Don't Look Back (3 page)

He’d offered to escort her home and she turned him down flat. Something was going on with her, he just wasn’t sure what. She’d acted weird all day, jumpier than normal, snappier than usual. And it started when she’d seen the handcuffs.

Dakota pounded his frustration out on the sidewalk, the sweat pouring down his face and soaking through his shirt. It felt good. He thought about the scars on her wrists, her jumpiness, the reaction to the cuffs. He rounded a corner and stopped when he finally realized what it was he’d seen on her face.

Pure, unadulterated fear. No, it was stronger than that.

Terror.

Okay, she’d been afraid. Of what?

With that question spurring him back into a jog, his thoughts sorted through this bit of information. Now that he thought about it, from their first meeting, the only times he’d ever seen her truly relaxed and comfortable were in her home or engrossed in her work at the lab.

Which is most likely where he’d find her if he called. Working on the bodies they’d dug up earlier this afternoon.

A police car cruised past and Dakota lifted a hand in a wave. Several officers lived in his neighborhood, and he appreciated the sense of community, of watching each other’s back.

Again his thoughts circled back to Jamie. And what about the scars on her wrists? He’d never asked and she’d never offered the information.

Maybe it was time to dig a little deeper into the past of the woman he loved.

Yawning, Jamie finally called it a day. Serena had come in to work with her, and between the two of them, they’d gotten a lot accomplished. Serena had left awhile ago, called to a homicide across town. Jamie had told her she’d finish up.

The two older case files on her desk would have to wait. Lower back aching, she straightened, cleaned up the lab, and then glanced at her watch. She nearly shrieked. 9:30. No wonder she was starving.

She looked out the window.

Darkness. Not even a moon to light the way home. It was only a little over two miles to the entrance to her subdivision, and she made the walk to and from work as often as she could. But always in the light. Never in the dark. If she knew she was going to work late, she arranged for a ride from family or a coworker.

Familiar panic stirred in the depths of her belly. She’d stayed too late, not thinking about the passage of time. The fact shocked her. Normally, she was so careful to make sure –

Out of nowhere, the panic moved up to grip her by the throat and she forced it down, ordering her mind to work, to think.

She couldn’t turn back the hands of the clock, so she had to decide what to do. The building teemed with people, and would all night long, but she wanted to be home safe, in her own bed. She looked at her comfortable office chair and grimaced that she would actually consider spending the night in it as opposed to walking home or calling a cab.

Or she could ask for a ride home from someone.

Her cell rang and she grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Jamie? Where are you? Are you okay?”

Samantha’s frantic questions raised the hair on her arms.

“I’m at the lab. What’s wrong?”

“Oh. The lab. Right. I stopped by your house and you weren’t there and . . .”

For the past eleven and a half years, Samantha, Jamie’s sister, called almost daily. Since the night Jamie had disappeared, not to be heard from again for a little over two months, Samantha checked on her constantly.

Lately, it grated on Jamie’s nerves. Tonight, she felt relieved. “I’m fine, Sam.”

“Do you want me to come pick you up? You shouldn’t walk home this late.”

Hiding her fear at the thought of the walk home, she gave a halfhearted protest, “It’s only a little after 9:30. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m coming to pick you up. Don’t leave.”

“Sam . . .” But she was talking to dead air. Anger stirred. She wasn’t eighteen years old anymore. And yet, she couldn’t deny that beneath the anger, relief flowed. Fine, Sam could pick her up and they’d talk on the way home.

Ten minutes later, Samantha pulled up out front in a shiny little red Corvette.

Jamie climbed in. “Connor lets you drive this?” The car was a special vehicle, willed to Connor when his partner, Andrew West, had been killed in the line of duty a little over a year and a half ago.

“He sure does.”

Samantha’s straight blonde hair, like their mother’s, fell to her shoulders. Jamie had inherited a shinier version of her father’s unruly, naturally curly locks that reached to the middle of her back when she didn’t have them restrained in a clip or a tie.

“He must think a lot of you,” Jamie teased.

Samantha shot her an amused look as she pulled from the curb. “He’d better, he’s stuck with me for life. Actually, I had to pry the steering wheel from Jenna with the promise to bring the car right back to her. My car bit the dust this morning and Jenna has plans to see the midnight showing of that new movie that’s releasing.”

Secretly, Jamie envied her sister’s easygoing relationship with her husband and eighteen-year-old stepdaughter. Jamie often despaired of ever having that with a man. Or a family of her own.

Dakota was the closest she’d come, and even in the year and a half that she’d known him, she’d managed to keep him at arm’s length.

A transplant from Texas, he’d moved to the North Carolina FBI branch office. Then after working a case with Connor and Samantha last year, he decided he liked the area so much he’d moved to South Carolina, not minding the occasional hour-and-a-half commute to Charlotte for meetings and briefings. Samantha, who worked out of the Columbia, South Carolina office, insisted it wasn’t the area he liked, but one particular person who lived in it. Jamie had a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea that a man would uproot his life for her like that.

“So,” Samantha broke into her disturbing thoughts, “I guess you were working on the bodies found this afternoon.”

“Yes, and I lost track of time. Speaking of which, I would have been fine walking home, you know.”

“I know, I know, I just . . . well, I was just right around the corner and it wasn’t any big deal to come pick you up.”

