Wait Until Dark (39 page)

1O

VALERIE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY
and watched the lights from Sky's pickup fade as he drove down the hill through the pitch dark of midnight. With no light but the stars overhead, she leaned back against the door and sighed. In spite of all that had happened to her, the break-in, the assault, the surgery, the uncertain status of her career - in spite of it all, she felt more light-hearted than she had in ... well, she was hard-pressed to remember when she had ever felt that good. She felt younger, more contented, than she had in years.

She and Sky, after all these years, had finally landed on the same bit of ground at the same time, wanting the same thing. It was nothing short of miraculous. She raised the fingers of one hand to the side of her face, and touched the ragged scar. Blessing or curse, she wondered.

Grinning because she just felt so damned good, she took a deep breath of mountain air and closed the door behind her. After an afternoon of lazing in the sun, they'd joined the Hollisters for dinner on the wide deck, where tables had been set up to seat one and all – fourteen of them that night. The food had been wonderful, and the affection so freely offered had wrapped around her like a hug. But it was the light in Sky's eyes that had let her know for certain that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Funny, she thought as she turned out the porch light and slid over the latch on the front door, how she'd been all around the world but had never found what had been waiting for her right here. Dorothy had said it best, Val mused as she turned to snap off the lamp on the table behind the sofa. There is no place like home.

A spot of something white across the room caught her eye, and curious, she went to the small dining table to see what it was. She'd reached her hand out to pick it up when she realized just what it was that rested there in the middle of the table. A chill ran up her spine as she stepped back as if to distance herself from the small porcelain Limoges wedding cake. The same small porcelain wedding cake that had been stolen from her apartment.

Beneath her feet, something crunched. She did not need to look to know it was rice.

Val ran for the door and unlatched it, leaning over the porch railing and watching as the lights from Sky's truck disappeared around that last bend. Her heart pounding, she ran back into the cabin and relocked the door.

He knew where she was and he had found her.

He had been here, in her cabin.

He had invaded her sanctuary. Taunted her with the undeniable truth that she wasn't really safe anywhere.

Not even here.

She pulled down the window shades with shaking hands as if to block out the dark and whatever might lay hidden by it. Then, forcing herself to gather her wits, she realized that help was only a phone call away.

"Sky," she whispered aloud. "I'll call the ranch and he'll answer the phone. He should be just getting in ..."

Val hurried into the kitchen for the phone that she'd earlier left on the counter near the small vase of wild-flowers she'd picked on her way back from the picnic at the lake. The blue glass vase sat alone on the counter.

With frantic eyes, she scanned the kitchen, but the phone was nowhere to be seen.

The bedroom, then. I must have taken it in there while I was getting dressed for dinner....

But it was not on the bed, nor the dresser, nor the little nightstand. Not in the bathroom, nor the living room. The phone was nowhere to be found. It took a few long moments for her to realize that he'd probably taken it with him.

If in fact he had left at all.

For the first time, it occurred to her that he could still be inside.

Barely breathing, Val's eyes scanned every corner of the front room. Grabbing the black wrought iron poker from the fireplace, she pulled open the closet door.

No one.

On the quietest of feet, she tiptoed back down the hall, sweat beading on her lip as she eased into the bathroom and pushed aside the shower curtain.

No one.

Taking a deep breath, she went back into the bedroom and checked that closet, under the bed, then repeated the drill in the second bedroom.

No one.

Grateful to find that he was no longer in the cabin, Val stood in the hall, debating her next move. She was isolated, with no phone and no means of getting down to the High Meadow, except to walk. And only a fool would go out into the black of night and stumble down the hill not knowing who is out there, maybe waiting for her to do exactly that.

The nagging knowledge that he'd been here, that he'd gotten so close, terrified her, and she crept back into the bedroom and closed the shades there was well. Then, wrapping a blanket around her shivering body, she curled up against the headboard, and waited in the dark for morning.

An insistent blue jay jawed outside Val's window and the sound of its chatter broke through the sleep that had been so long in coming. Her eyes flew open and darted furtively about the room. Convinced that she was in fact alone, she cautiously left the bed and crept into the front rooms. All was as she'd left it the night before, and for a long moment, she wondered if perhaps she had dreamed that she'd found the little wedding cake on her dining table. But no, there it was, right where she'd dropped it the night before. She stared at it across the room, but couldn't bring herself to touch it. She left it there, on the floor, and went back into the bedroom to find her shoes. She'd trek on down to the High Meadow. It was early, but someone would be awake. Grabbing her sunglasses from the edge of the dresser, she left the bedroom at the back of the cabin and walked straight to the front door. When she opened it, she was face to face with a visitor.

"Hello, Valerie," he said softly.

"Detective Rafferty?" Her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes widening somewhat in surprise.

"Daniel" he told her pointedly. "It's Daniel?'

Taken off guard by his casual manner, she took a half-step backward.

He. smiled charmingly, then lifted the two suitcases that sat at his feet. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Val's brows knit together in a frown.

What exactly was wrong with this picture?

"Ah ..." She hesitated long enough for him to step around her. Her gut reaction - to slip behind him and run out the door - was thwarted when, with one foot, he slammed the door.

The sound jarred her senses like a shot.

