Chapter 14
Peyton
As we left his house, I didn’t know how to put it, so I didn’t say anything until we reached the first stoplight. “Your mother is something else.”
He nodded. “She can take a little getting used to.”
“She’s pretty intense.”
The light turned green, and he accelerated. “That’s because she likes you.”
I smoothed my skirt. “I’m not so sure about that. And Sunday…”
“Yeah, Sunday. She can be a little pushy. You don’t need to come if you’re not comfortable with it.”
I looked out the window, unsure how to handle it. “Can I decide later?”
“Of course.”
As the city went by, I enjoyed the ride March’s Porsche Cayenne provided, swift every time he stepped on the gas and sure-footed when he maneuvered us through a corner.
I gripped the handle on the Porsche’s door. Not because I felt insecure, but as a reminder to myself—I had to keep a handle on the reality of my situation. LA was temporary, SpaceMasters was temporary, and March was temporary.
It would all have to change when the Hartfords returned, and I had to move on. I’d stayed in Atlanta too long, and he’d found me. I didn’t know exactly how, but the longer I stayed in one place, the easier it would be.
My one responsibility was to outlast him, to stay alive until he was caught. It was the only way I’d get to the future every woman dreamed of, one that included a family and lazy days of relaxation without the worry of a serial killer after you.
Perhaps sensing my anxiety, March asked, “Am I going too fast for you?”
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced over. “Maybe your death grip on the door.”
I released the handhold. “I’m just pissed about the damage to the condo.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
Soon, March would be out of my life. I’d move on. It would be hard to imagine finding a situation as comfortable as the one I had lucked into, with people as honorable and caring, but like a tumbleweed, I’d have to keep rolling.
“Do you think Frankie was the one who broke into the condo?” I asked.
“I’d say he’s a top candidate, so Winston and I are going to have a chat with him after I drop you off.”
“Okay. By your logic, if he did it, I’m not in mortal danger, and I can go back to the condo when the door is fixed.”
“Well…”
It was checkmate. I had him. “You said I wasn’t safe if the mugging and the condo were related, and Frankie certainly wasn’t one of the muggers.”
“You sound like a lawyer. Is that what you left behind?”
“Don’t hide behind changing the subject. Two days ago, you didn’t consider it unsafe for me to live at my place. Yes or no—by your definition, if Frankie is the one who broke into my place, then I’m safe, or at least as safe as I was two days ago.”
“I guess.”
“That sounds like a yes to me.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’d feel better if I knew who your muggers were and that they didn’t have a hand in the mess at your condo.”
Independence was crucial to me, but compromises had to be made. “We don’t live in a perfect world, but I’ll consider your offer to put me up for a while, if it makes you feel better.”
“It would.”
“Okay then, roomie.” Mobility problem solved for now. With no bike, I would have to rely on the bus if I lived at the condo, and the closest bus stop was a long hike. With the need to rebuild my escape stash, using money for an Uber or a taxi was a bad idea.
Even so, I had to be crazy. I’d just agreed—no, I’d maneuvered—to room with March for a while, the same man who’d kissed me senseless last night.
No problem, I convinced myself after a moment.
I’d already rationalized that it was the loss of my money and my bike that made this necessary.
Therefore, I wasn’t crazy, only taking the best path available, even if it had emotional risks. Yeah. Putting it that way felt better.
March had fallen silent after my roomie comment, which sent my mind to a dozen bad places at once.
We hadn’t talked about the kiss. Did it mean anything to him? It had certainly felt like it. Or was passionate kissing a normal, everyday event for him? Maybe my hormones were out of balance after my long dry spell, and scrambling my brain.
“March, can we—”
“Later, Angel.” He turned the car in to the parking lot at SpaceMasters. “I’ll be back before lunch, but right now I’m running late. I have to meet Winston for our chat with your neighbor.”
Typical guy. He didn’t want to talk. I’d completely missed how close we were to work because he’d taken a different route to the building. “Did you take a back way on purpose?”