Jamie dropped it. Samantha would just start feeling guilty again. If picking her up and taking her home made Samantha feel better, Jamie would let her do it. “So, what are you working on?”

“I’ve decided to take some time off.”

Surprised, Jamie stared at her sister. “What? As of when?”

“Starting today.”

“But why? You love your job.”

“I do. But I’m married now, and with Connor being a detective and me traveling all over the place whenever the FBI needs a computer expert . . . well, honestly? I just want to be in the same town as my husband, so . . . I’m reevaluating some things.”

Before Jamie could respond, Samantha pulled in the driveway. Jamie’s little cottage-style house sat in darkness. Not even the porch light burned.

Sam cut the engine. “Why didn’t you leave a light on?”

“I did.” Jamie frowned and crawled from the car.

“Guess it burned out?” Jamie heard the doubt in Sam’s voice. “You know I change my lightbulbs every month whether they’re burned out or not.” She didn’t ever want to take a chance on coming home to a dark house.

Like the one that now stood before her.

Unease centered itself in her stomach. Something was definitely not right.

Samantha followed Jamie to the door. “The power is on because your neighbors’ houses are lit up. Yours is the only one that’s dark. I’ll just come in with you.”

Concerned, but not wanting to show, it, Jamie said, “Samantha, I probably just forgot to flip the switch.”

“You don’t forget stuff like that.”

“And I don’t lose track of time either, but I did tonight.”

“Whatever, I’m still coming in.”

Jamie sucked in a deep breath. “Fine.” She swung the door open and flipped the entryway switch. Brightness filled her vision as the high-pitched whine of her alarm system warned her she had forty-five seconds to punch in her code. She did so and looked around.

Nothing out of place. “See? I told you, I just forgot to turn it on.”

“I’ll give it a quick sweep. You wait here.” Samantha’s voice came back to Jamie as her sister was already heading into the kitchen to the right, gun drawn and held in front of her. Heart pounding in spite of her brave words, Jamie anxiously studied the den and beyond.

Recently, she’d added the sunroom off the den. Her painting supplies had taken over her bedroom, and the addition of the sunroom gave her the natural light she’d wanted and the space she’d desperately needed. Only when she painted did she crack the blinds to let in the light. The rest of the time the blinds stayed shut tight, just like the ones in the rest of the house.

Examining the rest of the little two-bedroom, two-bath house didn’t take long, and when Samantha returned, Jamie looked at her. “You can’t turn it off, can you?”

“What?”

“Your FBI cop mode or whatever you want to call it.”

Sam gave an embarrassed shrug. “Guess not. It’s what I’m trained to do . . . so, I do it.”

“Trouble isn’t hovering around every corner, Sam. You need to learn to relax.”

Surprise lit her sister’s eyes before they narrowed. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

Jamie forced a laugh and walked into her den. She didn’t feel nearly as lighthearted as she was trying to project for Samantha. In the den, the laughter died a quick death. “That’s weird.”

“What?” Sam asked coming up behind her.

“Look at my mantel. Do you see anything wrong?”

Samantha studied the mantel. “A picture is missing. The one of you and me before . . .”

“Right. Before the attack.”

“Did you move it?”

“No. It was there when I left for work this morning. I think. I mean it must have been. That’s where it always is.” Feeling creeped out, Jamie grabbed her grandaddy’s cane that she kept in the clay pot at the corner of the fireplace. It could be a weapon if she could swing it hard enough.

Gripping the carved oak in her right hand, she left the room and investigated the rest of her house while Samantha finished going over the den.

Jamie couldn’t find anything amiss. Uncertainty flickered through her, and she returned to her sister’s side to study the mantel. “Maybe I moved it and just forgot.”

“Like you forgot to leave the lights on?”

Fear churned within her and she made a concerted effort not to let it get a stronghold on her. “Yes, like I forgot to leave the lights on.”

Not.

The Hero watched through his binoculars from his vantage point across the street. He kept his focus on the open blinds. The ones he’d opened and Jamie hadn’t noticed yet. He could see her staring at the mantel and knew she’d already taken note of his handiwork. She turned in a full circle, her eyes taking in every detail.

Her gaze landed on the window and the Hero almost dropped his binoculars as her widened gaze seemed to stare straight through him. He saw her draw in a deep breath, watched terror and pain flash across her face, then she marched over to shut him out.

A thrill shot through him. The voice whispered, “Stop the pain, stop the pain, you’re my hero, only death stops the pain.”

Soon. Jamie, soon, your hero will rescue you once more.
After all, it was his responsibility to stop the pain. And pain could only be stopped by death.

Soon. Very soon.

3

Jamie grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and shut the door with more force than necessary. Samantha had called Connor and Dakota to fill them in on the events. Of course they’d rushed right over.

Frankly, Jamie wondered if Sam was overreacting and yet she couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for the incidents.

Especially her blinds.

She’d never leave them open.

Never.

Hating the thought that someone could see her and she couldn’t see them, she simply kept them shut.

Always.

The only thing she sometimes opened to let a little light in was the sheer curtain that covered the long window by her front door. And she rarely did that.

At the back of the house, the sunroom blinds stayed shut unless she had someone out there with her – or she was painting. And then she only opened one set of blinds to let in the light needed.