The Seven-Day Target (9 page)

“I didn’t tell you this, but it seems the first murder victim wasn’t selected at random.” He stared at the ground, but out of the corner of his eye he observed her turning to face him. “Until about a year ago, she’d been a court reporter who worked closely with your dad. We can’t assume it’s coincidental that someone killed your father’s court reporter and is now threatening you.”

Her back hunched under the weight of this development. “Someone is upset about something my dad did? You mean, he’s acting out of revenge?”

“It may be, yes.”

Her lower lip trembled slightly. “But why now? Dad...he can’t see any of this.”

“We don’t know yet. We’re going to try to figure that out.”

She rested her head on the palms of her hands. “Nick, I don’t know what anyone could be so angry with my father about. I guess it could be anything. He was a judge and a politician, and he was...you know. He was rough sometimes. Harsh.” She paused, and when she spoke again her tone was lined with quiet fury. “How did he find us?”

“There could be a leak in the department. We’re going to leave and we’re not telling anyone where we’re going. Got it? Not Cassie, not even Dom.”

She nodded tightly. “Okay.”

He leaned closer, bringing his mouth against her ear so he could whisper. “No one is going to hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Her skin was warm and sweet smelling. Soft. His hand was on her bare arm, his thumb caressing her in lazy arcs. He wanted to pull her into his lap, kiss her soundly and then pick her up and carry her far away from here. He wanted to do anything to stop her from shaking.

His back stiffened. This was not where he was supposed to be. Touching her, wanting her, was not the same as protecting her. She’d been clear about her feelings. He should respect that. He removed his hand from her arm.

To his surprise she swung her legs closer to his and brought her head down to rest on his shoulder. “Nick, I’m so scared,” she whispered.

He reflexively pulled her against him, wrapping his other arm tightly around her. Their past hurt melted away for that moment. They were just Nick and Libby, clinging to each other against a cold reality.

Chapter 6

T
hey left before the crime scene was cleared. Nick checked his car for a tracking device, searching the undercarriage and opening the trunk, patting down the tires and running his fingers along the edge of the vehicle body. Once he was finished, he thoroughly searched the interior of the vehicle. When he was convinced the car wasn’t being tracked, he drove through Arbor Falls, taking a series of roads and then turning around, watching for following cars.

He drove them to Cassie’s hotel two towns away so Libby could check on her sister and nephew and verify for herself that they were fine. She also told Cassie that the threats against her had something to do with their father and that Cassie could be a target, too. Libby reminded her to be careful. Once she was finished, Nick swapped his car for a rental and drove to the town of Great Springs. They checked into the Ascher House—a sprawling farm estate that had been converted to an upscale inn.

“I’ve always wanted to stay here.” Libby hauled her suitcase up the front steps after refusing Nick’s assistance. She wasn’t completely helpless. “There’s horseback riding and walking trails through a wildlife preserve.”

“We’re not doing any of that,” Nick reminded her. “We’re staying inside, and you’re going to do something quiet and boring. You know, reading or knitting.”

She shot him a look. “I was just making conversation.”

The ride over had been silent. They’d both been watching the road: he to check for following cars, and she to lose herself in the certainty of the white line undulating on its edge. Of course, she wasn’t about to go out for a hike. She was well aware that they were hiding out. But she hadn’t realized that she was now barred from talking about anything other than the threat looming over their heads.

They’d left the crime scene after someone from the medical examiner’s office had conducted a preliminary review of the body. The killer had opened the passenger door to Officer McAdams’s vehicle and shot him at close range. The time of death was estimated to be around midnight. He’d used a silencer. Just thinking about a murder occurring near her while she slept made Libby’s body go to ice. She was glad to put so many miles between her and Arbor Falls.

This crime had effected a change in Nick, too. His demeanor had grown dark, and he’d spent the long miles on the highway clenching and unclenching his jaw and mumbling to himself.

Now he kept close to her side. For her part Libby wasn’t thinking about the past anymore, or wondering what the future would bring. The past didn’t matter and the future was uncertain. They had now, and survival meant putting their differences aside.

He paid for the corner suite—in cash, using a pseudonym—and she bit back a joke about trying to impress her. Of course he wasn’t trying to impress her. He was thinking that they’d be spending a lot of time in the room and that they’d each need privacy and to maintain a respectable distance. It made perfect sense to get the suite, and this wasn’t the time for nervous quips.

She unlocked the door to the suite and gasped. The room was painted a soothing shade of sage-green, and light filtered through sheer curtains covering a massive bay window. The suite was divided into a generous sitting area with a couch that, according to the desk clerk, folded out into a bed, and a bedroom with a mahogany four-poster king-size bed. The two rooms were separated by a heavy wooden door. “It’s so lovely.” She sighed.

