Chapter 1 #3
“Same with me. He was always somewhat shy, especially in those first classes last fall. Turned beet red when I asked him about the candy and roses. Mumbled something about not knowing what I was talking about. But then he dropped my class.”
The sheriff turned his blinker on and made a right turn. “The thing is, no one saw him at the crime scene. How did he get the note in your coat?”
Taylor had asked herself that same question over and over. And came up blank. “He could’ve changed his look, and there were a lot of volunteers.” She picked at a hangnail. “Maybe it wasn’t him. Could’ve been anyone, even someone at the cleaners.”
“I’ll check that tomorrow. It also could be connected to a past case, even before you came to Newton.” Dale drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’ve helped to put away a couple of pretty bad guys, and criminals have long memories and bigger grudges.”
“Sometimes I think I should have stayed in my nice, safe classroom.”
“You have a cop’s heart, Taylor.”
She didn’t know about that. Her thoughts chased around in her head. “The paper doesn’t actually have my name on it. Maybe it’s just a sick joke.”
“We’re going to check it out. Until then, you need to be extra careful.”
Taylor intended to do just that. She swayed against her seat belt as the sheriff turned onto Rainey Road and picked up speed.
Dale rested his hand on the armrest between their seats. “Um, how’re you doing? About, you know—”
“Fine.” Taylor clipped the word off, then softened her voice. “I really don’t want to talk about Michael.”
Silence rode with them for a mile before Dale reached and patted her arm. “You were too good for him. You’re young. Give it time.”
She turned and stared though the window at the dimly lit houses whizzing by.
Her biological clock ticked off another day every twenty-four hours.
Of course, women bore children into their late thirties and early forties now.
Which was fortunate, given her history with men.
But that history made dreams of having children, the white picket fence, and the fairy-tale ending rather unlikely.
The image of little Sarah Coleman in her dad’s arms sent an ache through her chest.
The front tire centered a pothole, jarring her.
“Sorry, didn’t see that.” He cocked his head toward her without taking his eyes off the road. “There’s something I tell my girls. At the right time, God will bring the right man into your life, but you have to wait for his timing.”
“Let it go, Dale.” Like God even cared. “I’m not looking for anyone.”
Nick Sinclair’s face with his day-old beard surfaced in her mind. No. He would be the last person she would ever date. Too good-looking, like Michael. Not that he’d be interested in her—she’d just accused his brother of stalking.
They neared her winding driveway, and the car slowed, then turned beside her mailbox. “If you’ll let me out here, I’ll pick up my mail.” Taylor unbuckled her seat belt. She’d rather get her mail now, before he left. After getting out, she poked her head back in the car. “Go ahead, I’ll walk.”
Dale’s brows knit together.
“Climbing back in just isn’t worth the effort,” she said.
“Make the effort. We’ve just been talking about someone stalking you. And, it’s pitch-black. Not even a moon.”
“Come on, it’s not like you’re leaving me—you’ll be at the end of the drive.
Besides, you won’t be here tomorrow night when I get in from the university.
” Taylor tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in her chest. She wished she’d never told him how she hated the dark.
She straightened her shoulders. Time to face the monster under the bed. “I need to do this.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to get back in the car, though. I’ll just drive slowly ahead of you.”
High winds moaned through the pines in her yard as she fished a penlight from her purse and pointed the beam toward the ground. Taylor retrieved several envelopes from her box, almost losing them in a gust of wind loaded with the threat of rain.
The tiny light flickered then came back to life, cutting a narrow swath through the darkness between her and Dale’s cruiser ahead. Her feet crunched on the loose gravel, the only sound other than the wind. She focused on the bouncing light until she rounded the curve.
Dale parked and climbed out of the cruiser. He jerked his head toward her house. “Why didn’t you leave your porch light on?”
Hadn’t she? Taylor tried to think back to when she left. She remembered now, the bulb had burned out. “I meant to replace the bulb this morning, but I forgot.”
They climbed the steps, and Taylor fumbled in her purse for her key. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Did you forget Nick Sinclair is dropping by?”
She slapped her head. “It’s been a long day.”
“It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t coming.” His face cracked into a grin. “I do it all the time for my girls. We get together for dinner, and afterward I go in and check out their apartment. Make sure it’s secure—it’s what dads do.”
The words echoed in her empty heart. For a second, she envied Dale’s daughters. She unlocked the door and let him go ahead of her.
“Where’s the light switch?”
“I’ll get it.” Taylor followed him into the house. A strong odor of Old Spice filled her nose as she flipped on the living room light.
Nothing. Her flashlight cast an eerie circle on the far wall, then flickered and snuffed out. Taylor swallowed a cry and shook the light. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The light twitched on again, a faint shaft in the dark.
“Get out of here.” Dale shoved her toward the door. He barked into his shoulder mic. “I need backup, 302 Rainey Road. Now!”
He unsnapped his holster and pulled his gun. Footsteps scuffed somewhere to her left. Before she pinpointed the direction, a bone crunched and Dale yelled. His gun spit flame, and a deafening roar boomed in the enclosed space. Gunpowder burned her nostrils.
“Dale! Where are you?” Taylor swept the dim light to her left. He lay crumpled on the floor. A man whirled toward her with a pipe in his hand, his face hidden by a hood, a Nike emblem on his jacket. The flashlight flickered off again. No! Stay on!
Darkness pressed in on Taylor. She couldn’t move. Old Spice threatened to smother her.
Air whooshed overhead. She jerked back, kicked, and slammed into soft tissue.
“Umph.”
Taylor dropped to the floor and scrambled for Dale’s gun, her fingers probing under his body. Blood pounded in her temples. The gun wasn’t there. He groaned. Had to get him out. Her breath ragged, she stood and tugged at him.
The pipe sliced the air again. She ducked—not low enough.
Pain slammed down the side of her skull then her shoulder.
White light pierced her vision, splintering into a thousand points ringed with darkness.
Taylor staggered, grabbing air. Strength flowed from her body.
She fought the black fog filling her head.