Kitabı oku: «Danger at Her Door», sayfa 2
She squeezed a throw pillow to her chest and blinked back tears. Despite the optimism of the reporters that the police finally had a break in the unsolved case, the nightmare wasn’t over for her. No matter what else the man on the television had done to get himself arrested, he wasn’t her attacker.
The man who’d sent her life into a tailspin five years ago was still out there.
Chapter 2
After drying off and dressing in a T-shirt and jeans, Jack walked into the living room where his daughter sprawled on the floor watching her favorite cartoon video. He took a moment to collect himself, deciding how to address Caitlyn’s disobedience. Again. Nothing he said to Caitlyn seemed to get through to her.
“Caitlyn, we need to talk.”
Thank goodness his neighbor—Megan, she’d said her name was—had returned his wayward daughter in one piece.
He grinned as he remembered the stunned expression that had washed over Megan’s face when she’d seen him wearing only a towel. He’d caught the spark of interest that flickered in Megan’s eyes, too. Discerning, jade eyes. Yeah, he’d done a little looking of his own. His new neighbor was a beautiful woman. The fact that she cared enough about Caitlyn’s interests to bring her home scored points for her, as well.
He just hoped his inability to control his rambunctious daughter’s wanderings hadn’t colored her against him. Jack was definitely interested in getting to know Megan better. Much better.
But when? That was the problem.
Sighing, Jack dismissed thoughts of dinner and dancing with Megan. As it was, he barely kept his head above water. What little free time he had belonged to Caitlyn—time to read her books and listen to her talk about preschool. Maybe if he could carve out more quality time with her, Caitlyn wouldn’t feel compelled to crawl out windows or finger paint the kitchen with peanut butter and jelly when his back was turned.
But his job at the newspaper didn’t allow him more time with his daughter. If only he could figure out how other single parents balanced work and kids. If only Lauren hadn’t walked out on them…
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shoved the “if onlys” out of his mind. The fact remained that Lauren had walked out on their five-year marriage, and no amount of regret or wishing would change that. He had to figure out how to be a single dad before his failings as a parent resulted in bigger problems than Caitlyn crawling out a window while he was in the shower.
Dragging a hand down his face, he strode over to the TV and jabbed the power button. Cinderella’s mice friends faded to black.
When Caitlyn faced him, her lower lip poked out in a pout. “But Cinderella’s my favorite.”
“I know that, munchkin, but you’ve already watched it twice today.” Jack sat on the edge of his worn-out plaid sofa and struggled for the right words to discipline his daughter.
“Caitlyn, haven’t I told you that when I’m working or in the shower or on the phone, you have to stay inside? I can’t be two places at once, and you can’t go in the yard without someone to watch you.”
“But there weren’t any cars in the street!” Caitlyn whined, her protest giving Jack new insight to her disobedience.
He knitted his brow in a frown. “You’re also supposed to stay away from the street.”
“I had to pat the doggie!” Caitlyn spread her hands and gave him a look that said she felt her excuse exempted her from punishment.
Sitting straighter, Jack patted his leg and wiggled his fingers to motion Caitlyn closer. She gave him her I-know-I’m-in-trouble-but-aren’t-I-cute look to counter his fatherly scowl.
“Honey, you can’t go in the street. Ever. Not without an adult holding your hand. And I’ve told you before not to pat strange dogs. Not all dogs are nice.”
“Sam was nice, and so was Megan.” Caitlyn scratched a mosquito bite on her arm and shrugged.
Jack quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t bother to argue the fact that Sam didn’t seem so nice to him.
“I think Megan looks like Cinderella.” Caitlyn grinned and pranced over to him, twirling like a ballerina. “Did you think she was pretty, Daddy?”
What he thought about Megan was too racy for a four-year-old. Megan’s petite body had enticing feminine curves, and although she hadn’t worn much makeup, her cheeks had been flushed pink from the summer heat. Jack felt his own brow warm as he thought of other ways Megan could get flushed and out of breath. With him.
“Daddy?”
Caitlyn’s summons snapped him out of his sultry daydreams. “Yeah, I thought she was pretty.”
For crying out loud, he didn’t even know if Megan was married. He had no business fantasizing about her. Even if he was in the midst of months-long sex depravation.
