then came back because he'd discovered his mistake in identity, Sue picked a hell-of-a-time to play detective alone. The SOB would know exactly who she was. For that matter, she could still be a target. The thought did unpleasant thing to his stomach. "Oh, he never saw me, and I'll remember him, you can bet on that. Something else, J.T., up close, that head of curls didn't look natural. I think your man was wearing a wig." Actually, she was certain of it. It wasn't even a very good wig. "I could have told you that, Mom," Andee put in. "Just before we landed I was walking around on the plane, and I saw him scratch his head. His hair moved. Sure looked funny." Lifting his briefcase, Jacob pushed to his feet. The guy must have been in the john when he'd made his scanning trips in the plane. He should have done it more than twice. "Terrific team work, ladies" he said. "However, if we don't leave now, we might loose the cab I have waiting. And he's got our luggage." * * * * While they were piling out of the cab, and lifting suitcases out of the trunk, Abby sailed out the front door and hugged the children and Sue. "I've been so worried about you," she said, hugging her again. "Is your friend all right?" Sue took Abby's hand, trying to ease the trembling she could feel in the delicate fingers. "She should be home with her family this afternoon, Abby. I'm fine -- well, I won't deny being shaken up." Abby always expected honesty, and Sue wouldn't think of disappointing her. To have said anything else would have been a blatant lie that Abby would see through immediately. "To speak mildly, I'm sure," Abby said, nodding. "I know what I've been through just waiting for word." While the others gathered their cases, she turned to Jacob, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't want to worry everyone, Jacob, but just a while ago I discovered that someone's prowled around my house," she whispered near his ear. "Someone used a glass cutter on the patio doors, and I found blood on the walk near the pool." She stepped back, looking at him. "The last time I used the doors was Saturday morning. I've been too busy to go out back, and the hole is so perfect I could have walked right past it without noticing. Whoever it was might have scared Spike, he seems to be the only thing missing. I haven't seen him since Friday afternoon." She hesitated. "...'course, that's the second time in a week he's done a disappearing act. Can't imagine what's gotten into that cat. That's not totally true," she added. "A stray moved in several days ago, and he liked her instead of chasing her off like he usually does with strays. She isn't here either, so he's probably off with her." It seemed to dawn on her that something more was amiss. "Where's the van?" Holding his silence, he followed her glance to where Sue and the children were standing still and not saying a word, their faces taut with sadness. Abby walked to the trio and placed an arm around each of the children's shoulders. "Let's go inside out of the heat. I get the impression we need a conference." Leaving the suitcases in the front foyer, Jacob followed Abby into the family room. When Abby relaxed in the room or was away from home, Spike's favorite perch was atop the bookcase. He ran his fingertips over what appeared to be fresh claw marks on the end of the case. There was no sign of blood. "If this happened while we were gone yesterday, Tim and I never noticed," Abby mumbled, standing beside the double French doors that led to her back yard. She'd had the bottom pane converted to a cat-size pet door instead of a glass pane so Spike could visit the backyard whenever he wanted. She pointed at the knob and glass pane beside it. "The lock's not broken, Jacob. But there's a round hole in the glass." Turning to him, she continued, "I don't understand what the burglar was after. I really looked and nothing seems to be missing but Spike." And he could be off looking for his new girl friend, she added to herself. "Anyway, this can wait until later. Right now, I want to know what all the sad faces are all about." Sue had said her friend was all right -- they all looked in one piece -- Jacob put his arm around her shoulders. "We know where Spike is. If you'll sit down with us, we'll tell you about it." Sue stood in the entryway with the children, remaining mute. Not that she didn't want to talk, but she was so glad to see Abby that tears burned her eyes and caught in her throat. She wanted to blunt the pain Abby would feel when she learned of her little friend's death. Losing an animal friend could be nearly as devastating as human loss for some people. Abby would be sad for her friend, but Sue didn't think her mother-in-law would become overly distressed. It was the love she would miss. That cat had loved Abby -- and vise versa. "Everyone into the kitchen then," Abby said. "I have cold drinks ready for you." * * * * As he expected, there wasn't a dry eye in the kitchen that was usually a place of joy or quiet restfulness. Jacob studied his mother's expression; a combination of disbelief and shock flickered in her navy-blue eyes. Quietly, sympathetically, he asked, "Now will you let me get a security alarm installed?" Abby shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a tissue and handing one to Andee who sat beside her. "I don't want to be bothering with all those code numbers and nonsense." She pushed soft, wavy, gray hair from her forehead with slender, well-manicured fingers. "I can't live the remainder of my life worrying about someone breaking into my house, either." Sue reached over and touched her shoulder. "I know how you feel, Abby, but we live in the day-and-age for being careful." Especially, she thought, when you are related to Jacob. "Would you consider having the system for our peace of mind, if not for your own?" "Please, Grandma," Mike said. "You can have fun with all the new stuff. Dad has a camera in his office, and it's like it can think and everything." "Well," she said. "It didn't think very efficiently when someone spray painted the lens and tore apart the office." Abby lifted her ice tea, looking at Jacob. "If all this weren't so nerve wracking, I wouldn't even discuss this with you." She sipped her tea, sighing. "All right, Jacob. But I don't want anything as elaborate as yours." He grinned. "Thanks, Mom. I promise to keep it simple." Rising to his feet, Jacob asked, "The sleeping arrangements the same as always, Mom?" When she nodded, he pushed the chair back to the table. "I'll get the suitcases into the bedrooms. Come on, Mike, you can give me a hand." He wished he were taking them all home. He wanted to tuck the kids in their own beds, in their own rooms; then he wanted to take the pins from Sue's ash-blond hair, slowly -- one at a time, allowing the waist-length strands to flow around her shoulders. He wanted to sift his fingers through the dense waves; feel its velvety texture against his skin. Jacob wanted Sue sleeping in the bed she belonged in -- their bed. "But I want to stay at our house with you," Mike complained. Jacob ushered him out of the kitchen. "Not until we get the mess cleaned up." Tim had said the house looked bad, but he and Abby had worked a little on the kids' rooms. Well, he meant the we, because he felt certain that he kids would take the whole situation a lot harder if they couldn't help ... an undesirable family project for sure ... but a family project nonetheless. "Not even then," Sue stated firmly as she followed them. "Having the place clean won't negate the problem." The door chimes ringing interrupted saving Sue from the disagreement she could see in Jacob's eyes. "I'll get it," she said, thankful for the reprieve. * * * * After working the entire day Tuesday, putting the house she'd always loved back into at least a semblance of order, Sue grabbed a cola from the refrigerator and joined Abby on the back patio. Andee was splashing around in the pool, and Mike was with Jacob, getting pizza. Bandit had taken a position beside Abby, and Brandy lay beside the pool keeping her keen eyes on Andee. Regardless of the mess, Sue found herself feeling a comfort she'd missed just by being in the house, by watching the children seem so darned happy. Bandit came to greet Sue as she sat down, stretching her legs out on the lounge chair. Petting him, she looked at Abby, studying her profile, searching for any sign of over-tiredness, and finding none. "You brought your suit, Abby, why don't you join Andee?" Abby slipped a blue bandanna from around her short wavy hair, brunette in color except for a wedge of gray above her left temple that she swept upward across her forehead. "I might swim later," she said. She sighed. "Right now I'm perfectly happy enjoying this lounger." After clearing much of the cluttered wreckage from Jacob's office, Sue had to agree that it felt wonderful to sit down. "I guess the painters will come tomorrow morning," she said. "I can't believe anyone would write such filth on a wall -- or anywhere else." She paused, considering the office and wondering why Jacob's secretary/protegee, Carley Tibbs, hadn't been around. "By the way, where is Carley?" "Carley's on vacation for another week, I think." Abby lifted her sunglasses off, swinging them between her fingers. "It's too bad you had to see this mess. How does it feel to be in your house again?" She dropped the glasses on her lap. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sue. I know it's none of my business." "Of course it's your business. We're a family, even if things aren't going the usual family direction." Sue watched Bandit trot to the pool, get a drink, and then resume his place between them on the patio. She did not want to answer, but knew that she needed to. "I don't really know how I feel," she said, her tone husky. "There's so much going on I can't really concentrate." She waved at the house. "Whoever did this might have been looking for something. But the rest of the damages were just for kicks." She saw Abby's eyebrow raise in question. "All right, I've missed this house, and most of all, I've missed you. In spite of everything I feel, I can't stay here, Abby. I'd end up in the loony bin." At that moment Jacob stepped in front of her lounge chair, his finger to his lips. He pointed to the lamppost at the edge of the patio, two-feet away. He was carrying what looked like a cell phone, but instead of holding near his ear, he was aiming it in different directions. Sue watched him reach to the top of the lamp and unscrew the milky-white globe. When he came back to her, he had a small object in his hand. "What is it?" "We've had company all over the house," he answered. "I've removed the inside taps, now I need to work on the outside." He'd answered the phone a few minutes ago and discovered the mouthpiece was loose. Since that had never occurred before, he investigated. It didn't take long to find the small chip tucked inside. Whoever the listener was, he would find himself disconnected. Jacob figured the other chips merely relayed to the one in the phone ... but wasn't positive. His detector didn't vibrate any longer when he walked around, and he heard nothing in the tiny earphone. "Who could be doing such a thing?" Abby asked, her eyes wide, rounded. "How about my house? Would they bother?" "That's something we intend to find out, that's why Tim wants to go over your place, Abby. We picked up the van, and he's outside. Says he wants to take you out to dinner first." Jacob grinned. "I asked him to stay for pizza, but he said he preferred Abby's company and a tri-tip dinner." Abby rose from her chair, brushing her hand down her cotton shirt and straightening her blue culottes. "I'm not going anywhere all dusty and dirty. He'll have to take me to my house and wait till I change." She walked toward the house with Bandit at her heels. "Umm, tri-tip's my favorite steak. Sounds perfect." Stopping at the glass slider, she signaled Bandit to stay and added to Sue and Jacob, "I'll see you later at the house." * * * * After blowing Michael a kiss as she hurried past the kitchen, Abby gathered the bag that contained her bathing suit and the towel she had decided not to use, and then went outside and found Tim sitting on the circular-shaped front steps, twirling his Raiders cap. "Why didn't you come in?" The house's roof covered the wide red-bricked entry, shading it and him from the hot sun, yet letting in a defused light for the flowers. Planters filled with blooms lined two sides between pillars with cement benches in front of them. He jammed the cap on his head. "Didn't want them trying to talk me into pizza," he said rising to his feet. He looked at the beach bag in her hand and the towel visible at the top. "I'm hoping you'll consent to a relaxing dip in my pool and a home-grilled tri-tip with the trimmings." Tim grinned, looking fit and muscular in his black, short-sleeved shirt. He also looked tired. What he said sounded like fun. "If we can stop at my place for a change of clothes," she said, "I'm game to watch you cook." He laughed. "Come on, then," he said, bending his elbow for her to put her arm through, "let's get at it." As they pulled onto her driveway, she said, "Jacob mentioned something about you looking around for listening devices, Tim. Did you want to do that now?" "I can do that while you're grabbing your stuff. The gear's in my trunk. It's so sensitive it won't take me long." He stepped from the car and walked around to the passenger side. Opening the door for Abby, he added, "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're going to get whoever's doing this." "I don't doubt it, Tim. I just hope it's soon." She climbed out of his car, thinking about Jacob, the mess at his house, and Spike. "Maybe you'll explain to me why someone's after Jacob? And why they want to get to him through the people he loves?" "It isn't much yet, but I'll fill you in on what I know over dinner," he answered, smiling. "You get your pretty-self ready, and I'll debug your house." Fifteen minutes later he stood in the front foyer and told her as she came around the corner from the kitchen, "The place is clean, Abby. I'm ready when you are." * * * * Candles flickered from three long-stemmed wrought-iron holders, mirroring perfect images in the glass table; the gas torch lights around the pool cast fascinatingly exotic patterns across the clear water. Abby took in the softly romantic scene as she stepped through the sliding-glass door and onto the large half-circle patio that stretched from house to pool. Taking a shower in Tim's guest room had remarkably restored her energy, considering the swim they'd just enjoyed, and after a long day helping Sue. The air was warm and smelled of roses and carnations and medium-rare Tri-tip steak. "That is making me awfully hungry, Tim." He placed the meat on the table with the salad and fruit, and then approached her. "You look absolutely first class, sweetheart." He drew his finger down her cheek. "And this is the best evening I've had in years." She smoothed the full skirt of her cotton sundress, feeling the heat in her cheek where his finger had been. "Tim, are you flirting with me?" She had to admit that having him around so much the past few days had been terrific -- despite the disturbing events that had brought him there. Taking her hand, he led her to the table. "Yep, that's exactly what I'm doing." He held a chair for her. "You've been my favorite girl for thirty years. I think it's time I did something about it." "Kenyan has been gone ten years. What do you mean thirty years?" Tim and Kenyan had worked together on the police force until Kenyan made detective. That had separated them on the job, but they had gotten together on weekends for years. "Well, I couldn't have told my best friend that I thought his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. Kenyan wouldn't have thought it was funny." "You're probably right," she said, remembering Kenyan's touch of possessiveness. Compared to her memory of Kenyan's six-foot lanky frame, she estimated Tim was about five-ten in height, broad shouldered, and still slim of hip. He sat down across from her. "He's been gone ten years, Abby. Would you mind having dinner or going places with me once in a while?" Abby could see the seriousness in his gray eyes. The unexpected request left her blank for a moment. What was he really asking? He knew about the Leukemia she had been struggling with the past six years. "You know my time is limited, Tim," she said hesitantly. "But if you're talking about friendship, yes. I wouldn't mind our having fun together." Sharing the swim and cooking with him had reminded her of the partnership she'd missed since Kenyan died. She had learned to live without it; however, the loneliness never truly went away. He handed her the salad. "I think we've had enough years for the friendship bit, sweetheart. Time is a precious commodity, and as far as I know, everyone's time is limited." He paused, and then asked quietly, "What the hell does that have to do with it?" "It has a hell of a lot to do with it," she said, lightly, as she accepted the steak he held toward her. "When I get sick, Tim, I get extremely sick. Each time could be the last. I'm not going to burden -- " "Burden -- " he interrupted, protesting, then took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, "I vote we hold off discussing anything beyond friendship for at least a month." The evening was beautiful, the moon large as it seemed to sit directly on the mountains to the East. She didn't want to make him unhappy. Abby treasured his friendship. "All right," she said as she sliced the steak. "Now, tell me, who's the fiend behind the murder of my Spike. I'm going to miss him terribly." The house already seemed empty without her funny, picayunish friend. She'd cried some last night, but for some reason she expected the cat to be there. It just wasn't seeming real that he was gone forever. * * * * Sue tossed Andee a towel. "Come on," she said, smiling. "We'd better get in the house. Your dad and Mike are all alone with that pizza." Andee wrapped the towel around her shoulders, her ash-blond hair, curled toward her cheeks, enhancing her delicate features. "Should I just get dressed and wait till I get to Grandma's to take a shower?" Brandy rose to walk between them as they moved slowly toward the house, and Andee's fingers stroked the dogs' ears. "Good idea," Sue answered, trailing her hand across Brandy's spine. "The plumber is coming tomorrow morning." She sighed. "But, it could take him a week to repair both the bathrooms." She placed her arm around Andee's shoulder as they crossed the patio. "You did a great job putting your room back together. I know Grandma did some of it the other day, but she didn't know where everything went." Andee had even painted her closet door. Jacob bought her the paint because it was the only way to stop Andee's tears. With each stroke of the brush, their daughter seemed to grow stronger, more confident, and she faced the remaining damage with an admirable courage Sue ached for. Stepping into the family room, Andee said, "Grandma's terrific, isn't she, Mom." "This whole family is terrific," Jacob added to her statement from his recliner. "But a couple of the members won't get anything to eat if they don't hurry." Stretched across the floor in front of the TV was Michael. Navy-blue eyes virtually shimmering, he pointed at his nearly empty tray of pizza and salad, and said, "Won't get dessert either, if I get to it first." He lifted the tray when Brandy trotted over, obviously to see if he might share. After breaking off a chunk of pizza, he tossed it to her and she caught it, tail wagging, ears standing tall. Before she had it chewed, Bandit came for the same treatment. It can't work this fast, Jacob, Sue thought. Please don't do this. Don't give the kids the idea that we can live together today -- or even tomorrow. She said, "Well, don't get too comfortable, Mike, because we'll have to be leaving in a couple of hours." To Jacob, she added, "Can we work on the rest of the cleaning after the painter gets finished?" "Speaking of the painter," he said, nodding and rising from his chair. "I have some samples sitting on the kitchen table. If you'll help me for a few minutes, I can leave him a note on what color to paint what." She followed him across the clay-tiled kitchen. "Let the kids help you," she said. "They stay here several times a year. And, they have a good eye for color." Jacob stopped beside the table, keeping his reaction to her words from showing in his expression or his voice. He had sworn to himself he wouldn't remark on their married-unmarried situation until she had been here at least a week. He didn't think he could keep his silence any longer than that. "I've already done that." He turned the samples in her direction. "Andee marked what she liked and which room, then Mike put in his two-cents. You know I'm pretty much color-blind when it comes to decorating, so it'll help if you can put in a dime's worth." "All right," she said, pulling a chair from the table. "Then sit down, and let's get this over with." Jacob was holding his silence, obviously. Well, she could do the same thing. She just couldn't let it bother her that she was putting some of herself into the repairs. She glanced around. Everywhere she looked her ideas and possessions were evident. It seemed he hadn't changed anything, except for the forty-inch TV that graced the family room, not to mention the bevy of little square speakers tucked here and there. That hadn't been a surprise. Mike and Jacob had gone shopping last football season when the kids visited. Mike had talked about it for months after they returned. She listened for a moment to the music from the movie Mike watched. She had to admit it sounded wonderful. "Dish yourself up some food first," he said. "I can't let the help starve. Especially since the job isn't finished yet." "Well," she said thoughtfully, "this might get the younger-set to give you their best, but next time I'd like a raise. Maybe a T-bone would do." Jacob sat down beside her. "Just put it in the suggestion box, and the boss will review it tomorrow." "Consider it done," she quipped as she studied the paint samples and the notes beside some of them. "The union will approve of such timely consideration." She bit into the pizza, wishing she could twitch her nose and be back in Iowa. Coming had been a mistake. Every single painful memory of leaving the first time flooded her mind, and concentrating on paint samples wouldn't flush them away. Nothing had ever washed them away. * * * * Later that night when the kids had finished their showers and Sue was taking hers, Abby walked past the bedroom that was once Jacob's. She stopped beside the open door. Michael lay on his back on Jacob's old bed, tossing Jacob's old basketball toward the ceiling, catching it, and tossing it again. His lower lip pouted some, and his eyebrows looked pinched in concern. For a moment she thought she was in a time warp and it was really Jacob lying there on the blue-striped quilt. Abby rapped lightly on the doorframe. "Can I come in for a while?" Michael nodded, tossing the ball again. After pulling the chair away from the desk against the wall, Abby sat down, pushed off her slippers, and put her feet on the edge of the bed. Then she noticed Andee, curled up in the over-stuffed green chair across the room near the closet. She was chewing on the end of a very long red-licorice string, her expression about the same a Michael's. "Okay," she began, "do I get to know what's going on, or is this a private meeting?" They certainly looked sad. When the ball came down, Michael caught it then placed it on the bed beside him. He looked at Abby. "She thinks we gotta keep an eye on Mom and Dad. If they don't start getting closer together, then we gotta do something to help." "Well," Andee said. "We can't sit by and do nothing." "Perhaps," Abby ventured, "it's a little early for any masterminding...." She leaned forward. "How long did you plan to watch them?" "I think Grandma's right," Michael said, looking at Andee. Grandma had a point, he thought. They had gotten along real well at the house all day. And Dad did say he wanted some space with Mom. "We wouldn't wanna make a move too soon." Andee sighed. "How about a week?" "That's a fair amount of time," Abby said. "I suggest another meeting in a week. By then you'll know a bit more." She pushed her feet back into her slippers. "I'd be happy to help, if you'll let me." With her forehead clearing of its wrinkles, and the creases of her mouth going from tipped down to tipped upward, Andee sat straighter in the chair. "We could always use another head, Grandma. We've been trying alone for a year and a half, so if you can think of something, please tell us." Hearing the shower stop down the hall, Abby stood up and walked to the door, wishing she had realized sooner how deeply the family situation was affecting them. It was always clear to her that they suffered, but they never seemed to be bleeding -- like now. "I need to give this some thought." She hesitated, turning to look at them. At least their expressions looked more hopeful than when she first entered. "Let's put it this way: count me in." She could hear Sue coming, so she winked at them and walked out the door. Michael resumed tossing the ball. The future just might be looking up. Maybe if Grandma told them to stop living apart, they would fix things. But Grandma would never order his parents around. However, she might have an idea they hadn't thought of. He smiled at Andee when she raised her arms, clenched her hands to fists, yanked them down, and loudly whispered,"Yes." He actually felt like smiling. Grandma might make things more interesting, anyway. -------- CH014 *Chapter 14* Wednesday morning Sue poured strong, hot coffee into her cup, and had no more than sat down at Abby's kitchen table with it when Jacob appeared. He looked shaven to shiny, and his body seemed sleepily relaxed in his black, western-cut shirt, jeans and snakeskin boots. The black Stetson he wore, sat jauntily on his head; his navy-blue eyes were, as always sharply alert and busy taking in everything in the room. Grabbing two slices of toast from the toaster on the table, she tore her gaze away from the healthy, tanned biceps emerging from the short sleeves of his shirt and quickly buttered it. "You -- er -- get a new hat?" She didn't believe he would ever part with the totally abused black Stetson hat he had worn since graduating college. "Had to," he mumbled, helping himself to coffee. The delicately designed china cup, though of normal size, looked like it came from a child's tea set in his large, capable fingers. "Bandit finished off the old one. Brandy was bringing it to me one morning when he decided he was the one who should carry it. Brandy, on the other hand, didn't go along with the idea." He chuckled. "So they each brought me half." Sue couldn't picture him chuckling when it happened. Better she could hear him yelling in pain, since the hat seemed like an extended growth. "Hope you didn't get too mad at them." She sipped her coffee. "You know, Bandit thinks the world of Abby, why don't you bring him over here until you get the security system put in?" It wasn't that she didn't trust Tim's capabilities to have the place