Because I'm Watching (19 page)

Jacob hurried down the stairs, nudged her out of the way, and took over.

“Sorry, sir,” Brandon said. “I'm still not completely used to the leg.”

Jacob's expression eased. “And the arm?”

“As far as I'm concerned, it's there. But the docs insist it's only a phantom limb.” Brandon looked keenly into Jacob's face. “I suspect you've experienced something similar with your situation.”

What situation? Why had Jacob interrupted them precisely when she was so close to hearing Jacob's story?

“Different but the same.” Jacob helped him up the first step. “Come in. I'm a little short on food, drink, and walls, but we can sit and talk.”

Eager to make amends for the crime of curiosity, Maddie said, “If you like, I can make coffee. I bought filters.”

“That would be kind of you. Thanks!” Brandon smiled at her as if trying to make up for Jacob's cold reception.

“Great! I'll bring it back.” She glanced into Jacob's living room. “Oo! You got a new recliner. Nice!”

“Is it?” Jacob was deadpan.

Maybe not. The material was worn tan suede, the back tilted to the right, one of the arms had a tuft of cotton coming through the seam. She compromised. “It's better than the old one.”

“Sure.”

“The smoke must have ruined that one.”

“Yes.”

“You got some sofa pillows, too. Flowered. Really … big flowers. They look mostly good piled on the old steamer chest.”

Jacob tilted his head and listened. “Your phone is ringing.”

She groped for her cell phone in her pocket, pulled it out, and stared at it.

“Your landline,” Jacob said.

In a panic now, she sprinted toward the house.

“Nice girl,” Brandon said. “Pretty. Did she really drive into your house?”

“She really did.”

“Some guys have all the luck.”

“Isn't that the truth.”

 

Well, excuuuuse me. We have a plan. It's working. Don't back out now. She'll make us a fortune.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Maddie knew who was calling.

Andrew. He was her only relative, the only person who had her phone number, and if he didn't reach her on her landline he would call her cell.

She ran inside and grabbed the phone. “Andrew!”

“Where were you?” he asked testily.

“Across at the neighbor's, the one I crashed into.”

“What kind of damage did you do now?”

She hated Andrew's attitude, hated that she immediately felt defensive. “Nothing! I met one of his friends and entertained him until Jacob arrived.”

“Jacob? Really. Now you're friends with Jacob Denisov?”

“I wouldn't say friends, exactly.” What was wrong with being friends? “But we know each other. We have a lot in common.”

Andrew sounded disbelieving. “
You
have a lot in common with a decorated military hero?”

She took a breath, let it out slowly, and in an even voice said, “We've both suffered pain and trauma, Andrew. Even you should be able to understand that.”

That shut him up. For a moment. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm testy and taking it out on you. But … you're supposed to be writing.”

Oh. That was why he was disapproving. “I am.”

“You don't want to be late for your deadline.”

“I won't.” As long as the monster stayed away. “I never am.” But Andrew always acted as if she would be. As if she were unreliable.

She glanced out the window toward Jacob's, saw the two men sitting in the shadowy living room, talking.

Coffee. She had promised them coffee. She could make it while she talked. She hustled into the kitchen, tucked the phone under her chin, and got out the coffeemaker. “How are you? How is the money business?”

“Fine. Do you want to send me pages to read?”

“No. Do you have to go on book tour for
Sacrifice!
?”

“Yes. My promotions team has lined up autographings. Are you working on the graphic novel?”

“No.” She had almost a whole book finished, but she couldn't tell him that. He would want to see the drawings, and she wasn't ready. Perhaps she was superstitious, thinking that every person who saw pictures of her monster fed him power. Perhaps she didn't want to hear Andrew's critique, have him talk to her about her characters as if he really was the author.

“The graphic novel would really add to my popularity.
Our
popularity. You haven't told anyone that you are the one writing the novels, have you?”

“No…” Although she had sort of told Jacob. She glanced out the window again. The two men looked tense.
In
tense.

“Because if that came out, it would cause all kinds of trouble with the publisher and the public.”

“I know.” Andrew had told her often enough. She opened the bag of gourmet coffee. It smelled good. “Will the autographings hurt your business? I don't want to take you away from work.”

“Not a problem. I'm supporting you, aren't I?”

“Yes…” She remembered the coffee filter, found one, and arranged it carefully in the basket. She measured the way the directions said: eight tablespoons per four cups. “When can I have a new car?”

“Why do you need a car? Virtue Falls is a small town. You can walk to the grocery store, can't you?”

She didn't like the direction this conversation was going. “It's not a matter of getting there. It's a matter of coming back with the groceries.”

“I'll send you one of those wheeled carts you can drag behind you.”

“I would like a car.”

“You can't have one. I'm not made of money. Publishing doesn't pay that well.”

“I know.” He'd told her that often enough, too. “But you have your other job, and the insurance will pay on the last one.”

“You've had too many wrecks. Insurance doesn't want to cover you anymore.”

“Oh.” She hadn't thought of that. She hated being stranded in Virtue Falls. She liked the town, but sometimes she wanted to drive up the coast, to a place where no monsters lurked and the scenery offered sanctuary for her mind.

“This Jacob guy. You're not dating him, are you?”

“What? No! He's not even friendly.” Although she had confessed almost everything to him, and he had behaved as if he were interested. After listening to Brandon, she was certainly interested in what drove Jacob to live in isolation and fear.

Carefully she poured water into the coffeemaker and pressed the
On
button. Coffee began to dribble into the pot. She'd done it! “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

“Between being the front for your writing career and doing my job, I don't have time for a girlfriend.”