Caitlyn clambered onto his lap, her bony knees and elbows jabbing him awkwardly. “Can I go to her house sometime and play with Sam?”
“I don’t know, Cait. Sam’s not the sort of dog I want you playing with. He was pretty big and—” Mean.
She slapped her arms across her chest and poked out her lip. His little drama queen.
Cut to the chase. You’ve got an article to write.
“You could get hurt if you don’t obey the rules. The rules are: don’t go outside alone, don’t go in the street and don’t pat strange dogs. Okay?”
“But I didn’t get hurt!”
“Caitlyn, the point is—”
The loud jangling of the telephone interrupted the point.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he told Caitlyn and shoved off the sofa.
Snatching up the phone, he balanced the receiver on his shoulder while he rummaged through the freezer for a frozen dinner he could zap in the microwave for Caitlyn’s supper. “H’lo?”
“Jack? Burt, here.”
As soon as his boss said his name, Jack winced. With all the interruptions this afternoon, he hadn’t finished his article for tomorrow morning’s edition. Without looking at the clock, he knew he’d missed his deadline.
“Burt, I know. I’m late. I’m sorry.”
Aggravation knotted Jack’s stomach. He’d never get the big story assignments and lead headlines if he couldn’t even get the fluff articles on Burt’s desk by deadline. Generally, Burt Harwood, the news editor, cut him a lot of slack. He knew Jack’s situation as a single father in a new town. He made allowances for Jack missing a deadline here and there.
But Jack didn’t want allowances. He wanted better assignments, bigger pieces to write, more credit for his journalistic talent. He wanted to prove to his boss he could handle his job and his family.
He could do it. He would do it. Lauren had given him no choice.
“Listen, Burt, I’ll have the piece on the sheriff candidates’ rally finished tonight.” He expelled a whoosh of air in frustration. “Give me until nine. Caitlyn goes to bed by eight, and I’ll e-mail you the article as soon as it’s done. I swear. Things have been crazy around—”
“Listen, forget the candidates rally for now. We’ve got something breaking down at the police station.”
Jack perked up. He smelled a big story. This could be his break. Finally.
“They’ve arrested a guy—some white-collar banker type—turned in by his girlfriend. They think he could be connected to an old serial rape case they never solved. One the cops dubbed ‘The Gentleman Rapist’ because the guy gained entry to the women’s houses by posing as a cop doing courtesy security checks. The Good Samaritan ploy.”
Good Samaritan… Jack’s thoughts flickered briefly to Megan. Her shy smile. Her flushed cheeks and clingy, sweat-dampened T-shirt.
With a shake of his head, Jack refocused his thoughts. “Burt, I want this story. Give me this one, and you won’t be sorry.”
“Can you get down to the police department tonight and get the particulars for the morning edition?”
Jack grimaced as he slid Caitlyn’s dinner in the microwave. “Not tonight. I don’t have a babysitter.”
“Then I’m sending Parker.”
Jack’s stomach clenched in irritation. “Look, Caitlyn has preschool in the morning. I’ll be free to talk to the cops then. I’ll talk to the guy’s neighbors. I’ll call his first-grade teacher if I have to, but I’ll get you the story. You know I can write a better story than Parker. I’ll find a fresh angle, something that the TV guys and the Lagniappe Herald missed.”
Jack raked his fingers through his hair, searching for the tidbit that would tip the scales in his favor. He hoped that mentioning the Herald, the other newspaper in town, would appeal to Burt’s competitive nature.
“I’m sending Parker.” Burt hesitated and sighed. “But you can pick up the story in the morning. After I see what you and Parker each bring to the story, I’ll make my final assignment. Don’t let me down on this, Jack. This is the biggest story to break in this town for months.”
“I hear you, Burt. And I won’t let you down.”
The next morning, Megan stared at the men lined up behind the one-way glass and fought the urge to throw up. Anxiety, anger and frustration twisted inside her until she thought she might shatter under the pressure.
But not now. Right now she had to pull herself together. She had a job to do. The sooner she did her job, the sooner she could get out of the small room where the walls seemed to close in on her. The stale odor of cigarettes and the noxious fumes of floor cleaner hung in the air, contributing to her queasiness.