"You act as if you're surprised to see me." Rafferty dropped one suitcase on the floor and opened the second, a garment bag, and draped it across the sofa. From where she stood, Val could see that something long and white rested inside.

"Well, yes. Yes, I am." She nodded, the confusion that was building inside her now touched with the first trace of fear.

"Detective..." she began.

"Daniel," he corrected her.

"Daniel. What are you doing here?"

"Why, I've come to claim my bride," he told her calmly.

"Your bride?" Val repeated flatly.

"Oh, come on, now, Val," he said indulgently. "You don't have to pretend that you don't know."

"Don't know?" Her voice caught in her throat. Dare she ask?

"That we were meant for each other, of course. Meant to be together. I knew it the first time I saw you jogging in the park."

"You watched me jog?"

"Every day. At least, every day that you weren't off someplace working. You've been working way too much, Valerie." He shook his head. "But after today, all that will change."

"It will?" She took another small step backward.

"After today, we'll always be together." He flashed a brilliant smile, "Always and forever. For better or for worse. Through all eternity."

Val stared blankly at the stranger before her.

"Oh, I have something for you. Something special for you."

The detective turned his back and Val stood there, dumbly, watching him, trying to make sense out of his presence and everything he'd just said.

"The florist assured me that you'd love these. Well, I told him that you'd rather have fresh flowers, but there was a logistics problem there."

He flipped the suitcase onto a chair with the same ease with which he'd toss a magazine. He opened it and drew out a box which he handed to her.

"Go ahead, open it." He smiled benignly, and added, "Sweetheart."

Cringing at the endearment and struggling to control the shaking of her hands, she took the box and placed it on the table, walking around to the far side to put some distance between them.

"Open it," he said again, the smile intact, but the voice hinting at firm command.

Val unwrapped the box, and parted the tissue. Beneath the several layers of thin paper lay a silk bouquet of white flowers.

"Oh," she exclaimed.

"Do you like them?" His eyes narrowed as he watched her face.

"Oh. Yes. They're . . . they're beautiful," she stammered.

"Good. I wanted you to like them." He nodded. "The florist said that lots of brides were using the silks instead of the fresh flowers, so I thought it would be okay. And besides, he said you'd like it that the flowers would last forever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

A weight seemed to land in Valerie's chest. Was he kidding? He had to be kidding.

But one look at his face ... the calm and happy smile, the eyes slightly glazed over ... told Val that her worst fears were right on the money.

"It's a beautiful day for a wedding, don't you think?" He turned to point to the window, then realized that the shades were all drawn. He walked to the nearest window and pulled up the shade to let the early morning sun drift in.

"See?" he said, then added merrily, "Happy the bride the sun shines on today."

Valerie stared at him, her heart beginning to pound wildly.

"Now, make your sweetie a cup of coffee, then go put on your dress." He stood before her, his hands on his hips, a man who obviously was accustomed to having his orders obeyed. The small handgun strapped to his side and visible when his jacket flapped aside probably went a long way to assure that. She knew it was having an effect on her.

Val nodded and went into the kitchen.

"I'll be right back," she told him.

"I'm coming with you." He followed her into the small kitchen, stopping at the back door and checking to make sure it was locked.

"Don't want you having any last minute jitters." He smiled. "Everyone says brides are skittish on their wedding day."

Val poured water into the top of the coffeemaker, wishing he'd stop saying that. Her wedding day? Over her dead body.

She winced inwardly, realizing that that could be a possibility. The man was obviously mad, delusional. Enough to believe she wanted to marry him. That she would marry him. What would he do if she told him, flat out, that she had no intentions of playing into his fantasy? Might he not kill her, right then and there?

The coffee began to drop into the glass pot as she turned to get a mug from the cupboard.

"You were the person who attacked me," she said as casually as she could force the words out.

"I know, sweetheart. And I'm sorry that that was necessary." He shook his head slowly. "And truthfully, this isn't the way I intended things to happen."

"What did you think was going to happen?" She tried to sound calm, rational. Talk to him. Find out what he's thinking.

"Well, I thought that we'd work together to find your stalker, and over time, I knew you'd come to see that we were meant for each other. That you'd fall in love with me just as I'd fallen in love with you. I didn't expect you to leave California, Valerie. You weren't supposed to leave."

"Why did you cut my face?"

"Well, sweetheart, I just couldn't have you traveling all over the place without me, having all those other men staring at you, could I? I just had to put an end to that. You were meant to belong to me. Only to me. And now you will. After today, we'll always be together. That's what God intended." He frowned. "I think you'll see that this is really the best for both of us."

The coffee had completed its short run into the pot, and she poured it into the mug.

"You know how I take my coffee?" he asked.

"Black?" She tossed off the response without thinking.

"Right." He beamed. "See how you just
knew?"

Valerie cleared her throat, wondering how she could distract him so that she could ... could what? Hit him over the head with something? Not a smart move when he is armed and I am not, she reminded herself.

"Great coffee," he told her. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"Sure." She poured herself a cup then snapped off the dial on the coffeemaker.

What does one do when trapped in a remote cabin with a mad man who believes you are destined to be his own true love? Do you fight? Flee?

What if he shows no sign of letting you out of his sight, is much bigger and stronger than you are, and has a gun? Then what do you do? Do you play along with him, hoping for a chance to escape, to outsmart him?