“Your home away from home.” He took her suitcase and carried it into the bedroom. “I’m calling the couch.”

So he planned to sleep on the couch. She watched him with her bags and wondered why his statement made her feel so rejected. Time to come back down to earth. Nick was acting protective because he cared about her the way he cared for an old friend, but it wasn’t as if they were getting back together. She almost laughed aloud. Certainly not, and that was fine. They’d agreed to start over as friends, and if it crossed her mind to behave inappropriately it was only because she was in a vulnerable state and craving a little comfort. It’s not as if she
needed
to curl up against his warm body that night.

He reentered the room without his jacket, wearing a fitted black T-shirt and denim jeans. Libby had very particular ideas about the way jeans should fit a man, and Nick’s fit him perfectly—pulling tightly against his muscular thighs where they should be tight but falling loosely where they should be loose. She stared at him as he crossed the room stealthily, unpacking some of his belongings as if she wasn’t even there. Warm body—what was she thinking? Nick’s body was
hot,
and being alone, locked in the same room with him, could lead to nothing but trouble.

But there would be no trouble because she was
not
going there. They’d gone down that road and it hadn’t worked out, and she had no desire to expose herself to that kind of heartache again. She could admit that she missed Nick and the way he seemed to anticipate her needs. Like this morning on the drive to Great Springs, when he’d stopped at the hotel so Libby could run in to check on Cassie and Sam. She hadn’t asked him to do that, hadn’t even asked about Cassie, but seeing her sister and holding her nephew had made her feel grounded again. He’d taken her out of her nightmare, if only for a few minutes.

Her skin felt flushed as she remembered that he’d been that way as a lover, too. Patient and considerate. Except sometimes he hadn’t been, either. Sometimes he’d come to her racked with need and touched her like a man possessed, locking her hips against his own. Those times he’d taken her impatiently and with a selfish desperation, and those were the times that made her toes curl.

He looked up and caught her watching him. He didn’t smile and he didn’t look away, and when their gazes locked she understood that he felt it, too. That they were both scared out of their minds and seeking comfort, and maybe a little more. Libby swallowed and turned, her face thoroughly hot and her body aching for his touch.

She still lusted after him, but then again, when had she not lusted after Nick Foster? There were other considerations and lots of reasons not to act on base urges. They lived five hours apart and often worked weekends. He’d told her that he found her difficult to love. And he wanted children and to be a father. He wanted that more than anything. And she couldn’t help him there.

They would only end up hurting each other.

Libby headed into the bedroom without another word, closing the door behind her. She had a brain. She should use it.

She checked her cell phone. David had called with his number in Zurich. Thinking of him made her stomach twist, though whether the twisting was from guilt or the excitement of a new relationship, she couldn’t be sure. David had been an acquaintance for as long as she could remember. His father, former Mayor Jeb Sinclair, had supported her father when he’d run for judge. She’d chanced to meet David shortly after her father had been diagnosed, and they’d gone on a few dates since. David loved to sit in the darkened corners of cozy restaurants, order a bottle of red wine and talk for hours. He’d listened patiently as she’d talked about her father’s diagnosis and the turmoil it caused her. He’d never interjected his own experience or given her advice. David was a good listener.

She dialed the number and waited until he answered. “David? It’s Libby. I’m just calling to say hello.”

“Hello, Libby.” He sounded genuinely pleased she’d called. “It’s nice to hear a familiar voice. And are you on your new phone? It sounds great.”

David had accompanied Libby to pick out a new cell phone on their second date. He was a gadget man who’d clearly pitied her when she’d informed him that her Stone Age phone couldn’t even send text messages. As an attorney whose work brought him around the world negotiating the purchase and sale of commercial jet engines, he lived and breathed technology. He was a sensible gadget shopping companion. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Are you selling a lot of airplane parts?”

He laughed. “Enough. It’s been a good trip, actually.” He paused. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

She should have felt some pleasure from that confession, but all she felt was her stomach working itself into a knot. “It’s nice to hear yours, too, David. Hey, listen—I’m not at home right now. I won’t be for a few days, so if you need to reach me, just call my cell instead.”

“Is everything okay?” His voice was heavy with concern.

“Yes, fine. It’s just... I’m going to be working a lot and maybe I’ll stay with Cassie for a couple of nights to help her. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, good.” He laughed lightly. “You had me nervous for a minute.”

They spoke for a little longer before he excused himself, saying he was meeting some clients for dinner. He would be back on Friday, and it was already Tuesday. “Maybe we can grab dinner on Saturday,” he said.

