Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (113 page)

“Open the goddamn door, Jenny.”

Jennifer bumped against the wall opposite the door, gasping for breath. He was here. At her
house
. She dropped the piece of wood Franklin used to bar the door back in place and willed him to leave.

Her throat went dry. “Go away,” she said from behind the closed door.

The storm door rattled. “No, Jenny. We need to talk.”

Liquid panic spread through her, turning her legs to stone. She touched the closet door before she realized she couldn’t just crawl in and hide from him.

Jennifer backed away from the door.
 

Elliot appeared at the front window, and rapped on the glass. He wasn’t going away. He was grinning, and the way he leaned over to peer through the window gave a predatory cast to his face. She could hear the mockery in his voice.

“I just want to have a civil conversation,” he said. “There’s no reason to make this difficult.”

She was cornered, nowhere to run. Her heart was pounding and her temples throbbed. It was like a sinus headache, but worse, the rhythmic beats of pain sharper and deeper. Any more and her teeth would stat chattering. Go away,
go away.

“You’re trespassing!”

“Open up the door, Jenny. I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

Sweat tingled on her palms as she opened the window over her crafting bench. “What do you want?”

“I want to come in and talk.”

“I’m not letting you in my house. Get off my porch.”

Elliot sneered at her. “I don’t take no for an answer, Jenny.”

She shoved the window closed, or tried to. Elliot clawed through the screen. Jennifer stared at his wriggling fingers. In a moment of sheer panic, she shoved the window down with all her might. It moved down in fits and starts, catching on the old rails until it shrieked and slammed down on Elliot’s hand. Elliot howled as he pulled his hand free.

“You fucking bitch!” Elliot pounded on the storm door with his uninjured hand. “Get the fuck out here!”

Heart pounding, Jennifer ran up and into the bedroom, and yanked open the top drawer of her nightstand. Her father’s .38 special rested in an old cigar box. She tipped the cylinder out, fumbled with the tarnished bullets, and pushed them into the chambers one at a time. When it was loaded, she locked the bedroom door and went to the window, gingerly holding the weapon as though it would leap out of her hands and bite her.

Katie’s Volkswagen came trundling around the corner and pulled to a stop a few feet behind Elliot’s hulking muscle car. Jennifer’s stomach dropped through her knees and she ran for the bedroom door, yanked it open, and took the stairs two at a time, gritting her teeth through the ache in her ankle.
 

She couldn’t let him hurt Katie.

The door came open. Elliot turned as Katie stepped out of the Beetle and drifted to the sidewalk, her face an open mask of shock and fear.

Holding the revolver in front of her chest, Jennifer stepped out on the porch and aimed it square at Elliot’s face. The color drained from his face, but he didn’t move.

“Get off my porch,” she said in a voice steadier than she expected.

Elliot put his hands up, and his grin faded. His eyes locked on the muzzle of the gun, bobbing with it as it trembled in her hands. He licked his lips and his adam’s apple slid up and down.

“I’ll call the police,” Katie said.

“Call ‘em.” Elliot’s eyes never left the gun. “Go right-a-fucking-head, Katie. See what happens.”

“I’m warning you,” Jennifer said.
 

Elliot’s kept his eyes on the gun and laughed. “What are you going to do, Jenny? Do you know what’ll happen to you if you shoot me?

“I know what’ll happen to you.”

Elliot didn’t move.

“Get away from me,” Jennifer hissed. “Get away from my house and don’t come near me again or I’ll kill you. I swear to God I will. Don’t you
dare
go near my sister, either.”

Elliot nodded slowly, and got halfway to his parked Charger before looking back.

“Now you’ve made me mad,” he said, calmly. “Be seeing you, Jenny. You too, Katie.”

He backed away, never taking his eyes off the barrel of the gun, until he pivoted on his heel and slowly walked over to the Charger. When he dropped into the driver’s seat, Jennifer let the gun hang in front of her, dangling from her two hands.

The car’s obnoxious exhaust rumbled down the street. When he was out of sight, Katie carefully peeled the revolver out of Jennifer’s grip. Jennifer caught her breath and took it back from her sister to make sure the hammer was down. The gun hung in her hand as they moved back into the house. Katie bolted the door.