More unsettling were all the uniforms gathered around her, the men with guns on their hips and badges on their chests.
Policemen are our friends, she’d taught her class on career day. They protect us and help us during emergencies.
But the man who had attacked her had exploited her trust in a police uniform, used that trust to get inside her home. And the sea of blue uniforms was a too-vivid reminder of the army of officers who’d replied to her 911 call and tramped through her home gathering evidence. They’d asked endless questions when all she wanted to do was block out the horrid images and escape the sounds replaying in her head.
Beside her, Ginny hovered quietly, her hand on Megan’s shoulder in a silent show of support.
“Do you recognize anything about any of them?” The police detective in the dark room with them asked his questions in low, modulated tones. Ginny and the detective had taken pains to make Megan’s task as easy on her as possible. Still, the notion that one of the men in the next room, lined up for her inspection, could be the man who’d haunted her for five years sent a chill slithering down her spine.
When she tried to answer, no sound left her mouth. After clearing her throat, Megan tried again. “I recognize number three. He’s the man I saw on the news last night.”
The detective shifted his weight and scribbled in the small notebook in his hand.
“But—” Her gaze remained locked on the glowering faces behind the window.
In the periphery of her vision, the detective stopped writing and raised his head. “But what?”
Drawing a slow, shaky breath, she shoved down her discouragement. “I can’t say with any conviction that he, or any of the others, is the man who—” When Megan faltered, Ginny reached for her hand and squeezed it. “The man who raped me.”
Facing the detective, Megan sighed. “God knows I wish I could. But the man who attacked me had a lightning bolt tattoo on his forearm. And…he was balding and—”
A shudder race through her, remembering the face that she’d worked five years to erase from her nightmares. “He’s not any of those men.”
“You’re sure?”
She heard frustration in the detective’s voice. With a nod, she glanced back at the lineup of men, and the knots in her stomach tightened. The man she recognized from the television stared straight ahead. His light gray eyes stabbed her like shards of flint.
As cold and frightening as his pale glare was, the menacing eyes she recalled so vividly from the night of her attack had been dark brown, almost black. The man in the lineup had no decoration on his arm, nor any scar indicating the removal of a lightning bolt tattoo. Though she wanted to believe her assailant had been caught, the inconsistencies led her to the only conclusion that made sense.
Her rapist still walked the street.
“I’m sure,” she whispered. “Wanting him to be the right one doesn’t make him so.”
The detective nodded and shoved away from the wall where he’d propped during her viewing. “All right. Thank you for coming down, Miss Hoffman. The officer at the desk will have some papers for you to sign. That’s all.”
Megan raised her head as the officer opened the door and held it for her and Ginny. “I’m sorry.”
Ginny frowned at her and tucked a wisp of her pale blond hair behind her ear. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Lifting Megan’s purse from the floor, Ginny handed her the bag and met Megan’s gaze with unwavering certainty in her blue eyes. “You’re not to blame for anything that’s happened since the day that bastard hurt you. This guy doesn’t fit the description of your assailant, and you’ve done nothing wrong by saying so.”
Megan slid her purse strap over her shoulder and flashed her blond friend a weak smile. “Right, right. I know that. I do.”
“I know you know it. I want you to believe it.”
“I’m working on that part.” Before her friend could respond, Megan hurried through the open door and into the corridor, eager to escape the confines of the dark, stuffy room. She spotted the ladies’ room down the hall and made a beeline for it.
She barely got the stall door closed before her stomach pitched and heaved.
“Megan? Are you all right?” Ginny called to her.
Wiping her mouth with a wad of toilet paper, she sagged against the side of the stall. “Just dandy.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
Bless Ginny’s heart. How could she have survived any of this horror without Ginny’s levelheaded reassurance and unflappable friendship? Opening the door, Megan staggered out of the stall and to the sink to rinse out her mouth. “Do you have a breath mint or a piece of gum?”
Ginny rummaged through her purse and extracted a roll of peppermint Life Savers. “How about one of these?”
Megan splashed water on her face then nodded. “Perfect.”
