Forever Mine (5 page)

“Always keep the windows covered. The side one, too.” Sutter indicated the narrow, rectangular pane of glass that provided a view of the front steps. She went over to it and pulled another cord. Fabric descended, further dimming the interior light.

“Is this necessary?”

“Yes. Once Barnett rings the bell, if he spots me or Thompson heading toward the door, he’ll take a powder and, trust me, he won’t be back.”

“You want him to show up here, don’t you?”

“If he continues dodging the police up north? You bet.”

“And I’m the bait.”

“Just one of the things you signed up for.”

“Let’s be clear on one thing,” she said. “I never wanted you inside the house.”

He pulled a sour smile. “You can double that for me, but we’re stuck with each other.”

Allie rolled her eyes as if to say, “
Don’t remind me
.”

In a metropolitan area, which ran the gamut from ultra-safe to triple-locked doors, Allie considered her little slice of the city to be perfection. Foggy days never put a crimp in her spirits. The wind, carrying the salty smell of the ocean on the air, invigorated rather than chilled her. Given any place in the world to live, she would, hands down, choose San Francisco.

“I’d better do a security check.”

Sutter’s voice reminded her that storm clouds occasionally rolled in, even in Paradise.

Sutter went to the front door and played around with the two locks. “Good, you have a dead bolt. Make sure it’s always engaged.” Then he headed toward the rear of the house. This time, he took care to skirt the body form he’d danced with earlier. Once in the back room, he pointed to the lone window. “Cover this with something. Throw a
shade
or whatever over it, but do it today.”

Allie had deliberately left the window bare. “I need the additional light in this room. I cut fabric here. One slip of the scissor could ruin a garment.” Replacing fabric, some purchased from exclusive European factories, was expensive and way beyond her present budget. With the semi-finals looming, there was no time to start over.

He stared at her with obvious disinterest in her fashion problems. He pointed to the track lighting. “Bump up the wattage in those bulbs.” His tone said “end of discussion.”

He turned toward a door cut into a side wall. “Where does that lead?”

“To the garage.”

He fiddled with the doorknob, nodded as if he deemed the lock mechanism to be adequate.

He then moved to a second door. It opened onto a small wooden porch. He rattled the knob then opened and closed the door a couple times. “Door seems sturdy enough.” He checked for a deadbolt and seemed satisfied. “To stay on the safe side, always deadbolt this door, too.”

Allie tapped her foot, impatient for the security check to end. She’d set a rigid schedule for herself and falling behind added additional stress—and she’d already racked up a truckload. If she failed to complete the required elements, she’d lose her place in the competition.

“What else is back here?” He pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch.

She remained in the doorway.

Flowerpots clustered in the corners sprouted an assortment of herbs. He ducked around a pair of wind chimes hanging from the porch roof, walked to the railing and looked down into the narrow backyard. A vegetable garden, in the early stages of growth, bordered one side of a small patch of grass. A lemon tree, thick with fruit, occupied a far corner. Allie sometimes sat in its leafy shade while she sketched ideas for clothes. The year before, robins had built a nest in the upper branches. So as not to cause the parents concern, she’d relocated to a chair on the porch until the babies could fly.

Sutter pointed to a tall, wooden fence anchored across the backyard. A gate had been cut into the weathered redwood.

“Do you keep the gate locked?”

“Well, sort of, but there’s only a latch.” She surmised anything so Mickey Mouse would never meet with his approval.

His frown proved her right. “I’ll have a locksmith install something sturdier. You need to become very serious about security.”

Allie wondered if she’d wind up stuck paying the bill for the locksmith. Already her bank account looked like the victim of a cyber-scam. Before she had a chance to question him, he shifted gears.

“What’s behind the fence?”

“A narrow alley serves as a buffer between the houses on my street and the ones behind us. It’s been there forever. I’m not sure why.”

“Can anyone gain access?”

“There a chain-link fence and gate at each end.”

“Are the gates ever locked?”

Allie shrugged. “I’m not sure. They never were, but I’ve haven’t exited that way in years.”