closely watched, but she would feel even more confident having the large faithful dog in the house. He sat down and lifted a piece of toast from the plate on the table, then added grape jelly from a strawberry shaped dispenser it seemed to Sue that Abby had had forever. "Good idea. We can bring him over here this afternoon." "We?" Accompanying him in Iowa had been fun and interesting. She'd even dared to hope he might ask her to go with him here once in a while. Maybe it had been worth the dare. She tried not to hold her breath while listening to his response. "That depends on your answer. Tim managed to talk his boss into letting a couple of lab boys dust Robert's office and scrape a few blood samples this morning. Said he felt lucky to get that much cooperation on a case his boss doesn't think is a case. Tim's going to meet me at the Delaney's house in thirty minutes. I was wondering if you'd like to come along?" "Will Dottie be there?" After hearing how deeply traumatized Dottie still was, she didn't think it would be a good place for Dottie -- not yet, anyway. He shook his head, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. "Not unless she's had a sudden change of heart. She hasn't been back but twice since Robert died. Even then she didn't go inside. Her mother gathered a few clothes and that was it." He swallowed his coffee and placed the cup on the table. "If you want, we can go see her after we finish having a look-see at the house." She stopped her cup halfway to her lips. "What about Abby and the kids?" "Are they up?" "No, but has anyone come to make sure they'll be safe? I don't want to leave them alone, J.T., unless you're certain of their safety." "Did you really think I'd take any chances with any of you?" Jacob rose to his feet. "They won't be alone, Babe. Tim's got his off-duty partner, MacBean, watching the place right now. Abby knows about him being here, so she'll probably invite him in for breakfast." He held out his hand to her. "He'll go with them any place they decide to go. And Abby promised to leave a note if they went out." Sue remembered Neil MacBean and how Tim trusted him. She took Jacob's offered hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. "I'm not dressed for anything but work," she said, looking down at the colorful swirls in her cotton blouse and white knee-length shorts. "Are you going to let me work?" "Yep," he said. "Why do you think I'm asking you along?" * * * * Juggling his briefcase and instant camera, Jacob had second thoughts when he opened the door and followed Sue and Tim into the Delaney's house. "Maybe you would rather not have anything to do with this," he said. "I know Robert was your friend, too. I don't think much has been cleaned up in the den, and it might be too much for you." "J.T.'s probably right, Sue," Tim added. "Suicide or murder, it won't be pleasant. Dottie wouldn't let anyone touch the house to clean it. Said nothing would get done until J.T. looked at everything. Also, the lab boys wouldn't have come if anything had been messed with." He stopped in the foyer and placed the long, gray box he carried on the floor. "We're lucky she left the den windows open and had the air conditioner on." They had a point, and her tummy did feel hollow. But they had important things to do, and she didn't want to hold them back. Besides, after the excitement of watching the curly-headed man at the airport, she was curious to find out what Jacob and Tim were looking for and why. "How about you let me follow you around. If being in here starts bothering me, I'll just go outside and wait." Following didn't get her further than the den as Jacob sat her down at Dottie's small, antique desk, saying they would start with paperwork and let Tim wander around the place. The normally neat den had white powder on most of the flat surfaces, and some on bookcase edges. Two adjoining walls each had a desk in the middle surrounded by shelves of books. Dottie's was set up for letter writing, and the other held computer equipment. The third desk, where Robert had died, was in front of a row of windows. It was the largest, and she could see that the lab guys had cleaned and was thankful. She swallowed the lump in her throat -- it was the largest, and the most dismal. "The lab people cleaned around the desk?" Jacob nodded. "They'll examine everything they vacuumed up and cleared away." He could tell they'd only cleaned around Robert's desk area, but it was better than nothing. He hadn't looked forward to being in here either. Cleaned or not, he would stay away from that desk as much as he could. While Sue started on a stack of letters, Jacob hauled in a ladder-back chair from the dining room table, then opened the top drawer of Robert's filing cabinet. After lifting out a dozen frayed-around-the-edge folders, he sat at the desk in front of the computer, uncertain which to tackle first, computer disks, or hard copy. He decided on the paperwork. Leaning forward, he bumped the phone with his elbow. Since someone went to all the work of wiring my house, he thought, why not the Delaney's? He took the receiver and unscrewed the cream-colored mouthpiece. Sure enough, the same computer-chip type gadget was wedged inside. His first thought was to rip the thing out. His second was to turn on the computer and set the phone on Robert's external modem. He tapped in a few numbers and waited. The block on the screen read: Scanning field either off-line or malfunctioning. Abort? Retry? Hitting retry merely gave him the choice screen again, so he aborted. Then he ripped the chip out of the phone. "Where are you going, J.T.? And what is that thing?" Sue had watched him dismantle the phone after fooling around with it and the modem, and now he frowned with disappointment when the computer didn't do what he wanted it to. "I'm going to show this to Tim and have him scan this place. These are the same wiretapping devices I found in our house. I think that once I have them out of the phones, the others hidden around become useless. Our unfriendly eavesdropper will be out of business for a while -- until he or she thinks of something else." And, Jacob hoped, that something might mean the person would be forced to move in closer. Close enough for him to see. The questions heading his list were, who would go to so much trouble -- and why? The agent and Robert were the answers that popped back at him. He glanced at the chip again as he left the den. It just didn't seem that any monetary rewards would be worth the expense of these gadgets, or the trouble. However, murder was a different story. Especially if someone worried that murder might get considered over suicide, and a case opened. * * * * Five minutes later he was back, giving her a thumbs-up sign. "Find anything in those letters?" She didn't think so. But wasn't at all certain what he meant by a find. "So far most of them are bills. Robert and Dottie seem to have kept their plastic-credit low and controlled and for necessary-only spending." Even though they had her permission, Sue refused to invade all of Dottie's privacy, and had stacked the mail with just her name on it to the side. Jacob nodded as he got comfortable at the desk. "Sounds like Robert. Always frugal, always diligent." After nearly an hour, and while Jacob continued to skim through files in the den, periodically taking pictures, Sue walked slowly around the room, stretching, getting the kinks out. Though minimal, there were still some caked blood stains on the carpet under Robert's desk, and she didn't want to go near them, or look at them. "Did you notice that can of paint in the corner, J.T.?" He glanced up. "No. This is the first time I've been in here since before he died." "Well," she said, pointing at it in the corner nearest the doorway. "There's newspapers here by the door and they have paint droppings on them." She touched the doorframe. "This framework has recently been painted. Do you think Robert was the one doing it?" She studied the wood. "I think someone brushed their shoulder against it, because there's light-blue fuzz stuck in the paint. Couple of long brunette hairs too." Jacob gave up on the file for the moment and joined her. He handed her his notebook and pen. "Write this stuff down," he told her. "Anything you think is even the slightest bit amiss, write it down. We'll go over it later, then when we talk to Dottie, maybe she can help us out." He examined the fuzz and hair in the paint, then retrieved the instant camera from the desk and snapped the shutter. "We'll want to ask Dottie who was doing the painting and when. Bonnie's a brunette." But the Delaney's daughter Bonnie was a twelve-year-old athlete, and the Bonnie he knew wouldn't paint a wall voluntarily. Jacob turned to look at Sue, but she had moved across the room to the front of the big desk, kneeling, poking her finger into the carpet. "I think someone walked in the paint on the newspaper," she said. "See, there's a smudge on the carpet over here." "Probably the kids. You know how they can manage to smear-up and walk-in most everything." "I suppose," she said, straightening. "Was that Tim I just heard yelling?" Jacob stepped through the doorway. "Where are you, Tim?" he called, as Sue stopped beside him. "Garage," came the distant answer. Jacob arrived first, finding Tim digging through a plastic garbage bag with gloved hands and a long probe. "Find something?" "Clothing. Looks new too." He pointed to the pile beside his feet. "A blouse, skirt, hose, and the tags are missing." "There's paint on the sleeve, J.T.," Sue observed as Tim lifted it with long tongs. "That is an expensive blouse. Dottie wouldn't paint in something like that." She looked closer when he let the blouse slide back onto the pile. "I've never known Dottie to buy anything like this since she stopped working to have children." "There are no tags. What makes you think it's an expensive blouse?" He snapped pictures of the items Tim held up. "The stitches in it, the buttons, the cut of it -- what can I say? I can't prove it to you." Since she started working for her father, she had bought more expensive clothing because he liked her dressed well to meet clients. This blouse had to be a silk blend of some sort. She looked at the skirt while Jacob told Tim about the paint smears in the den and fabric lint embedded in them. "All I can say is, you won't find this fabric in the local dime store." Tim handed her plastic gloves. After she had them on, he handed her a new set of long tweezers and held open a paper bag. "Use these to lift the skirt, blouse, and hose. We'll put each item in a separate bag. Wouldn't want to contaminate these any more than they already are." She did as he said. "I think these hose are silk." They certainly had a different look than the ones she purchased at a dollar ninety-five. "What are the brown spots?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. "Might be blood," Tim said. "I hope for Dottie's sake, it isn't." He sighed. "I wish the lab boys had been the ones to collect this stuff. It'll be like pulling teeth to get the boss to let them examine them." Sue looked at him, caring only about his comment about Dottie. "What are you saying, Tim? You can't believe Dottie could have had anything to do with Robert's death." She stripped off the plastic gloves and poked them into his small garbage bag. "I wouldn't believe it," Tim said. "But someone else might think differently." He closed a bag. "I wouldn't worry though. We'll probably have to get a confession from someone to make the DA even look at possible murder." After changing to fresh gloves, Tim went into the house. They followed him back to the den and watched him scrape the fuzz and hair into a small bag. "Even if the boss isn't willing, my lab buddies will check all this stuff anyway," he said, looking at Sue. "We'll know in a couple of days what the spots on the hose are, and if this lint could have come from the blouse." Jacob rested his hand on Sue's shoulder. "Come on," he said softly. "I can sort through more paperwork later. We'll go and show Dottie the pictures of the clothing. If she doesn't recognize them, perhaps you and I could go shopping?" She glared at Tim before turning to follow Jacob. "We will end up shopping," she said firmly. "Those clothes can't be Dottie's." Obviously not concentrating on her, Tim walked out the door. "Go on ahead," Tim mumbled, absently. "I want to look through the rest of the Delaney's garbage bags. Then I'll ask the neighbors if they saw or heard anything that day." * * * * An hour and a half later, Sue whispered, "I hated to leave Dottie like that." She fastened her seat belt. "I told her I would come stay with her tomorrow." Jacob frowned, taking his hat from his head and placing it in the empty space between the van's seats. "For how long?" He wanted her to visit a few stores and look for the quality of clothing found in the garage. "I don't want to sound selfish, but I could use your help tomorrow." He hesitated. "You know, inspecting expensive goods." Why would he still want to do that? "She said the clothing wasn't hers, J.T. And she didn't know how they got in their garage." Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed. "You saw the condition she was in. Dottie hardly looked at those photographs." "I know. I showed them to Bonnie and Dottie's mother. Both said they never saw that skirt and blouse before." Jacob backed the vehicle out of the driveway. "They could be protecting Dottie." Tossing question and answers with his Babe was getting move fascinating by the minute. She had acted as his sounding board a few times in the past, but never with the bright-eyed interest she was showing now, and before they'd left Iowa. Sue laughed without humor. "Do you really believe that?" He shook his head as he steered the van into traffic. "Dottie's one of the gentlest ladies I know. Tim would have to prove foul play to get his boss to reopen the case. All he's got is the clothing and his knowledge of Robert." Turning the corner, he added, "Dottie's the one who wouldn't leave things as they were. She insisted, and still does, that Robert would never kill himself, that someone shot him. She knew the police closed the case and deemed it suicide. If Dottie were guilty, she only had to keep quiet and no one would be the wiser. "But if Tim should find enough evidence to reopen the case, it could come to a point where Dottie needs defense. Information is the best protection." When he stopped the van it was to park near the biggest mall in town. He placed the Stetson on his head, tipping it rakishly. "Let's go shopping." He smiled. "My words were merely a possible scenario. Those clothes had to belong to someone. We need to find out who." Sue opened the door, striving not to show her stunned amazement, not wanting to jinx the moment. She couldn't remember a day of their marriage when he volunteered to go shopping at a grocery store -- let alone a mall. Oh, he would go, but merely because he couldn't think of a way out of it. * * * * The man cursed when he tapped a message on the keyboard, issuing a command to his computer, and heard nothing come over the speakers beside the large hard-disk drive. After making three more tries using both addresses, he lost his temper, lifting his brandy snifter and throwing it against the wall. Nothing, no sound at all came through the phone-sensor relays at the Campbell and Delaney houses. He knew that the Campbells had been doing a lot of coming and going, and that they had spent most of yesterday cleaning up the debris and graffiti. He had listened to their noises; their limited conversations; the fear and confusion in their voices. Moreover, he had left some rubble of his own for them to clean. Kimba didn't know that he had checked on the job, adding a little flavor. And she would never be clever enough to understand what he had to do to make their machinations work ... or what he was doing it with. She, naively, thought once she handed him a file, his only concentration was paperwork and buyers. For a while this morning he had listened to the cop mutter to himself and move things around at the Delaney's. Now, nothing. The last place he wanted them snooping around where he couldn't hear was the Delaney's. He kicked at the glass on the floor. Campbell must have found the extra devices he used to boost the computer's phone entry system. He didn't like that. He didn't think Campbell could trace them back to his computer. Being smart, he wouldn't take that chance. This Campbell bastard wasn't stupid, and seemed well-versed in electronics. However, if he didn't stop screwing around with things that didn't concern him, he would end up lying next to his buddy. The man grinned. If he didn't mend his ways, the snooping cop might have to join his friend too. He didn't mind a bit of assassination -- especially with regard to those who got in his way. It was just that it was a dangerous occupation and he preferred to avoid pitfalls. In his thirty-year climb to glory, he had allowed no slip-ups. Campbell's demise would have to be unlike Delaney's. The private detective wasn't nearly as trusting, nearly as easy to manipulate, and suddenly the most serious adversary he'd had since running drug money at age thirteen. Cursing, using the language he had learned in the streets as a kid, he systematically yanked all the plugs from his sophisticated components, and began stacking them behind the dark paneling that lined the office closet. He opened boxes and set up a smaller, less complex computer. After a week, if no one came snooping, he would just switch the equipment again. There were other riches to come by, and he needed to listen to the persons being squeezed, listen to them squealing in pain because everything is lost. When it became time to confiscate property, he wanted no mistakes, no trace possible, no risk * * * * After watching Sue rummage through racks of clothing at Macy's Department Store for a half hour, Jacob couldn't stand it any more and had an idea. "Come on," he said. "We need to go back to the Delaney's." Sue didn't argue. Her feet hurt, she was thirsty, and her tummy was grumbling. "Could we grab a burger first?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with him. "I think better when I have at least a little blood sugar left." He grinned as he unlocked the van. "Feel sort of weak myself," he agreed. "We'll eat it on the run." Fifteen minutes later they left the nearest drive-thru line with a bag of warm food and cold drinks. Nibbling French fries, Sue thought about their little venture. "I found comparable items in the store, J.T. But I think the ones at Dottie's are designer. You know, more one-of-a-kind exclusives." She watched as he turned on the Delaney's street. "That would be pretty stupid though." "Meaning?" "Well, if someone killed Robert, why would they leave something so conspicuous behind? Why not clothing that could be purchased at any conglomerate chain store?" They were inside the house when he ventured a reply. He ushered her into the master bedroom. Opening the closet, he said, "If we're dealing with a perp, and we can't prove that yet, maybe he or she couldn't resist giving the cops a challenge. Some seem to harbor a death wish. Could also mean the perp needed to appear the well-dressed professional. It could also be that the perp wears expensive clothing and never gives it a thought, period." He pointed at the clothing in the closet. "Can you find anything in here resembling the quality Tim found?" Carefully, she moved hangers and looked at the clothing. "Three dresses look designer," she mumbled, fearing for Dottie as she studied each piece. "But I can't tell you who because the tags are missing." "The hell you say," Jacob snapped, reaching over her head and moving hangers. "They could be plants to make Dottie look bad if Robert's death wasn't accepted as a suicide. That would be one reason for leaving the clothing in the garage. If the case remained closed, no one would think about going through the garbage, so it wouldn't matter." "Dottie has always worn quality clothing, J.T., but none of this looks like her style." She took a hanger down from the pole. "Look at this thing. It's bright orange. Dottie wouldn't be caught in her backyard with this on." "You haven't been around her for two years, Babe. Perhaps her tastes have changed." "All right," she said, "look at the dresses and blouses at the other end of this closet. Do you see any colors that startle you? As in knock-your-socks off?" Jacob moved to the other end, checking collars, waistbands. "Some have tags, some do not, but they aren't mixed up." It could be, that the person planting the articles didn't have time to remove all the tags. Maybe someone interrupted before the perpetrator could finish. If Dottie were into removing tags, she would have taken them off as she bought them. "You're right, pastel seems to be her vogue." He turned to look at her. She was kneeling near the bathroom door. Tendrils, loosened from her French braid, curled temptingly across her shell-shaped ear. Walking over to her, he remembered what it was like to nuzzle that ear, her slender neck, her.... It was over eighteen months -- more like twenty almighty-dammed months. Being this close and never touching was driving him crazy. He stopped, taking a deep breath for control as the delicate scent of her perfume reached his nostrils, heating his blood, and his pounding heart was pumping that heat straight to his gonads. He swiped the black Stetson from his head and held it in front of him. "Jacob, the bathroom walls are a light green and there's white paint on this tile floor." Sue looked closer. "Looks like sneaker marks to me." Kneeling would have been uncomfortable, so he remained standing beside her. "I think you're right." He took the small notebook from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. "Write what you found, and its location. When we get back to Abby's we'll call Tim and find out if he saw it." He stepped back. "Don't forget to describe the clothing and your thoughts about the color angle." "Don't you think it was a little strange that there weren't any shoes in the trash? I mean, the hose were there." When Sue glanced into Jacob's eyes, she could nearly feel the heat radiating from them. Standing up slowly, she stared at him. "What's happening, Jacob?" It was a stupid question. She had seen that expression of hunger a million times. He kept his fingers clenched and his hat where it was. "Not a damned thing," he grumbled. "Let's get out of here." When she touched his arm, he pulled away as if she'd burned him, and her hand felt singed. She hadn't touched him for a long time. Even when he had kissed her in the driveway before they came back, she hadn't touched him with her hands. "Don't do that," he growled. Her look of sympathy told him she understood exactly what was happening. He didn't want her damned sympathy. He wanted a hell of a lot more than that. He plastered the hat on his head, then reached out and pulled her against his chest. He ignored that her hands had come up between them, and were working to wedge them apart. "Unless, of course, you plan on alleviating the happening." The thought of them making love, hearing the words always and forever had him setting his teeth together for control. Her mouth said, "I can't do this, Jacob." But when her hands had touched the soft cotton of his shirt, felt the hard wall of his chest, and the pounding of his heart beneath, her flesh and blood didn't agree with the words. The two top snaps of his shirt were not secure, and her eyes were only inches from the dark curly hair visible in the opening. As usual, the scent of him seemed to take over her very mind. With his fingers balanced under her chin, he tipped her face so he could see her. If she wasn't having an internal war, he would hand his new hat to the dogs. If he kissed her, he might tip the scales in his direction. Instead, he stepped away from her. He wanted her to do the scale tipping and he wasn't going to change his mind. "Like I said, let's get out of here. The kids are probably wondering if we skipped the country." Every ounce of her hundred ten pounds wanted to call him back. Especially when she saw that the love in his eyes had given way to frustrated irritation. Guilt and failure -- her not having proof that it wouldn't happen again was a brutal thing -- for both of them. Her body said, to hell with proof, with brutality, but she obeyed her mind. The notebook he had given her, lay on the floor at her feet where it had fallen when he tugged her into his arms. She scooped it up and followed him. Fastening her seat belt, she asked, "Can I have those dresses after Tim looks at them?" Jacob checked to make sure his briefcase was still under the front seat, then started the engine. "Why?" "I could take them with me when I go to the stores. Most people operating the smaller boutiques know exactly what their merchandise looks like. Those dresses would be awfully hard to describe. The only alternative I can think of is pictures, but the real thing would be better." She hated to bring it up again. "About the shoes?" "Maybe the owner of the clothes forgot to bring an extra pair," he muttered. "Course, we don't know yet if Tim found anything else." At this moment he didn't give a rat's ass either, he just wanted to take Bandit to Abby's, then to find a cold shower, to nurse his bloodstained spirit. It bothered him most that he had allowed his body to rule his mood. "Did you happen to look at any shoes in Dottie's closet?" "No, I didn't have time." Because you got sidetracked, she thought, and so did I. -------- CH015 *Chapter 15* Kimba moved to her office door and, over the heads of several milling workers, signaled Clint, who had stopped to talk when she needed him to get busy. "Where have you been?" She closed the door behind him. "I have two properties that look like jewels, and they need to be acted on quickly." "Sorry," he said, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her neck. "But I've been looking for new buyers." He kissed her raspberry-colored mouth, and then added, "I retired the cousins our friend Campbell was nosing around." He especially hated Campbell for that. His shirttail relatives had worked out perfectly. Campbell had to pay. She brushed him away. "We can go to your place later," she promised him. "Right now we have serious business to take care of. You found new people?" She perched on the edge of her huge desk. The desk taken from a dentist, along with nearly everything else he'd owned. Kimba loved the desk. He nodded. "Three, and they're from out of state." "And you can trust them implicitly?" She frowned, lifting a gold pen from the blotter and rolling it between her fingers. "Take no risks, Clint, because Keats won't be kind. He's not happy with what's been happening." Thinking about Keat's behavior, she wondered if he might suspect her relationship with Williams. It wasn't what he said, but something illusive, something new in his actions that caused the wondering. "He's especially unhappy with the way you handled yourself in Iowa. It appears that there's an Iowa cop investigating what happened at Campbell's apartment and thinks he's found a possible link to someone from California." She wiggled further onto the desk. "Let's hope you didn't leave anything awkward behind, Clint." It