Because I'm Watching

  Luis strolled in as if he were quite at home, came around the desk, kissed her cheek, and pressed the flowers into her hand. “Hello, chica.”

  “What a pleasant surprise, Luis,” Kateri said with patent insincerity. And, “Mona, would you find a vase for these flowers?”

  “Of course!” Mona, predictably, didn’t even bother to step away from the sidelight, but hung close, listening.

  Kateri raised her voice. “Mona Coleman!”

  The woman scurried away.

  Luis perched one hip on the desk and smiled into Kateri’s eyes. “May I take you to dinner tonight to celebrate your triumph?”

  “What triumph is that, Luis?”

  “You are too modest! The drug bust! You are the talk of the town, and you deserve a treat.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, but—”

  His smile dimmed. “Why but?”

  Cordelia’s texts were still unsolved—and still coming in. Someone was eagerly and cruelly tormenting a girl in this town. How to explain to Luis her need to rescue this child before another moment had passed?

  Luis, being Luis, understood without explanation. “You cannot save the world all in one day. Tonight, we celebrate your triumph. Tomorrow … who knows what the hours will hold? You have chosen a task that will bring you heartache, trouble, and pain. Should you not revel in each success? Only in that way will you survive and flourish.”

  Damn. He was right. “When did you get so wise?”

  He touched his chest and deepened his voice. “I am a man. You are a woman. Of course I am wiser than you.”

  She laughed and punched his leg. “Okay. What time tonight?”

  “Our reservation is for seven at the Virtue Falls Resort.”

  There was that cockiness again, and it bugged her. “Were you so sure of me?”

  “Reservations are easily canceled.”

  Again, he was right. But she still didn’t like it.

  He continued, “I will pick you up at six thirty at your home, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will depend on you.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but first I must get this paperwork done. Sit—in a chair—and tell me exactly what happened on your end with the arrest.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Maddie went to sleep in her bed with the blinds open and the morning sun blasting in, and woke eight hours later feeling refreshed and, by God, vindicated. For the first time since she had moved to Virtue Falls, someone had taken her side. Someone had borne witness to her innocence. The Williamsons, God bless them, had fed her and let her sleep on their porch and never once had they been afraid she would somehow murder them. Better yet, Mrs. Williamson had ripped into Mrs. Butenschoen so comprehensively that Mrs. Butenschoen had retreated in disarray.

  The only other person who had shown her such trust was Jacob Denisov, and he hadn’t so much trusted her as encouraged her to do the deadly deed of cutting his throat.

  Of course, Maddie still had the problem of Deputy Moen to deal with, but a full day’s sleep meant she could handle anything … even the drift of clouds that signaled the beginning of another sunset, another night. All that mattered was—right now, she was alive. All was well.

  She fixed her dinner, toasted cheese on a pita and tomato soup out of a can, and took it out on the front porch. She sat in her rocker, ate, and observed the neighborhood.

  The construction crew was long gone from Jacob’s. He was nowhere in sight. In his bedroom, she supposed, hiding.

  The Franklin kids played ball in the street until their parents called them in.

  Dr. Frownfelter’s living room was dark, yet it flickered with the play of his TV. She would bet he was sitting in his easy chair, “watching” some documentary with his eyes closed and the sound muted.

  Chantal Filips came out of her house in the shortest red skirt Maddie had ever seen. A low, fast, black Mercedes S-Class coupe driven by the ugliest man on earth pulled up. Chantal tossed an overnight bag into the backseat, tucked her long legs in the door, and as they roared away, she waved at Maddie and smiled smugly.

  Maddie would be smug, too, if she had legs that long, a guy in a sports car, and a career that included traveling around the world looking gorgeous.

  Across the street, Dayton Floren stood in the window of his darkened house and watched Chantal Filips leave.

  Dang. Glamour, envy, and jealousy in Virtue Falls. Who would have thought it?