He shut down the engine and unbuckled. “It’s a precaution to determine if we’re being followed.”
As he escorted me inside, I felt a lot less confident than earlier.
“We weren’t followed,” he said before he turned to go.
Zane
After I dropped Peyton off at work, I met Winston at the grocery store. “There he is,” I said, pointing at the twerp, who was bagging at the first register.
Frank Fussenbach was going to answer a few pointed questions, and then maybe I could put Peyton’s condo burglary to rest.
“After you,” Winston said.
I walked up behind our suspect and waited until he’d finished with the customer. “Frank, we need to borrow you for a minute.”
He turned, and his jaw dropped when he noticed the two of us.
Winston had his arms crossed, which made him even more imposing than usual.
In contrast, I had my thumbs hooked in my pockets to seem less threatening. The last thing we needed was to chase a bolter through a crowded store.
“I know you.” He pointed. “You were with Peyton at lunch yesterday.”
At least he didn’t deny spying on Peyton.
“That’s right.” I nodded to the left. “We need a word.”
Winston pulled out his old FBI credentials wallet and flashed it open super quick.
The wallet said FBI in bold letters on the outside, but the creds inside weren’t real.
In fact, they were his private investigator’s license.
Technically, it was legit for him to flash the wallet so long as he didn’t verbally claim to be a current FBI special agent.
The trick worked wonders in terms of getting cooperation from witnesses or undesirables.
So far, nobody had questioned him about it.
Frankie’s eyes darted left and right.
I prepared to run after him if he squirted.
“Gloria, I’ll be back,” he told the cashier.
Gloria’s eyes widened as she nodded. “Don’t be long. We’re short today.”
We took Frankie outside.
“What’s this about?” he asked as we walked.
“You might want to keep your voice down,” Winston warned. “Unless you want all your coworkers to know your business.”
I stopped us in a secluded section of the parking lot alongside the store. “Frank, Peyton’s unit was broken into yesterday and some things were stolen.”
“Well, that sucks,” he said.
“Walk us through your movements yesterday,” I told him. “Up until dinnertime.”
He backed up a step and raised his hands. “Hold on a minute. You think I had something to do with that? No way.”
“We’re merely following leads,” Winston said calmly.
“Bullshit. You’re trying to pin this on me. Just because I—”
“Stop right there,” I told him. “If you didn’t do anything, you have nothing to worry about.”
Winston pulled out a notepad. “Since you live on the same floor, maybe you saw something.”
It was a common way to get information about when a suspect was actually in the vicinity.
“Did you see anyone suspicious?” I asked. “Maybe someone you didn’t recognize?”
“I was here all day. I worked overtime and didn’t get home until like eight, eight-thirty.”
That put him outside the window of the burglary.
“All day?” Winston asked.
“Yeah.”
Winston sprung the surprise on him. “Your fingerprints were found inside the dwelling.”
“Hold on,” Frankie complained. “That doesn’t mean anything. I live next door, and I’ve been over there for dinner.”
“With Peyton?” I asked. I didn’t like that idea, given his rap sheet.
“No. The Hartfords invited me over a few times.”
Winston made a note. “What about lunch yesterday? Did you take a break?” Maybe there was a hole in his timeline.
“Sure,” Frankie said, looking at me. “My lunch break was only a half hour. That isn’t enough time to get home and back here.” He jutted his chin out. “And he knows I didn’t go home. Just check my time card. Ask my shift supervisor. I worked all day.”
Winston made another note. “It’s a shame you can’t help us. Has there been anyone else around that looked suspicious to you?”
Frankie scratched his chin. “Just you.” He pointed at me.
Winston made another note.
Our sole suspect looked Winston in the eye. “Are we done? Can I get back to work now?”
“We’re done.”
I offered my hand for a shake. “Thank you for your help, Frank.”