seemed that old Keats had ears in every corner of the universe, and it didn't seem wise to ask where he got his information. "He shouldn't feel pissed at me, Kimba. It was his idea for me to go." He remembered the sheet he had deliberately left in the rental car. There weren't any fingerprints, there weren't any connections between the car and himself, and he wished he had been there to see the reaction when someone opened that trunk. He hoped it was the ugly, rude, bitch that rented the car to him. She deserved the shock. "I didn't leave anything behind," he lied, thinking about the sheet and certain it meant nothing anyway. "I just followed instructions." He reached out and brushed her dark hair behind her ear. "I don't know who the cop is looking at, but it couldn't be me." After studying him for a moment Kimba set the pen down, then took two folders from her desk and handed them to him. "When you've made copies of these bring them to me. The supervisor will be back in thirty minutes, so get moving." She smiled. "We can discuss them over a drink?" They would also have to discuss her giving him the folders elsewhere. There was always the chance Campbell might be lurking somewhere, and if he saw Clint again -- He placed the folders on the chair, and then pulled her from the desk. When her body was against his, he cupped her rear with both hands, grinding the V between her legs against his arousal. "Before or after?" he panted. He'd had her in this plush, and very private office before, and wondered if she would give in if he pushed it. Kimba thought she alone controlled what they did, whether in bed or otherwise. Someday, when he decided the time, she would realize differently, realize the depth of his expertise, realize what he was really capable of ... Laughing huskily, she pushed him back. "Your place and before and after, if you hurry." Kimba brushed the front of his pants with her fingertips. "I have a regional meeting at three, so I suggest you don't waste time." After he left, she sat at her computer and began working on the records. A few changes in the facts and the regional supervisors would hand her a directive to move on the properties. It was so easy and they were so stupid and the people had no defense at all. But this wasn't the only place she could use her brilliance. Once she was made region supervisor, she would go for the power. Married to Keats, she had money coming out her ears. However, it was his money, under his dominion. Before she finished, she would be giving quite a few orders of her own. * * * * Still feeling tied-in-a-knot with a love-filled, down-right lustful torment, Jacob intended to go home the minute he escorted Sue and Bandit to Abby's front door at four fifteen, but Abby was waiting for him. "What's up?" he asked, studying her excited features. "You've had several phone calls from a Detective Manning in Iowa," she said. "He seems extremely anxious to talk to you. I told him that you'd return his calls the moment I heard from you." She pointed toward her family room where she kept her desk and an extension phone. "Closed-mouthed, that one is. Wouldn't tell me anything." First Jacob retrieved his briefcase from the van, and then settled on Abby's desk chair beside the phone. Leaning in the arched entryway, Sue watched him, her expression inquisitive, so he waved her into the room and unsnapped his case. It was his custom to operate alone; but, frustrated or not, he wanted to keep her near and to make every moment count -- including her in his investigation seemed to be working. To his surprise, she behaved completely interested -- not only interested, but assisting. Her factual and intuitive comments thus far had kept him on track -- even given him a serious new path or two to consider. He took Robert Delaney's file from the case and reached for the phone. But before he had the chance to lift the phone receiver, it rang. Tim's voice greeted him when he answered it. "What you got, Tim?" "Not counting the probability against it, I think that guy in Iowa slipped up a bit, J.T. There were calls made both days the guy stayed at that motel. The calls were to California, and in our area." "You know where?" Jacob knew how much Tim liked to dole out information when he had something good. "Would I be calling if I didn't? However, that brings up the probability angle. Guess it rules the guy out of having anything to do with the apartment thing. The calls were to the home of a well-known lawyer named Keats Charles." "Just because he called a lawyer doesn't clear him for me -- not yet." Mostly, lawyers weren't his favorite people. "I forgot," Tim said, a laugh in his voice. "You don't have a lot of trust for lawyers." "You think this Charles is squeaky clean?" He had several attorney friends, but he didn't trust the brotherhood as a whole. Tangling with them wasn't all that much fun either. "I haven't the foggiest idea, J.T., but I don't have any authorization to snoop around." Jacob sat back in the chair. "Since when did that count so much?" He shoved his fingers through his hair. "Forget I said that, Tim. If you should hear anything odd about the guy, we can check it out then." The phone calls were an oddity enough for Jacob, and he didn't need an authorization to do a bit of snooping. After telling Tim about the clothing in Dottie's closet and the paint on the bathroom floor, he placed the phone back in its cradle and noticed Abby had come in with coffee. "Ever hear of a lawyer named Keats Charles, Abby?" "His name's in the paper once in a while," she said, offering him a mug from her tray. "I believe he likes to represent the monsters in tax cases." She frowned. "Everyone turns out to be guilty, and I've known a few who weren't. His offices must be in Sacramento because that's where news about him always comes from." "I remember," Sue remarked thoughtfully as she accepted a mug. "You wrote and told me about a friend of yours going to court." Abby nodded. "Poor thing lives on social security and they said she owned ten thousand dollars. They took nearly everything Jennifer had left in the world, and she ended up living with one of her kids in Washington State." Abby sat down in her rocker. "That Charles fella got on TV and made it look just wonderful that he destroyed Jennifer." Possibly Keats lived in Fresno and commuted to Sacramento. Adding the information, and his need to check it out, to his notes, Jacob recalled Robert saying an attorney was threatening him as well as two agents. It had slipped his mind, and he couldn't remember if Robert mentioned the name ... it seemed like it had been a woman lawyer. There had to be something in Robert's papers that he missed. "Feel like another trip to the Delaney's house?" he asked Sue as he dialed the number for Detective Manning. "Go on ahead," Abby prompted, rising and heading for the entryway. "The kids and I will go swimming and cook some dinner. We might even rent a movie for the evening." "Why don't you just take Robert's files to the house, J.T.?" Sue asked. "Then you won't have to keep going back and forth." She moved to occupy the rocker Abby had abandoned. Jacob nodded. "We'll take some boxes with us -- Detective Manning's office please," he said into the phone. To Sue, he added, "Maybe Abby has a couple in her garage." Realizing she wouldn't get much from a one-sided conversation anyway Sue rose, deciding to go ask Abby about the boxes. Jacob didn't have to wait long for Manning to answer the phone. "Campbell, you were right about the sheet turning up. I had a call from a rental company Tuesday evening. Car sat in the sun two days before they detailed it, so the trunk had a real ripe smell. The gloves wadded up in the sheet turned out to come from the sporting goods store. Sales woman thinks they are the same ones she sold Friday." "Do you know the make of the car and who rented it?" Manning told Jacob exactly what he expected to hear. The car was the same one he had followed to the motel; right down to the license number, and no prints except for those of the employees. After Manning told him William Cane was the renter, he said, "That guy spent a couple of days at the motel across from the airport." "Yeah," Manning agreed. "We visited the motel. The maid said Cane wasn't especially neat. Seems he had a hair-loss problem, too, 'cause she found more than she considered usual on the vanity and floor." There was silence for a moment. "The maid thought it was hair from a wig, but we were too damned late to get any samples. So, we can't prove Cane used a disguise by that. However, our forensics lab found wig hair on the sheet. They say, conclusively, that the blood on the sheet and gloves matches Karen Orr's." "And I let him get away," Jacob interrupted, berating himself. "Even flew on the same damned plane with him." "I expect you did," Manning said. "He had his airline tickets delivered to a different motel on Sunday evening. Seems he was bumped off an earlier flight on Sunday 'cause of overbooking. He tried not to stay in one place too long by switching motels. "I'm to contact Lieutenant Benson in your area. Our departments have agreed to let us work together on this." "I know Tim Benson," Jacob said casually. "He's a good man." "We'll be discussing all that I've told you, Campbell. He already knows your interest in the case?" "He knows." "I don't like taking any chances with legalities, so I won't be calling you again, Campbell. If you discover anything, Benson can get back to me on it." After hanging up, Jacob glanced at the notes he had taken during the conversation. Something was missing. Then two things dawned on him -- first, the phone calls. Manning probably kept that information for Tim. Secondly, and a prize at that was, attorney Keats Charles knew something about the guy from the motel. He couldn't help wondering if Manning merely did not want to mention the calls or if he didn't yet know about them. Either way it forced Jacob to hurry some. He wanted to learn something about Charles before officials tipped him with their questions. Tim wasn't one to forget details or omit them when working with official business. Jacob shoved to his feet and walked toward the kitchen where he heard voices. Sue stood in the middle of the kitchen with two cardboard boxes in her arms. "Found these," she said. "Will they do?" Nodding, he skirted around Andee whose upper torso was hidden within the depths of the refrigerator. "Keep a eye on Grandma and your brother, Andee. We'll be back in an hour or so." "At your command, Oh Daddy Dear," Andee responded, her voice sounding muffled. He gently swatted her behind. "I love obedient children," he said. "Don't get lost in there," he added, "you might meet up with a polar bear." "I can't," she quipped. "I have a map of this frost-less kingdom." * * * * Sue thumbed through one of Robert's files marked notes on audit. "I know how important it is to finish this, Jacob, but we need to talk about something." Serious again, he thought. Always serious when she used his full name. He dropped the file in his hand into the box beside the desk and looked at her. "Shoot," he urged. "We could use a little break." He would suggest she come sit on his lap, if he thought it would work. Jacob hoped she couldn't interpret the smile he couldn't stop from forming. Pulling her chair closer to the front of the desk, she faced him. "It's about Mike," she began. "I haven't wanted to worry you about it, because I thought it would pass." "What's our son been up to?" He didn't think it could be devastating. Mike was a great kid. "Lot's of things," she said leaning her elbows on the desk. "To start off, his grades are pushing D really hard. The school called me five times in the past eight months, letting me know he'd been off the school grounds without permission and hanging around kids who're in constant trouble." She folded her hands, resting her chin against them. "I thought maybe he'd tell you why he's decided to change his image." Pushing to her feet, she walked to the window, her back to Jacob. "However, the minute we started packing for this trip he seemed like his old self." Jacob rose and followed her, placing his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. "I'll talk to him, Babe. Just guessing, I'd say the separate lives we live could have something to do with how he feels. His age most likely covers the rest." Jacob didn't believe much in pretending. But he wanted to now. He wanted to wipe the past two years from his memory; erase from the moment the damned bullet struck his hip to now, and then pretend this was a normal moment in their lives. Touching her made his heart ache for any everyday, run-of-the-mill moment. "I want to take him out of public school, Jacob. If I can't get him in private school, then I want him to study at home." His hands seemed to work magic as she felt the tension leave her neck and shoulders. It felt wonderful to share her worries with him. It had been such a long time ... his hands could always work magic. Jacob turned her toward him, circling her with his arms, wanting to feel her head against his chest, and she obliged him, resting her forehead near his heart. "That's the best idea I've heard in a long time. Andee might want to do that too. She's told me about the stress classmates can pile on a kid. 'I really hate it,' she said. 'They're scum-bag freaks and you can't get away from them unless you keep mobile until you get home.' She wouldn't miss dealing with the garbage. I don't know about Iowa, but most of the friends she has here go to her Karate class or have the same piano teacher. "Mike's friends here are pretty active kids. Can't keep them off their bikes or, when they are, out of the swimming pool." Listening to his strong, vibrant heartbeat eased her doubts. "It's pretty much the same in Iowa for Andee. She stays ahead of her classmates, but most of her friends aren't from the school and usually play music and love sports." "We'll help them the most if we talk about our living situation," he said softly. "I don't think we can wait much longer." He wanted her to talk to him about herself. Wanted to hear her put voice to what it was that terrorized her. "I know," she mumbled against him. She looked up at him. "If you'll promise to give me a few days, I'll promise to give you all the time you want for a talk." She glanced around. "I know we're alone." She shivered. "But, I keep having the feeling we're being watched." "Here I thought I was the only one getting the willies in this room." He touched her cheek, running a finger gently down to the corner of her mouth. "You have a deal -- how many days is a few?" Sue chuckled tiredly. "How about when you know how and why Robert died? And, who killed the cat? That way," she added, "we'll have each other's undivided attention." "Agreed. You definitely have a point. We both seem to have trouble thinking about anything else." He hesitated. "We get rid of the threat, then we take care of us." Before the threat can harm anyone else, he added to himself. Especially since that anyone else could be a member of his family. Nodding, she moved away from him and gestured at the desk. "I guess we'd better get back to the grind." After sitting down, she added, "Will you let me know what you think after you talk to Mike?" If things were at all normal, Jacob would tell her that holding her was preferable over getting back to the grind. Instead, he nodded, resuming his place at the desk. "I'm going to wait a few days though. At least until some of the dust settles around all of us." A note from the folder she lifted, floated to the floor near her feet. She scooped it up, glancing at it. The main words, Found the Headman: A Shadow, not as he seems, photo to pal in LA, caught her attention so she read further. "That's strange," she muttered. "What's strange?" Jacob asked as he flipped open another file. "It says here that somebody filing papers against him has a fake identity and not who he seems." She handed the handwritten scrap of paper to Jacob. "Then Robert wrote he'd investigate further with a pal who could make a positive identification. That sounds awfully certain." Jacob scanned the paper. A pal with an LA area code. "This is dated just a few days ago. I have a feeling there's vital information in this stuff and I've missed it. Too bad Robert didn't put down more names." Mostly it was too bad Robert didn't leave them better notes. He scooped the remaining files into the box. It was also too bad Carley wasn't due back for another week. Right now he could use her nearly perfect research talent. "Can I go look at the shoes in the closet before I forget?" she asked, watching him. He stood up and stretched, reaching toward the high ceiling. "Yeah. Good thing you remembered. Let's do it together." Must be slipping, he thought, walking with her to the bedroom. He'd intended to look at those shoes when they first arrived. Sue knelt beside the neatly kept rack that curved inward around one corner of the massive closet. Five pairs of modestly priced shoes of four colors occupied the spaces. The two empty slots were most likely the pairs Dottie would have with her at her mother's. No tennis shoes; Dottie was wearing a pair yesterday. No stains: all clean and looking brand new. "Can the people Tim works with determine shoe size from the markings on the floor?" She stood and faced Jacob. She moved to Robert's side of the closet. Two pairs of dress shoes, one pair of beat-up sneakers -- no paint on them. "I think they can come close," he said. He gestured at the shoes she'd been looking at, then at Dottie's. "Nothing looks wrong with any of those," he stated the obvious. "I've a feeling hers are about three-sizes smaller than the paint print." Knowing that sneakers spread differently than most shoes, he lifted a wedged-shaped sandal and took it into the bathroom. He set it beside the paint-smeared print. Yep, just as he thought, at least three sizes too small. Sue followed him, and then watched him replace the shoe in the closet. "Now what?" "Now? Let's quit for now. I've got some steak thawing at the house and I'm starving. How about you?" Sue wanted to go with him, cook those steaks with him, but it was too dangerous. Even with the mess still apparent, the house was too darned intimate. The kids wouldn't be there to act the buffer, a protection. "I'll go with you to the house, J.T., but I can't stay. I want to get my car and get back to Abby's." She helped him close up the cardboard boxes. "If I'm going to be of any help to Dottie, I need to get an early night." She glanced at her watch. "I'm still on Iowa time, and my body thinks it's past ten." Lifting the a box she added, "My car still runs doesn't it?" He wouldn't have left it sitting idle for two years -- would he? "Runs perfectly," he said. "Because I drive it to the store once a week." Patience, he told himself, trying not to show his disappointment. She seemed more relaxed than he had expected, and she hadn't reacted negatively when they touched. And, she'd made a deal to talk. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry grin, yearning to really feel like smiling. Hope springs eternal. He grabbed the other box, balancing it against his waist. "Ready?" -------- CH016 *Chapter 16* Though it really wasn't very far, and delighted that she didn't have to drive to Sanger alone Thursday morning, Sue enjoyed listening to Mike and Andee teasing each other and reminiscing about the Delaney kids. When she pulled onto the driveway at Dottie's mother's residence, Dottie, looking like nearly anyone's next-door neighbor with her round face, shoulder-length Sienna-brown hair, and wearing a flowered blouse and pink knee-length shorts, was sitting on the front step with two of her three children. Bonnie was ten and Robert jr. fourteen. J.T. had said that their oldest, Dana, was on a conference trip to L.A., hoping to choose which college she would attend in the following year. Almost before she had the key out of the ignition, Mike and Andee were out of the car, dodging around the garden boarding the drive and running across the lawn. They hugged Dottie, then the four youngsters disappeared around the corner of the house. Sue scooped her notebook from the car's satiny-leather seat and walked up the sidewalk built of red and white brick. Her friend's usual peaches-and-cream complexion had a chalkiness that frightened Sue. "Where are they off to?" Sue asked as she approached. Hugging Dottie, she added, "They're all growing too fast to keep up with." "I can't begin to tell you how much I needed to see you," Dottie whispered. She cleared her throat. "Mom let them set up the Volley Ball net. It's in the shade, so they shouldn't get too hot." She motioned in the direction the children had gone. "Let's follow them. There's a cool place to sit on the patio. Dottie pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at tears forming in her eyes. "Robert could hardly wait for the kids to become teenagers. He always talked about all the things he wanted to do with them -- memories he could cherish." Sue placed her hand on her shoulder, understanding, but unable to say anything around the knot in her own throat, and wishing for a way to ease her friend's pain. "I'll be okay." Dottie smiled through her tears. Sue had to applaud her courage as she swallowed away the tightness so she could speak. Tears stung her eyes, but she batted them back. "I know you will. We are all here for you and the kids, Dottie. When things feel like they're closing in, you holler loud and clear." "Where's J.T. this morning?" Dottie asked as they approached the redbrick patio. Purple and white Wisteria climbed a redwood trellis, and pink and red Azaleas lined the walkway. The air smelled of flowers and fresh cut grass. A complete contradiction to the gloom surrounding her friend, and the reason for it. "He's at home, going through Robert's files. Something about one of the agents who pestered you guys has him all excited." "I hope he finds something important." Dottie appeared to tremble from head to toe. "They gave me the creeps, Sue. I've never met anyone to equal them in the loathsome department. They were contemptuous every time we had to talk to them. Nothing we had to say meant anything. It was as if they weren't really human beings at all." When they reached the glass-topped wrought iron table and chairs, Dottie's mother appeared at the back, slider door. "Would you girls like some coffee or iced tea?" "Coffee sounds wonderful to me, Mrs. Felton." The same devastated chalkiness wasn't visible on her, and a weight seemed to lift from Sue as she realized Dottie's mom was a strong shoulder for the Delaney family. "Water for me. And thanks, Mom." Mrs. Felton started to leave, then stopped. "Oh, Dottie, I almost forgot to tell you. Maggie called and she's coming this morning, too." She looked at Sue. "You used to call me Linda, Sue. Time needn't change that." Sue nodded, feeling a warm relief at the thought. And Maggie's coming would be good for Dottie. The always rational Maggie Rand had a way of stabilizing nerve-wracking situations. It would also be fun to hear from her exactly what she saw and heard when someone was breaking into the house. Tim had recounted what she'd said about her dogs barking and all. But Sue never cared for second-hand info -- about anything. After pulling out a chair and sitting down, Dottie asked, "Have you heard much from Maggie lately?" "Come to think of it, no. She used to write me at least once a month, but I haven't gotten anything for probably three months." "About four months' ago, Joshua took his clothes and walked out on her and the boys." Sue couldn't even imagine that happening. Maggie and Joshua worked together, played together. "Another woman?" She felt certain that couldn't be the problem the moment the words left her lips. Dottie shook her head. "Maggie says not. He's got problems with life in general, I guess. And, bless her, she still does paperwork for him and the Remley office. I just thought I'd alert you to the situation." Suddenly new tears formed in her eyes. "I'm so lucky to have you both as friends. I know Maggie is coming because she wants to help. And I don't know what I'd have done without J.T." After placing her notebook on the table and sitting down beside her, Sue touched Dottie's hand. "I should have come sooner," she said. "But I'm glad J.T was here for you." The sliders opened. Linda Felton came through them carrying a tray with cups, glasses, and a wide bowl full of sliced cheese and fruit. "Look who I found at the front door," she said, glancing behind her. "Maggie just arrived." She placed the tray in the middle of the table, smoothed the fabric of her skirt-like romper outfit, and then walked out into the yard toward the children playing ball. "Think I'll see if these youngsters need a referee," she said over her shoulder. Maggie stepped onto the patio. Sue stood, and Maggie hugged her instantly. "You look great, Sue." She whispered in her ear. "I'm so glad you came." Sue muttered a similar praise about the way Maggie looked, but it wasn't true. Maggie might be wearing a pale-green silk blouse and neat dark-green slacks, but she looked sapped, drained, weakened, compared to the ball-of-energy Sue expected to see. Retaking her seat, Sue studied her two friends. "I wished our reunion wasn't at such a tragic time." She glanced at Dottie. "I have to tell you I'm getting really worried about the things J.T. and Tim Benson are finding." Maggie reached for a glass filled with ice and walked around the table. "Dottie and I talked last night. The whole nightmare seems to get more and more confusing. If anyone can fix the confusion, it'll be J.T." "Did you bring the photos again?" Dottie asked Sue, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "Maggie might be some help if she saw them. She knows I don't have anything that even resembles those dresses." While Dottie poured tea and coffee, Sue opened her shoulder bag and removed the pictures as Maggie pulled up a chair beside her. "These were found in the garbage in Dottie's garage." She laid the prints on the glass table. "And these were three we found in Dottie's closet. Blood and paint stained the ones from the garage, and someone cut the tags out of all of them." "I don't understand," Maggie began as she studied the images, running her fingers thoughtfully through her auburn hair, "have the police started an investigation?" "I begged J.T. to look into it, and he recruited Tim," Dottie informed her. "Robert wouldn't have killed himself. I don't care what the world says, he just wouldn't have done such a thing." She sighed; her frown was one of frustration, pain. "Now the police might think I would have had something to do with his death." Sue put her hands together, steepling her fingers. "They don't think anything at all yet. Tim hasn't collected enough info to satisfy his chief." She shook her head. "Maybe the blood on that blouse will convince him to open an official investigation. I don't know." Sue opened her notebook. "I made these notes last night." She had divided the page with a line down the middle. At the top she had written Robert's name. "Dottie asked J.T. to investigate Robert's death," she began. "But J.T had already done some investigating with the tax problems you were having, Dottie." She took a sip of coffee. After