“All in the line of duty.” The blonde rubbed Megan’s arm. “Feel better now or would you like to sit down somewhere?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just want to sign those papers and get out of here.” Megan popped one of the mints in her mouth and glanced in the mirror as she reached for a paper towel to dry her face. Her complexion seemed waxy and pale, and puffy bags under her eyes testified to her sleepless night. Her liberal use of water to cool her cheeks left her mascara smudged and damp tendrils of her hair plastered against her neck. In short, she looked a wreck.
Wadding the paper towel in a ball, she jammed it in the trash by the restroom door and followed Ginny out to the front desk. The officer at the desk handed her several forms to sign. She scratched her name in sprawling script in the designated blanks, eager to shake the dust of this morning’s task from her sandals and go home.
“Megan?”
She lifted her gaze to find a familiar pair of hazel eyes studying her, and her pulse went haywire.
Jack Calhoun.
Chapter 3
“Jack,” Megan whispered, drawing a shaky breath.
Just yesterday this man’s nearly naked body and warm smile had awakened long-dormant desires deep inside her. Today, his coffee-brown hair brushed the collar of a wrinkled, white button-down shirt, and he wore a pair of loose-fitting khaki pants. But Megan could still see his wide, chiseled torso and muscular legs in her mind’s eye, and the mental image snagged the breath in her lungs.
He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Hey, neighbor. I thought that was you.”
A rakish grin lit his face, and like a summer breeze, a pleasant warmth skimmed through her.
“Hi,” she rasped. Painfully aware of how ragged she looked, Megan took his hand. His long fingers curled firmly around hers.
Warm. Confident. Secure.
She mustered a smile, despite her jumpy nerves, but when she tried to pull her hand back, Jack held tight, giving her fingers another squeeze. The strength of his grip sent wings of ill-ease fluttering through her.
Her attacker pinned her wrists above her head, immobilizing her.
Megan gasped as the full-color memory flashed in her mind. She yanked her hand free from Jack’s and clasped it over her galloping heart.
“Ginny West.” Quickly Ginny sidled in front of Megan and grabbed Jack’s hand, giving Megan the moment she needed to catch her breath.
Good ol’ Gin. So often, she seemed to be one step ahead of Megan, anticipating every emotional swing, every need.
Jack greeted the blonde politely then turned his gaze back to Megan. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he cocked his head and tugged his mouth in a crooked but disarming grin. “What are you doing at the police station? No trouble, I hope.”
Megan swallowed hard, fumbling for an answer. He couldn’t know the truth. If her neighbor found out, how long would it be before the whole street knew her past? She’d worked so hard to protect her secret and rebuild her life.
When she met his inquisitive expression, a sinking sensation swamped her. She’d struggled for five years to conquer her past, to regain control. But in the hazel warmth of Jack Calhoun’s incisive gaze, Megan felt exposed, lost.
And vulnerable.
The intelligence and concern in his green-brown gaze seemed to cut through pretenses and see straight to her soul.
“She came with me to pay my parking ticket,” Ginny said smoothly.
Megan didn’t deny her friend’s white lie, but she didn’t like starting her relationship with Jack with a deception.
“Pesky things, parking tickets. Huh?” When Jack grinned, a dimple pocked his cheek, and Megan’s stomach did a little flip-flop.
Steeling herself, she raised her chin and pulled in a cleansing breath. “Yeah. Pesky’s a good word for them.” She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Speaking of pesky, I’m, um…sorry if I came off as nosy or bossy yesterday. It’s just seeing Caitlyn alone like that, running across the street…well, it scared me. For her. I’m a first-grade teacher, see, and I guess I’m a bit sensitive about kids—”
Jack placed a warm hand on her arm to halt her argument. “No apology needed.”
Startled by his touch, Megan darted her gaze up to his. Just as it had yesterday, the heat in his mossy brown eyes burrowed to her core, nudging a purely feminine response…and a quiver of reciprocal apprehension.
“In fact,” Jack said, “I should be thanking you again. My daughter has boundless energy which she uses for getting in to rather…creative mischief. I appreciate your interest in her.”
Megan nodded. “I know her creative mischief is a challenge now, but it also shows her natural intelligence and curiosity. She seems like a very bright little girl.”
“Thanks.” Jack’s grin spoke for his fatherly love and pride.
