Kitabı oku: «Wanted By The Marshal», sayfa 3

Chapter Three

“Kiera Connell?”

“How do you know me?” Kiera’s voice cracked as it had off and on since her ordeal. She hoped that it wasn’t on the edge of breaking or of her losing it like she had for an hour only yesterday. She couldn’t afford to lose her voice when a strange man was roaming her property. After everything she’d been through this was beyond disconcerting. She wanted to ask who he was, why he was here but she feared that her voice wouldn’t hold out. That he knew her name was interesting but not startling. There was a list of owners in the common area. The question that was more troubling was—had he been casing the place?

“I don’t.”

The easy way he spoke combined with his soulful brown eyes seemed to say that none of this bothered him. That this was just an everyday occurrence. Who was he?

He took a step forward.

“Take another step and you die.”

It was a stupid thing to say and she knew it. She’d already threatened him with death once and despite her threats, she doubted if she could kill him. Pull the trigger, yes, she’d already done that. But that had all been for show. If she was going to threaten to kill, she should be able to make good on that threat. She’d only shot the gun at the shooting range and then here, when she’d dusted the top of a dandelion to prove her point. She didn’t like the feeling of aiming a killing weapon at another human being, at any being.

“Who are you and what are you doing slinking around my place in the dark?”

Except it wasn’t dark anymore. The sun had cleared the night shadows and the neighborhood was coming to life. Soon one of her neighbors would be wondering what was going on. On the upside, she was sure that if someone were to see their little tableau, they would be quick to call the police. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where guns and violence were common. In fact, she’d never seen or heard of an incident in the time she’d been here.

“Travis Johnson...” He broke off as if reconsidering saying anything else but instead took a step forward.

“Stop!” Her throat hurt at the effort, but it didn’t break. She clenched the gun so tight that her palm was beginning to sweat.

She frowned. He hadn’t ditched his gun as she’d demanded, only holstered it. She wasn’t sure how she’d let that get past her. She guessed that she would have had to shoot him for him to relinquish the weapon as she’d demanded. Except for the weapon which he was careful to keep his hand away from, he was complying. Not once had he tried to overpower her, to take the gun from her. Considering how fit he looked, she guessed he could have easily been able to overpower her. Instead, he’d let her remain in control, let the situation play out. Except for the gun, none of his mannerisms indicated that he was the trespasser or thief that she’d first thought. His voice was low and calm as if having a gun held to him was a normal way to begin his day. His stance was relaxed, as if she were no threat. That annoyed her.

Despite the discomfort, she held the gun tighter. It was as if by doing that she was safe—protected even more than before. Her eyes met his. His brown eyes were steady and in an odd way honest. Yet something ran under his calm surface. She speculated that he hid a harder, darker side. The thought of that made her hold back a shiver. She needed no more darker sides. She’d faced more darkness than she ever wanted to see in this lifetime. And yet it wasn’t over. There was still the trial. And there was still... She pulled her thoughts back from another terrifying reality. One that was hers alone, for no one else believed her.

“Okay, Travis Johnson. Why are you on my property?”

“I’m a US marshal,” he said quickly, as if afraid that she was going to cut him off again.

She couldn’t hide the look of disbelief on her face. Despite her earlier analysis, there was something about him that made her think of the bad boy in high school and not of someone in law enforcement. Except, this was no boy. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a rough but good-looking face and a tough-as-nails attitude. With the early morning shadows lifted, it was clear that he likely wasn’t a common thief. Besides, she doubted if one would be this confident after being caught red-handed trespassing.

“Identification?”

He held out something that glinted in the early morning sun. “My badge.”

It looked official enough. And she had been told there would be protection.

“You can call—”

“I don’t need you to tell me who I can call,” she said and couldn’t keep the bite from her words. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had too many men look at her like that and the last thing she needed was another. Except if she were honest, there was no lust in his eyes, only an intense determination. She didn’t like that either.

