It was the sound of his voice as well as the exaggerated quality of the last that caused her to pick up the phone.
“Hello!” She knew she was breathless.
“Sam?”
“Yes, yes, of course. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I had just thought that… did you just call here?”
“Did I just call there?” Sam said. “No! Did you just call me?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I just called now, and I’m talking to you, but I didn’t call before. Why? What’s wrong there?”
With him on the phone, she didn’t feel quite so scared. In fact, she felt her warmth coming back, and her anger. His voice could do that for her.
It had been a prank call. A call made just to scare her. Someone angry with her? A random number?
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a silly prank. Why were you so worried about me?”
“I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.” He was quiet for a minute. “Have you ever considered buying a German shepherd or a rottweiler?”
She laughed. “No. I like dogs—I just work a lot.”
“Really ? Lacey made it sound like you were Ma Kettle, always at the good old homestead. Well, except for those wild nights when you’re at strip clubs.”
“How amusing. Well, Lacey is wrong. And she should have never said such a thing. It’s her mother who spends half her life dragging me from place to place,” she said before thinking. Then she winced. It was probably painfully clear that she didn’t lead a very exciting life, not by jet-setting, club-hopping standards, that was for sure.
“I think I should come over.”
“No! I don’t think that would be wise.”
“I’m not worried about being wise.”
“You’re really not far from me at all, you know.”
“Neither was Marnie.”
Neither of them chose to correct the grammatical tense. “You can just think of me as a large rottweiler,” he said.
She hesitated. She wanted to hang up on him. She wanted to say thanks, that he’d been decent, but he was out of her life, she was moving forward, and she never wanted to see him again.
But it wasn’t true.
And if she hung up on him, she’d be awake all night. Awake, and afraid. And then she might find herself calling him back. That would be worse.
She sighed as deeply as she could without being overly dramatic. “All right, fine, but I don’t understand why you’re so worried.” She hesitated. “I mean, you really are worried. Not just…”
“Hungry?” he queried softly.
“Rowan—”
“I am worried.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“All right.”
He was there within five minutes, his keys in his hands. He seemed tense. As soon as he had entered her front door, he turned around and locked it. “Key in the alarm.”
“What is the matter?” she pursued.
He shrugged. “I don’t know… exactly. I just…”
“What?”
“I just had an odd feeling that someone was in my house while I was at yours.”
“What?”
“I think someone was in my house.”
“Was anything stolen? Destroyed—”
“No.”
She hesitated, looking at him. Had this been an excuse to come over? No, he seemed to be wound as tight as piano wire. And…
She had the same uneasy feelings. That someone was watching. That someone was near. That someone… I can see you, the voice had said.
“Besides a gut feeling, is there any other reason at all to believe that someone might have been in your house?” she asked, trying to sound very calm and rational.
“The drumsticks.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My drumsticks. They were moved. I’d set them on the stool; they were on the snare.”
“Maybe you just forgot where you left them.”
“No.”
“Maybe.”
He lifted a hand. “Maybe, but it’s so unlikely. And still, there is that maybe. So you tell me—just what do I say when I call the police? I think there was an intruder in my house. Did he take anything? No. Disturb anything? No. Leave obscene messages? No. He just broke in and moved my drumsticks.”
She stared at him and then turned and started walking toward the back of the house. He was right behind. “I just made tea,” she said.
“I’ll have a bourbon.”
“So will I.”
“You don’t like bourbon.”
“Maybe I’ve acquired a taste.”
“You’ve definitely acquired a taste for wine.”
“Oh, that is cruel! I don’t want any more wine this evening.”
“Sorry—I need a drink. Join me. A gin and tonic? Or has that changed?”
“And you didn’t remember the black coffee, huh?”
“I’m beginning to think I like you best when you’re a wee bit tipsy.”
“Funny.”
He passed her on the way to the kitchen. It was uncanny, the way he seemed to know her cabinets. Of course, he’d been there earlier. Eating pasta. He’d seen where things were stored. He found the liquor cabinet, poured himself a bourbon, and gathered the makings of a gin and tonic for her.
“Are you trying to get me really smashed?”
He stared at her.
She flushed.
“Hardly likely,” he said. “Because maybe tonight I don’t want to be in such a hurry to leave.” He set the drink in front of her, then stood there, challenging her. “Tipsy, so you’re more mellow. You have a tongue that can cut like a knife. Drunk, no. I have my standards for seduction. If you’re really anxious that I leave tonight, why did you let me come over?”
She lifted her drink, paused, slowly grimaced. “I didn’t think you’d take no for an answer.”
“Gee, you’ve gotten easy.”
“You were absolutely insistent!”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you—that’s not the only reason you let me come.”
“Oh?”
“You’re scared,” he accused her.
“Really?”
“Unnerved about something.”
“You’re the one convinced that someone was in your house because your drumsticks were moved!”