“Well, I need to run. I’m already late for work.” Mustering another smile for her neighbor, she sidestepped toward the door, only to bump in to Ginny.
“Yeah, I’m running a little late myself.” He inclined his head toward the back halls of the police department.
Megan’s breath stilled. “You’re a cop?”
“No,” he replied, chuckling. “I’m a reporter for the Lagniappe Daily Journal. I’m following up on a story.”
A reporter. Not a cop. But almost as bad.
No doubt he was a pro at asking questions, digging up information. A reporter was not the kind of person she needed to spend much time around if she wanted to keep certain aspects of her past a secret.
Megan felt the blood drain from her cheeks, and she swayed woozily.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Megan, you okay? You look sort of pale.”
“Yeah. I, uh—”
Again Ginny rose to the occasion. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Tell Caitlyn ‘hi’ for us.”
She took Megan’s arm and pulled her toward the front door.
Jack’s puzzled gaze followed them.
As Megan stepped outside, the Louisiana humidity slammed into her as if she’d walked into a wall. The heat sapped what little energy she had left after rehashing painful details of her assault for the police then losing her breakfast in the ladies’ room.
Ginny gave her curious sidelong glances as they made their way to Ginny’s Jeep Cherokee.
“My, my, my.” Ginny shook her head and clucked her tongue like a mother scolding an errant child.
“What?” Megan drilled her friend with an exasperated glare.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” Ginny colored her tone with an exaggerated note of disappointment.
“Come again?”
“If you want to give that gorgeous hunk of man the cold shoulder, that’s your business. But I thought we were friends. Couldn’t you have sent him in my direction if you didn’t want him? Is that too much to ask?” Ginny gave her a teasing grin and pulled out into the flow of downtown Lagniappe traffic. “How long have you been hiding Mr. Tall, Dark and Dimpled from me?”
Megan gaped at Ginny in disbelief before sighing. Ginny’s teasing normally lifted her spirits. She realized that must have been Ginny’s aim, but the attempt at levity chafed at the moment.
Troubling thoughts about the man sitting behind bars at the police station made joking about anything else difficult. “I’m not hiding him or anyone else from you, Gin. He’s my new neighbor, and I only met him last night.”
“Your neighbor, eh? How convenient.” Ginny’s eyes lit with humor. “So are you blind or did you notice that he’s as attractive as sin?”
Not wanting to encourage her friend on this track, she shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”
“He sure was checking you out.” Ginny cut her glance from the road to give Megan a calculating grin. “I didn’t see a ring. I think you should—”
“Not interested.”
“Megan, he’s gorgeous. And employed! That’s more than I can say for the last bum I dated.”
Huffing her impatience with the direction of the conversation, Megan turned toward the passenger-side window and tried to forget the pathetic impression she must have made on Jack Calhoun this morning. If her bleak appearance wasn’t bad enough, she’d stuttered and jumped at his touch like an idiot.
She studied the buildings as they passed, remnants of a once-thriving downtown. The empty shells of restaurants and banks lined the narrow streets, harkening to a pre-mall era.
On some level, Megan empathized with those dilapidated buildings. Before her attack, she had flourished. But the self-assured graduate student, engaged to her boyfriend of four years and ready to take on the world, crumbled that horrible night.
The trauma left her a ghost of her former self. Graduate school took more effort than she could give while nursing her broken spirit, and she’d dropped out. Like the shoppers who fled downtown for the suburban mall, her fiancé had abandoned her, unable to cope with her withdrawal and impatient with her lengthy recovery. The outgoing, undaunted young woman she’d been now lived behind locked doors and slept with a dog who’d been trained to attack on command.
“May I ask why not?” Ginny’s question intruded on her thoughts, and Megan turned back toward her friend.
“Why not what?”
“Why aren’t you interested in a charming, gorgeous, employed, interested man? Are you planning on living like a hermit the rest of your life?”
Though delivered in Ginny’s typical get-off-your-butt-and-stop-feeling-sorry-for-yourself manner, Megan understood the loving concern behind the sarcastic question.
“I’m not opposed to dating someone. I do want to get some semblance of a normal life back, but…” She paused and chewed her lower lip. An image of Jack Calhoun as he’d looked yesterday, wearing only a towel, filtered through her mind.