Despite that, she lowered the gun. She held it stiff and inches away from her hip. “So, you’re the protection I was promised.”

“Yes,” he said. “Along with two other US marshals. We are your security team from now through the trial.” He shifted as if contemplating moving a step closer.

“Don’t move,” she demanded.

“I have to say I’ve never had a witness react like this before,” he said looking down at the lowered gun.

“I’m betting that you’ve never met someone who escaped a serial killer either,” she said. She couldn’t help herself. Even in this situation she wasn’t about to take guff from anyone. She told it like it was; she always had.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re right. You’re the first.” He took a step forward, his hand out. She held out her hand and noticed that he had to reach and take a step forward to accept it. She hated her small size in a situation like this for it made her feel at a disadvantage. He took her hand and it seemed to be swallowed in his as he gave it a firm shake and let go.

“Marshal Travis Johnson. Here to protect you and make sure that your testimony is given, and that piece of trash is put away for good.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that held a doubt she couldn’t identify, as if he questioned his assignment.

“You think there might be a problem?” she asked.

“No problem,” he said. “Look, let’s go inside and talk there before you have your neighbors wondering what’s going on.” He eyed the gun. “You might want to put that away.”

“This way,” she said and ignored his suggestion as she brushed past him. Their eyes met as she passed. His seemed to see beyond what she’d left unsaid, as if he knew her very thoughts. She looked away. He might be here to protect her, but he had no idea what he was up against. For there was another threat. The fact that it was faceless didn’t make it any less deadly.

* * *

“WOULD YOU LIKE a drink? Water, coffee?” Kiera asked as she closed the back door to her condo.

“Coffee, please.”

“Follow me,” she said with a no-nonsense tone of voice, as she led the way to the kitchen.

The unit was compact with only one bedroom, a living area and the kitchen. Despite the small space, everything seemed neat and organized. There was a homey feel to the way she’d decorated, and the smell of coffee seemed to permeate everything.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I obviously need to put this away.” She raised her gun hand mere inches, enough to make it clear that it was the gun she was putting away.

And with that she turned and disappeared into the bedroom. He heard a drawer open and close, and then she returned empty handed and went to the cupboard, pulling out two cups and lifting the coffee carafe and pouring them each a cup.

He felt out of place, too big for the space and very much as though he were intruding. He accepted the coffee cup from her and noticed that her hand shook. He wished there was something he could do to take the fear away from her but knew he had nothing to offer but his presence. Her fears existed in the past and in the unknown of her future.

They sat across from each other and for a minute neither of them said anything. She’d been through hell and he didn’t know what he should address first. He ran through a list of things that he knew he needed to ask, to tell her. Where to begin eluded him. When he looked at her he saw the way she rubbed her thumb against the tablecloth and when she looked up, he noticed the whiteness of her lips, and that’s when he knew just how much stress she was under.

Another minute went by and the silence was heavier, more awkward.

“I’m glad I have my aunt’s gun,” she said in a soft voice that broke the silence.

“If you find yourself in a situation in the future where you need to pull a weapon to defend yourself, just remember—you have to be ready to use it.” He paused. “You weren’t today, were you? I don’t count a wild shot, completely off mark, as prepared.”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Maybe is as good as no, and in another situation, hesitation would have been fatal—for you.”

“Then I can’t hesitate.”

“Exactly,” he said. “On the upside, I’m here to make sure that you never need that gun. If it’s not me, it will be another marshal making sure you’re safe. Although, we’ll need some help from you.”

“What do you need?”

“The truth and—” he paused “—your trust. That means that if there’s anything you haven’t said, anything you’re holding off saying, you need to tell me.”

“I’ve already told the FBI everything I know,” she said. “And they don’t believe all of it.”

“Everything?” he asked. He hoped that she’d give him something that could be used in the case. She’d seen one face only and she’d identified him, for now that was what they had to work with.

“He wasn’t working alone,” she said. “I heard...”

