Twisted (21 page)

“Maybe. But it’s not our
only
shot. Plus, we’re not even sure if this is the case your stalker is involved in.”

“The odds are good. The case might be old, but my involvement is new. An ex–
FBI
agent, a childhood friend of the victim, a personal agenda to get the guilty party—I raise quite a red flag. More like a banner.”

“Fine.” Derek was visibly pissed. “All the more reason for you to be careful. Who knows what this guy’s planning for you—and when? I repeat what I said earlier—we’re not using you as bait.”

“I can take care of myself, Derek.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He folded his arms across his chest in that military stance he reserved for times like this. “But circumstances are different now. You can’t carry a gun.”

“I don’t need a gun to annihilate someone. You’ve seen me in action.”

“Yeah, I have. You’re lethal. But Krav Maga only goes so far. It can’t stop a bullet that’s fired from a distance.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“How?”

“I’ll use my bow and arrow.” Sloane knew that particular tone of Derek’s only too well. And she wasn’t buying. “Don’t you dare snap into macho protective mode. I won’t put up with it. I have three dachshunds. If I wanted a Doberman, I’d buy one.”

“What you’ve got is a bodyguard—gratis. Which is lucky for you. Because you couldn’t afford my services if I charged you. Army Ranger, remember?”

“I remember.” Sloane bristled. “I also remember you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a package deal. Cope with it.”

“Not a chance. Look, Derek. We slept together last night. We’ll probably sleep together again. But that’s where it ends. Sex isn’t a relationship. You’re not back in my life, and I won’t tolerate your inserting yourself in it. So cut the knight-in-shining-armor routine. I didn’t need it then, and I neither want nor need it now.” She snatched up her purse and marched across the hotel room, where she began rummaging through the front closet. “Lend me a jacket. We’re picking up my car and meeting Tom. This subject is closed.”

DATE:
3 April

TIME:
2100 hours

How fitting that my most coveted prize is turning out to be my most worthy opponent.

Artemis. My twin.

Smart and resourceful as she is beautiful, she didn’t miss a beat when she discovered the flat tire I’d arranged to keep her near me—something I never would have done if I’d known the skies were about to open up, and that no one on campus would offer her help. She’d injured herself. That was my fault. I’ll have to make it up to her.

She’s also every bit the cunning huntress. If circumstances were different, she might even dig up enough suspicious information, connect enough dots, to point the investigation in my direction.

But circumstances aren’t different.

And there won’t be enough time.

Hunterdon County, New Jersey

10:30 P.M.

Sloane was fighting a losing battle.

For the past half hour, she’d been battling out a full-scale tug-of-war. She was tired, breathless, and losing big-time. The only thing that was in worse shape than she, was the item being tugged—which, in this case, was her sweat sock. Moe had already chewed three holes in it, Larry had stretched it beyond recognition, and Curly was yanking on it so hard, he was making little grunting sounds with each rhythmic pull.

“I give up.” Sloane let go of the sock and rolled over onto her back on the living-room rug, laughing as the three victorious hounds abandoned the sock to leap on her, licking her face and nibbling on her hair. “You’re way too strong for me. Although, for the record, three against one isn’t a fair fight.”

She sat up, frowning at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten-thirty at night, and still the messenger hadn’t arrived with the DVDs. She’d checked outside at least five times to see if the messenger had done a dump-and-run. Nothing. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t reach Derek to find out what was going on. She’d been trying him since ten o’clock this morning, and his cell phone was going straight to voice mail.

She was torn between being royally pissed and a little worried. Derek was on-the-dot punctual. He would have been at Stockton, in the campus police’s faces, at nine o’clock sharp. If they’d been running late, he’d have planted himself in their office like a drill sergeant. And if they’d been
this
late, he would have called to alert her.

Unless he was knee-deep in balancing the demands of the Bureau with the need to apply pressure on the college administrators to get what he wanted.

Any way you sliced it, Sloane wasn’t happy.

Moe barked in her face to protest the lack of attention she was receiving, and Sloane responded by scratching her ears and giving each pup a kiss on the snout. “Thanks for being the only dependable ones in my life,” she told them.