  The neighbor on the other side of Jacob hadn’t been home for a very long time; Maddie had heard rumors that Bernice was off on a three-week ocean cruise to Tahiti followed by another three weeks performing missionary work with the natives of Borneo. Having met Bernice—she was a copy of Mrs. Butenschoen—Maddie thought the natives didn’t stand a chance.

  Except for the damage to Jacob’s house, it was as if last night had never happened. Idly Maddie wondered who had set fire to his house. Had the enemy who drove him to long for death somehow found him here in Virtue Falls? Or had he at last cracked up and tried to kill himself?

  A car turned onto the street and slowly drove the length to the end, to that spot where the pavement ended in the guardrail. The driver performed a three-point turn, and as he returned, Maddie could see him looking from side to side. He stopped at Dayton Floren’s, then inched forward to park at Jacob’s. If he was looking for Jacob, that made sense; she had knocked the house number right off the front of his house. In fact, she’d knocked the wall that held the house number right off the front of his house.

  The guy parked at the curb, got out, and walked up to the makeshift front steps. From there he stared uncertainly into the empty living room.

  He didn’t look like a contractor. For one thing, he wore polished shoes, pressed slacks, and a starched shirt. For another, he limped and one arm had been amputated at the elbow.

  Did Jacob have a visitor from his military days?

  Since it was her fault the house was the wreck that it was, she should go over and introduce herself and offer such help as she could. Although, she supposed she could admit to the tiniest prod of curiosity.… She crossed the street and walked toward the fellow, who turned to face her. He was younger than Jacob, and handsome, with a scar down his cheek and across his chin.

  “How do you do?” She offered her hand. “I’m Jacob’s neighbor Madeline Hewitson. Can I help you?”

  “Where’s the front door?” His voice was soft, slow, and hoarse.

  “Draped over the hood of my car.”

  Amusement blossomed on his face. “So, Madeline Hewitson, you drove your car into Jacob Denisov’s house? I am privileged to meet you.” He shook with his left hand. “How did he take that?”

  “He was not pleased.” An understatement.

  The guy grinned. “No. Not our lieutenant. I’m one of the men he rescued. I’m Brandon LaFreniere.”

  “It’s an honor, Brandon.”

  He made a face. “I’m not the hero.”

  “That’s what he says, too, that he’s not the hero.”

  Brandon studied her for a moment. “I’d like to see him, speak with him. Where is he living?”

  “Here. He’s inside somewhere.”

  Brandon did a double take that included her and the house. “In there?”

  “In the bedroom. There’s not many other places he could be. I can get him for you.” She started up the stairs.

  “Wait.” Brandon hobbled after her. “How is he? I mean—do you know? Because all of us who returned with him have been worried. He won’t reply to e-mails or answer the phone. We keep getting our mail back marked Not at This Address. In his handwriting.”

  She liked this guy. “So you came to check on him?”

  “I work in Seattle now so I was the logical choice to come.”

  “I’m glad.” She was glad. Glad to know someone cared about Jacob, someone who had been with him in his darkest days. “He’s … angry. He blames himself for what happened in … Korea.” Should she be t
alking about this? Jacob wouldn’t like it, of course. This man had been badly wounded during his ordeal. Was he as angry as Jacob?

  “Can we talk?” Brandon limped over and looked up the porch steps and shook his head. “Not today,” he said. “Not without more assistance than you can give me. We can sit here, if that’s okay. They shattered my femur and my kneecap, and I can’t stand for long.”

  By “they” he meant the North Koreans.

  “If you would put your hand under my part of an arm and steady me, I should be able to lower myself onto a step without too much damage to either of us.” He grinned at her, but his complexion was waxy.

  She did as instructed, and with much effort the two managed get him seated. She viewed him with concern. “Are you okay? Can I get you some water?”

  He used a handkerchief to mop a sheen of sweat off his face. “I’m fine. I’m having another surgery in a few weeks. That should fix me one way or another.” He patted the step beside him. “Sit.” When she did he asked, “How much do you know?”