Her voice dropped as his heart sank.

She couldn’t repeat this, not in court. It would make her testimony questionable if she spouted those beliefs like facts with no physical evidence to back them up. They needed an ID on a killer, nothing else. Certainly not a belief that had no support, no evidence, no backing of any kind and seemed more fantasy than reality.

“Kiera, we can’t assume...”

“Not without evidence,” she said with a nod of her head. “I realize that. But there’s something else. I don’t think it’s connected, but it’s frightening.”

“What’s going on, Kiera?” he asked hoping that maybe going along with her might be a better way to eventually get her off this particular track.

“I’m getting anonymous calls,” she said. “In the early hours. Yesterday was the first morning I was home since the attack and that’s when they started. There was another this morning. They were both the same. The phone rings at five minutes to five o’clock in the morning and then again at five minutes after five.”

That much he hadn’t heard. Had it been reported? He doubted it, for it was a fairly glaring oversight and James was nothing but thorough. Another thought hit him. He pulled out his phone as he stood up. His knee caught on the table. Coffee slopped from his cup. It just missed the embroidered tablecloth.

“I’m sorry,” he said. But he could only think of what she’d said. Five minutes after five o’clock in the morning was the time the 911 call had come in. The facts from the time she was found and how it had rolled out as the authorities took charge were engraved in his mind. The time of her rescue wasn’t public knowledge. He couldn’t imagine the time being anything more than a coincidence though. He wasn’t sure if even she knew the exact time of her escape. He wasn’t sure if anyone had told her. She might only know it was early in the morning, unless she had asked. Either way, he didn’t like the sound of any of this. The bus driver who had first found her knew the time, as did the police and the first responders. Would one of them have leaked the information? Except for the bus driver, that would be a breach of confidentiality and mean immediate firing. He made a mental note to mention the possibility that there was a leak to James. The thought, even the possibility, that someone had taken that information and used it to harass her was, to say the least, disconcerting.

She was back with a dishrag in her hand.

“Let me,” he said. He took the cloth from her and wiped up the coffee just as it had come close to creeping onto the edges of the tablecloth.

“Got it,” he said handing the cloth back. The tablecloth was unique, and he guessed that it was handmade. He’d seen his mother and his aunts embroider many such pieces. This one was a beautiful, vibrant garden scene.

“You embroider?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “I found it at a craft sale.” She leaned over to take the dishrag and wiped a drop he’d missed.

A minute later she sat down. It seemed that she moved slowly every time she was forced to sit anywhere near him.

“Have you reported the calls?” he asked despite the obvious tension.

“Yes,” she said. “Sort of. I spoke to the police officer who was here yesterday but no, unless he put a report forward, which I doubt, they weren’t officially reported. I left that to him.” She got up as if she was unable to sit, as if his proximity made her nervous.

“Kiera? Are you alright?”

“Would you like more coffee?” she asked with her back to him.

“No thanks. Look, I’m sorry that this is happening. I’m sorry—”

She turned around and there was a pallor to her face. “It’s alright. It’s me. This is just all so difficult.”

He’d taken the wrong approach. He’d been in her face since the beginning, but he wasn’t used to dealing with a woman traumatized in quite the way she had been.

“Look, I’ll have another cup of coffee, if you’ll have one too.”

A look of relief crossed her face. And a few minutes later they were talking easily about the craft sales in the area and he was silently thanking the women in his life, in his family, for his knowledge of such things. Ten minutes later she was looking, if not relaxed, at least not so tense that she’d leap at the slightest sound.

“Kiera, I hate to ask this, but you said the anonymous calls you received the last two nights or more specifically, early morning, weren’t reported. Why not?”

She shrugged and was quiet for a minute. He gave her time to get her thoughts together and wondered what she was afraid of revealing and why.

“Like I said, I told the police officer the other night, after the first occurrence. He told me there was nothing to be frightened of, that a prank call was just the luck of the draw.”