“Why did you stop playing the drums?” he asked, his change of subject so abrupt and demanding that she was caught off guard.
“I—I—”
“You were good.”
“Oh! You think I stopped the drums because of you? What an ego! Well, you’re wrong. My father played, I told you that. He played through high school and college, and he and his group still played, except that he loved to teach as well, so he played as a sideline. But he was the one who taught me. I quit because my father died, and believe me, it had nothing to do with you.”
He lowered his head slightly, rolling the ice in his Jack Black on the rocks. Then he looked at her again, eyes intense. “Your father would have wanted you to quit playing the drums?”
“Never mind—it’s none of your business!” she snapped. She slipped off her counter seat, picked up her glass, and took a big swallow of the gin and tonic.
A mistake. She swore silently to herself, but too late.
She was off balance, and to her horror, she wavered. He reached out immediately to steady her.
She would have jerked her wrist free except that she was afraid she might fall. “I’m fine.”
“You’d better be.”
“You made the drink.”
“Stick to one.”
“Hey!”
“You heard me.”
She had, and the way he was watching her was making her very uneasy. Flashes of the night before came to her mind’s eye.
She shook her head. “I’m really tired. I think I need to go to bed.”
He paused, eyeing her. “Do you want me to leave?”
 
; “Were you planning on staying—I mean, through the night? I mean, last night… you couldn’t wait to get out of here.”
“That was last night. Actually, yeah, I was planning on staying tonight.”
“In—in what way?”
He smiled very slowly. “In what way would you like me to stay?”
“Rowan—”
“Sam! What’s up? You’re not at all inebriated, and you’re still as prickly as a porcupine when sober, so…?”
She hesitated. His gaze was so intense. His hand was still on her arm. She looked up at him, and her eyes fell. “All right, I’m afraid.”
Dark lashes closed over his eyes for a moment, and she detected a faint tick at his throat. Then he was looking at her again, speaking levelly. “I knew that you were afraid, but it would be nice if you’d be a bit more specific about exactly why you’re afraid.”
She moistened her lips. “All right, the phone call.”
“What phone call?”
She shrugged. His grip had tightened until it was almost painful. She heard the grating in his voice. Did he know something that she didn’t?
Was there someone he suspected of all this?
She shook her head, a little afraid of his tension. “I kind of told you before. I got a phone call. It was really—I’m certain—just a stupid phone call. Maybe even a bored kid playing, you know? It was someone who whispered. Some jerk.”
His hold on her grew even tighter. “Someone who whispered what?”
“Really… not a lot.”
“Sam, what did he say?”
“That…” She let her voice trail off as she met his eyes. “That he could see me.”
“And you thought it was me?” he inquired incredulously.
“I… no. I—”
“Great.” He released his hold on her.
She pulled her thoughts together, her own temper flaring. “Look, you idiot, obviously I didn’t think it was you—I let you in here, right?”
He walked past her toward the phone. “I’m going to call the cops so you can tell them about the phone call. And you don’t need to worry about me being around here. If you don’t want to. You don’t have to be friendly or polite. You don’t even have to acknowledge me. Just think of me as a large rottweiler.”
Sam gave him Teddy’s number.
“I got an answering machine,” he said after a moment.
“Try his home number,” she said, and give him another set of digits.
A minute later she was talking to Teddy, trying to remember the call she’d had word for word. Oddly enough, all she could really remember well then was the whispering, husky quality of the voice. Thinking about it brought renewed chills.
“He said that he could see you?” Teddy asked for the second time.
“Yes… I’m quite certain that’s what he said. That he could see me.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Yes! He kept telling me to ‘leave it be.’ I think I remember that right.”
“But he never said anything like, what happened to Marnie, or what happened to your neighbor, might happen to you?”
“No.”
“It might just have been a crank.”
“Yes, I know that.”
Apparently Rowan, standing a few feet from her, could hear what Teddy was saying. “And it might not have been a crank!” he said firmly.
There was silence at Teddy’s end. Then, “Tell the rock star I’m aware of that fact.”
Sam inhaled deeply. She didn’t need to tell Rowan anything; he had heard. He took the phone receiver from her. “Aren’t the police supposed to protect and serve?”
Sam wasn’t sure why, but Teddy must have backed down somewhat. She couldn’t hear him, but after a moment she saw Rowan smiling ruefully. “He said to ask you if you have that star-six-nine service from the phone company. You might have traced the call yourself right away.”
“Yes, I do have that option,” she admitted. “I—I didn’t think to use it.”
“It was probably a blocked number anyway,” Rowan said with a shrug. He talked with Teddy again for a few minutes, listening mostly. A look of surprise crossed his features. After a moment he said, “Yeah, sure.”
Then he hung up.
“What?”
“Well, as we all know, there are way more crank calls than any police force could possibly handle. And this guy didn’t actually promise to slit your throat or come seize your person or anything of the sort. Teddy said to wait. If you get another call, he’ll discuss the options.”