“Jesus,” Katie said. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

“I should have,” Jennifer whispered. “It’s my fault--“

“It’s not your fault,” Katie said. “Jennifer, this has got to stop. He’s fucking crazy.”

Jennifer sank into the couch and looked up at her sister. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What did he want?”

“You know what he wants,” Jennifer said.

Katie sat down and pulled Jennifer’s head onto her shoulder. “You don’t need to live like this. It’s time to go.”

“I can’t,” Jennifer said. “I
can’t.
This is our house.”

Katie sighed, and went upstairs. She came back down and brushed out Jennifer’s hair. It soothed her, and she finally managed to set the revolver down on the couch. After her hair was brushed out, Katie braided it for her.

“Go get dressed. We’ll get out of here for a while.”

Jennifer nodded and went upstairs to change. Katie stood at the bottom of the stairs when she returned, looking over the pictures on the wall.

“I remember this,” she said. “The time we went to Six Flags with Dad on the school trip.”

Jennifer examined the faded picture taken when she was sixteen, Katie fourteen. Jennifer was taller than her father, drawn out and lanky. Katie was already beautiful.
 

She’d grown into a striking woman, full figured with red hair that was rich and silky while Jennifer’s was dry and refused to behave itself. Jennifer looked through the picture, not seeing the happy smiles, just patterns, like the swirls of a soap bubble. Jennifer tugged Katie’s arm.

“I don’t know what to do,” she croaked. “He’s never come to the house before. I mean he never tried to get in.”
 

“Let’s get out of here for a while.”
 

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here. Do you have that gun?”

“I’ll put it in my purse.” Jennifer kept her voice low, as if Elliot could still hear. “I have a permit. I can’t take it with me to school, that’s all.”

Katie shook her head as Jennifer got in the Beetle, pushing the seat back with her legs so she could stretch out. She took one last glance at the house as Katie pulled away, and sighed.

9.

A ball of ice swelled in Jacob’s stomach. He swayed and leaned against the refrigerator door, then pinched the bridge of his nose. Jennifer’s abandoned helmet sat on the kitchen table.

He looked at his hands, and flexed his fingers. The warmth of her lips lingered enough to still taste her. She tasted like cinnamon. Thinking about it gave him the shakes, so he sat and held his head in his hands. What did he do to drive her away?
 

She touched the scar on his shoulder, felt it through his shirt. The bullet punched clean through the meat of his shoulder, and he healed clean with barely a twinge when he moved his arm. The puckered crater was the ugliest scar of them all.

He dragged himself down to the basement. What was he thinking? He was hideous. His chest and stomach were an alien landscape, and his back was just as bad. It was only luck that he had a single scar on his face. His captors had not yet begun to work on that when the bombs fell.

He loaded up the bars himself, and choked the steel until his hands burned. It was easy to fall into routine, squats and presses and dips and pull-ups, until he fell on the mat in utter exhaustion and laid there in a pool of his own sweat, trying desperately to think about something else.
 

His back ached. His shoulder worried at him while his left hand throbbed. Pain was an anchor.
 

Pain proves that we are real. He thought about Master Kittinger. The owner and head instructor of Paradise Fall’s only martial arts school was probably dead by now. He was never more than an average teacher, but his lessons were the foundations of Jacob’s real education.

The pain in his shoulder, back, and hand was simply information, his body warning him that it was damaged. Everything passed through him; pain, heat, cold, and discomfort until he became a figure of wood that felt no pain. The figure of wood can’t be hurt.
 

The fluorescent lights overhead stung his eyes. His muscles burned, and he stretched. Finally he pulled his legs under himself and folded into the lotus position and closed his eyes. Focus.

It was for the best, he realized now. Jennifer suffered enough. The best thing he could do was find a way to get her to move out of town, but that was a dead end and he knew it. If everything she endured so far wouldn’t push her out of that decrepit house, then nothing would.

The next best thing would be to see she was taken care of. Watched. He would simply leave her alone.