Libby felt her muscles tense the way they did when she felt pressured into something uncomfortable. David was a nice guy. Talking to him should have reinforced all of the things that were wrong about Nick, reminded her that she had options. David was the not-Nick, composed of all of the finer qualities that Nick lacked. Worldliness, sophistication and a fluency in matters of the intellect. He spoke three languages and loved French literature. He enjoyed cooking gourmet meals in his free time. David was gentle where Nick was abrasive, cool where Nick was hot. Calling him should have reminded her of the many reasons they were perfect for each other.

And there were
so
many reasons they were perfect together. Their dads had been friends, so they came from similar backgrounds. That was one. And they were both lawyers, which meant they could drop Latin phrases at the dinner table or discuss the finer points of contract clauses. That was two. And David was so calm all the time. Unflappable. Libby, on the other hand, tended to get excited about things, and she needed help reining that tendency in. Sure, she was cool on the outside, but inside she often felt like a swirled mess of emotions. She was sensitive, much as she tried not to be. David could help her to pack away that sensitivity, to truly be stoic the way her father was. That was reason number three. Really, they were perfect for each other.

Being with David made Libby see how right her father had been about Nick. They were mismatched. Nick didn’t want to talk about court procedure. Oh, he’d tolerate it to a point, but he found it boring when she discussed legal strategy and the nuances of judicial precedent. And culture? He bought her tickets to the symphony once and fell asleep during the performance. Nick didn’t help her thin skin, either. He talked to her like he was encouraging her to be softer, almost as if he didn’t care how important it was for her to be tough. Nick made her feel extreme things—exuberance and rage and lust. Far from helping her to cultivate a more stable mind set, he stirred up that stew of emotions. David was what she needed. Someone unexciting. Soothing.

Dull as dirt.

“I think I may have plans on Saturday night,” Libby lied. “Why don’t you call me when you get home?”

They ended the call and she lay back on the bed. On paper David was her perfect match. He freely admitted that he was more interested in traveling the world than in having children. With their connections they could be at the top of the Arbor Falls social ladder, hosting dinner parties and political fund-raisers and shaping the future to their liking. David could help Libby to become a judge one day, just like her father. There was something to be said for quiet and predictability. David was her future, not Nick.

And for some reason, that depressed the hell out of her.

* * *

Seven tons hatred.
Nick wrote it out on a piece of stationery. Whoever was leaving those signs had been clear about communicating his intentions. This had to be some kind of riddle or guessing game. He tapped his pen against the paper. It
had
to mean something.

Seven tons, and seven days. He tried to spot patterns in the message. He stood from the table and stretched his legs. Libby had shut herself in the bedroom so he couldn’t bounce ideas off her. He reached for his phone and called Dom. “What do you think that means, seven tons hatred? Is that some kind of a clue?”

Dom released a sigh. “Man, Nick. I haven’t even thought about it. I was at the crime scene for a while, then I had to talk to the widow.” He sounded weary.

His widow. The words dropped to the pit of Nick’s stomach. “I’m sorry, Dom.”

“He was a good cop, McAdams.” His voice was thick. “I’ve got a bunch of officers here foaming at the mouth. You take down one of our own...”

He didn’t have to finish. Nick knew. Whoever was after Libby now had an entire police department gunning for him. “A lot of overtime tonight?”

“And tomorrow, and the day after that. Until we get this son of a bitch.” His voice was a deep angry growl. “I don’t know about the third sign or what this sick bastard is talking about. No prints on the photograph left in Libby’s file, no trace evidence left on the victims. We even checked the surveillance video at the D.A.’s Office. This guy is careful. It’s been nothing but dead ends.”

“There has to be something. We just have to find it.” He rubbed at his eyes, not wanting to think about what little time they had but thinking about it, anyway.

“We’re all working on it. You just keep Libby safe, all right?”

They ended the call and Nick sat back in his seat, tapping his pen against the paper. He’d never been good at riddles and word games. He stood and paced the suite, and each pass of the room made him wonder if the walls were closing in. He opened the windows to admit a gust of cool spring air and paced again, this time stopping at the bookcase where the inn had stacked a few complimentary games, including Scrabble. He collected the letters to form seven tons hatred in his fist. “Hey, Libby?” He rapped at the door. “Are you sleeping?”

He heard her groan impatiently and stomp to the door. “Can’t I be alone for ten—”

“You’re good at word games,” Nick said when she opened the door. “Puzzles.” He walked past her and scattered the wooden letters on the bed. “Seven tons hatred has to mean something. Let’s figure it out.”