telling Maggie and Dottie everything that happened in Iowa, and why she'd come with the children, she placed her hand on the left column, and then moved her finger back and forth between columns as she spoke. "Before we came, someone trashed our house and set fire to Dottie's. J.T. found both houses bugged with high-tech stuff. When we arrived, Abby's dead cat was a warning for him to stick to divorce work -- with no indication of who sent the warning. Though, J.T. has never done much in the divorce work category. Someone had to go into Abby's house to get the cat. There's the bloody clothing in Dottie's garage and the strange tag-less ones in her closet. There's an array of notes in Robert's files about the agents who were driving him crazy. Poor J.T. keeps trying to make the connection of all this, but he doesn't know if he's working on one case, or two." She took a slice of apple and wedge of cheese from the bowl. "We need to find out about this clothing." She remembered the paint smear, the paint can. "Dottie, who was painting the wood trim in the den?" "Robert." Dottie's eyes looked as if talking about it made the pain cut deeply and sharply so Sue couldn't make herself continue the subject and ask what clothing Robert was wearing when he died. She made a note to have J.T. ask Tim. She thought about the fire in relationship to the clothing Tim had found in the garage. The charred outer wall had been several feet from the trash, but if it had gotten going really good, it would have wiped out the clothing along with the house. She jotted a note on her paper to bring this up with Jacob. "The boys and I have to go to Oakland tomorrow," Maggie said, her hazel eyes serious. "I'm doing research for Joshua's firm. Sort of court-house hopping." She tapped her finger on one of the photos. "I've seen quality like this at my favorite boutique near San Mateo. Nearly bought one that looked very much like this one." She lifted a photo showing one of the dresses found in the closet. "Can I take these with me?" Sue nodded, scooping the remainder of the pictures from the table glass and handing them to Maggie. "We have several copies. I forgot about your expertise in research." "I'll do anything to help you, Dottie," Maggie said turning toward their friend. "You know that." She hesitated. "I have to ask, is there any doubt that someone killed Robert?" "I'll answer that one, Maggie," Sue cut in. "You and I know what kind of man Robert was, what kind of father he was. He would never do that to his family." She prayed her words were correct. Joshua walked out on Maggie and the kids, and Sue never would have expected it of him. Maggie nodded, but she paled visibly. "You're right. Robert would never have done anything to hurt his family." She lifted her iced tea in a salute. "Like I said, I would do anything to help. I'm in." "Thanks, Maggie, for helping Abby with work at the house." Sue squeezed Maggie's hand, then returned her salute with her coffee cup. Maggie brushed the air with her other hand. "It wasn't much, Sue. We didn't dare do too much until Jacob could see what might be missing." She turned to Dottie. "Keep your chin high, Dottie. We'll stay on this till something is resolved." For the first time Sue noticed color return to Dottie's pale cheeks as she smiled, lifting her water glass in return to both of them. "Have some cheese and fruit," she offered them, looking at Maggie. "Then you can tell us if there's any research we can do." * * * * Bits and pieces, fragmented notes scattered through Robert's three tax files were beginning to give Jacob heartburn. "The bitch," the note began, "was here screaming at Dottie this morning. Never comes when I'm here. Told Dottie never to go to the door. Bitch yelled so loud she had all the neighbors leaning over fences." This one would come in handy, Jacob thought, since when he was helping Robert with the auditing problem, there hadn't been any mention of a woman agent. He had three piles of odd-sized pieces of paper on the glowing surface of his black, leather-trimmed desk. He had them mentally labeled: stack One, definite possibility of credible information; Two, could switch to stack One if Dottie could clarify them; Three, were so damned short they had no meaning except, perhaps, to the one who wrote them. But, he would have Dottie go over them anyway. He glanced around his office, most of the mess gone except for some not-at-all-decorative four-letter-words that still graced the wall. Painters worked diligently at the other end of the house, and would get to his office last. The most puzzling thing about the room was his camera. It wasn't broken. He'd reviewed the film from the outside camera and this one. The intruders managed to elude both until blacking them out. A hot sounding car was all he got. Who would not break a camera? What kind of person would go to the trouble of first painting the lens, then covering it with a paper towel held on with a rubber band? The answer seemed simple: a camera lover. None of the people he first suspected of wanting to get even with him was a camera lover. He sighed. It was time to have both cameras mounted completely out of sight. The phone beside him rang, and he picked it up to hear Tim's excited greeting. "I've been reviewing all the reports on Robert's case. I missed the one written by the first officer on the scene. Seems it was misplaced -- or at least not in place when I read the file the first time. They didn't have an autopsy, but I think you'll find some of this report really interesting. The gun Robert supposedly used on himself was a .22. The lead officer on the scene wrote 'cadaveric spasm,' gun in hand. However, I talked to his partner and the officer states that the gun fell onto the desk when the coroner's people moved Tim's body and then he collected the gun." "That's crazy," Jacob interrupted. "First of all when there's cadaveric spasm nothing falls out of the death grip until pried out, and secondly Robert wouldn't have a gun in the house that small." Robert considered anything smaller than a .45 a cap pistol, and his collection didn't include cap pistols. But, the .22 was a hit weapon -- a damned hit weapon. He couldn't make himself say it out loud, and suspected Tim was having the same problem. "You know that, and I know that, but no one bothered to question it. Dottie never asked." Silence for a moment. "What bother's the hell out of me is, I didn't bother to find out." "Well, don't let it bother you, Tim. I didn't think about it either. We were to busy mourning out loss and comforting his family to think about the intimate details. My buddy had just killed himself and I can say I didn't want to hear the gory details. Trying to understand why was hard enough without knowing which one of his collection he'd used." "The gun is in the evidence room. Among the smudges, a partial fingerprint on the butt was Robert's -- and a partial of Dottie's pinky on the barrel. They had been about to return it to Dottie. Since she hadn't claimed it, they had forgotten about it. They had fingerprinted it already because it went to the lab when it came in. We know about that only because I got the Chief to let me look into the possibility of homicide and the lab still had the record." "Was it registered?" Jacob leaned back and put his feet on the desk's edge, crossing his ankles. "No. It's an old gun." Jacob thought about that. "Where was the entry wound, Tim?" "Left temple, J.T. I know what you're going to say. Not an easy position for a right-handed man." "Yeah," Jacob responded, "my exact thoughts. And I suppose Dottie touched it when she found him." He paused, running his fingers through his hair. "About the gun. You'll have to talk to Dottie about it." "I know. Can't say I'm looking forward to it." Jacob understood exactly what he meant. "You want me to go with you?" Things kept looking worse for Dottie. He would have to work faster. "I'll handle it. Wouldn't do for both of us to question her about this. She's worried enough as it is." He hesitated. "I gotta get going, J.T. I'm replacing Charley at Abby's in about twenty minutes." After hanging up the phone, Jacob thought about the .22. Usually a non-lethal weapon -- unless used by someone quite versed in the method of killing. Dottie was nearly as expert in guns as Robert had been. They had gone to the firing range and hunting together since before they married. But Robert hadn't taught Dottie about the killing methods of his military training. Robert never discussed his Special Forces jobs ... not with anyone. So, Robert could have killed himself; he had the knowledge. But, he never would have used a gun he'd always refused to own. Most significantly, he never, by his own design, would have caused Dottie and his kids this immeasurable pain. He could hear Tim's boss saying that people say that about every suicide victim. It didn't matter. Robert would not have gone down alone. He would have taken his tormentors with him. * * * * After starting her bread machine on its whole-wheat setting, Abby walked to her coffee maker and poured herself a steaming cupful. She was using her favorite china to give herself a lift. With the children off with Sue, Abby found the silence, which was usually comforting, annoying. To offset the glum mood she was heading for, she took to the kitchen, baking sugar cookies and cranking up the bread machine. She sipped her coffee, her spirits raised considerably by the smell of fresh coffee, fresh cookies, yeast activating in the machine, and the exercise it took getting it all finished. While glancing at Bandit asleep under the kitchen table, she heard the familiar, click and squeak of the French doors opening in the family room. Abby hurried toward the sound, thinking that perhaps Sue and the kids had returned early. The moment she stepped through the archway separating the rooms, a heavy arm encircled her upper arms and chest and a gloved hand clamped firmly over her mouth, but through the shock she kept a death-grip on the delicate handle on her cup. Abby tried to scream, but the huge hand partially blocked her nose and she could barely breath. The glove was dirty and smelled of motor oil. Glancing to the side, it looked to her like a purple dragon stretched out under all the dirt on his biceps. "Shut up," a deep voice growled, "and maybe I won't hurt you." He tightened his grip. "This is a last warning for your son. Tell him to stick to divorce cases and snooping for insurance companies, or I'll be back." He dragged Abby further into the room. "You tell him I can get to anyone, anywhere." Abby heard the low, menacing growl before her assailant did, and tipped her cup, pouring the hot liquid down the man's arm. Screeching loudly, he released his grip, and Abby yanked away just as Bandit hurled forward and latched onto the man's burned arm with jaws that had easily snapped one of her new wooden croquet balls in half just that morning. Screaming as loud as she could, Abby attempted to see the man's face. But, long, dark, straggly hair whipped around, hiding his features as the man's huge dirty fist flew in the air and landed on a determined Bandit. He dragged the dog to the French doors. He was closing the door on Bandit's long nose, forcing the dog to release his arm, when a ball of fur landed on his back. "Damn sonofa -- " he growled, reaching over his shoulder and ripping the cat from his back. He threw the cat, and was glaring at Abby when Tim appeared behind him. She'd completely forgotten that someone was watching the house. She certainly didn't expect it to be Tim, or expect the gun he held to be a reassurance. Crossing her trembling arms across her chest, she called to Bandit, "Enough, Bandit. Come back." The cat had to have been a figment of her imagination caused by her terror. Dead cats didn't attack, and she could think of only one cat who seemed to think he was a lion. Bandit obeyed immediately, stopping his new advance on the man, and returning to Abby's side. Startled, the angry man stared at her. "You just had to go and see my face, old woman." Blood covered the man's arm now as he reached down and pulled a small gun from inside his boot. "Boss says I can't leave any witnesses. I can handle that," he said, his voice rising on the last word as Tim shoved his gun against the man's back. Abby couldn't help but feel totally amazed at Tim's bravery -- especially since the man's height and weight seemed to dwarf Tim. She blew out a breath and sucked in air, suddenly realizing she'd been holding it. "You have half a second to drop that," Tim said softly, "or you'll be losing blood from a new and bigger wound." The man's weapon clattered on the patio tile. -------- CH017 *Chapter 17* Abby's sigh of relief caught in her throat as the man knocked Tim to the ground and raced for the rear gate. She released Bandit's chain collar and watched the dog sprint after the man. It came to her mind that it certainly mattered what was chasing you when it came to the speed a person could achieve. The man sailed through the gate, slamming it just seconds before Bandit made his jump for it. Abby released the air from her lungs as Bandit landed atop the wide, flat, red-wood slats. His back claws dug ridges in the fence as he scrambled over. "Stay right here, Abby," Tim ordered, limp-running toward the gate. He limped quickly through the opening, leaving the gate swinging. But Abby followed. She had to recall Bandit. She could not let anything happen to that dog. Or Tim, either, she thought. He hurt himself when he hit the concrete patio. And if the engine noise and screeching she could hear meant anything, the man Tim and Bandit were pursuing just went skidding around the corner in something sporty and fast. After reaching the front of the house, she stopped. She no more than opened her mouth to yell for Bandit when she discovered that he was standing beside her, sleek, black, and panting. She smiled. Jacob had told the dog to guard her and the house. She should have realized he wouldn't go trailing that car down the street. Tim was another matter. And not nearly as well trained, she thought, shaming herself for wanting to chuckle when things were unmistakably serious. He was holding his tiny, black cell phone and hobbling toward her, but still at least forty-yards down the street, and there was another hundred fifty-feet from the drive gate to her front door. For a man in pain, he had gotten a long way. Suddenly tired, she sat down on the short, gray-stone wall that lined the steps and beside the granite lion that stood like a sentinel by her front door. "I'd come and help you," she called. "But you'd probably end up carrying me." "You just stay where you are, sweetheart," Tim called back, puffing, increasing his pace. "One of us gasping for breath is enough." Halfway up the drive, he stopped, his eyes widening. He snapped his cell phone closed and shoved it in his shirt pocket. "Do me a favor, sweetheart, and look to your right. I want you to tell me what that is." She did as he requested and choked back an astounded shriek. Unable to even blink for fear it would disappear, she stared at the cat that sat beside the lion, licking its paw, then washing its face. "Spike," she said, her voice cracking. "But it can't be." But it was. A thin, pitiful-looking Spike stopped washing, swaggered over and stepped onto her lap. She touched him gingerly. His coat looked dull with some missing in spots. When he placed a paw on her chest and licked her chin, she hugged him, too darned happy to cry. Tim laughed. "I ignored the vet's report that said the dead cat was female. It's been my experience that some vets just can't sex cats." He shook his head. He limped to stand in front of her. "You look kinda pale, my darlin'." He held out his hand. "Come on, let's take your hero buddies inside and collapse." My darlin'? Tim could be a funny man, but she was so in awe of seeing, touching Spike that she couldn't think about it much. Abby accepted his hand, gladly. "Who did you have on the phone?" "First your son, then MacBean, both of which will be here any minute." He held the door open, releasing her hand so she could go before him. Once inside, he turned her around, gently, carefully. The concern in his face made tears sting the back of her eyes. "I'm really all right, Tim. You don't have to look so devastated." She paused, watching Spike settle onto one of his favorite places, the white, wicker settee. "I wonder where the heck Spike has been all this time." "Right now it doesn't matter." He reached out and lifted her chin with a shaky finger, inspecting her closely. "I haven't been that scared in five years," he said. "Seeing your son sprawled out and bleeding all over the floor with a gun pointed at his head scared hell out of me. Seeing that sonofabitch aiming a gun at you reminded me what terror was all about." When he opened his arms she stepped between them, needing the comfort they offered. "I think it happened so fast I just didn't have time to get scared." She looked up at him. "Thank you for being around." She flinched when his hand rubbed lightly against her shoulder. Slowly, Tim shifted the material of her short-sleeved blouse, exposing her round shoulder and a swiftly purpling bruise. Another darkened the skin on her forearm. "Damblast," he said, the words puffing out as if someone hit him in the chest. "I bruise easily, Tim. I'm not hurt." At least she didn't think she was. She touched her forearm, probing a little at the area. It was tender, but nothing like it would have been if he had grabbed her with his big dirty hands instead of his arms. "The medicine I take and my disease are the culprits, Tim. That creep grabbed me, but Bandit had him before he could do anything. For certain, I believe my hot coffee and Bandit's teeth are probably causing him a great deal of pain about now." Not caring much for his pallor, she took his arm near the elbow and led him to the couch. "Sit down and listen to me. If I were hurt believe me I would tell you." She pointed at the snagged patch of material on his hip where blood had seeped through and now looked dry. "I think you're the one who's hurt." "I'll live." He sat, and then he patted the cushion beside him with trembling fingers. "Crash here with me, sweetheart. Tell me what that guy said to you." * * * * In his rearview mirror he saw Sue's car, then MacBean's with a squad car, and a nondescript brown car, trailing in after him. But Jacob leaped from his van and didn't wait to say anything to those coming in behind him. He slammed through the front door and raced toward the living room. "Abby," he yelled. "Where the hell are you?" When he saw the two of them sitting on the couch, he skidded to a halt. His body felt hot-wired. His breath came in gulps. Abby stood and hurried over to him, and Jacob hugged her to him. Looking over her head at his friend, he asked, "What's happening, Tim?" "Guy got away, J.T., sorry. Guess I'm too old to chase the bad guys anymore." His frown deepened. "Still can't figure out how he got past us." Abby turned toward Tim. "Don't believe him, Jacob. He moved as fast as anyone could with a damaged hip." Jacob's stomach churned when he saw the dark purple bruise on Abby's arm. He started to ask more questions when the house filled with people. Sue, Andee, and Mike surrounded Abby then led her back to the couch. His patience running thin, he turned to listen to Tim tell MacBean and the two cops with him about the man, the car he saw, part of the license plate number he remembered. First her scent, then a quiet movement let Jacob know that Sue had come to stand beside him. After seeing the worry in her eyes, he rested his hand on her waist, pulling her closer. She didn't resist. "We had three cars looking for the car you called in Benson," one of them said. "Nothing showed up. We figured this guy must have pulled into a garage near here. Want us to do a house to house?" Tim shook his head. "Take too long," he muttered. "You boys get on the radio and have the others keep an eye out. This guy will have to move sooner or later." "How 'bout the lab boys?" MacBean asked, looking at the French doors. He pointed at the floor. "Looks like your enormous friend left behind his toy." The small gun the man had taken from his boot was on the floor, shoved up against the bookcase. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and a pen. "I'll bag and tag." "The only thing they'll find on anything is dirt and oil. The guy wore gloves." Tim thought about it. "He also stuck to the cement so there wouldn't be any visible foot prints. They should have been right behind you, because I called them. Sometimes they catch stuff we miss." He waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Everyone out of this area before it's messed up any more than it already is." "Well," Abby offered, moving toward the kitchen with the children, "he'll need a doctor after what Bandit did to his arm. The dog bite wouldn't have felt so very great on the blisters he got from my hot coffee." She stopped and pointed at the carpet near the doors. "He lost about a pint right over there." She was over-stating, but she dreaded cleaning up such a mess. Tim took Abby's arm gently, walking with her. "Call the hospitals and the medical center, Mac. Man's got a really nasty dog bite." His chuckle was derisive. "I think he's got some deep scratches, too. Maybe we'll get lucky." When Sue came around the corner, she could see half of Bandit's body lying beside the settee near the front entry. His tail thumped against the slate tiled floor. As she moved forward, the settee came into sight. She stopped. "Andee, Michael, please come here." Bandit's large head rested on the cushion with cat's paws on either side of his jaws. The cat was methodically washing Bandit's face. "What, Mom?" Andee asked, approaching. She, too, stopped and stared, her mouth dropping open. Mike merely whistled. "Thank, God," Sue breathed out. "I thought maybe I'd had too much sun or something." "It's him," Andee whispered. "Nah," Mike offered. "Grandma must have gotten another cat. Spike couldn't stand Bandit. He'd never let him get that close." "Grandma didn't get a new cat," Abby corrected. "I don't know where he's been, but he helped Bandit let blood from the pig who broke in here." She chuckled. "I guess since they fought together they've become allies." Andee shivered. "Are you sure he's real? Have you, like, touched him or anything?" An eerie feeling stirred in Sue, too, but she didn't say anything. She walked forward, knelt beside the settee, reached out and stroked Spike's matted, sticky coat. He looked at her as if she were interrupting something important, meowed, and then ignored her. She looked up at Jacob, who had just come into the foyer and was eyeing her questioningly. "He's real, J.T." "Then, what -- " "He had a girlfriend that had the same color of coat," Abby answered his question before he voiced it. "She showed up in the backyard a couple of weeks ago and stayed." She walked toward the front door. "Tim ignored the cat's sex on the Vet report. He said they seldom got it right anyway." As Jacob followed them outside, three men carrying black boxes were talking with Tim and waiting to enter. "How long will they be?" he asked, stopping near Tim. "Give them an hour," Tim answered, limping over to the lion statue and sitting down. Jacob nodded. "I'll take the family for a burger." He wanted to get back to his office and back to sorting through Robert's notes. This all had to stop. Relief that his mother wasn't hurt seemed to work its way through him from head to toe. He motioned toward the house. "Could you see to the blood clean up before I bring Abby back? And, you'd better take care of that hip." "Done," Tim answered. He waved off concern. "Don't worry about my hip, it's just a scratch." Jacob looked at his family grouped near the van giving his mother support, and enjoyed the view. "Abby will worry if you don't." Tim smiled. "I'll take care of it. * * * * The man placed the phone back on its base. So the cops were opening the Delaney case. Well, what the hell did he care? All the steps taken will either fix that wife of his, or make the cops so confused they quit. Campbell didn't seem to know when to quit. He laughed. Before it was all over with, he'd make Campbell sorry he ever interfered. He was too busy with other irons-in-the-fire to worry about it. Last night Kimba had given him three new properties to work on. They were perfect, and just exactly what he delighted in. Older couples who thought they could relax, that their property would go to their children, that they had no worries. His favorites were the ones who had no other family. No one ever gave a damn what happened to these people. It was always so simple. He scanned the information before him on the desk. No more ex-military men or high-profile people -- he'd warned her to be more careful in her choices; to make certain they had nothing but easy prey. She would begin scaring the shit out of these people tomorrow, and then he would know how to proceed. After flipping the file closed, he pushed away from his desk, stood, and walked to the windows lining the wall of his office. She had sent one of her grease-pit creatures to intimidate Campbell's mother. All that would accomplish was to make Campbell work harder on the case. Kimba never seemed to learn. That was okay. He was forming plans to take care of Campbell, permanently. It didn't matter what Kimba did -- the madder Campbell got the easier mark he would become. Kimba wanted to be powerful. That was something he could understand. Something he had done for himself when he turned fourteen. He might, someday, tell her what her weaknesses were and what to do about them. Meanwhile, he loved watching her scheme her next move. Loved the feel of her in his bed. Pulling car keys from his pocket, he walked toward the door. It was all harder since Campbell had discovered his ears and unplugged them. Now he would have to visit the houses and see if he couldn't install something. With luck, the Delaney case would keep Campbell too damned busy to notice. He really hoped Campbell enjoyed it because it would be his last investigation. Sunday night the cops could add J.T. Campbell's name to their caseload. He didn't doubt it because he intended to be the one taking care of this one. He stepped out of the office and headed for his car. * * * * After they had lunch with Abby and Jacob, Sue packed the kids in her car with plans to follow Jacob and his mom back to her house. "Mom, can we go past the Delaney's house?" Mike asked. "I just want to see if it's okay." "Yeah, Mom, please," Andee said, throwing in her opinion. "Bonnie wanted me to tell her if it her room was hurt from the fire." "Well, I can tell you her room is fine, but I suppose she'd feel better if you told her you saw the house for yourself," Sue answered thoughtfully. If it would make Bonnie feel better for even a minute, Sue would see to it. "We can't go inside, but I don't think it would hurt just to drive by." She guided the car around a corner. "The fire was outside the garage, and only one wall got seared." As she brought the car to a stop in front of the Delaney's, she noticed a tiny, gray-headed woman walking a little dog. "You kids stay in the car," she said switching off the ignition. "I want to talk to that lady for a moment." She