  “I know what I read in the press, and I know what Jacob told me. That you were one of his brainiacs, that you built a hovercraft, got drunk, and took it across the border. That he went after you and you all were captured and … tortured.”

  He lifted his empty sleeve. “I entered the service with two working legs and two complete arms. And no nightmares. So yes, torture.”

  “Jacob said one of you told them who you were and what your assignment was.”

  “That was me.” Brandon’s face turned red, his voice cracked, and she caught a glimpse of the callow, untried youth he had been. “I thought it would help. Instead, it gave the doctor what he had been waiting for—a chance to perform experiments on intelligent human beings.”

  “Experiments. On humans.” This wasn’t exactly the way the news stories had been written. “So he was like a Nazi?”

  “Exactly. Dr. Kim. Um … yeah. But he viewed the six of us brainiacs as collateral damage. He didn’t care about us. It was Jacob he wanted. He wanted to own that disciplined mind, so he used us to break him.” Brandon tried to smile, as if the memories didn’t hurt. “We were held in a compound not far from the border, an old prison built of concrete, steel, pain, and fear. Two died the first week, Lydia Adelaide Jenkins and Nolan James Tanaka, tortured to death. They were the lucky ones.”

  “He said that. Jacob said that, used those exact words. That the ones who died right away were the lucky ones.”

  Brandon nodded. “They separated us. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other, but in the time-honored method of all prisoners of war, we devised a code. It kept us alive, I think, being able to communicate with each other. It killed us, too, for we had depended on Denisov to rescue us, and instead he abandoned us.”

  Now it was her turn. “What?”

  “He abandoned us,” Brandon repeated. “Every day, one of us was taken from our cell to an interrogation room. It had a window. We could see into the control room. There was a guy at the control board—big control board, old technology. It ran the lights, the cell locks, the electric fences, the whole prison. We didn’t know that then, but it did. He had his back to us. And a gun, of course. All the North Koreans had guns.”

  She put her hand on Brandon’s shoulder again. “Why did you say Jacob abandoned you?”

  “Because he was watching through the window as they tortured us. He watched, and all the while, Dr. Kim was whispering in his ear. Day after day, the same thing. He didn’t care what they did to us. He never changed expression. He acted like we weren’t even there.”

  She was shocked. She didn’t believe it. She did not believe it. “Did you never get to speak to him?”

  “No. After a few days of screaming in agony, calling his name, begging him to rescue us—he was so calm, so competent, we really thought he could rescue us—we just hated him. So much. Even more than the men who were breaking our bones and pulling out our fingernails. We hated Jacob Denisov.”

  “Something changed.”

  “We found out the truth. That day … started out to be a typical bad day. The soldiers came and got me out of my cell. They took me to the interrogation room. They asked me questions. I’d given all the answers the first time they tortured me. I told them everything.” Brandon gave her a half smile. “I wasn’t much of a soldier. I was never brave.”

  She looked at the evidence of his pain. “You have a different definition of brave than I do.”

  “No, really. I simply didn’t want to suffer. There was nothing new to learn from me. But still they asked, and I tried new answers, anything to make them stop. They nailed my hand to the table. I was screaming in agony when all of a sudden—”

  “Brandon.” Jacob’s voice sounded from behind them.

  Maddie jumped in surprise and guilt.

  Brandon jumped, too.

  How long had Jacob been standing there? Long enough. He glared at them in a forbidding manner.

  Brandon tried to leap to his feet and failed, tilting to one side.

  Maddie steadied him.

  Jacob hurried down the stairs, nudged her out of the way, and took over.

  “Sorry, sir,” Brandon said. “I’m still not completely used to the leg.”

  Jacob’s expression eased. “And the arm?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s there. But the docs insist it’s only a phantom limb.” Brandon looked keenly into Jacob’s face. “I suspect you’ve experienced something similar with your situation.”

