Of course, she hadn’t given him the wrong impression. He had done that all on his own. But what about the heat, the electricity? He certainly hadn’t imagined that.
“I’m gonna miss you.” The words surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
She stopped, straightened and turned slowly, this time meeting his eyes. Those luscious brown eyes made him weak in the knees, like a high-school kid admitting to his first girlfriend that he liked her. Jesus, what was wrong with him?
“You’ve been a pain in the ass, O’Dell, but I’m going to miss you giving me a hard time.” There. He corrected his slip.
She smiled. There was the hair-tuck behind the ears. At least she wasn’t totally in control.
“Do you need a lift to the airport?”
“No, I have a rental I need to turn in.”
“Well, have a good flight.” It sounded cold and pathetic when what he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and convince her to stay. He crossed the room to leave in three long strides, hoping his knees didn’t buckle.
“Nick.”
He stopped at the door, his hand on the handle, and glanced back at her. She paused, and in a brief moment he saw her change her mind from whatever she was going to say.
“Good luck,” she said simply.
He nodded and left, feeling lead in his shoes and an ache in his chest that made it hard to breathe.
Chapter 47
Maggie watched the door close as her hands strangled and twisted a silk blouse.
Why didn’t she just tell Nick about the note, about Albert Stucky? He had understood about the nightmares. Maybe he’d understand about this. Maybe he’d understand that she just couldn’t allow herself to be psychologically poked and probed by another madman. Not now. Not when she felt so vulnerable, so damn fragile, like she could shatter into a million tiny pieces, just as she had earlier on the bathroom floor. She couldn’t risk it. It would cloud her judgment.
Perhaps it already had. Last night in the woods she hadn’t even seen the killer coming at her until it was too late. He could easily have killed her. But like Albert Stucky, this killer wanted her alive, and oddly enough, that terrified her even more. Somehow she knew sharing all that with anyone would make her feel more vulnerable. No, it was best this way-to leave Nick and everyone else thinking her departure was only because of her mother.
She stuffed the garment bag, crushing and wrinkling her dry-cleanables. Director Cunningham had been right. She needed to take some time off. Maybe she and Greg could take a trip. Someplace warm and sunny, where it didn’t get dark at six in the evening.
The phone rang, and she jumped as if it were a gunshot. She had already talked to Dr. Avery. Her mother had survived the seventy-two-hour suicide watch and was doing quite well. But this was the part her mother was good at-playing the model patient and devouring al! the special attention.
Maggie grabbed the phone. “Special Agent O’Dell.”
“Maggie, why are you still there? I thought you were coming home.”
She lowered herself to the bed, suddenly exhausted. “Hi, Greg.” She waited for a real greeting, heard papers shuffling and knew she had only half his attention. “I’m catching a flight tonight.”
“Good, so that dunce actually gave you my message last night?”
“What dunce?”
“The one I talked to last night who picked up your cellular. He said you must have dropped it and couldn’t come to the phone.”
Her grip tightened. Her pulse raced.
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know…late. About midnight here. Why?”
“What did you tell him?”
“Oh, for cryin‘ out loud. That asshole didn’t give you the message, did he?”
“Greg, what did you tell him?” Her heart thumped against her rib cage.
“What kind of incompetent hicks are you working with, Maggie?”
“Greg.” She tried to stay calm, to keep the scream from clawing its way out of her throat. “I lost my cellular phone last night when I was chasing the killer. There’s a good chance he was the one you talked to.”
Silence. Even the paper shuffling had come to a stop.
“For God’s sake, Maggie. How was I supposed to know?” His tone was subdued.
“There’s no way you could have known. I’m not blaming you, Greg. Just please, try to remember what you told him.”
“Nothing really…just to call me and that your mother wasn’t doing too well.”
She leaned back on the bed, sinking her head into the pillows and closing her eyes.
“Maggie, when you get home we need to talk.”
Yes, they would talk on a beach somewhere, sipping fruity drinks, the ones with little umbrellas stuffed in them. They’d talk about what was really important, rekindle their lost love, rediscover the mutual respect and goals that had brought them together in the first place.
“I want you to quit the Bureau,” he said, and then she knew there would never be a sunny beach for them.
Chapter 48
The snow exploded into flying white powder as his feet came down with heavy thuds, smashing through drifts. Snow clung to his pant legs and leaked inside his shoes, turning his feet to ice. His body wasn’t his own, propelling him through branches and down the side of the hill at a speed that would surely send him tumbling headfirst at any moment.
Then he heard them, squealing and giggling. He slid to a halt, crashing into shrubs and snow-laced prairie grass that prevented him from rolling into the sledders’ path. He lay there, pressed into the snow, the white death sucking the heat from his body. He hid, trying to control his rapid breathing, inhaling through his mouth and creating a vapor each time he exhaled.
They should have gone home while the throbbing in his head was silent. Why hadn’t they gone home? It would be getting dark soon. Would there be plates set on a dinner table waiting for them or only a note and a microwave dinner? Would their parents be there to make sure they took off their wet clothing? Would anyone be there to tuck them into bed?
He couldn’t stop the memories, and he no longer tried. He laid his face into the snow hoping it would stop the pounding. He could see himself at twelve, wearing a green army jacket with little lining to keep out the cold. His patched jeans allowed drafts to assault his body. He hadn’t owned a pair of boots. The snowfall had been over ten inches and the entire town ground to a stop, leaving his stepfather with nowhere to go except his mother’s bedroom. He had been told to leave the house, to “go play in the snow with his friends.” Only he had no friends. The kids had only paid attention to him to make fun of his shabby clothes and his scrawny build.
After hours of sitting in the cold backyard watching the other kids sledding, he had gone back to the house only to find the door locked. Through the thin wood and fragile glass, he had listened to his mother’s screams and moans-pain and pleasure indistinguishable. Did sex have to hurt? He couldn’t imagine growing to enjoy such pain. And he remembered feeling ashamed because he had been relieved. He knew as long as his stepfather slammed into his mother, he wouldn’t slam into his small body.
It was while he sat in the bitter white cold that day that he had plotted, a plot so simple it required only a ball of string. The next morning when his stepfather retreated to his basement workshop, he would come back up on a stretcher. He and his mother would never feel ashamed or scared again. How could he have known that his mother would go down to the basement first that morning? That morning when his life had ended; when that horrible wicked, little boy had ended his mother’s life.
Suddenly, he felt someone above him, breathing and sniffing. He slowly looked up to find a black dog within inches of his face. The dog bared his teeth, emitting a low growl. Without warning, his hands shot out at the dog’s throat and the growl became a quiet whine, a stifled gurgle, then silence.