“I’ll swing by early tomorrow and check.”

Terrific. Bad enough he had to come by at all, did he have to come early?

Sutter reentered the house and walked into the center room where a staircase led to the second floor. Two steps brought him to the small landing.

“What’s up there?”

“My living space.”

He climbed up the rest of the way. A long open gallery ran the length of the upper floor with a doorway at each end of the hall and one in the middle.

Allie followed. “Why do you have to go up there?”

“I need to check out the rooms, mainly the one in front. Thompson and I will spend a lot of time in it, especially once we know if Barnett’s in town. The side window looks down on the steps and front door and provides a clear view.” He traversed the short hallway.

“That’s my bedroom.” She tried to keep the annoyance from her tone, but lost the battle.

He crossed the threshold, took three more steps and came to an abrupt halt.

Allie, close on his heels, plowed into his back. Her breasts squished against hard muscles. She winced, swallowed an embarrassed “oops,” and quickly back-peddled.

She suspected the ruffle-edged, peach-and-pink flowered shams and four bed pillows, along with the two small, pink-and-white striped ones and the fluffy, white stuffed cat, were what brought his hands to his hips and a shake to his head.

Her chest tightened at the prospect of explaining her sleeping arrangements to Detective Sutter.

“What the… You sleep under all that stuff?”

“No, I don’t sleep under everything.” Her staunch tone asked if he could be any more obtuse. She walked around him and pointed to a bench at the foot of the bed. “Most of it goes there at night.”

He frowned again, and the dimple dented his right cheek. “Then what, you throw it all back on the bed the next day?”

“Hardly.” Air pumped out of Allie’s lungs in a deep sigh. He needn’t know it took almost fifteen minutes to remake her bed. The detective no doubt left his covers in a heap every morning and dove back under them at night.

“Is this the only place to sit?” Sutter indicated a small, low-backed chair skirted in chintz, which matched the dressing table skirt and pillow shams. After a cursory glance at the antique French dresser and marble-topped nightstand, he said, “Let’s see what else you got up here.”

A few steps brought him back to the hall and into the center room. Allie had set it up as a combination living room/den with her TV, computer and stereo equipment. A Mozart concerto issued from a pair of speakers set in two of the room’s corners. Whether Mozart or Vivaldi or any of her other favorite composers, she worked best with the soft sound of background music wafting downstairs.

“Good, there’s something to sit on.” He patted the upper edge of the forest green linen-covered arm chair. It matched the two-seated sofa. “I’ll bring this into the bedroom.”

He didn’t wait for permission, just hefted the chair and carried it off. It took less than no effort for him to haul the chair away. His jacket probably covered Hulk Hogan-sized muscles. The thought made Allie feel a little less vulnerable, considering an extremely dangerous man might be only days or hours from her doorstep. She shivered at the idea of him being
wily
enough to elude a three-state dragnet.

Sutter’s last stop was the kitchen situated at the rear. Maple table, four matching chairs and appliances occupied most of the space. The scent of the expensive mint-flavored tea Allie had splurged on still hung in the air, along with a whiff of the cinnamon and raison toast she’d consumed earlier. He gave the room a quick onceover.

“You buy this place yourself?”

Answering questions related to the situation that put him inside her house was one consideration. Providing personal information quite another. However, instead of voicing her objection, which would only add to an already negative vibe, she muttered, “No, I inherited the property.”

The year Allie graduated from design school her grandmother had passed away. She’d left Allie the house. Allie’s parents had divorced when she was eight, after which she and her mother had moved in with Gram. Unused to structure, Allie had soon adapted to the stability the move provided, especially after the haphazard existence of those early years with her parents in Berkeley.

Her grandmother, an expert seamstress, had sold women’s clothing at the old Emporium Department Store downtown. She’d given Allie her first sewing lesson. Hooked at an early age, Allie had set her heart on a career in fashion. With so many pleasant reminders in the house, her thoughts of Gram were frequent and always bittersweet. It was one reason she’d never sold the house and relocated to a live/work loft. Although she missed her grandmother, she thanked God Gram wasn’t around to be drawn into this crisis.