At that moment the doorbell rang.

“And thanks for being my good-luck charms,” she added, scrambling to her feet.

All three hounds were oblivious to the compliment. They were off on a single-minded mission—to find out who the visitor was.

They were delighted with who they found.

Sloane was not.

“Burt.” Her brows rose in surprise when she saw her next-door neighbor’s son standing on her doorstep, a covered casserole dish in his hands.

It was hard to miss the obvious disappointment in Sloane’s tone, and Burt gave her an inquisitive look. “Bad time? I realize it’s late, but you’re usually a night owl. I’m sorry. I should have called first.”

“Don’t be silly.” Sloane felt terrible. Burt had been a lifesaver these past weeks, taking care of the hounds, checking on the house for her. And here she was being rude to him for a reason that had nothing to do with him.

“Please, come in,” she said, opening the door and trying to keep the hounds from leaping all over him in greeting. “I’m the one who should apologize. I was waiting for an important package that’s being messengered over. It relates to a case I’m consulting on—an urgent one. I thought you were the messenger.” She smiled. “But a friendly face is welcome, too. And not just by me.” Sloane gestured toward the hounds, who were battling one another for center stage with Burt. “You have quite a fan base in this house.”

“That’s good to know.” Burt squatted down to greet each dachshund individually. Simultaneously, he reached out and handed Sloane the casserole dish he was holding. “My mother made this. A tuna casserole. She was afraid you weren’t eating.”

“No worries there. I polished off a quart of beef with scallions a little while ago. But Elsa is a sweetheart.” Sloane took the casserole dish. “
This
will be tomorrow night’s dinner.” She beckoned Burt inside and shut the door behind him. “I’ll pop this in the fridge. Can I get you something—soda, beer, wine?”

“Are you having something?”

“Root beer.” She gave him a rueful look. “But don’t go by me. I’m on painkillers, so alcohol is off-limits.”

“Actually, root beer would be great, thanks. I want to stay alert. I might have some more driving to do tonight.”

Sloane heard a strained note in Burt’s voice, and she studied him as he rose from tussling with the hounds. Something was bothering him. It was written all over his face. She was on the verge of asking, then checked herself. First, it was none of her business. And last, she didn’t want to mislead Burt into thinking there was anything more than friendship between them. She hadn’t forgotten the vibes he’d exuded when she’d had dinner at Elsa’s.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” she said instead. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She went into the kitchen, slid the casserole into the fridge, and grabbed two bottles of root beer. When she returned, Burt was perched at the edge of a barrel chair in the cozy den just opposite the front door. He was stroking Curly’s head absently, but his mind was a million miles away.

“Here you go.” Sloane offered him the bottle, then sat down on her favorite old sofa, settling onto the thick cushion and facing her guest. “You and Elsa have been amazing,” she began. “I don’t know what the hounds and I would do without you.”

“That’s what neighbors are for. I’m glad we could help.” Burt raised his head. “How’s your hand doing? It’s still bandaged. Is the wound raw?”

“A little. Although it’s much better than it was yesterday. I think my occupational therapist will remove the bandages tomorrow. She’s just playing it safe. I did a pretty good number on the area surrounding the scar tissue. Between that, and the nerves and tendons I aggravated—my therapist was pretty pissed. And my surgeon’s going to kill me when I meet with him in two weeks. He’s like an artiste; he doesn’t like his work tampered with.”

“I can relate to that. Art of any kind, including that of a surgeon, is a gift. It should be recognized and respected. I’m probably more fervent about that because I own a bookstore. Talent like that awes me.” Burt took a swallow of soda, then rolled the bottle pensively between his palms. “Beauty itself awes me. It’s rare. Innocence is rarer still. And decency, respect…” He gave a bewildered shake of his head. “Those are practically nonexistent. So when I see them devalued, it maddens me.”

Sloane was getting that uncomfortable feeling again. “Life has its ups and downs,” she said simply. “But there’s still plenty of goodness and beauty in the world. Sometimes they’re just hard to see.”