left the car and approached the woman whose dog began yapping at her. "Pardon me," Sue began, "could I talk to you for a moment?" The woman brushed a hand through her gray curls, eyes widening as if Sue were frightening her. "I don't know you, do I?" she said shakily, backing away. "No, you don't know me. My name is Sue Campbell and I'm a close friend to the family that lives in that house," Sue said quickly, pointing at the Delaney's. "I was just wondering if you know them?" The woman looked at the house and seemed to relax a little as she scooped her little brown dog into her arms. "Why, yes. I felt so bad for Dottie and the children. We took up a collection, but they haven't been back so we haven't given it to them yet. A shame. Robert was such a nice man. He always helped me with my water heater and such when things went wrong." She gestured down the street on the left. "I live right down there three houses. I've been living there for thirty years." She hesitated. "I'm Ellen Colby. Everyone calls me Ellie." "Ellie, I'm really pleased to meet you. I would like to ask, did you ever see that rather nasty woman that screamed at Dottie a few weeks ago?" "Oh, yes, I could hear her clear to my front yard. She had a foul mouth that one. Seems strange that a woman dressed like that and driving such an expensive car should talk like that. Guess you just can't judge anyone by their money." "Did she drive a silver car?" Ellen Colby looked surprised. "That's right. How did you know? Were you here that day?" Sue shook her head. "I was just wondering if that was the only time that woman came and hurt Dottie's feelings." "She must have been in the neighborhood bothering someone again the day Robert killed himself," Ellen said. "That car of hers was parked half a block down the street." "Silver Mercedes?" The woman's car was back on the street the same morning Robert died? Why didn't Tim know about this? He said he talked to neighbors. Sue could barely contain her excitement. "Exactly," Ellen answered. "I noticed it was gone about an hour before the police seemed to fill this street and they took poor Robert away in an ambulance. "Did any of the policemen ask you about it?" "No. But, I haven't been home. My son arrived that afternoon to take me for a visit with relatives in Sacramento." She placed the little dog back on the ground, petting its delicately refined head. "I came back yesterday." She stared at Sue. "Why would they want to talk to me? No one saw Robert take his own life." Sue took her pad and pen from her purse, wrote her name and Abby's phone number down and handed it to Ellen. "They just usually talk to neighbors when something bad happens," she said. "If you should remember anything else about that car, would you call me, please?" "Hi, Mrs. Colby," Mike called from the car. Ellen Colby looked at him. "Why, is that you, Michael?" "Yes, Ma'am, it's me." Sue waved to the children to get out of the car, surprised that Mike would be acquainted with Mrs. Colby. "This is my mom," Mike said as he approached. He squatted and scratched the little dog under its chin. "Hi, ya, Tiger." "You have a pretty nice son, Sue." Ellen smiled. "Michael and Robert Jr. saved my Tiger from near death," she said. "I'll always remember." She sighed, looking at her watch. "I have to hurry home. My son calls me at five, and if I don't answer, he'll probably have my sister on my doorstep by five thirty. I'm too tired to deal with my sister today." She started down the sidewalk. "If I think of anything, I'll call," she promised, waved, and kept walking. Sue turned to speak to Mike but he was gone. She looked at Andee. "Where'd he go?" Andee pointed at the house. "He went in there." Sue hurried after him. She didn't want him in the house. She didn't want to go in there without Jacob. "Mike, where are you?" she hollered from the foyer. "You aren't supposed to be in here." "I'm in the den," he called back. "Hey, Mom, did you know there was a camera in here?" Sue entered the room and stopped. "You knew you weren't to come in the house -- " He was standing on the chair Jacob had left near the desk and reaching for the air-conditioning vent. "For Pete's sake, Mike, don't touch anything." His hand dropped to his side. "There's a camera behind that vent plate," he said. "If I tip my head sideways, I can see the lens, and the little red light." He paused, looking at Sue. "At my last class, Bud showed us some ways to make a camera nearly invisible." She walked closer. From where she stood, she couldn't see any thing behind that vent. After helping him down, she took Jacob's cell phone from her purse and dialed Abby's number, hoping they were there to answer. "Hi, Abby, is Jacob still there? Can I talk to him, please?" "Jacob, come to the Delaney's. We have something to show you." If Mike was right, she then understood why she constantly felt watched when in the room. "What the hell are you doing there?" "Just come. You'd better call Tim to meet you here." He didn't even say good-bye. She shoved the phone back in her purse and faced Michael. "You may have saved yourself from being grounded this time, Mike. But when I tell you not to go somewhere, I expect you to listen." She hesitated. "How did you get in here, anyway?" He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Mom. The lock on the front door has always been screwed up. If you turn it the wrong way and giggle it up, the door opens." Excitement took over his tone as he continued, "Robert Jr. told me his dad looked at security cameras and talked about putting one in. I just wanted to see if he had." She led him outside to the car where Andee stood waiting. "You could have talked to me about it. Next time I'll expect that you will." * * * * Jacob couldn't dial the phone fast enough. Once he had Tim on the way, he jumped in the van and headed for the Delaney's. He didn't care much for the nervous tension he'd heard in Sue's voice. What could be going on, he didn't know, but the kids were with her. He berated himself for not following her back to the house and keeping an eye on them, especially since someone was out to hurt him -- one way or another. He'd let himself get distracted. It wouldn't happen again. He didn't breath easier until he saw them standing safely beside Sue's car. Sue, in her white, sleeveless pullover and summer skirt, her ash-blond hair still neatly in a French braid, didn't look like any dire emergency had occurred. After pulling onto the Delaney's driveway and parking, he counted slowly to ten before getting out and approaching them. When they didn't show up at Abby's right away, he'd wanted to go right back looking for them. But Abby had been right about waiting. He didn't have any idea where they had gone -- if Sue hadn't called when she did, he would have called in the police department. "This better be good," he said, clenching his teeth. Sue realized what she'd done to him by taking her innocent detour and not telling him about it. She touched his arm. "I'm sorry, J.T.," she whispered. "The kids just wanted to drive by, and I didn't think -- " "Right," he interrupted, "you didn't think." He took a deep breath, bringing his emotions under control. "Sorry. Okay, so what's going on?" After Sue told him about her talk with Ellen Colby, she looked at Mike. "I think Mike should be the one to show you his find." When she glanced at Jacob's over-bright blue eyes, she understood how very much her actions had upset him. He loved them. She'd scared him. "You might want to wait for Tim, though. If it turns out to be some sort of evidence, we wouldn't want to compromise it." She barely had the words out when they saw Tim's car coming down the street. There would be a little reprieve, but she had a feeling that Jacob was harboring a lengthy lecture. It made her ears burn just thinking about it. Sue placed her arm around Andee's waist as Andee leaned her arm on Sue's shoulder. She gently squeezed her daughter as they watched Jacob, Tim, MacBean, and Mike entering the house. "Wouldn't that be something," she said, "if all that happened the day Robert died got recorded by a camera." -------- CH018 *Chapter 18* He had never even thought such a thing before, but right this minute Jacob sure as hell could visualize giving Sue a good shake for scaring him crazy. Nerves. Frustrated terror, he thought, following Tim and Mike into the Delaney's den, just a royal case of shattered nerves. For the whole hour it took Sue to call and tell him where they were, he'd paced a deep path in Abby's floor. He'd had twenty visions of what might have delayed them -- none of them good. Forcing the churning torment from his mind he focused his attention on Mike, who stood in the middle of the room, pointing at a long, narrow vent near the ceiling in the den. He stepped up on the chair Mike had placed beneath the vent. "I see a tiny red light, Tim. I guess you better be the one to remove this cover." After he climbed down from the chair, he added, "You'll need a screwdriver." Tim took out his Swiss Army pocketknife. "This ought to do it," he said, flipping up the short screwdriver nestling beside a miniature pair of scissors. It took only seconds for him to hand the vent cover to MacBean. "Now all we have to do is find what this is connected to -- and where. That's one little camera, but it seems to have a wide-angle lens." After Tim told them to scatter and start searching, it took several minutes for Mike to notice a hinged panel in the back of the storage closet in the den. "Hey, Dad, I think I've found something. My teacher said this is a good way to hide equipment if you're serious about security." He opened the panel. "Wow, is this neat. There's three VCRs in here." Jacob came to stand beside Mike. He placed a hand on his son's lean shoulder. "Great work, Mike. It pays to have a camera nut in the family. Especially a nosy one." Mike grinned, patting himself on the chest. "Thanks, Dad. I owe my nose to you." Stepping back so Tim could get through, Jacob laughed. "I hope that's a good thing." He turned Mike's lanky body around, facing him toward the door. "Go out and tell your mom and Andee what you found. And, tell them we're almost finished in here." Tim retrieved eight dated tapes from a shelf under the ones bearing the equipment, and then took one from each of the VCRs. "We'll take these back to the office and see what's there." He glanced up at the camera. "Obviously no one but Robert knew the thing was here. If he wasn't alone when he died, the perp didn't know about it either. I know what a little time and paint did to blind yours, J.T. And this one is untouched." Jacob turned to find Sue standing beside him. "Where's Andee," he asked, completely unable to keep irritation out of his voice. He wanted the kids in sight at all times -- unrealistic or not. He believed in the old ounce of prevention. Maybe it was the past couple of hours of nerve stress, maybe not, but his internal alert system seemed wired. "She's sitting on a chair by the front door talking to Mike, Jacob. I'm sorry if we -- " "Dad, Mom," Andee called from the other room. Sue hurried out the door with Jacob on her heels. Andee was standing beside the front room window and Mike was writing on a pad. "What?" Except for Andee's wide-eyed expression, Sue didn't see anything wrong. "I heard you talking about that silver car," Andee said excitedly. "I think it just drove by the house." Jacob looked out the window. "Well, it isn't there now." Andee took the pad from Mike, tore a tiny sheet of paper from it, and handed it to Jacob. She shoved the pad with its Lilliputian pen in the fanny-pack she wore around her waist. "I said the license plate number, Dad, and Mike wrote it down. I wished I could've seen who was driving." Sue hugged her. "Good, girl. I should have gotten a number when I saw the car at the airport." Thinking about details and crazy-quilt puzzle pieces were J.T.'s specialty. Deducing the way he did just wasn't as effortless as he could make it look. The way Mike and Andee had always picked up on details made her wonder if it was really a gene thing. Tim came out of the den. "What's going on?" Jacob handed him Andee's paper. "You need to find out who owns this car, Tim. The guy at the airport climbed in one like it. A neighbor told Sue that a similar car was here twice. Once when a female agent was screaming at Dottie, and again the day Robert died." "What neighbor?" Tim asked, surprised. "Ellen Colby," Sue furnished. "She said she went to visit relatives right after the police arrived here." Sue pointed out the window. "She lives right over there." Tim handed the tiny paper to MacBean. "Use the car radio. We can get an answer right now." He turned to Jacob. "Let's lockup and get out of here. I want to get these films going." Sue could tell by Jacob's face that he wanted to go with him. "Can J.T. tail along with you, Tim?" "I intend to see you home," Jacob interjected, looking at his watch. "Abby's waiting, and none too patiently." Sue stared at him a moment. "I can get the kids to Abby's, Jacob. I don't need a baby-sitter to go ten blocks. Besides, maybe we should see the tapes too." She might be right. But there was a crazy out there somewhere who liked hurting people -- his people. "I can't have you going alone." "We'll all be together," Mike declared, standing as tall as he could stretch his slender body. "I'm not afraid, Dad." "Me either," Andee admonished. "I haven't taken all those defense classes for nothing." Tim smiled. "J.T., I think it would be a good idea for all of you to view these with us. There might be something, or someone on the tapes one of you could recognize that we wouldn't." "Thanks for the vote, Tim." Sue didn't feel a bit smug. She would rather they could all just go home. She wouldn't mind if Jacob would put his arms around her for the next couple of hours. But, if watching the tapes would end all this mess, she was all for it. Besides, if Jacob had his arms around her, he would want more -- she would want more.... * * * * The man sat back on his leather seat, listening to every word being said down the street. Well, nearly every word, he thought. The car engine blocked much of what the cop said over the radio. It could have been a license number. He had hurried to get setup, but not fast enough. He wondered what tapes they were going to view. He wondered what the other cop had asked on the radio. Damn it to hell. The fools didn't have to worry about him following Campbell's wife and kids. He didn't give a damn where they went. But he did want to know what they'd found in the house that produced tapes. Tapes that had their total attention. Campbell and the cop sounded too excited. After their vehicles past the driveway he'd backed into, he started the car, pulled out from behind the trees, and followed them. Since he knew their destination, he didn't have to follow closely. There wouldn't be any problem listening to them, if they used Benson's office at the station. He'd been in that office -- in the corner of the building and adjacent to the parking lot. Benson didn't even know he'd been through all the Delaney files in that office. Didn't know he could do it any time he wanted. He parked in a spot near a dumpster bordered by palm trees and around several other cars that kept him somewhat hidden. When they all chose to park in front of the station, he breathed easier. He was almost behind the building and only a few feet from the office. He aimed his dish at the windows, switched on the sound and tape and waited. * * * * "This tape is dated three weeks ago," Jacob said, taking a seat across from Tim's TV setup. "I think that's when the female agent visited when Robert wasn't home. His note on the incident was dated three weeks ago." He watched the others take seats while Tim pushed play on the VCR. Sue blinked her eyes, trying to ignore the squiggles Tim kept making on the screen. Finally, after several fast-forwards and plays, the picture on the screen showed no one in the den, but they could clearly hear the woman yelling obscenities at Dottie because she wouldn't let her in. "It's too bad we can't see her," Tim mumbled. "Ellen Colby could probably tell you exactly what she looked like," Sue told them. "Dottie was angry at the time, but Ellen shouldn't have any emotions blocking her memory." "I'll see her tomorrow," Tim said. "And see if there's anyone else we might have missed." After watching the screen for three hours, Jacob noticed that both the children had fallen asleep in their chairs. He wished he could just scoop them up and take them home. Yawning widely, he left his chair and went to the coffee pot Tim had on a table in the corner. He poured the hot liquid into two white mugs and took one of them to Sue before returning to his seat. "Look at that, will you," Tim said, pointing at the screen. We've come to the morning of Robert's death." Everyone in the room, except for the sleepers, leaned forward, and Sue sipped the strong coffee, her hand tightly gripping the mug as she felt the tension. Robert was working at his desk. The woman who entered had taken him completely by surprise. She had long, brunette hair and was wearing the blouse and skirt they'd found in the garage -- and white cotton gloves. As she watched the next scene, she thanked God the children were sleeping. She wished she had joined them. "I guess you won't come to your senses, Delaney," the brunette said, opening her purse. She pulled a small gun from the interior, walked up to Robert, and pulled the trigger. Robert hadn't even said a word. His face looked astonished, then his head and shoulders hit the desk's surface. "See how easy that was to make you see the light," she said. "Easy as hell." The woman placed the gun in Robert's hand, then searched through the papers on his desk, grabbed some of them and a folder and left the room. She didn't go toward the front door but off into the rest of the house. Four more times the woman entered the room. Sue had tears blurring her vision, and amazed herself by being alert enough to notice when the woman's blouse brushed the doorframe. "Jacob," she began, her throat aching and stomach churning, "that woman has rather large feet, and rather large hands for how slender she is. In fact, the ring that's outlined on her left hand looks out of place too." The ring, though covered with a glove, looked wide, flat-topped, and not making the fashion statement the clothes did -- neither did the tennis shoes -- they made the woman seem ridiculous. "There' a gray sweatshirt draped on that chair, Tim," Sue pointed out further. "It has paint on the sleeve." The woman came into the room and took the sweatshirt. "I don't remember your finding that in the garbage, Tim. Did you?" Where was she going with it? If they didn't find the shirt in the house, then what? "I have to agree with everything you just said, Sue," Tim said. "To answer your question, no, that shirt wasn't in the garbage. We'll look for it tomorrow morning." His jaw looked clenched, his eyes, filled with pain. "Did you see anything unusual, J.T.?" Jacob had a knot in his throat the size of a pillow. He'd just watched one of his best friends assassinated. Hot and heavy anger poured through his veins. "I can't watch any more of this, Tim." He rose from his chair. "Maybe tomorrow, but no more tonight." He looked at Tim and saw his own emotions mirrored in his face. "I'm sorry, Tim. I know he was your friend, too." Tim brushed a hand across his eyes. "I'm really glad Dottie pushed and shoved for an investigation." He paused. "I think you're right. MacBean can watch these tapes again tonight, and then you and I can review them again tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow I'll have a handle on my need to kill that bitch." While Jacob roused the children and ushered them toward the hall, Tim stacked all but two of the videotapes in his bottom desk drawer, locking it. "We'll meet here about eleven," he said. "That should give us time to look for the shirt and talk to the Colby woman." After everyone was in the hall, he closed the office and moved with them down the hall. "After I make copies, I'm taking these two tapes and checking them into the evidence room." He looked at MacBean. "You get some supper, then you can watch them again." "What about that car, Tim? Did you find out who owns it?" Sue couldn't stand it anymore. The horror of what they'd just witnessed. The cold-bloodedness of the whole action. That car was in the neighborhood that morning. The same woman was driving it, she felt certain of it. The worst part was the camera never caught the woman's face. Not even when she entered the room, because the camera looked down. Maybe once there was almost a profile for a fraction of a second -- or she'd imagined it. The woman couldn't have know the camera was watching -- it was just too bad she hadn't looked upward at least once. Sue didn't think anyone could even tell how tall the woman was. If Robert hadn't looked up at her in surprise, they wouldn't have seen much of his face either. Tim looked at MacBean for an answer. MacBean opened the small notebook in his hand. "Belongs to a Kimba Charles," he said as they all reached the front doors of the station. "The same address as the lawyer, Keats Charles. I've got someone doing some research on her for us. Might be tomorrow before I have anything." After watching Tim and MacBean disappear down a hall, Jacob looked at Sue. "Let's go home." He was willing to bet his undershorts that Kimba Charles wasn't a lawyer. However, he would know a hell of a lot about her before very long. He intended to get Robert's killer. Sue took her keys from her purse, worrying about the resolute expression in Jacob's eyes. He was about to put himself in danger again; she hated it, but she knew it. She wanted him to talk to her about what they'd just seen, but it wasn't going to be easy for either of them to have any objectivity -- any concentration to think. Mike looked sleepily at his dad. "I wanna ride in the van," he said. "So I can go back to sleep." "I'll follow you, Babe" Jacob said. Her arm around Andee's shoulders, guiding her toward the car, Sue nodded, wondering if she'd ever feel safe again -- with or without Jacob following. After starting the car, she sat still for a moment rubbing her fingers across her forehead. Something was wrong with the whole scene, but it was eluding her amidst the horror and anguish. She shivered. The moment the woman had pulled the gun from her purse Sue had had to start working to reject her all-to-familiar reaction to the violence, reminding herself that she could handle guns now, could hit a target. Once she'd put her concentration on what the woman was doing, grief and anger released her from the worry. Anger made her want to get her hands on that woman. * * * * He waited until the van and car disappeared around a corner, and then started his car. From the comments he'd listened to, there must have been a camera in the Delaney's house. None of them watching could recognize the woman with the gun. If they could, he would have heard them. He had hoped to hear more conversation, but they had been strangely quiet in there, and when they left the office he could no longer make out their words. He parked in front of the station and waited thirty minutes before entering the building. If the cops put the tapes in the evidence room, he would get them. If they left them in Benson's office, he would get them. As he entered the police station, he wondered if Ellen Colby was a light sleeper. * * * * Neither of them was in their offices. Neither of them answered their cell phones. Kimba paced the plush white carpet of the bedroom. Clint was always home at this time, unless he was out showing buyers what house to bid for, and how much to offer. Keats promised to take her to dinner at eight, it was nearly nine, and she couldn't find him anywhere. And, he had her car. She glanced at the room. White everywhere. She hated white, but she couldn't change it. Keats had told her the day they married that she was never to buy anything for the house without his approval. It was his house, and he made all the decisions. She hadn't realized how much he meant that until the day she bought an antique stool to use at her dresser and mirror. He took it outside and set fire to it. Laughing, he'd said it wasn't that he didn't like it, because, actually, he did. She had disobeyed and that was that. Stopping beside the phone, she lifted the receiver and dialed Keats' cell number. No answer. Not even voice mail. She tried calling Clint and had the same results. Switching to intercom, she punched the three numbers that connected her to the chauffeur's residence behind the garages. "Lester here, Mrs. Can I be of service?" "Lester, Mr. Charles has the silver. Did he tell you where he was taking it?" She'd found a note in the kitchen that said Keats was taking it to have the brakes checked. But Lester always checked the vehicles and did much of the work. "No, Mrs., Mr. Charles didn't say. He told me to be on call for you and nothing more." After hanging up the receiver, Kimba cursed succinctly. Though she guarded against feeling any emotion at all, what she did feel toward her cold husband was close to hatred. One day, he would be dead and gone. One day, she thought, I'm going to have this house, and I'm going to remove every stick of furniture, every carpet. Keats wouldn't be in any condition to object. There were two rooms in the West wing he wouldn't allow anyone to see, including the maids. Those would be the first rooms she intended to redecorate. Kimba smiled. With any luck, it would be soon. * * * * After she pointed half-asleep Michael and Andee towards their bedrooms, Sue returned to the front door. J.T. and the van were still sitting in the drive behind her car. The engine wasn't running, the headlights, off. She quietly closed the door and walked to the passenger side of the van. The automatic window slid down. "Come in," Jacob said, his voice husky. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to go home to an empty house. He'd watched his friend murdered; there was always the constant reminder that his life was bearable only if he kept busy. He didn't want to be alone. Climbing in, she said, "It's after midnight, Jacob." Even in the dark van, she could see the moisture in his eyes, and it made tears sting sharply in her own. J.T. was suffering, and she couldn't stand it. Moving into the space between the seats, she put her arms around him. "I'm so sorry." There just wasn't anything else to say. Jacob wanted to set her back on the other seat. Having her touch him, holding him with her breasts against his arm, her cheek against his, was stirring up every hormone in his body. The familiar, delectable smell of her filled his nostrils. He wanted her, as he always had. He needed her, as he always had. She is his other half; the half he has loved more than breathing. Forcing his hands to stay still, he kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. She didn't pull away. He worked his kisses down to her full, sweet mouth, and to his surprise she met him before he got there -- as she always had. The kiss was a whisper of a touch. She looked at him. Her shaky fingers brushed his cheek. He took her hand. "You're shaking." "I know," she said. "Touching you is making me shaky." But Sue didn't just want to touch him she had to. She needed him to hold her like he used to. The mere act of brushing her fingertips across his skin was all it took for her to realize how unbearable it would be if he didn't love her. Seeing the video had shown her that life was too short to waste even one minute. Because of her being a coward in a pinch, they had wasted two precious years. The darkening of her eyes, the way her hand found its way to his chest, all seemed to clarify her words as far as Jacob was concerned. Hadn't her eyes always looked like that just before they made love? Yep. Hope filled his mind, his heart. He cupped her face between his hands. "Michael put the seat down into the bed position back there. It wouldn't be the first time we made love in a van." The ball was in her court. This was her decision to make. Sue shifted to between the seats and moved to the van's bed. Saying nothing, she slipped her sleeveless shirt over her head and looked at him. Dragging his six-four, two-hundred-ten-pound body through the small gap between the seats was making him feel like a pretzel. But he figured if he climbed out and went around to the side doors, he might find out he was just dreaming and Sue was really in his mother's house. If it was a dream, he damned well wasn't ready to wake up. He had steadfastly believed that actions spoke louder than words, and in this case, volumes. His shirt was open by the time he sat down beside her. "You sure you want to love a coward?" she asked, slipping her skirt off and tossing it over the driver's seat. "I would understand if you wanted to change your mind." Jacob stripped, laid down, and pulled her gently into his arms before answering. He slowly loosened her hair from its braid. "As I remember it, you weren't the one who past out cold when Andee was born. You weren't the one who nearly did the same thing when Michael slipped into this world." He let the waist-length silk of her hair filter through his fingers. He kissed the lobe of her ear. "When Mike needed stitches under his chin, it wasn't me who held his hand. I couldn't watch, remember?" He touched her breast, feeling the instant response as it filled his hand. "The last thing I would consider you to be is a coward." "No one had a gun in my face when you fainted -- or when Mike needed stitches." She placed her hand over his, staying him. "How about eighteen months' ago? You could have died that day." He took her hand and kissed the palm. "But I didn't, now, did I?" He kissed her eyelid. "Talk to me, Babe." "I would love to." Sue gasped as his thumb stroked her breast. "but I really don't want to think about it right now -- " She made an effort to try again, "Intimidation -- " Maybe tomorrow she would get the words straight, but right now she didn't give a damn about why she'd failed to shoot the butterfly. Something eased in her soul. Perhaps she'd never give a damn again. This was Jacob -- and nothing but the kids and Jacob mattered anymore. She'd never felt a to-hell-with-it attitude before, and she found herself enjoying it, thoroughly. Lifting her chin so she had to look at him he picked up on her word, "Intimidation, force, can be ugly words, and even uglier actions. No one knows what will happen five minutes into the future, Babe. No one can be sure how they will act, how they will feel. I love you. Please don't punish us any longer." With her whole soul, Sue wanted him to be right. Punishment had never entered her thinking -- healing, only healing. Lifting her arms, she welcomed him into them. Welcomed his body to cover hers. Welcomed the feel, touch, taste of him. * * * * When Jacob drove away two hours later, and Sue slipped under the sheets in her bed, they had decided one big step. The painters would finish Friday evening, and Saturday morning the Campbell family would begin a new life, together. She hugged her pillow. They had agreed not to tell the kids until Saturday morning. J.T. had wanted to wake the kids and take them all home. Seeing her in his bed, he had said, was a vision he'd waited too long for already. But, with gentle persuasion, he agreed that the house needed cleansed of the filth on the walls. Sue had visions, too, and Saturday night she would tell them to him. She touched her breast. If he were lying here with her, his hand would be holding her, his arm, resting across her in his protective manner. A day seemed like forever. -------- CH019 *Chapter 19* When Sue woke Friday morning, she couldn't shake her thoughts about the silver car and the woman who owned it. She climbed out of bed, slipped into her shorty beach robe and padded into the living room. Beside the phone on the desk, she found the phone book and thumbed through it looking for a listing on Keats Charles. She didn't really expect to find one and, of course, she didn't. She flipped to the business pages and located the listing for the law office. That was a beginning. How, she wondered, would J.T. go about searching out their address? Hearing a yawn behind her, she turned. "Good morning, Abby. I hope I didn't wake you." Abby shook her head. "No, Spike did. I was putting him and Bandit out in the yard when I heard you in here." She chuckled. "I still can't believe he is here." She stifled another yawn with the back of her hand. "Guess I'd better make some coffee if I want to stay awake." Sue returned the phone book to the desk. "That sounds good. I'll help." It wasn't going to be easy keeping her and J.T.'s decision from Abby for a few more hours. Sue hoped Abby wouldn't sense the new excitement she could feel all over. Just thinking about it made her feel as if she must be glowing like a hundred-watt bulb. As Abby filled the coffee machine with water, she asked, "What were you looking for?" "I wanted to find the home address for that lawyer Charles J.T. was telling you about." Sue shrugged her shoulders. "No luck." Last night she and J.T. told Abby about what they'd seen on the videotape, and about the silver car. "Tim's partner is out there in his car keeping an eye on us," Abby said thoughtfully. "I bet he'd tell me if he knows." When the last drop of brewed coffee hit the coffee pot, she took a mug from the cupboard and filled it. "I'll just take this to him and see what happens. The way to MacBean's heart is through the coffee mug." She tightened the belt on her robe and headed for the front door with the steaming coffee. Sue poured herself a cup and sat at the kitchen table to wait. It wasn't long. Abby returned in just under five minutes with a smile on her face. "He couldn't give me an address like that, he said. But, he could tell me where Mrs. Kimba Keats worked." * * * * An hour later Sue drove slowly around the taxing agency's compound. She called it a compound because it looked dark and sinister and had a fence around it that seemed as immovably fortified as a castle wall. However, she could see all the employee's vehicles and the one she looked for had a special parking spot right near the entrance -- because the silver Mercedes was in it. After parking her car and watching the building for an hour and a half, Sue tried to think of any excuse she could use to go in that building and look for Kimba Keats. Inactivity wasn't her best characteristic, which meant surveillance wasn't, and never would be, her cup-of-capacity. If she didn't move soon someone would find her snoring away. Then a slender brunette came out of the building and stopped beside the silver Mercedes. The woman, who had to be Kimba Keats, opened the door and took a stack of files from the front seat. Nearly instantly a black sports car pulled in and stopped behind her car. She walked over and handed the files to the man in the drivers' seat. Sue thought he looked familiar. The man got out and walked with Kimba, opened the door for her and watched her climb in the car. Then he leaned down, and Sue thought it looked like he might be kissing her. Was this the lawyer husband? Watching him walk made his familiarity become a memory. The man from the airport. Possibly the man who tried to killed Karen. So, maybe he worked for the agency too -- and not the husband. Tim would love to know this. Sue let out a long sigh as she turned the key in the ignition. J.T. would have a fit if he knew what she was doing. She had to follow that car -- she just had to. As she pulled into traffic she glanced at the blue sedan parked across the street. The man in it had followed her here, and by Tim's orders she knew. He looked asleep. Well, let him sleep. She would just follow the car and see where Kimba Charles was going. That was all she planned to do. When the car led her to an area of mansion-sized homes with enormous, manicured lawns, it became impossible to follow and not be seen, since they were the only two cars on the street. Sue turned a corner, stopped and waited before turning around and following again. But the Mercedes wasn't on the street anymore. Luckily a flash of silver showed Sue exactly which place Mrs. Charles called home. Another fortification, Sue thought as she eyed the red brick and wrought iron wall that surrounded the house. She felt surprised when ten minutes later the car left again. The electronic gate didn't close all the way. There was plenty of room for someone to walk through without even walking sideways. * * * * When Jacob entered the police station at eleven that morning, he met an irate Tim coming down the hall. "We've got ourselves a very busy killer, J.T. People and cats and dogs. I'd say anything warm blooded that gets in his way had best watch out. We went to question Dottie's neighbors this morning and found Ellen Colby smothered in her bed. Her dog was lying beside her -- the Vet says he'll recover with rest." He ushered Jacob into his office and shut the door, hard. "Topping off the morning, the video tapes I put in the evidence room have disappeared." "Disappeared?" Jacob sat down, trying to concentrate on Tim. "A cop? Perhaps, a lawyer? Who else can come and go in here without anyone paying attention to them?" Tim was nodding and unlocking his desk drawer. After pulling out a key, he walked across the room, opened a closet, and pulled out a videotape. "MacBean's questioning the night man in charge of the evidence room. Meanwhile, I have a copy of that tape. I had MacBean make it before leaving last night. Damn good thing I did." He placed the tape in the VCR. "We're gonna watch this thing super close. There has to be something we missed last night." "What about the woman -- Ellen Colby?" He hated the idea of telling Sue about this. She had met Mrs. Colby and liked her. They were making someone nervous, real nervous. He or she had started murdering to clear the path. Bad sign. J.T. had another idea to hate, he hated that his gut said he was running out of time. "The lab boys are still out there. I can lay-odds they won't find a damn thing. Our killer might be busy, but also extremely cautious and professional. This one doesn't rattle easily. In fact, this one's so cold we should recognize him from the icicles hanging from his face." He pushed play and walked back to take a seat at his desk. "If it's a he ... or the same she in this video." Clearing his throat, he added softly, "Speak up if you want me to replay anything." Doesn't rattle easily, Jacob thought, and definitely without conscience. The video shows a woman. He watched closely, thinking about Sue's comments from the night before. Was that a woman they were watching? He had to agree with her that the figure seemed right, but the walk seemed wrong. The lump where a ring showed through the glove didn't look like the more delicate design most women preferred. He thought about the guy at the airport, about the wig hairs discovered stuck in the paint -- and on the bloody sheet in Iowa. But it didn't compute. The person on the screen looked shorter, slenderer, completely opposite of the Iowa intruder. The camera showed tennis shoes with expensive clothing. Sue thought that strange. But if the woman had needed a fast getaway, heeled shoes wouldn't have worked. As he watched again, watched his friend being shot in the head, he closed his eyes and asked, "Did you say that Ellen Colby was smothered?" "Yeah," Tim said. "There was no sign of struggle. The poor woman didn't have a chance." Jacob pointed at the screen. "Wait! Run that back about two seconds." It was at the end of the scene that showed any movement at all for several minutes after the woman's last trip into the den. "There, did you see that?" "Yeah, it looked like she was wearing all black when passing by that door. Give me a second to get it back." What Jacob saw on the screen lasted only long enough to blink, but Tim managed to pause the frame. "Would be her after dumping the clothes in the garage and changing?" Tim's eyebrows wrinkled in a deep frown. "Couldn't be anything else. I don't believe she had an accomplice there." "Do you think it's this ice lady that killed Mrs. Colby?" "If this is the screaming agent, she certainly had motive -- But we discussed Mrs. Colby for the first time last night. How would the killer know there was a possible eyewitness, or that we had this tape?" His eyes grew wide as he shoved to his feet and walked to the VCR. "Cop or lawyer. Someone who knew or heard what we were doing here last night." He switched everything off and ejected the tape. "I'm going to spend the rest of the day nosing around right here in my own building. Someone would have had to see something." Not necessarily, Jacob thought. This killer moved like a cat through tall weeds, stalking a bird. No noise -- not a twitch of a hair. He, too, shoved to his feet. "I'll be on the cell phone, Tim. I promised to take the kids up to the ranch for a few hours. First, though, I'm going to go over my file on Robert. If anything comes up, call me." Tim walked with him to the door with the video still clutched in his hand. "You do the same. We have to get this one." Jacob gestured at the tape. "Best put that in a real safe place." Tim smiled, poking at his suit jacket. "I'm gonna wear it, J.T. The only way someone'll get it off me is to undress me." * * * * At eleven a.m., Sue left her car on the street, shaded by the healthiest looking Palm trees she'd ever seen, and walked up the circular drive. When no one answered the door bell, she walked around to the rear of the house. She had no idea what she would say if someone caught her trespassing, but she couldn't help herself. This woman had something to do with making Dottie a widow and taking a beloved father from his children. It made her mad to think about it, really mad. Finding the back door unlocked she opened it and walked into a huge kitchen. "Hello," she called, none too loud. Complete silence gave her motivation to enter further. A door on her left looked as if it might be to a cellar, so she opened it. A long staircase of wide wooden steps led downward into darkness. Yesterday, if someone had said she would ever do anything like this, she would have told them they were crazy. She jabbed the button on the wall and a light came on at the bottom of the stairs. Gripping her hunter-green shoulder bag close to her side, she hiked her long, twisted-cotton skirt up a few inches, and descended. Wine racks lined the outer wall. A chill ran through her as she moved past them and the eerie shadow they cast. It wasn't until she had nearly made her way around the entire cellar that she noticed the dark cubbyhole in a corner, under a heavy wooden beam, and beside a bench with garden tools strewn about. She fished in her bag for her key ring and the penlight she had attached to it. It didn't give her much light, but when she stooped down she could see a cardboard box with a rag of some sort drooping over its side. Sue tucked the skirt between her knees, knelt down to avoid the beam, and lifted the edge of the rag. Her heart, already banging against her chest wall, seemed to stop. After grabbing a miniature shovel from the bench, she knelt again and used it to poke and turn the fabric. It was Robert's missing sweatshirt, and under it, a pair of tennis shoes -- a long brunette wig, and black wadded up material that had to be a dress or skirt. A decorative gold button protruded from a fold. She couldn't make herself touch them any further, but she could see that something dark speckled the shoe tops, and she'd bet J.T.'s shorts that there would be paint on their bottoms. She had to get out of there. Rising swiftly to her feet, her head slammed against the large beam she'd forgotten was there and she slid to the floor. * * * * After sitting at his desk, Jacob began his search for any paper with names on it. He lifted the small note indicating the headman was not as he seemed that Sue had found. The note was on a blue stick note. There weren't all that many blue ones in his "show to Dottie" envelope. Separating the bits of paper by color, he found six, and only one had a name on it -- Vincent Knoble -- heavily underlined, and nothing else written. Jacob studied the force with which Robert has penned the name while he dialed Dottie's number. First he took a few moments to find out how she and the kids were, and then he asked, "Have you ever heard of a Vincent Knoble, Dottie?" "I met Vinnie when I first met Robert," she said. "He was a hard-case L.A. street thief, drug runner, and anything else that made his pockets fill-up with money." "What?" He couldn't see Robert introducing his Dottie to anyone of that description. "Well, he wasn't any of those things when I met him, J.T. Vinnie was younger than Robert, but with him in the Special Forces. They didn't really have anything in common but the desire to live, so they watched each other's backs under fire." "Did Robert have any contact with this guy recently?" Jacob could hear Dottie clearing her voice, gaining control. "I'm sorry, J.T.," she said huskily. "It was two days before he died. I went into his den and he was faxing a picture of some guy, a lawyer, I think. He said he had a hunch that Vinnie would know the man." She swallowed audibly. "He didn't tell me what it was about." "Do you know how I can get in touch with Vinnie? I have a gut feeling about this, Dottie, so think hard." He glanced at the blue note, "A shadow" -- LA area code. Robert's killer certainly seemed to be a shadow. "I think you have our phone bills for the past six months, J.T. Robert and I seldom made long distance calls. It would have been long distance to Los Angeles." Jacob sighed with relief when he hung up the phone, thankful she hadn't asked any questions about what he had found in the house -- thankful it was Tim's job to inform her that she was right, Robert didn't die by his own hand. He didn't want to be the one to tell her about the video tapes they'd discovered in Robert's den. It didn't take him long to locate the phone bill he needed and the area code he was looking for. Five minutes after that, he was talking to Vinnie Knoble, answering the phone "Knoble Real Estate." And, Vinnie knew exactly who J.T. Campbell was. "Any friend of Robert's can count on me," Vinnie said. "Just call me, Vinnie, J.T. I feel like I've know you since Robert and I were in training. Robert and I just couldn't seem to get together much -- Damn it to hell, I can't believe he's dead. We talked a couple of days before he got it. Wished I'd known." There was silence for a moment. "What can I do to help you get the sonofabitch? Robert saved my ass more than once. I owe him." Describing Robert's death to him wasn't the easiest thing for Jacob. "Robert sent you a fax. Dottie seemed to think it had to do with a picture of some guy. What was it all about?" "I gotta tell you, J.T., it was something else. He sent me a picture of a man looking made of money. Ya know, I expected old L.A. to be rich, but as a lawyer -- never would have dawned on me. That bastard always knew how to fall into the bucket of shit and come out smelling like rose petals." "Vinnie, what's the lawyer's name?" Jacob felt patience beginning to leave him. Here was a lead. He wanted to hear about it, now. He swung around when he heard a noise behind him. Carley Tibbs, looking fresh and tan and dressed like the front page of a fashion magazine came through the door. She waved off-handedly and went to her desk in the corner. "When I knew him it was Albert Dent, but Robert said that wasn't the name. Robert didn't tell me the name." Jacob could hear Vinnie opening and shutting drawers, or something. "Back when I was ten years old, starving, and stupider than owl shit, Albert taught me how to make a killing on the street. He learned most of his expertise by traveling with his cousin from coast to coast. The guy could work for competing big boys and they never knew. Half the time he would pocket numbers money, alter a few figures, and come out happy. When he was fourteen, he told me an old lady was gonna make him king, then I never saw him again. Word was he'd been taken on a ride to the middle of the Pacific." After a moment's pause and the sound of slamming, Vinnie added, "Obviously, he never took that ride. Yep, I've still got the picture, J.T. Want me to fax it to you?" "I'll get off here, and you can shoot it through." "Promise to keep me posted, J.T. And by the way," Vinnie added, "our gang had a mark -- a small tattooed cross below the left ear. It's fuzzy, J.T., but I can see it in this photo." "You got it. And, thanks." Jacob watched Carley puttering around her desk as he waited for the picture to finish working through the fax machine. This wasn't the usual Carley. She wasn't a putterer by nature. As a fax of a fax, the photo wasn't all that clear. He would have to take it to Tim and see if he could recognize the guy. The photo wasn't in Robert's stuff, so he'd ask Dottie if she had any ideas about where it went. He placed the fuzzy picture on his desk. It probably wouldn't matter if he waited until tomorrow. The kids would be waiting for him to pick them up. A promise was a promise. He dialed Abby's number. "Hi," he greeted her welcomed voice. "Are the kids ready for our trip to the ranch?" "They've been ready since noon. You know they want to spend the night? -- actually Andee mentioned a week." "If they want to stay, let them take a suitcase, Abby. I can always go back on Sunday and get them." Jacob glanced at his watch, and couldn't believe it was two o'clock already. "Sue get back yet, Abby?" "No, but she wanted to go shopping." "See you in a few minutes." He slipped the blurred picture into a mailing envelope. Abby would see Tim that evening. He would let her give it to him. "I heard about the mess," Carley said, sitting down on the swivel desk chair. "Bad vibes, you know? Thought I'd better just come in and see for myself." Jacob studied her. "You still have four more days of leisure, Carley. If you stay here five more minutes I'm going to put you to work." He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the way her mouth tipped down at the corners. Carley wasn't happy. He knew Carley hid a psychic ability that often made her sad -- mostly because she spent so much time denying it. He denied it, too. He didn't believe in psychic abilities. For the first time since she entered the room she smiled. She sighed, reached over and turned on her computer. "Put me to work, boss. I've had enough fun for a while." Suddenly she frowned and pointed at the mailing envelope. "That's a really bad person." She rubbed her temple with one hand. "I see Sue's face beside his. I think it's Sue." Carley shook her head. "It's a small girl, so maybe it's not her." Jacob chose to ignore what she was saying. He had to ignore her when she started saying things like that. He wished she wouldn't do it. Especially to him. Seeing an emotion in her that wasn't tough, aggressive, also made Jacob think that perhaps his little Carley might have met someone who'd cracked her obstinate exterior. "Okay, get me everything you can on Keats Charles. I want to know everything." Ten minutes later as he lifted the envelope, preparing to leave, she said, "The guy had an aunt. Her name was Winnona Charles, and she left him everything." Jacob nodded. "He's a rich lawyer." "Well, boss, how does an aunt have a nephew when she is an only child?" Suddenly his gut said Albert Dent could answer that, and Jacob intended to ask him -- if he could find him. "Keep at it, genius. Abby says this guy's been on TV, so see if you can get a picture of him from any of the TV stations. Also, find out if Winnona Charles had any other relatives when she died. I'll call in later to see what else you've got." He hesitated; she looked so down. "You want to talk?" "Maybe next week," she mumbled, making another selection on her monitor. "Maybe next year." She pointed a finger at him. "The minute you see or hear from Sue, have her call me. Every time I think about her my head starts hurting, so please, have mercy on me." "I'll tell her." When he turned around, Brandy was sitting in front of him, tail, wagging. "Okay," he said, "you can come." * * * * As Jacob parked in Abby's drive, he noticed that Sue's car was nowhere in sight. He had hoped to find her there. If Sue would go with him to the ranch, maybe, just maybe she would remember all the dreams they'd made together for the future. Maybe she would come out to him about her fears -- let him tell her a few of his own -- let him spill the beans to the kids. The ranch was a project he and Sue started eight years ago. Their dream home. Back then, they had agreed that one day they would pull up stakes and make the ranch a permanent home. It just didn't happen. As long as she hadn't brought up selling the ranch, Jacob had had hope. Maybe that was why he tried never to bring up the subject. Fear. After last night, the fear of losing her had ebbed, but not completely. Once they were all together again, maybe, just maybe, he would feel comfortable. There were plenty of reminders to keep him from ever taking anything for granted -- ever. As he and Brandy approached the front door, Bandit trotted up beside them. He knocked, then pushed open the front door. The rattling of dishes coming from the kitchen was the first sound he heard. "Abby, why is this darned door unlocked?" He knew an off-duty friend of Tim's was in the car across the street, but that precaution hadn't stopped the last intruder. Abby came around the corner. She gave him a quick hug. "Don't sound so upset, Jacob. I just let the cat in." She petted Brandy, and looked pointedly at Bandit. "He does just fine guarding the front door." Jacob couldn't argue that. Bandit's heavy black body, long sharp fangs, and incredibly deep growl, were his best intimidations. Not many people would be stupid enough to test the dog. "Are Michael and Andee ready?" He draped his arm across her slender shoulders. "And, has Sue checked in yet?" It wasn't like he should worry or anything. Tim would have had someone tailing her. He really would rather wait until she showed up, but Ben Eagle, the caretaker of the ranch, was waiting for them to come. Ben had made the sale of three Paso Fino foals, and Jacob needed to sign the paper work. People who bought beautiful horses didn't like waiting. Abby shook her head. "She didn't say what time she'd get back. And the kids decided to play some sort of video game in the living room while they waited for you. I think they're a bit bored, so I expect that seeing the ranch and the horses will snap them