Jacob always had a gift for meditation. Emptying his mind was usually easy, but not now. The look of raw terror in her eyes was like a knife slipping into his chest.

The idea of frightening her hurt. Not just emotionally, physically. It made him want to die.

I am a monster.

He called Faisal.

“Sir? Did you need something? How is your date going?”

“Date’s over,” Jacob said, flatly. “New orders. I want a tail on Jennifer twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Reports every two hours. Make sure they have my direct line. If there’s an emergency I want to be notified immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” said Faisal. “I’ll have two of our people begin the observation at once. What else?”

“I want a wake up call in…” he glanced at the clock on his screen saver. “Six hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is the car ready?”

“The Aston Martin?”

“No. The other car.”

“Not yet. The modifications should be finished within the week, at the latest.”

Jacob sighed. “Alright. The Dodge, then. Don’t forget my wakeup call.”

He hung up the phone, wearily walked up the grand staircase to the bedroom. The richly appointed upper part of the house was unused and kept like a museum. After a shower and a soak in the tub, he collapsed into the bed.

One ring sprang him awake immediately. Another skill he acquired, Jacob could go from a stone sleep to fully awake in seconds. The wake up call was early. He put the phone to his ear.

“Sir,” said Faisal. “There’s been a problem at Miss Katzenberg’s house.”

“A problem?” said Jacob. “What problem?”

“Her brother-in-law.”

“Is here there now?”

“He left. Miss Katzenberg left with another woman a few minutes later. Her sister, we think. I have a tail on them.”

Jacob leapt out of bed and rushed to the basement.
 

“Sir,” Faisal said. “Don’t do anything rash. Remember the plan.”

“I remember the plan,” he said. Jacob pulled on his undershirt before slipping into his lightweight vest. He checked the ceramic plates, then pulled the Kevlar sleeves over his arms. Gloves lined with a Kevlar-Nomex weave, a nylon web harness with gear.
 

Jacob gathered up the last thing he needed: a black balaclava. After taking the stairs two at a time, he ran to the carriage house. Faisal pulled up in his hatchback as Jacob stepped in through the side door and threw the switch to open the main one. He walked past the Aston Marin to a 1989 Dodge Reliant K with Georgia plates, snatched the key from the locker, and dropped inside. From the outside the car looked like any old junker from wilds of Pennsylvania. The anemic four cylinder the car was born with had been pulled and replaced with a more efficient six cylinder, along with a few other modifications.

He slipped his bluetooth in his ear and pulled the mask down over his face. “Give me a twenty on Elliot.”

“Heading over the bridge now. Same car, the black Charger.”

“Noted,” Jacob said before ending the call. He pulled out of the carriage house.

He would need a better place to store the extra vehicles and other equipment, but the work down there wasn’t finished. His hands choked the wheel as he coasted down the hill.

High pressure sodium lamps came on when the sun went behind the clouds, and the red beacons on top of the towers never stopped flashing. The bridge disappeared from sight as he neared the bottom of Hill Road.

Jacob waited until Elliot’s car passed. Jacob pulled out and tromped on the pedal.
 

Elliot blasted through a stop sign while cradling his cell phone to his ear.

A town cop parked in one of the gas stations, but of course they let Elliot just roll on by. The slow pursuit went on through the newer section of town before the highway narrowed into the country. The shoulders went to soft gravel, and the cornfields swept up to the edge of the road.

Where the hell was he going?

Elliot rounded a curve and turned into some kind of biker hangout. Except for a few gleaming bikes parked under a canopy by the front door and enormous, late-seventies Chrysler Continental with ugly, blotchy green paint, the place was deserted.
 

Jacob continued to the truck stop maybe two hundred yards down the road, and kept a close eye on Elliot.

Elliot got out of his car, jogged up to the front door, and banged on it with his fist. The door opened and Elliot barged in, shouting something Jacob couldn’t quite understand.

Rain drummed on the roof, and Jacob’s fingers drummed on the wheel. Less than ten minutes later, Elliot stormed out loudly.

He had a decision to make. Take the information he’d gathered -Elliot was meeting with someone out here- or have a civil conversation with him.