Burt’s head came up, and he grimaced at the expression on Sloane’s face. “I’m really sorry. I dropped by to cheer you up, and instead I’m a walking poster for depression.” He cleared his throat. “Today was a rough day. I had to meet with my ex-wife. We had some remaining personal items to divvy up. It was difficult, to say the least. Then I dropped by my mother’s, and found her slumped over the kitchen table, white as a sheet.”

Sloane started. “Is Elsa all right?”

“For now.” Burt took another swig of root beer. “Besides her usual cooking and cleaning, she’d spent the rest of the day gardening, trimming bushes, and pruning hedges. She pushed herself way too hard. She was weak, exhausted, depleted, and dehydrated. I called the doctor. He was kind enough to come over, rather than putting my mother through a trip to the emergency room.”

“And?”

“Her blood pressure had dropped way down. She needed potassium, a vitamin-B shot, and a dose of IV fluids.”

“Where is she now?”

“Sleeping. I hired a nurse’s aid to stay with her overnight. But that solution’s just temporary. It’s not feasible for the long term.”

“If the problem is financial, I’d be more than happy to help out,” Sloane offered instantly. “I’ve known your mother since I was a kid. She’s not only a neighbor, she’s a friend.”

“Thank you, but no.” Burt shook his head. “That’s incredibly kind of you. And, believe me, I’m not refusing out of some misplaced sense of pride. If money was the answer, I’d take you up on your generous offer without hesitation. But it’s not. The fact is, my mother’s getting weaker. I can see her deteriorating before my eyes. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

A spark of realization struck Sloane. “That’s why you didn’t want a beer. And what you meant when you said you might need to do some more driving tonight. You’re afraid Elsa will need to be hospitalized.”

“I want to be prepared…just in case. If all is well and she’s stable in the morning, I’ll leave, make arrangements at the bookstore, and pack some things. That way I can move in and take care of her until that’s not enough.”

“When is the nurse’s aid leaving?”

“Tomorrow at one. That’ll give me enough time to take care of everything and get back here. I’m taking Princess Di with me so the nurse’s aid can concentrate on my mother.”

Sloane’s mind was racing. “My appointment with my hand therapist is at ten. I’ll be back here by early afternoon. If you run into any complications—traffic, getting someone to handle the bookstore—anything, give me a call. I’ll stay with Elsa until you get back. If necessary, I’ll bring the hounds and spend the night.”

“You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Yes, and all of it is transportable. I can work just as easily at Elsa’s house as I can here. So, please, don’t hesitate to turn to me for help.”

Before Burt could reply, the telephone rang.

“Excuse me for just a minute,” Sloane requested. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“How’s the hand?”

“Connie.” Sloane was touched by her friend’s concern. But her reaction was tempered, given that her thoughts were still preoccupied with Elsa’s failing health. “My hand is doing much better. I’m following all your instructions. You’ll see that for yourself when you take a look at it tomorrow.” A quick glance at Burt’s troubled expression. “Listen, you’re a sweetheart for calling. But it’s a bad time to talk. I’ve got company. So I’ll see you tomorrow at ten, okay? Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Not so fast,” Connie interrupted. “Who’s your company? It’s Derek, right? I knew it. The other night wasn’t a fluke. And it wasn’t a one-night rekindling either. It was a new beginning. I could see it written all over your face.”

“Like I said, this is a bad time.” Sloane ground her teeth to keep from saying more than she wanted to right now. “We’ll get into this tomorrow. Right now my neighbor’s here. He was kind enough to drop by to see how I feel and to bring me a delicious casserole his mother made. I’m being spoiled by all of you.”

As she spoke, the doorbell rang again.

“Sounds like you’re even more popular than you thought,” Connie commented at the other end of the phone.

“Not really.” Sloane waved away Burt’s gesture of offering to answer the door, and mouthed the words:
That’s okay; I’ll get it
. “That doorbell means that the messenger I’ve been waiting for with the material I need for my case has finally showed up,” she informed Connie. “I’d better run, before he decides no one’s home and I have to wait another day for my package.”

“Okay. But we
will
talk about this tomorrow. And this time I want every juicy detail.”