Sutter’s eyes widened. “Inherited. Nice.” He moved to the windows and gazed down into the garden. “No one’s climbing up here without a grappling hook or a beanstalk.”

A spontaneous laugh built in Allie’s throat. She swallowed it before it escaped. Her every instinct told her not to let her guard down with him.

Sutter returned to the hallway.

“How much time do you spend upstairs?”

“Enough. Why?”

“This is where I’ll occupy most of my time. We can keep each other company. Could be a long wait.” He stared straight into her eyes. He must have guessed his being so close made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was his way of punishing her for outing him on his stakeout duty. Or maybe he was always this confrontational. She pitied his wife or significant other. Whomever.

“Okay, let’s talk about Barnett.”

The name hit Allie like a stinging slap in the face.

Sutter leaned back against the hall railing. “It’s important to find out his location and if he’s still with Rix. Not that it’s a problem if they both show up. Although, if he’s alone, he’ll be easier to deal with. When you talk to Rix again, ask if he still needs money. Tell him you just found fifty bucks in the cookie jar or you won a lottery. Tell him anything you think will draw him and Barnett to a Western Union office. Then—once we have the location—slam, bang, bam—the cops will swarm over them when they go to collect. You sure you’re up to that?”

No.

“I think I can manage.”

Because she was angry at herself for causing her own dilemma, and more so at Detective Sutter for adding to it, she injected her tone with the kind of edge she considered borderline snarky. The kind of tone she used on weaselly men, whose eyes never strayed from her chest while they tried to hit on her at the supermarket.

Unlike those men, Sutter’s eyes drilled straight into hers. “You always so salty?”

“What do you mean?”

He came off the rail and took a step forward. She moved away and felt the wall at her back.

“You ever come on to a man, so he senses a real connection?”

“
That’s
none of your business.” She sidestepped around him. “Why should it matter to you?”

“Me, personally, it doesn’t. But your job is to keep Barnett interested enough to continue calling. You need to show him a nice friendly attitude, at the very least. If he’s sure you’re in the mood for company, he’ll show up. All you need to do is continue to encourage him.”

“I never encouraged those calls. What was I going to say, ‘Excuse me, but I’d prefer if you never phoned this number again?’ I’m usually never rude, and I had no reason to believe he was a…a…”

“Why can’t you say it? The man’s a serial killer. He murders women.” Sutter kept his voice low but infused it with enough intensity to underscore the danger Dave posed. “We’re waiting for a description of his victims. In the meantime, I’ll bet he likes them tall, shapely and with long dark hair. Don’t think for a minute he hasn’t picked your pal Jimmy’s brain and gotten all the particulars on you. He has little to lose heading down here. He knows from Jimmy the area is quiet, with nothing between you and the Pacific Ocean except a few lanes of traffic and a huge beach. As hideouts go, he couldn’t ask for too much more. In addition, you’re…”

“Okay, I get the picture.” Allie laced her fingers together and squeezed hard. What if he slipped through an entire West Coast dragnet and actually made it to her front door? She closed her eyes tight then opened them and asked herself the age-old question:
What the hell had she ever done to deserve this?

“You’ll spot him right away?”

“You find out when he hits town, and Thompson or I will be in position.” Sutter nodded toward the bedroom.

Allie followed his gaze, and her shoulders slumped. Was she expected to sleep with a detective on duty in there? She broached the subject.

“Hmm.” He glanced into the living room. “Any chance the sofa opens up into a bed?”

“Yes, but it’s not very comfortable.”

“Maybe you can
French
it up a bit. Whatever. You’ll work it out. You’re gonna have to can the music, too. Not only because it isn’t my taste—I’m a jazz man myself—but because I need to stay attuned to outside sounds, like your bell ringing or a knock on the door. I need to hear the telephone, too.” He touched a finger to his ear. “Consider that extra insurance.”

She added the music ban to her long list of compromises and shut off the stereo without complaint. Better to temper her irritation. Sutter owned all the authority and she none. To him, she represented a little piss ant he wouldn’t think twice about squashing.