“Doesn’t he think this might be related to Marnie’s disappearance?”
“I don’t know. But it’s true that there’s not too much he can do about one phone call that was vaguely threatening.”
“What happened at the end of the call? Why did you look so surprised?”
“Because he asked me to go fishing with him tomorrow.”
“Teddy asked you to go fishing?”
“Yeah. We actually were out together last night, you know. Before he and Laura so quickly left us.” He was smiling, then he sobered. “He said he was sorry for the crack about my being a rock star the other day, that he was grateful for the help I’d given his son, and he’s going out to the Everglades fishing tomorrow and he’d like me to join him.”
“And you’re going?”
“Why not? I love the Everglades. And I‘d like to know Ted Henley better as well.”
“Why?”
“Why? Damn, you are suspicious.”
“You don’t suspect Teddy of anything, do you?”
“Why? Do you?”
She shook her head emphatically.“Of course not! He was married to Laura. He’s Lacey’s father, and Aidan's father. He’s a cop.”
“Right. He’s a cop.”
She knew from his tone of voice that he didn’t automatically exonerate all cops. Maybe she couldn’t blame him.
“Well, good,” she murmured, looking down.“I… I’m really tired. Frankly, yes, I was afraid, uneasy, and I’m glad you’re staying, but—”
“But?”
“I am sober. And we’re talking to each other very nicely, but in truth, I’m still bitter. I’m not ready to sleep with you.”
He grinned. “I didn’t ask.”
“I really should slap you, you wretch! You’ve insinuated—”
“Because I would like to sleep with you.”
She remembered last night. The feeling that she wanted to touch him, be touched, feel warmth…
Excitement.
“But—” she began.
“But you’re going to sleep. Fine. Go to sleep. I’m going to check your windows and doors, all right?”
“Go right ahead. The guest room is at the top of the stairs to your left. There are clean towels and all kinds of extra stuff in the bathroom closet. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
Hands on his hips, he watched her as she walked toward the stairs.
He just watched her go. Strange things were happening, and he was back here, in her house, just watching her go up the stairs.
Strange things were happening, yes, and she wanted him here. For safety, that was all.
Ah, but it was her heart in danger tonight.
The right thing to do, of course, would be to go straight to bed, clad in the ugliest, most ragged flannel pajamas she possessed. And she did have a few ugly, ragged pairs of pajamas—great for when she visited her mom in winter. She should have put them right on and crawled right into bed. She should have.
But she didn’t.
She stripped off her clothing and stepped into a steaming shower. She told herself not to wash her hair or shave her legs. Why bother? She wasn’t planning anything intimate.
He was in her house. He had left last night because she’d had too much to drink.
Not tonight.
She used her favorite perfumed soap, shaved carefully, scrubbed and conditioned her hair. When she stepped out of the shower, she to
weled her hair energetically, considering which lotion she wanted to use on her skin. Just because it could be dry, of course.
But as she studied her favorite bottles of talcs and lotions, the phone began to ring. Knotting her terry robe and speedily winding a towel around her hair, she hurried to the bedroom phone, about to pick up the receiver.
NO.
She needed to hear the caller first.
She raced out of the bathroom and down the stairs toward the answering machine.
Rowan was already there, waiting, listening.
The machine came on. She heard her own voice.
Then silence.
More silence.
A long moment of silence.
And then…
Softly…
A click.
Chapter 13
Sam stared at Rowan. She shrugged, not wanting him to see that her chills had begun again. It was amazing, how much fear a moment of silence could make her feel.
But he was with her. And they were looking at one another. And suddenly they both smiled.
“Star sixty-nine!” they exclaimed together, and she dove forward, hitting the phone buttons. A second later, an operator’s voice informed them that the service was denied on the number that had called.
“I figured as much,” Rowan told her.
“Do you think…?”
“That it was your caller again? Why would he hang up this time?”
“I answered the phone last time. This time he got a machine. Maybe he doesn’t want his voice recorded.”
“Maybe it was a telemarketer.”
“This late?”
He smiled. “They can get pretty desperate. In any case, I don’t think he can see you anymore—if he ever saw you to begin with.”
She spun around, realizing that he must be right. He had closed all the curtains and drapes in the house. Even over the French doors, where the glass panes on the upper half had no draperies or curtains, he had hooked dish towels.
“Thanks,” she murmured. He was right about the hang-up. Lots of people didn’t leave messages. Just that thought made her more relieved.
“Don’t mention it.”
He was walking toward her as he spoke, she realized. She thought about beating a hasty retreat, running back up the stairs. But her feet were like concrete. And her legs were jelly. She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to go anywhere. It didn’t matter that somewhere deep inside she was swearing away at herself. She was a fool. The flesh was so pathetically weak. She really didn’t want to become involved again. It had simply hurt too much. Thoughts spun through her head as he approached her. It should be different. Different time, different circumstances…