“He brushed them off?” Travis asked as he fought outrage and tried not to let that emotion show in his voice. “You didn’t tell him the time and that there were two of them?”

“I told him all of it,” she said. “He didn’t believe any of it was part of what happened. I don’t believe that. Someone needs to know.”

Damn it, Travis thought. There’d been no mention of this, no report. Heads would roll. He pushed the anger back and instead focused his attention on her.

“Tell me about the phone calls,” he encouraged in a gentler tone.

She looked at him with relief.

“And don’t hesitate to tell me anything from here on out.”

She nodded and something in the set of her chin seemed less tense.

“The call occurred again this morning. Two calls, two early morning calls in a row. It begins with a ring and a hang up. Then, ten minutes later, five minutes after five o’clock, they call again. The second call is always heavy breathing for about a minute before they disconnect.”

He was quiet, considering what she had said.

“Here.” She tossed her phone to him. “The calls are there. They’re listed as unknown but the time, duration...”

He looked at the phone’s history that confirmed what she’d already said, although he’d never doubted her—at least on that fact.

“We may get along yet,” she said with a cough. She covered her mouth and turned away. “Excuse me,” she said. “How long did you say I was stuck with you and—” she coughed again and then turned, gave a slight smile, as politeness disappeared “—and, as my aunt would have said, your ilk.”

“Right until the bitter end, sweetheart,” he said, glad to, again, see the hint of attitude. It gave him hope that she’d be able to overcome the trauma she’d endured. She was a strong woman. That was what the therapist had put in his report, and he’d been right. Not many could endure what she had.

“You have no idea what that might mean.”

“You’ll be safe, I promise,” he said although he knew that wasn’t what she’d been alluding to but rather the unknown that lay between now and the trial.

“Will I?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes and saw heartbreak and fear. Both were emotions that tore at his heart in a way no woman had affected him in a long time. But she’d been through more than he could imagine. And other than preventing further threats, he couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t stop the fear, for that arose from a horrifying experience that he could not change. He could only hope that his protection made her feel safe despite prank calls in the middle of the night. He could only try his best to help her face the nightmare she’d endured.

“The calls, they’re just opportunistic pranks, aren’t they?” She asked the question with hope in her voice. She turned away, her shoulders slouched.

“Kiera,” he began. “I’m sorry you weren’t taken seriously.” He thought of the police officer who’d blown the first calls off. He’d be having a few words with him. “They might be pranks.” He wanted to say that they also might not. But all of this was guesswork and needed investigation, monitoring. “I’ll handle this.”

She turned around to face him. “I can’t stop thinking about the phone calls and why they chose me, now of all times. My name wasn’t made public. It’s a stretch to think that there’d be a connection at all. But the time the last one comes in is about the same time in the morning when I was rescued—give or take. I don’t know the exact time—I never asked.”

He knew the exact time. He also knew that she was right.

It seemed too coincidental. It seemed too everything. Had someone leaked information and this was their idea of a prank? He hoped not. He hoped it was an unfortunate coincidence. If they continued, he’d have her phone rerouted and the calls handled. She needed time to heal and get on with her life. The calls were obviously frightening her, threatening her peace of mind. And, because of that, they had to end.

He stood up. His gut told him that something else was going on, that this case wasn’t as straightforward as everyone thought. There might not be a second serial killer, but something was off, something had been missed.

“I’ll be doing some back and forth from the office to here. But I’ll be available by phone and I’ll be in and out throughout the day. There’ll never be a moment when you can’t reach me or one of my team.” Seeing how frightened she looked, he made a snap decision. He would be here for her until daylight tomorrow. “Tonight, if you get any more of these calls, I’ll be in my vehicle, in your driveway. Get me.”

“I will,” she said softly. “That’s guaranteed.”

But it wasn’t her next words so much as the finality with which she said them that, despite what he believed, made his blood chill.

“Whoever wanted me dead. Whoever I escaped from. One of them is still out there.”