“But you like having a girlfriend.” When he had a girlfriend he wasn't as bossy and grumpy.

“Never mind me. I'm the normal one in the family, remember? It's you I'm concerned about and you don't have time for a social life.”

“The only social life I have is calling the cops when things get too weird.”

“So the monsters are still after you?”

“How did you know?”

“I've got a contact in Virtue Falls. I get reports.”

She looked around as if she would see someone watching her. “From who?”

“Never mind.” Andrew sounded as if he were sorry he'd said anything. “Just keep writing.”

Andrew was overbearing, but he was her family, the one steady influence in her life, and he worried about her.

“I will.”

“Eat right and get some exercise. Stop worrying about the monster. It's an illusion. It can't hurt you.”

“They never found Easton's killer.”

Andrew got that impatient tone in his voice. “Maddie, whoever that was is not going to chase you to Washington to make you miserable. Stop being such a coward and write!”

“Good-bye, Andrew.” She gently put the phone into the cradle and sat with her hand on it.

It rang again immediately. Andrew was not used to having her hang up on him.

She picked it up. “What?”

“Kid, I love you.”

He sounded like the brother who had cried with her at their parents' funeral, like the brother who had haunted her hospital room as she recovered from the wound to her belly and the infection that inevitably followed, the brother who, while she lingered in the sanitarium, encouraged her to write and who, when she got out, agreed to take her place in the public eye.

“I love you, too, Andrew, but you can't talk to me that way. I'm not an idiot, I'm not a child, I'm not a coward, and I am not crazy.”

“If you'd come home, the monsters would go away.”

“No. Colorado is not my home anymore. It hasn't been for a long, long time.”

“I could take care of you. Watch over you.”

She had wanted to say this for a long time. She needed to tell him. “I appreciate all you've done for me. I know you didn't sign on to raise me, and I'm sorry things went badly at the precise time when I should have been getting out on my own. But I'm an adult now. I don't need a babysitter. No one needs to watch over me.”

It was like he didn't hear her. Or maybe he didn't want to hear her. “I don't understand you. If you'd come home, you could write another book a year.”

“No. I can't.” She didn't want to spend more time in the dark places of her soul. She wanted to live in the light. She walked over and looked out at Jacob's house, at the two men who now seemed relaxed, who had settled into some kind of camaraderie.

“Why can't you? It doesn't have to be long. You would make so much more money.” Andrew's voice became coaxing. “Then you could have a car. Or a scooter. Wouldn't you like a scooter?”

“No. I'm not riding a scooter in Virtue Falls in the winter. Andrew, how's your business?”

“My business?” He sounded startled. “Why do you ask? You've never asked before.”

She heard it again, that note of … panic? “You still have your firm, don't you?”

“Yes! I paid for the license the other day.”

“You're still trading stocks, right? Is it going okay?”

“Some days are better than others.” His voice grew eager. “It's like gambling. You have to pay attention all the time, read the signs, follow your gut. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Do you understand, Maddie?”

“Have you ever lost everything?”

“Yes. But never fear. You're not going to starve.”

“I'm not asking because of me. But you sound”—
desperate
—“concerned about money. Maybe worried.”

“Honey, everybody's concerned about money these days.”

“I thought the recession was over.”

“Officially. But in the risky world of stock trading, there's always that fear that you'll lose and always the golden ring of winning big.”

“How much could you get for a shorter story?”

“Maybe as much as five thousand dollars advance.”

“I can't get a car for that.”

“Used … I might be able to talk the publishers up to ten thousand advance.”

“I'd like to see the contract this time.”

“Sure, honey. Sure. I'll show you the contract.” He sounded like a snake oil salesman, then he switched back to the eager boy. “When could you finish it?”

It depends on how many ghosts come to haunt me.
“I'll have to think about it, figure out a plot.”

“Make it short.”

“Andrew, the books are as long as they are. I have a story. I tell it.”

“If you would try the graphic novel idea—”

“No!” He was really hung up on that. “No.”

“Are you sure you haven't started drawing?”

“I'm sure.”
Sure that it's none of your business, and sure wondering why you sound as if you know something.

“All right, but I don't know why I bothered to pay for those art classes for you.”

“I thought it was because you wanted me to be happy.”

“I do. No matter what happens, I hope you believe that.”

She guessed she did, but as she hung up, she thought about what he'd said and the way he'd said it, and she wondered what Andrew was up to … and why he sounded frightened.

The coffee was finished.

She got two mugs out of the cupboard, poured them full, put them on a tray with some cookies from Sienna's Sandwiches, and headed out the door for Jacob's.

She walked slowly, taking care not to slosh the coffee out of the mugs, and as she crossed the street, she thought that perhaps it was time for her to tell the truth about her writing, to replace Andrew on the books' title pages.

Then she remembered why she had handed it off to him. After she came out of the institution and gave him her first book to review, he had said,
Maddie, you'd better let me handle this. The media is still fascinated with you. They would follow you to every book signing and harass you at every opportunity. You would hate that.

That made sense to her. So he became the name on her books. He took care of the money that came in and gave her an allowance, and supplemented with his own income.

When Easton had discovered the deception, he had been most perturbed and wanted to look at the financials. But he'd been killed before he got the chance, and after that, she was content to continue with the relationship as it was.

Except … except things were changing.
She
was changing.

She stumbled as she got to the curb, looked up, and realized Brandon's car was gone and Jacob had disappeared. His bedroom door was once more closed, shutting out the world.

She glanced around. She stood here in broad daylight holding coffee and feeling foolish.