out of it. * * * * With his feet propped on the back of the couch and his head hanging over the front cushion, Mike viewed the TV screen upside down. He pushed buttons on the control paddle in his hand until his character fell over a cliff and it became Andee's turn. "Do you think this plan has a chance?" Andee, lying on her belly in the middle of the carpet, shifted sideways to look at him. "They've been so darned busy, Dad hasn't even hardly talked to her. If we don't do something to get them in the same room, we'll find ourselves right back in Iowa." "Yuck," Mike gagged. He sighed. "Mom loves the ranch." When they would go through picture albums together, his mom always smiled the most when they got to the ranch pictures. He liked it there, too -- better than anywhere in the world. "We need to get her there." Andee dropped the game paddle and scooted onto her back. "If Dad will let us stay out there, they'll have to come and get us, now, won't they?" "How we gonna make sure she comes with him?" They had tried maneuvers before, but every time, one of his parents managed to mess something up. "We'll get Ben to help." She sat up. "If he has a barbecue for us -- like Sunday -- she'll have to come, right?" Mike flipped off the couch to sit beside her, grabbing his paddle from the floor. "Shh," he whispered. "I heard Dad come in." For once he believed Andee may have come up with a good idea. At least, it seemed to have promise. * * * * "Tim coming by this afternoon, Abby?" She nodded, gesturing toward the front of the house. "That poor man out there should leave in about an hour. Tim said he wanted to take me to dinner during his shift." All at once it dawned on Jacob that Tim and his mother were getting together a lot lately, and it had nothing to do with watching the house. She looked happy, which delighted Jacob. He handed her the envelope. "Give this to him. Tell him it's important for him to look at the picture in here. He'll find it interesting about where I came by it. I'll call here after we get to the ranch." "Picture?" "Of that lawyer, Charles. Robert was checking him out for some reason, and I want to know the reason." He already knew most of it. Robert's words, "not as he seems," pretty much covered what Jacob learned from Vinnie. The man definitely wasn't what he seemed. Jacob wanted to know it all. "I know the man got rich by having an aunt that couldn't have been his aunt" He gestured at the envelope, stepping to the kitchen entryway. "I've got info about his aunt and her family, or rather, lack of family. You can tell Tim I'm taking my files with me to the ranch. I get a couple more facts, and it'll all be his. "Mike, Andee, let's hit the road," he called, turning back to Abby. He gave her a hug. "Take care of my wife, Abby, and I'll call in a while." "Well, at least I know you'll get through. A man from the phone company came this morning, Jacob." She laughed. "I hadn't noticed anything wrong, but he insisted he had to check it because he was working on a pole outside." Jacob felt queasy. He held two fingers to his lips and whispered, "Which phone did he check, Abby?" She leaned close to his ear. "Why, the one in the kitchen." He reached around the corner and yanked the phone from its wall base. After unscrewing the mouthpiece, he slipped the small black chip out, and cursed, quietly. "Did the guy go into any other rooms?" She shook her head, staring at him. "Is that one of those bug things?" "Did you stay in here with him?" he asked while stooping to look under the counter's edge. "No," she answered, following him. "Can I help?" Running his fingers under the stove handle, he found what he was looking for. "Where was Bandit when this guy came?" Abby blushed. "I locked him outside." She threw her hands up. "I'm sorry, Jacob. He just looked like a regular old phone man. I'm not used to this kind of stuff -- what can I say?" He looked at her, pocketing the two tiny chips. "You can say, you won't let anymore people in here that you don't know, for starters. You can tell Tim that from now on, until this mess is over, the person watching this house can sit in the kitchen -- with Bandit." And the one outside would be sitting at that table, eating Abby's cookies and drinking Abby's coffee before they set out for the ranch. He cursed himself silently. If he'd had surveillance cameras put in for her months ago, he'd know who the bug man was. After calling the kids again, Jacob had pulled the front door open when Abby called out, "I almost forgot. Maggie Rand called. Said she found the boutique that sold one of the dresses Dottie had in her closet." Abby hurried around the corner with a slip of paper in her hand. "She gave me the information. She said the shop mailed the dress to this address." Jacob looked at the paper. It was the Charles address. He handed it back to Abby. "Carley is in my office. Give this information to her and Maggie's phone number. Tell her to get all the info she can. -------- CH020 *Chapter 20* The beamed ceiling with spider webs hanging in the corners wasn't at all familiar. Neither were the dark and the coolness around her, or, for that matter, the surface under her, which was as hard as a rock. Sue blinked, her head throbbing. Was she dreaming? After pushing herself into a sitting position, she ran her fingers across her forehead where the pain seemed centered and felt a lump -- a very sticky lump. She looked at her hand. That was definitely blood. Then she remembered this was the Charles's house, and she'd left her car in the street. From how dim the light was, she must have been out for quite a while. She squinted at the watch on her arm, and then tapped on it. It couldn't be nearly five o'clock -- but it was. She found her key chain beside her leg. The little penlight was out of juice, dead. What had she done to make her head hurt, and why did she know she'd been unconscious? One glance at the shadowy corner beyond the big beam was all the incentive she needed to remember everything and scramble shakily to her feet. Getting out of the Charles' house and calling Tim were the goals she aimed for as she shouldered her purse and started slowly up the cellar steps. Robert's murder lived in this house. She didn't want to be in this house. She remembered the cold, hard words she'd heard on the videotape. The woman didn't mind killing. A noise above her at the top of the stairs had her stopping on the third step. She had turned on a light before coming down the stairs. Someone had turned it off. Someone was in the kitchen just a few feet away. Sue took another step, then another until she reached the top. Whoever turned off the light had neglected to close the door firmly. She peered through the inch-wide crack. A man with a drink in one hand was placing a sheet of paper on the counter near the sink with the other. Sue edged into the kitchen as he walked out of it. Her first thought was to get out the back door and run for her car. But a powerful curiosity over-rode her apprehension and she followed the second, removed her shoes, tucked them under a counter, and tiptoed after the man. After he switched on a stereo system that filled the house with gently flowing music, he ascended a wide staircase. When she couldn't see him anymore, she trailed slowly upward. The music eased her mind. Killers didn't play Bach -- did they? The killer was Kimba, and it didn't appear that she'd come home yet. Perhaps her husband didn't know he had a wife that could blow someone's brains out without batting an eye. Sue shivered at her gruesome thought. Peering around the banister, she saw him reach in his pocket for keys and unlock a door at the end of a very long hall. Why would he lock a door in his own home? she thought. When the man closed the door behind him, she moved down the hall. A few steps from the door, she stopped, not believing her ears. That was J.T.'s voice coming from inside the room. Abby's voice? What was happening here? A muffled curse, something slamming against a hard surface, the tinkling of glass, had Sue backing up. She opened the nearest door and walked in. Her heart was trying to scale the wall of her chest, and she fought gasping in air and making all the noise that went with it. Taking quiet, deep breaths, she tried to gain control of her runaway nerves. She had stepped into a bedroom. An all white bedroom. One piece of furniture stood out of place like a Picasso painting in a hen house. A huge, ugly gun cabinet, filled with an awful lot of guns, lined a wall in the pristine room. It had never dawned on her that the people in this mansion would have an enormous gun collection. The leaving choice became the most important thing on her mind. She'd been handling guns for months now, going from a horror to an appreciation. It irritated her no end when at that moment her body wanted to freeze, wanted to turn to stone. No, no, no, it couldn't happen again. She had to keep moving. By opening the bedroom door a few inches, she could see the room the man had entered. Just as she made her decision to fling open the door and make a run for it, the other door opened, and Sue closed hers to a one-inch crack that she could see through with one eye. It wasn't a man who turned and locked the door. The woman had long brunette hair, wore a black pullover and black slacks. It had to be Kimba Charles, but she seemed too tall. When the woman headed straight for the bedroom door, Sue plastered herself against the wall. Kimba Charles pushed open the door and nearly mashed it into Sue. Sue heard her rush across the thick carpeting, heard the rustle of keys and something opening. Leaning slightly to the side, Sue peeked around the door. Kimba had opened the gun cabinet, and it sounded like she was moving guns. The click and slide noises that seemed to echo around the room made Sue guess that the woman now had more than one gun loaded. Sue stood straight again, praying that Kimba wouldn't close the door and discover her hiding place. Praying, also, that Kimba couldn't hear how loudly her heart was smashing against her ribs. Kimba did close the door, but after she raced through it, leaving Sue pushing so tightly against the wall she felt like a picture frame. She took three, slow, deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. She closed her eyes, her head pounding. When a car door slammed, Sue sprinted across the bedroom and peered out the window. What looked like a Black Ford Explorer sped down the curved drive, out the gate, and out of sight. Trying to shake a sudden feeling of dizziness, Sue ran her fingers over the lump on her head and into her hair. She felt drained, and struggled to think. Did Kimba lock her husband in the other room? The house sounded deathly quiet. She moved down the hall toward the locked door. First, she tapped on the ornate wood, praying that if the man answered she could run fast enough to escape. Then, after listening and hearing nothing, she rummaged in her purse for a credit card. She had seen her mother use one to open the front door when she had forgotten her keys. If her mother could do it, so could she. Carefully sliding the card into the crack above the lock, she jiggled the knob, felt it give, and opened the door. It was one big room. Incredibly, no one was there. It appeared to be some sort of office. An elaborate computer setup filled the top of a huge desk. Sue sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. She managed to get it to return to the last work. The voices of J.T. and Abby came through the speakers sitting above the phone on a shelf. J.T. was taking the kids to the ranch for a few hours. Keats Charles wasn't what he seemed, and J.T. had the proof in the files he was taking with him. A file lay open on the desk, and written on the top of the page was one word, Campbell -- and right under it several addresses, including that of the ranch. She picked up the notepad beside the phone. The writing impression left after a page was torn away was deep enough she could see it was the ranch address without resorting to scribbling over the top. Another note, wadded up and lying beside the wastepaper basket caught her attention. She scooped it up and opened it. The address written on it wasn't the ranch -- it was in the Delaney's neighborhood. But, why? She dropped the paper on the desk. She had found the bug man. She had found the murder -- murderers -- hadn't she just seen both of them? She had to get the heck out of there. She had to tell Tim. Kimba took guns -- loaded guns. She had taken the ranch address. Jacob and the kids were heading for the ranch. For all she knew, they could already be there. She had no idea what time the recorded conversation might have taken place. She had to warn Jacob and the kids. Kimba had to be after J.T.'s file. She raced down the stairs, and when she reached the kitchen, she turned on the cellar light and returned to the corner where she'd seen the box of clothing and knocked herself out. Empty space was what she found. Kimba must have decided to take the evidence with her and dump it on the way to the ranch. No one would ever find it again if she dumped it over a cliff in the foothills. Gasping for breath as she reentered the kitchen, Sue grabbed the phone receiver from the wall unit and stabbed in Tim's number. But Tim wasn't in the office. Sue hurriedly told MacBean what she'd found at the Charles residence, the computer, the recording. She told him the box of clothing had to be in that black vehicle with Kimba Charles. She couldn't tell him what the hell had happened to Keats Charles after he went into that room. The man literally vanished -- or left while she viewed the bedroom, and she didn't hear him -- which she figured was what happened. Then she tacked on the fact she'd seen the man J.T. suspected of hurting Karen at the same office with Kimba Charles. The hair might have looked different, but the face was the same. After asking MacBean to call J.T. on his cell phone and warn him, she slammed down the receiver, yanked on her shoes, and raced out of the house to find her car. * * * * Jacob thought Tim would have called him by now. After he stopped the van in front of the ranch house, he lifted his cell phone. The kids were out and up the steps leading to the front door before he could push the power button. Only, nothing happened when he pushed the power button. He opened the glove compartment and grabbed his other battery. He made the exchange and tried again. Again, nothing happened. At least he knew why he hadn't heard from Tim or Carley. The van door opened. "Hey, boss, you planning on staying in there?" Ben Eagle's wide grin was a welcome sight. "Good to see you, Ben." Jacob climbed down and shook Ben's hand. The kids and Brandy were running towards them. The sun was nearly down. "Those kids have grown a foot," Ben observed. "Sure have missed them being around." "Have I had any calls in the last hour?" Jacob asked as they walked to the back of the van. He opened the rear doors and pulled out the two suitcases Michael and Andee had packed. "Not that I know of. I haven't been in the house to check the answering machine." Ben lifted the suitcases. "The kids tell me they want to stay until Sunday." "You know how they love it here, Ben. I think they'd rather stay a lot longer." "Andee thinks we ought to have a barbecue on Sunday. Maybe that's a good idea?" If he agreed, they wouldn't have to drive back to town till Monday. "Plan on it then, Ben. Plan on Sue being with me." Ben's grin got even bigger. "I've been waiting a long time for you to say that. I think we'll have one hell of a barbecue." "Hey, Mike," Jacob called before the kids managed to run past them. "Take these suitcases in the house. Ben and I have some business to take care of." He watched Mike and Andee take the cases. "If you hurry, you can make it down to the barn before it gets dark." All they'd talked about on the trip was seeing the new foals. He flipped on the yard lights when he reached the front door. Come to think of it, he wanted to see those foals, too. * * * * After relieving officer Boyd, Tim started to open his car door so he could go into Abby's house when his cell phone rang. "Benson, here," he answered. "This is detective Manning in Des Moines," the caller said. "I've got a photo I want to send you. I think we can get our man with it." "How did you come by it?" Tim sat straighter in his seat. He wanted to see Manning's find as soon as possible. "The owner of the car rental agency was out of town last week. Seems the woman who rented the guy a car had only been on the job a couple of days. We didn't know, and neither did she, that they had a camera taking pictures of the customers. When she would pull a key from the allotted slot, the camera would snap two photos. Anyway, the owner said they had had a rash of stolen vehicles that, when found, were trashed. Lucky for us, they installed the equipment a month ago, hoping to start recouping their losses." "Can you fax it to my office, now?" Maybe Abby wouldn't mind a detour on their way to dinner. "It's done. I'll probably be around here until midnight, so call if you have any questions." Tim barely had the end button pushed when it rang again. "Benson, here," he grumbled. "I think we have a situation," MacBean's gravely voice barked. "Sue Campbell just called and you'll never imagine from where." "Quit fooling around, MacBean, and spill it." "Seems she trespassed into the Charles's residence. Says she found a box in the cellar containing Delaney's sweatshirt, some tennis shoes, and maybe a dress." "What the -- " "Hang on to your britches, Benson. She was talking fast, and it was damned hard to keep up. She said she found the bug man, and murderers, that Kimba Charles left the house in a hurry, armed, and took the box of stuff with her. She also said Kimba Charles knows that J.T. and the kids are going to the ranch, and she's got the ranch address. There was some sort of recording that had his voice and Abby's on it. Something about J.T. having proof of Keats Charles's dealings, about him not being what he seems." He paused, taking a breath. "She also said she saw the man J.T. suspected of trying to kill that friend of Sue's in Iowa. Said he was at the same agency as Mrs. Charles and took some files from her." "Hell," Tim mumbled. "Listen MacBean, there's a fax coming in for us from Iowa. It's a photo of the guy who messed up Sue's lady friend by mistake. You take real good care of that fax. Maybe you can run it through the computers. Start with government workers, cause I've got a hunch. If you get nothing, head over to that office and get someone to identify the guy. You find him, you bring him in for questioning." "Got'cha," MacBean said. "You headed into the foothills?" "In about ten minutes." "Want me to send anyone?" "Get the sheriff in the area on the horn and tell him to head for the ranch to warn J.T." Tim pushed end and headed for Abby's front door. She was waiting for him and opened it just as he stretched out his hand to knock. "I wish you wouldn't do that to me, sweetheart." She laughed. "Sorry, Tim. But, I was expecting you." He told her he had to leave for the ranch. He couldn't take the chance of her being with him. "Lock everything up, Abby." He looked at Bandit, who sat beside her, watching Tim closely. "You just keep him in here with you. No more locking him outside. Promise?" "If you promise to call me after you get there. I'm going to be a basket case if you don't." He kissed her gently, and then backed toward the door. "You have my word. You will give me a rain-check, right?" She was following him, and reached out her hand, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. "Of course. * * * * After two hours of watching and helping the kids pet, groom, and lead several of the babies around, Jacob found a bale of hay, and sat down. "I think these foals are the best yet, Ben. Maybe we should keep that big boy over there, and this filly Andee's brushing." Ben nodded. "You picked the same two I wanted to ask you about. I haven't mentioned anything because I wanted to see if you'd single them out." He walked down the long runway in the center of the huge barn, opened a stall door and disappeared. "Can I name this one?" Andee asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes with the hand holding the currycomb, and leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead. "I like Marquisa Linda." Jacob couldn't help grinning at her. She was a mess. Her blond hair had hay sticking from it; her T-shirt had seen better days, and her arms, blotched with dirt and horsehair. "That's a perfect name." He turned to look at Mike. "What about you, want to name that fella over there?" "El Sid," Mike answered without hesitation. His mouth turned down. "But I want to train him, too." Jacob shrugged. "I'll keep that in mind, son. He'll need someone like you." It was all he could do not to tell them the possibilities had increased one hundred percent, that they wouldn't be returning to Iowa -- except for visiting relatives. He needed more reassurance himself. Ben's head appeared from the stall he'd entered. "We have a mare foaling, J.T. How about letting these two equestrians help me until it's over?" Jacob rose to his feet. "Good idea, Ben. "I'm going to the house and make a couple of calls, then I'll come help." The kids had already put the foals away they'd been grooming and were heading toward Ben. It seemed they'd forgotten him before he'd finished his sentence. Lord, he thought, seeing the kids so happy, doing what they loved here, made everything else seem completely unimportant. When he reached the house, he lifted his briefcase from the couch in the living room and headed into the kitchen. After placing the case on the kitchen table and near the wall phone, he poured himself a cup of Ben's coffin varnish. He shook his head. He'd tried a few dozen times to teach Ben how to make coffee. "Drink it my way," Ben would say, "or make your own." He yawned. One thing for sure, it would wake him up. He would call Tim first, and then check with Carley. She might have found some new goodies by now. He was sipping the thick brew when he heard a noise behind him. * * * * Sue almost missed seeing the black vehicle. The road was pitch black between ranches. Her headlights reflected off an object behind some bushes that lined the road, and about a hundred yards from the entrance to the ranch. After stopping, she backed up, parked, took her flashlight from the glove compartment, and got out of her car. Cautiously, she picked her way through tall wild oats and thistles to the vehicle parked behind the bushes. It was a Ford Explorer. She shined the light in the side window. Since she could see nothing unusual she stood on tiptoe and shined it in at the rear seats. The box was there, and it wasn't empty. Not a weapon in sight. She hurried back to her car. Kimba Charles must be on foot and heading for the ranch. Her first thought was to race up the drive, honking her horn. But she decided on her second, which was to go in quietly, switching off her headlights. It didn't take long for her to park a few yards from the van and out of vision from the house. She stole silently to the van, eased open the door and pulled J.T.'s .38 revolver from its holster hooked under the front seat, along with a small pouch of bullets. Loading, she went to the front of the van. The yard lights illuminated everything, but the North side of the house lay in darkness, so that was where she headed. If she got lucky, no one would have turned on the lights in the back. She got lucky. Would she be able to use the weapon in her hand? She shouldn't have let the thought enter her mind because, now, her hand started shaking. Sue moved vigilantly, hoping that Kimba Charles hadn't decided to come the same way. The back steps were long and wide, leading to a verandah she hadn't seen in two years. Then she heard the voices. "The name wouldn't be Dent, now would it? Vinnie won't like it if you forget the good old days." "You'll never know. I doubt if the dead know much. They sure as hell can't talk about it. Just hand me the brief case, Campbell. Nice and slow, please." "Come and get it," Jacob said. "You're the one with the gun." "Since that's true, do what you're told." Sue eased open the back door. Ben Eagle just wouldn't listen when they told him to keep the doors locked. His Indian ancestry prevented it -- he always told them. Sue could not be happier that he had not changed. She could see them clearly, Jacob in profile, the woman aiming a gun at him. Then Jacob's body relaxed, and Sue knew he was about to do something. While she was taking in a deep breath and trying do decide what to do, he suddenly exploded into action and threw the briefcase at Kimba. Her gun exploded. And Jacob slumped against the counter, then slid to the floor. White rage raced through Sue. She shoved open the door, lifted the gun in her hand and fired at the figure that was now stooping for the briefcase. As she watched, the woman's body dropped, her knee hitting hard against the floor tile. The shriek and the vulgar, deep-throated oaths that followed, didn't sound a bit feminine to Sue. Balancing to keep upright on the injured leg, the woman's arm wobbled but she managed to raise the gun and point it at Sue again. Before Sue could react, Brandy came from nowhere. The dog threw her furry body into Kimba, knocking her forward. Following her, Tim and a man in a brown uniform burst into the kitchen. Both had their guns in hand. Sue made her numb lips move. "Brandy, come." As the dog obediently left the sprawled body, more people surged in through the front door. "Keep the kids outside, Ben," she yelled, returning her gaze to the body on the floor, and staring with disbelief. -------- CH021 *Chapter 21* It wasn't Kimba Charles that lay crumpled over the briefcase, and bleeding on the black-slate tiles that she and J.T. had so carefully lain. A brunette wig was now flaring out across the floor, resembling an enormous, and squashed, Tarantula spider. But Sue couldn't stop staring at the man's head. "L.A.," she said. She couldn't believe she was seeing the tattoo beneath the man's ear, couldn't believe the familiar shape of that ear, the strange shaped scar that marred its outer edge. The cross brought flashes of memory, memories making her freeze to the spot when she wanted to race to Jacob. Memories her mind saw clearly of a boy wearing a stocking over his head, of Martha bleeding, and of her father falling down a flight of stairs. L.A. was what the other man had called him. It couldn't happen again. The man on the floor was looking at her. "You!" he gasped. He swallowed, trying to move, then sank back against the tile. "At least," he whispered. "You won't haunt me anymore." His eyes remained open as she heard the air escape from him. He didn't take another breath. A heavy veil lifted from somewhere inside, making her feel as if light could now reach the darkened spot. It seemed so very strange -- Tim's voice came through to her as he took the gun from her hand. "Snap out of it, Sue. You did great, now grab a clean towel from somewhere, and help J.T." To her own amazement, she did snap out of it, immediately. She rushed to the cabinets, opened the lowest drawer a few inches from J.T., and grabbed a handful of soft, clean dishtowels. She turned slightly, dropping to her