Square jaw. Hard chest. Broad shoulders.
Testosterone personified. A tremor raced through her.
“But?”
“But not him.” Megan wrapped her arms around her middle to calm the uneasy quiver.
Ginny frowned and shook her head. “Why not him? He seemed pretty nice, and he’s totally gorgeous. What’s the problem?”
While she tried to verbalize her reluctance, Megan stared down at her shoes. “He’s too…male.”
“Meaning?”
The car bounced over a set of defunct railroad tracks, and she grabbed the armrest for balance. If only she had something comparable to an armrest in her life, something she could cling to for balance and security. From the day she’d met Ginny down at the women’s counseling center, her mentor and friend had told her that “something” had to come from inside her. Things, even other people, made nice security blankets, but real, lasting peace-of-mind and self-assurance came from deep within oneself. Though she’d made significant progress in reclaiming her life, Megan hadn’t yet rediscovered the spring of pure self-confidence she’d lost. But she kept hoping, kept searching.
“What do you mean, ‘he’s too male’?”
With a sigh, and knowing how pitifully weak and irrational her reason made her sound, she expounded. “When I met him yesterday, he was wearing a towel. Only a towel.”
Ginny arched a well-manicured eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? And?”
“And he’s…all muscled and toned and…male!”
“Sounds good to me.”
Her friend’s glib response belied the woman’s insight into what bothered Megan, she knew. Ginny was prodding her, trying to make her vocalize her fears. The first step to conquering the demons was naming them, bringing them into the light for scrutiny. Only then could she begin tearing those little devils apart, piece by piece.
“Look, you know I’m not afraid of men,” Megan argued. “It’s not as bad as that!”
“Then how did you feel when you met him?”
Shutting her eyes, Megan pictured Jack Calhoun in her mind again. “Vulnerable.”
“Why?”
“Because he…could overpower me.” She scowled. That excuse fell short, and she knew it as well as Ginny did.
“So could most men, but you aren’t afraid of other men. Not even Billy. And he bench-presses two hundred and fifty pounds.” Ginny sent her a skeptical glance.
“Billy’s different. He’s your brother. He’s in high school. He—”
“Doesn’t get you hot and bothered like Mr. Neighbor does?”
Megan jerked her gaze to Ginny’s smug expression. “What?”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Ginny stopped for a red light and turned to face her passenger. Her knowing eyes, honed like razors, cut through Megan’s defenses and denials. “You’re attracted to him, and it scares you. Because attraction could lead to a date, and a date to a relationship and a relationship to intimacy.”
The light changed, but Ginny didn’t move, not even when the car behind them blasted its horn. The piercing intensity in her eyes softened when Megan’s silence confirmed her assertions.
“I’m not ready.” Megan whispered her admission, yet it seemed to reverberate in the quiet car. Swallowing past the knot forming in her throat, she allowed the rest of her fears to float to the surface. She had to face them in order to move past them. “What happens if I get involved with someone, someone I really like, and when the time comes to…be intimate, I freeze.”
“If he’s got any kind of decency at all, he’ll understand and be patient with you, support you and—”
“Greg didn’t.” The icy memory of her fiancé’s desertion due to her inability to make love to him stabbed her heart.
Ginny huffed and shook her head. “Greg was a self-centered ass. We’ve been over this before. There are men out there who can be gentle and understanding and supportive. The ones who aren’t simply aren’t worth your time.”
Megan looked away, unable to stand Ginny’s unrelenting stare any longer. That gaze saw too much. As much as she loved Ginny’s insightfulness and friendship, she hated those qualities, too. Sometimes she wished Ginny would leave her alone, let her hide behind her locked doors and lick her wounds. Instead, Ginny pushed her, probed her, gave her little leeway for excuses. She demanded so much from Megan because she cared that much, too.
“The light’s green,” she told Ginny, hoping her nonresponse would make the point that she hadn’t the energy for any more questions.
She knew Ginny didn’t consider the topic of Jack Calhoun closed. What’s more, since Jack was her neighbor, she knew she’d have to face the reporter—and her disturbing attraction to him—again.
And again.
Somehow she’d have to come to terms with her confusing feelings for Jack Calhoun.