He looked at it and stepped back like I had typhoid. “Yeah, right.” He shook his head. “You guys are all alike. Now leave me alone. I’ve kept my nose clean.” He walked off in a huff.
“He sure has a chip on his shoulder,” I noted as we walked back to our cars.
Winston checked our distance from Frankie. “It’s a typical response from somebody who’s been in the system.” As former FBI, he’d probably run into it a lot. “He’s a weasel, but he hates you in particular. Why is that?”
I leveled with Winston. “I had lunch with Peyton yesterday, and he saw us.”
“Let me guess… He wanted to be in your place.”
I nodded. “Something like that. The creep has been coming on to Peyton.”
Winston chuckled. “It would be nice if you could pin it on the guy after your girl, but it doesn’t end up that way very often.”
“She’s not my girl.” Although it would be nice if she were.
“Whatever you say, man.” He chuckled. “Is there, or was there, something going on between her and this idiot?”
“Only in his mind.” I certainly hoped my answer was correct. “Can you handle the manager and the video? I’d need to get back to cover Grace for Terry.”
“Sure thing. If his story holds up, you need to look somewhere else for your burglary.”
“I know.” I’d been hoping for the easy win, because he was my only suspect at this point. “Thanks for the backup.”
Winston strode off as I settled in my car.
Starting the engine, something about Frank Fussenbach still bothered me.
But I couldn’t put my finger on it. As I left the parking lot, I turned toward Santa Monica.
I had two errands to run before returning to SpaceMasters.
I needed to drop off Peyton’s watch for a replacement band.
It was clearly important to her. And I had to get someone to look at Peyton’s door and order a replacement.
Peyton
Terry was on Grace guard duty this morning, and he sat at March’s desk while my big SEAL was out hunting Frankie down. Terry gave me a light wave and a bigger smile as I returned from getting my second cup of coffee.
I returned the gesture.
Everyone was extra nice to me this morning, especially Grace, who had her brother, Pete, with her. It didn’t fix my shitty situation, but it felt good all the same. That’s what I liked about working here. Grace went out of her way to make everybody feel appreciated, like one big family.
A little while later, Pete, who’d just been rescued for some hellhole in the Middle East started gesturing wildly inside Grace’s office. I could see him through the glass. Grace looked calm, so I stayed where I was.
He opened the door. “I don’t need to fucking talk to someone. I tell you. I saw him. It was Xavier, clear as day.” He stomped off and out the front door of the office. Irritated was an understatement.
Grace watched him go from her doorway, then shook her head and went back into her office.
An hour later, Marci walked up to my desk, beaming a monster smile as only she could and clearly hiding something behind her back. “I think this should brighten your day.” She kept whatever she was holding hidden.
“What?” I didn’t appreciate Marci’s guessing games as much as she did.
“You have a secret admirer,” she sing-songed as she produced a bouquet of roses—blush pink ones.
My mouth went dry as I did my best to swallow my fear. “Who are they from?”
“Now you’re just being silly. Secret admirer means I don’t know. Check the card. Maybe it says.” She held out the bouquet, daring me to take it.
I stayed back like it was laced with bubonic plague. Even after all this time, my stomach revolted, remembering in vivid detail the fear of getting a bunch of pink roses. This was like the last time.
She shoved it forward again. “Go ahead. What does the card say?”
Fear had my heart beating like a hummingbird’s. “I can’t.”
“Don’t be a sissy.”
When I grabbed the tiny envelope containing the card, Karla’s breakfast almost came up. “I need to use the restroom.” I hurried toward the bathroom before I puked my guts out, fear surging through me.
“Privacy, I get it,” Marci called after me.
After the door closed behind me, I had to know, even if it was bad news. I ripped open the tiny envelope and pulled out the card. Turning it over, I read the typewritten message.
We should have dinner.
The wording differed slightly from before, and it was not handwritten, but the message was the same. The Strangler had found me again.
I rushed into a stall, and just as I knelt down, my breakfast came back up.