knees beside him. Looking at him scared her to death. He had his hand clamped to his side, where blood covered his fingers. His color had turned a muted gray under his tanned skin. But, his eyes were bright, alert and looking into hers. "You," he whispered, "are something else." His good hand reached out. "Give me the towels and I'll hold them." "Don't you think we should put them under the shirt?" The blood covered the front of his western-cut shirt. The thought of losing him made her fight a mounting hysteria that threatened to suffocate her as she helped him get the towels under his hand. "Get a doctor," she yelled at Tim. "Damn it, can't you see he's bleeding -- " His very life was oozing between her fingers. They planned to celebrate tomorrow. She planned to tell the kids that their mother would never, ever, jeopardize the family again. Letting go of Jacob, she grabbed more towels and tucked them under his hand too. "Chopper'll be here any minute," Tim interrupted, coming to kneel beside her. "Take it easy, girl. Help is on the way." Sue placed her hand over J.T.'s, helping him to put pressure on his wound. Right, take it easy. How the hell could she take it easy? J.T.'s love and patience with her and her faults were wondrous. He couldn't leave her now. She had so much love to give him -- so much to make up for. "God, Babe, I'm sorry," Jacob breathed out. His hand went limb under Sue's and she increased her pressure. "Don't you dare leave me, J.T. Campbell," she hissed. "I love you." "Say it again," he murmured. "Sounds so damned sweet." Leaning forward, she brushed his black hair from his forehead. "I've always loved you. But, you knew that." "How did you know, L.A.," he asked, his eyes still closed, his voice so weak she barely heard him. "Later," she said. "We'll talk when you aren't hurting." "Now, please." "He was there when my father got hurt that day. I saw the tattoo under his ear, his scarred ear. But, I have to be wrong. It couldn't possibly be the same person." She paused. "But, how would you know about L.A.?" "Yes it could be the same guy," he mumbled. Jacob tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. "Later. When it's easier -- " "It's nice to know I get to be right once in a while. About time you listened to me," she said. His nod was barely perceptible, and she started praying. Tim patted her shoulder. "I hear the chopper. I'm going to meet them." When she looked toward the living room, she saw Mike and Andee watching her from the archway separating the big rooms. They looked terrified. She knew how that felt. "He'll be okay," she said, her mind repeating the words a mile a minute. "Ben will bring you down to the hospital." She cleared her aching throat. "You can be with him, too." They'd best have room for her in the chopper, because, she wasn't letting him out of her sight. It wasn't easy for her to relinquish her place when the paramedic insisted. She watched them place oxygen over his face, watched them remove his shirt and wipe away much of the blood. "Took a chunk out of his side," one said. "Doesn't look like it's too deep." "So far," the other one said, "it looks like he's a lucky man." He brought the lift closer. "Let's move." Sue followed them through the front door, stopping beside Ben Eagle. Mike and Andee had disappeared. "You'll bring the kids?" "They're already in the truck," he said. "Good to have you home," he added as he moved away. Never was one for lots of words, Sue thought, smiling through her tears. But Ben Eagle was always there, and always full of wisdom when he did talk. * * * * With Andee's head resting on her shoulder and Mike's propped on her lap, Sue watched the nurses going back and forth past the waiting room door. She glanced at her watch. J.T. had been in surgery for an hour. It seemed like days. "Have you heard anything?" Tim asked as he entered the room with Abby walking beside him. "Nothing yet," she said, wanting to rise and hug Abby, but the sleeping kids kept her in place. "Come sit over here, Abby." "We've done this before," Abby said, her voice breaking. She looked nervous, pale. Sue reached forward and touched Abby's hand, waking Andee, who sat up, blinking. "It's not going to be the same, Abby. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever." "Are you serious, Mom?" Mike sat up. "I couldn't be more serious." Andee just stared at her mother. "I think you've found the off button for our chatterbox," Abby said. "Jacob know?" Sue hugged Andee. "I'm not sure, but I plan to make certain that he does the minute he opens his eyes." And, he would open his eyes. He had to. Andee looked at Mike. "We didn't even need the cookout," she mumbled, looking dazed. Before Sue could ask what that meant, the doctor, wearing gray surgery clothing, stepped into the room. "Mrs. Campbell." Sue rose to her feet, feeling Abby come to stand beside her. "How is he?" "Asking for you." He looked at his watch. "You can visit him -- " he looked around the room -- "two at a time, ten minutes each. Except for you," he said to Sue. "I don't think he'll allow you to leave." Pulling the gray hat from his head, he added, "The bullet carved a mighty hole, but it was clean and hit no vital organs. I'd say Jacob will be in pain a few days. If no infection sets in, he might get home by the middle of next week." The audible signs were nearly countable. Sue took Abby's hand, and nodded at the doctor. "I can take two with me to visit him?" "Two," the doctor confirmed. "Room 220. He should be completely settled in there by now." Sue didn't wait to hear him say any more. "Come on, Abby. Which one of you kids wants to be first? Or, would you rather Tim went, and the two of you go together?" "Take, Mr. Benson," Mike said, looking at Andee. "That okay with you?" Andee backed up and sat back on the waiting room couch. "Yes." As they started for the elevator, Sue asked, "Tim, what happened to the man you had shadowing me? I left him asleep in front of the agency yesterday. I figured he would have let you know I'd ditched him -- though I hadn't meant to, I just didn't feel like disturbing him." Tim flushed. "I didn't have anyone keeping you company, Sue. I slipped up, cause I certainly should have. You could have been killed, girl. Then how would I've handled that!" Before she could respond, Tim's cell phone rang from inside his pocket. "Benson, here," he said. Sue couldn't remember ever seeing so many different expressions cross any ones face before. The last one appeared to be gleeful. "J.T. will love hearing this," Tim said. "Maybe it'll take away some of his pain." He went on, explaining to the caller what had happened at the ranch, and finally finished when they reached Jacob's room. Relief, pure and simple, was what she felt when she saw him. The only tube running to him was an IV. Sue let Abby approach him first, hanging back. But he was looking at her and no one else. Abby kissed his cheek. "Thank, God, you're with us," she said, tears slipping from her eyes. "Almost good as new," Jacob said huskily. His throat hurt from anesthetic and tubes. They were all a welcome sight. Love was a splendid thing. "You okay, Mom?" "I am now," she said brightly. She patted Tim's arm. "I think Tim has something to tell you. He acts like his seams are ready to burst." "I noticed," Jacob said. "You look like the cat that ate the canary, buddy. What's up?" Tim pulled up a chair beside the bed. "MacBean just called. You didn't know it, but I got a call from Manning in Iowa. He faxed me a photo of the guy who rented the car. The car with the bloody sheet." He leaned forward. "Sue told MacBean she saw the guy from the airport at the same government office as Kimba Charles. So, I sent him there first with the photo. Everyone there knew him as Clinton Williams, he no longer worked there. MacBean took a couple of officers to William's condo to question him." Tim sat back, folding his hands as if to control the glee. "They found him with his pants down, J.T.. Literally. They also found Kimba Charles in his bed. William's started talking practically before MacBean could identify himself and tell him what he wanted. William's wants a deal. No prosecution, and he'll tell all the names of hired buyers, he'll tell what documents Kimba Charles falsified so they could steal property using the agency -- that obviously didn't give a damn as long as she collected money." He brushed his hand through his short cropped hair. "Hot damn, J.T., I've always wanted to get at them people for thieving. Now, it looks like were gonna get us at least one." Jacob shook his head slowly. "Too embarrassing for the wrong people. They'll protect her, Tim. They'll have a Washington lawyer come, put the judge in his or her pocket, and Mrs. Charles will walk." He sighed. "They never get it that most of us would like them to admit a wrong and then fix the damned thing. You'd think they wouldn't have any more carpet left to sweep something under." "We have proof that Keats Charles handled the legal stuff for them. He bugged houses, and knew exactly how to play the poor scared victims. We have proof that he murdered Robert. Hell, the bloody shoes, Robert's sweat shirt, and Dottie's missing black dress were all in his car." "He's dead, so at least you got one. You have proof that Williams tried to kill Karen Orr. He's the only one left that you might get. If you're lucky, the agency won't think him that big of an aggravation. If you're not, you won't get him either." Tim looked thoughtful. "Then, I guess, we'll do this real careful. I want both of them." "Lots of luck," Jacob said. He groaned as he tried to move and get more comfortable. "But, be aware, it won't bother them a bit to spend a couple of million to make you look like the bad guy. Unlimited funds, remember?" "Our ten minutes are up," Abby said. "Come on, Tim. Let's let Jacob and Sue talk for a minute while we bring up the kids." As they left the room, Sue moved to the chair beside the bed. Jacob held his hand out and she took it in hers, thanking God for hearing her prayers. "I hope Tim makes everything stick, J.T." The thought of them getting away with all their evils made her sick to her stomach. But, J.T. was right, and, though she didn't want to, she knew it. He closed his eyes, trying to chase away the grogginess that kept fogging his mind. "I love you," he said. "You staying?" He thought he'd heard her say she was, but it could have been a dream while he was unconscious. Half rising from the chair, she kissed him, tasting him, and oh, so glad she could. She could have lost him. "Unless there's a problem, You'll never get rid of me. I'm here to stay." "She did mean it," Andee said from the doorway. "Wow." Michael grinned. It was about time his parents made an ace decision. "Wow," he whispered his agreement. Jacob lifted his hand and touched Sue's cheek, trying to let her know with his eyes, what he'd like them to be doing. "The only problem is that I'm stuck in here." He looked at his children, then around at the sterile, colorless room. "I'd much rather be taking you all home." * * * * Four days later, because he was a miserable patient, and the doctor couldn't take it any more, Jacob was home and propped up in his king-size bed. He was under the protective custody of a couple of hard-cases though. Sue and Abby kept their eyes on him like hawks tracking a rabbit. Fresh paint seemed to give the room new life; the steam-cleaned carpets freshened the air. The entire interior of the house seemed cleansed, polished, new. Now, making his marriage sparkle the same way was his major agenda. Sue had fluttered about all day, not once landing anywhere near him. It was in her eyes, though -- all heat, loving, caring, driving him crazy to touch her. He used a long slender remote to turn on the portable TV in the corner, and was channel flipping when Tim walked in. "Pull up a chair, Tim," Jacob invited. Tim looked tired. It seemed apparent things weren't going well. Tim sat in a wicker chair a few feet from the bed. "You're looking comfortable. I'd say the ladies are treating you right." "Oh," Jacob said, "their treating me so well I suspect there's a tracking chip on me somewhere." Tim grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good." "Okay, what's happening?" When Tim didn't reply, Jacob went on, "Why are you free this time of day?" "I'm on a weeks' suspension for shooting that sonofabitch -- by accident. I also have a gag order slapped on me." Shoving back in the chair, Tim sighed. "You were right, they sent in big guns from Washington. I've never seen our DA so accommodating. I believe he loves his job more than life itself." He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't believe they can give old Williams any cover, imagined or otherwise. He doesn't work for them anymore, hasn't for several months. We've got too much on him, plus, he talked, giving names and dates we can verify. But, I actually think they are going to make Mrs. Charles look like the wronged saint." Jacob shook his head, slowly. "You've got a lot on her, too. Williams backing down on her?" Yesterday Tim had shown him two photos of Williams. Then he had suddenly realized what it had been about the man in Iowa that had kept eluding him. He'd sat in Williams' office for an audit. He knew it had been a punishment for daring to ask questions about the Delaney account. If his memory had jogged when it should have, he would have went after the guy the minute they'd returned to California. Going after him alone would have been an easy solution, but it didn't do any good to think about it now. The past just didn't come back for a rerun. If Williams went free after what he did to Karen, he would find himself with a shadow. Jacob would shadow him until he either made a mistake, or found a new career -- in another country. "We've got his stuff on signed statements." He paused. "Damn it, J.T., I don't think it'll matter." When the name Kimba Charles came from the TV in the corner, Jacob swiveled his attention toward it. Police, the corner's vehicle, and the reporter were visible on the screen in front of an elaborate looking garage. "Just an hour ago the chauffeur for the Charles' discovered the body of Kimba Charles in her six-car garage," the blond reporter said. "Mrs. Charles, a government tax agent, was the wife of Keats Charles, a prominent lawyer who was killed in a gun accident five days ago." She moved sideways so the camera took in part of the huge home and the front sections of the garage. "Friends and relative say Mrs. Charles was completely distraught over the death of her husband. Speculation is that she has committed suicide." The cameras switched to the newsroom. "Keep us posted on any updating, Virginia," the man said, then started a story on sports. When Jacob looked at Tim, he was standing, staring at the screen. "There's one the DA won't have to challenge," Jacob said. He could almost hear the sighs of relief coming from the DA's office across town. "Just think, no more worry about that one. But the shot by accident thing." He pointed at his throbbing side. "How did this happen?" He didn't believe for a moment that Kimba Charles had committed suicide. "Unrelated gun accident," Tim grumbled. "I'm guessing that you'll need to forget everything. Nasty old guns shouldn't be in the home, J.T., you know that. Gun accidents keep happening one right after another." "And the sheriff?" "I believe you'll be the only one in his report. I've a feeling the names Benson and Charles won't be there. The term Threats to National Security has been thrown around the past four days like a war must be eminent." Tim returned to the wicker chair. "So much bullshit being tossed around the office that I felt like I needed hip boots and a shovel. Hey, wouldn't want the public to distrust a highly regarded government agency. It might cause big problems everywhere." "Can't say I didn't warn you." Jacob hesitated. "By the way, his name wasn't Charles. There's a guy named Vinnie in L.A. that knew him when he was a street kid running numbers and drugs. And Sue met him when he traveled from state to state with our friend Bates while getting his education." Shifting, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he added, "His name was Albert Dent until he moved in on the late Mrs. Charles and took over her life. He had to have terrified that woman for several years before she finally got away from him by dying." He would have to talk to Sue and the kids and make certain they never bothered to discuss this case with anyone. Whoever reached out to Kimba Charles was certainly capable of reaching out to anyone. And, he didn't believe it would take much of a comment to put someone in danger. Tim sat back down, staring at him. "You mean the Bates that shot you?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I can see that that's exactly who you mean. Damned-nations fire, J.T., it's a tiny world. You left that photo for me with Abby, and Carley filled me in a little on the Aunt bit while I was on my way to the ranch. Didn't have time then to put it together. The guy was a piece of work." Having his family together was all Jacob wanted to concentrate on. The only thing worth concentrating on. The bastards would all get what was coming to them when they met their Maker -- and they would meet Him. Maybe the world would luck out and they would all kill each other. He looked at his friend. "Move past it, Tim. Life is too damned short to waste a minute on them." Tim nodded. "Speaking of the shortness of life, I have come to discuss, Abby." Ahh, Jacob thought, something good -- no, great, could come from all this yet. "Abby?" he asked, innocently. "I want to marry the lady, J.T. She'll bring up her illness, and I'm not sure what I can do to convince her that I love her, I want to take care of her." "Be careful of that last part," Jacob said. "I have a feeling that the way to my mom's heart is for her to take care of you." The way she had been fussing over Tim after he ran after the intruder that threatened her, he knew he was right on the mark. Abby had always cared about Tim. The past few days, they seemed to be having a great time together. A new light glowed in Tim's eyes. "Guess I'll have to work on that path." "What path?" Abby said as she entered the room carrying a tray of coffee and cookies. Tim stood the moment she appeared. "Why, a path to the best cookies in California." He took two and a mug of steaming coffee. "I find myself on vacation for a week, sweetheart. How about a trip to Vegas?" She smiled. "Let me think about it. Why don't you come in the kitchen and convince me why I should want to go?" He waved a cookie at Jacob as he followed her. "When opportunity knocks, J.T., you must act on it. See you later." Five minutes after they departed, Carley's lovely face appeared as she peeked around the doorframe. "Hey, Boss, can we talk?" He waved her to come in. "Hey, yourself." She looked better than she had a few days ago. "I think you haven't told her yet," she said, sitting in the chair Tim had vacated. "No," Jacob said, slowly, studying the brightness in Carley's eyes. "Haven't had her stay still long enough to tell her anything." "You're sure about my taking on so much responsibility?" He nodded. "I trust you, Carley." She looked a little uneasy, so he added, "I'll be close by for any assistance you might need. It might take a little time, but you'll handle it -- unless you've changed your mind about becoming a PI." "I haven't changed my mind." She looked at him, her eyes filling with a challenging glitter. "You and Sue have it all together now?" "God," Jacob said, softly, "I hope so." Carley rose and walked to the door, where she stopped and turned around. "Fear doesn't look real good on you, Boss. In fact, I can't remember you putting it on before." She didn't give him a chance to reply, disappearing around the corner, You just wait, Carley my love, he thought. One of these days, love might show you what fear really is. He didn't, of course, wish it on her -- the fear, that is. He figured she could use the love part, though. It just seemed to be a fact of life that sooner or later love had to be worked at. Carley tried to put on a hard appearance most of the time, but Jacob couldn't imagine love skipping someone as captivating or as giving as Carley. He didn't let himself think about the way Carley 'knew' things. The way she came up with things about to happen and they did. The way she seemed to 'smell' a rotten personality when one ventured close to her. The way she knew Sue was in trouble, but didn't say more than that Sue was giving her a headache. He couldn't believe in such things. -------- CH022 *Chapter 22* Jacob spent the rest of the day trying to "get past" the way things went with the case. He figured that Sue might get to testify about Williams' being on that airplane, his disguise, his riding with Kimba Charles after arriving in California. Probably mean a trip to Iowa, unless they used deposition. However, the more he thought about it the more the word might thinned. He had talked to Manning before being told about any gag orders. Manning had extradition in the works -- Jacob wondered how disappointed the Iowa detective was going to feel when the case dissolved into thin air. He also wondered how Dottie was going to take it when Robert's killer didn't get exposed publicly. He hoped she would feel satisfied that the sonofabitch was dead. That both of the Charles were dead. He tried to clear his mind of everything negative as he watched Sue close the bathroom door and walk across the floor toward him. Abby and Tim had taken the kids with them to a movie. Abby would keep them overnight. He had his wife alone. Damn it. He would have to have a hole in his side. He would just have to ignore it the best he could. "What can I do to make you feel better, J.T.?" Sue sat beside him on the bed. He had filled her in on all that had taken place. She wanted to scream at the world to wake up, to smell the roses. But she understood how completely useless that would be. He was right. Focus on home and family and hope the greedy bastards killed each other. Maybe, God would help them. "Let's see," he said thoughtfully. "First you could crawl over here closer. Then, you could have your way with me." He'd heard that in a movie once -- seemed like a great line to him. Besides, she was wearing a filmy robe thing over an equally filmy nightgown. Playing fair would mean she had to join him in the bed. She glanced at his side. "But you are still in pain. I wouldn't want to take the blame for damaging you further." Reaching out, he took her wrist gently, tugging her closer. "You just don't understand the healing process, Babe," he said huskily. She had come to grips with a fear only she could deal with, and won. She was home. But would she stay? The unease of the question just wouldn't leave him alone. Settling against his good side and resting her head against his shoulder made her feel wonderful. She touched his face. "Is it working?" "Um hum," he said, taking her hand and kissing the palm. "I have something to tell you." He didn't want to talk. He wanted to strip away the robe thing and the nightgown. He wanted to feel her breasts against his chest, and run his hands over every inch of her. Freeing her hand from his, she ran her fingers down the sheet until they touched the aroused part of him that lay beneath. "Talk?" Sue didn't want to talk. She wanted to kiss him, to taste him, to enjoy the wonder of his arms holding her. She, also, didn't want to cause him any pain. He cupped her breast in his hand, running his thumb slowly across the nipple, feeling it tighten, responding. "There's been a change in the way I work," he said huskily. "I have taken up a new career -- part time." Sue pushed up on her elbow, but not out of the reach of his hand, or having to move hers from the sheet below his waist. "I'm listening." Anyway, she was really trying to listen, but his heat, and he way his eyes dilated, were very distracting. "First, Carley will do most of the investigative work. We'll decide together which cases we'll take, and we're going to be choosy. Second, the college in Fresno as offered me a job teaching a class three evenings a week. They say it could become a day class, eventually." He leaned forward, slightly. Nibbling teasingly at her lips, he added, "You might get tired of having me around too much." She ran her tongue across his lower lip, forcing herself to keep it to that. "Never," she said. "Why are you doing this?" Raising his hand from her breast and resting it at the side of her neck, he looked into her eyes -- hot, steamy, love-filled eyes. "Above all else, I want to keep my wife." She did kiss him then. When she finally needed air, she said, "Change the way you do things because you want to, J.T. I am not going anywhere. When Albert Dent closed his eyes for the last time, something heavy inside me seemed to float away. Besides, I think I'm getting hooked on your job -- " She saw a flash of doubt in his eyes that scared her, however, she didn't show it. "Didn't I shoot a man for you? How many wives can say that to their husbands? You must know I love you after what we've been through this past week," she teased, really only half teasing in her mind. Keats Charles -- Dent, threatened, then harmed her man. He deserved what he got. Her words sounded brave, but she'd upchucked for fifteen minutes at the hospital -- when she'd slowed down enough for what had happened to sink in. Really sink in. She'd found immense relief, then, when they told her that her bullet had actually hit the bastard in the shoulder, and wouldn't have killed him if it hadn't bounced off some bone and split a vital blood vessel. "I don't need proof that you love me. I don't want to lose you because you're not doing the work you love." She sobered, all teasing leaving her intent. "Always," she whispered, "I'll be there." And, she would be. Nothing could keep her from being the other half of this partnership. He ran his fingers softly down her cheek. "I'm truly sorry you had to go through that. If I could have changed the situation, believe me, I would have." His fingers slid under her chin, lifting gently. "And, believe this, I won't be giving up anything." He smiled. "I figured the way I have it set up now, it'll be better for everybody. Teaching's been on my mind ever since Carley started working with me. I like the challenge." He tugged her back against his side. "Now, and forever," he breathed near her ear, his fingers tracing the delicate buttons in a line down from her neck to her waist. "I need you. Think we can remove this stuff between us and work on making love in the least painful manner? Might have to get a little creative -- " She pulled her hand back, then slid it under the sheet to grip him gently, but firmly, and said, "You have my undivided attention. I love being creative." With love building their house strong, they couldn't help but make it, he thought. The last of his fear of losing her evaporated as he teased her lips apart and their tongues met, melded. Always and forever.... He felt invincible. They could handle anything the world threw at them. The family was lovingly intact -- Cool, to quote Andee, everything was downright cool. -- THE END -- ----------------------- Visit www.fictionworks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.