  What situation? Why had Jacob interrupted them precisely when she was so close to hearing Jacob’s story?

  “Different but the same.” Jacob helped him up the first step. “Come in. I’m a little short on food, drink, and walls, but we can sit and talk.”

  Eager to make amends for the crime of curiosity, Maddie said, “If you like, I can make coffee. I bought filters.”

  “That would be kind of you. Thanks!” Brandon smiled at her as if trying to make up for Jacob’s cold reception.

  “Great! I’ll bring it back.” She glanced into Jacob’s living room. “Oo! You got a new recliner. Nice!”

  “Is it?” Jacob was deadpan.

  Maybe not. The material was worn tan suede, the back tilted to the right, one of the arms had a tuft of cotton coming through the seam. She compromised. “It’s better than the old one.”

  “Sure.”

  “The smoke must have ruined that one.”

  “Yes.”

  “You got some sofa pillows, too. Flowered. Really … big flowers. They look mostly good piled on the old steamer chest.”

  Jacob tilted his head and listened. “Your phone is ringing.”

  She groped for her cell phone in her pocket, pulled it out, and stared at it.

  “Your landline,” Jacob said.

  In a panic now, she sprinted toward the house.

  “Nice girl,” Brandon said. “Pretty. Did she really drive into your house?”

  “She really did.”

  “Some guys have all the luck.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.”

  Well, excuuuuse me. We have a plan. It’s working. Don’t back out now. She’ll make us a fortune.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Maddie knew who was calling.

  Andrew. He was her only relative, the only person who had her phone number, and if he didn’t reach her on her landline he would call her cell.

  She ran inside and grabbed the phone. “Andrew!”

  “Where were you?” he asked testily.

  “Across at the neighbor’s, the one I crashed into.”

  “What kind of damage did you do now?”

  She hated Andrew’s attitude, hated that she immediately felt defensive. “Nothing! I met one of his friends and entertained him until Jacob arrived.”

  “Jacob? Really. Now you’re friends with Jacob Denisov?”

  “I wouldn’t say friends, exactly.” What was wrong with being friends? “But we know each other. We have
a lot in common.”

  Andrew sounded disbelieving. “You have a lot in common with a decorated military hero?”

  She took a breath, let it out slowly, and in an even voice said, “We’ve both suffered pain and trauma, Andrew. Even you should be able to understand that.”

  That shut him up. For a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m testy and taking it out on you. But … you’re supposed to be writing.”

  Oh. That was why he was disapproving. “I am.”

  “You don’t want to be late for your deadline.”

  “I won’t.” As long as the monster stayed away. “I never am.” But Andrew always acted as if she would be. As if she were unreliable.

  She glanced out the window toward Jacob’s, saw the two men sitting in the shadowy living room, talking.

  Coffee. She had promised them coffee. She could make it while she talked. She hustled into the kitchen, tucked the phone under her chin, and got out the coffeemaker. “How are you? How is the money business?”

  “Fine. Do you want to send me pages to read?”

  “No. Do you have to go on book tour for Sacrifice!?”

  “Yes. My promotions team has lined up autographings. Are you working on the graphic novel?”

  “No.” She had almost a whole book finished, but she couldn’t tell him that. He would want to see the drawings, and she wasn’t ready. Perhaps she was superstitious, thinking that every person who saw pictures of her monster fed him power. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear Andrew’s critique, have him talk to her about her characters as if he really was the author.

  “The graphic novel would really add to my popularity. Our popularity. You haven’t told anyone that you are the one writing the novels, have you?”

  “No…” Although she had sort of told Jacob. She glanced out the window again. The two men looked tense. Intense.

  “Because if that came out, it would cause all kinds of trouble with the publisher and the public.”

  “I know.” Andrew had told her often enough. She opened the bag of gourmet coffee. It smelled good. “Will the autographings hurt your business? I don’t want to take you away from work.”