Chapter 20
To Do:
- Order some furry handcuffs
- Update social media release form
Claire’s armswere asleep when she awoke the morning of Tyler’s proposal.
“Ha!” She shouted to the ceiling. She may have invisible pins and needles stabbing along the lengths of her arms, but she hadn’t woken up standing in the middle of Market Street at midnight eating a bowl of pot pie. Hopefully, this would be the first of many wins today.
Rosie leapt onto the bed and licked her face. Claire wiggled against the scarves that anchored her to her headboard. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through.
Ten minutes later, after extricating herself from her restraints and barricaded bedroom door, she sipped her first cup of coffee and peeked out her hallway window to the ground below.
“Oh, shit. Not again.”
News trucks lined the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. The landlord had closed the rear entrance to repaint. And her dog very much had to pee. She was trapped. What had suddenly piqued their interest? She had done a quick internet search that morning and there was no mention of a second (or third) note. Sawyer hadn’t told anyone.
Rosie whined and licked her ankle. How was she going to get downstairs without being spotted? She glanced at her watch. Tyler’s proposal wasn’t taking place until dark, but there were so many details to check up on. Everything had to be perfect. She needed to take care of this now.
Claire opened her hallway closet and pulled out a backpack. “Come on, Ro. You know the drill.”
Rosie climbed obediently (for once) into the backpack. Claire slung it over her back and threw on a pair of sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She shut off the motion sensor and opened her bedroom window. Distant car horns and the smell of freshly baked bagels greeted her as she swung one leg over the sill. Her stomach lurched at the smell. The buttery croissants she and Luke had shared on their way to the Champs-élysées had smelled almost the same. But that was a lifetime ago.
With one leg hanging out the window, she stopped and glanced at the news vans. Two anchors from separate channels were speaking on camera thirty yards from her window, but they didn’t seem to notice her.
She shuffled out onto the fire escape and quickly descended the three rickety flights to the sidewalk. She nipped around the corner of the building and hustled to Buchanan Park before letting Rosie out to pee and scrambling back up the fire escape.
She stopped when she hit her floor. She had just openly left her bedroom window ajar in a city of 300,000 people, at least one of whom was taking an inordinate amount of personal time to threaten her. Detective Smith had told her when she’d turned in the latest note that they were waiting for approval to place Officer Schiccitano as her full-time guardian angel, but it hadn’t been approved yet. Sure, she had only been gone for ten minutes. But what if they were watching her? Were they inside her apartment right now? She didn’t have time for this.
She stuffed her phone in her bra and slid the window open wider. She swung the backpack off and let Rosie out. Rosie ran happily to the bedroom door, panting. Surely she would have noticed if there was a stranger in the house. But Claire wasn’t in the business of taking chances. She scuttled across the apartment to her purse, which hung next to the front door. She dug her Taser out and held it out in front of her.
“Hello? Murderers?” she called out to the quiet apartment. “It’s me, Claire. I have a crazy day planned, and I would really appreciate it if you could pick another day to kidnap me.”
Only silence greeted her.
She combed methodically through her apartment, checking every nook and cranny. The apartment was empty. She heaved a sigh of relief as she put her weapon back and leapt into preparations for the big day.
“Oh, I’m so excited!”Claire bounced on her toes and straightened a picture frame. The marching band was tuned and hiding in the backyard. The fireworks technicians were ready. Family hid behind the van in the garage. All they needed was their future bride and groom.
“I know I say this a lot, but this proposal is perfection,” Mindy mumbled over a mouthful of safety pins. Part of the red, white, and blue bunting they had draped on the safety handrails was threatening to droop, but everything else was in place.
“I just hope they’re happy. And that Ericka isn’t secretly a serial killer. That would really bum me out.”
“I think we’re good,” Mindy said, gesturing to a picture of Ericka giving an Afghan child a cup of water.
Headlights turned into the driveway. Claire slapped Mindy on the arm. “They’re here! Drop the pins and get out there. Remember, give him a minute to explain about the house, then distract Ericka with her parents so Tyler can slip away and get his legs on. Then you’re in charge of the photographers.”
“Got it.” Mindy flung the container of pins across the room and disappeared out the front door.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” Claire squealed to herself as she took one last look at the hallway. Candles flickered softly on the floor. Photographs of the couples were hung throughout the cozy little house. Magic was truly in the air.
She stepped into the living room and twitched the curtain aside just in time to see Ericka throw herself into Tyler’s arms. Claire’s heart soared. There was no mistaking the look in Ericka’s eyes. She and Tyler were crazy in love.
The doubt that had haunted Claire since the abduction lifted ever so slightly. Yes, she had made an unbelievable error in judgment by working with Barney. She had already learned from her mistakes. Criminal background checks and stricter screening processes were now even more essential to protect her clients. She would never again plan a proposal for a serial killer. But this moment—the reunion of lovers, the promise of a single, perfect, life-changing event—was everything she believed in. Her joy, her passion. Her life’s work. Barney was an anomaly. She could do this.
She stepped out the back door and took one last cursory glance over everything—the marching band, currently in a kneeling position, firework technicians barely visible a hundred yards out. Jerry, Claire’s primary camera person when Luke was busy and/or dead to her, had set up a tripod slightly off to one side. The grass had just been mowed, and Ericka’s favorite flowers were planted in neat rows in the flowerbeds. A couple peeked out of a second-story window in the house next door, waving at Claire and gesturing to the earplugs she had hand delivered to them. They waved small American flags. She waved back.
“Wildcats to your station,” Claire hissed to the drum major, who stood in place and gave everyone a hand motion.
The band stood and tiptoed silently into formation in the backyard. Tyler, now on his crutches, hustled around the side of the house and disappeared behind the band, where a heart-shaped collection of flower petals waited to surround him. It was a windy evening, so at the last minute, Claire had to hot glue individual weights to the petals to prevent them from scattering. It was worth every burnt fingertip. Family and friends lined the path, holding small American flags. The smell of Korean barbecue—Ericka’s favorite—emanated from two grill tables manned by local chefs.
“Where did Tyler go?” A voice came from inside the house. Through the window, Ericka touched an arched doorway, running a hand over the fabric-draped security railings in the mid-century ranch.
“I think he’s in the backyard, sweetie. He said he had something to show you.” Ericka’s mother beamed behind her. “Maybe you should try the back door.”
Claire stood and signaled to the drum major and her lights guy. They both stood ready, looking to her for guidance. As soon as she heard the knob turn, she cued them. Floodlights came on in ten-foot intervals, lining their massive back yard. An American flag unfurled behind the groom, who was hidden by the tuba section. The drumline played a brief cadence and started a patriotic march.
Ericka stopped in her tracks, blinking in the sudden light. She was a commanding presence in her army uniform and combat boots, even though she couldn’t have been more than 5’2”.
Shutters clicked from her camera crew, and the bride-to-be cracked a giant smile.
Ericka walked down the back porch stairs slowly, in time to the march. The marching band parted down the middle as she walked forward, splitting section by section. As they neared the end of the song, the last row parted, revealing Tyler, standing tall and unassisted.
Ericka clapped her hand to her mouth and ran to him, closing the last few yards between them in seconds. She folded herself into his embrace.
“But I don’t understand. How are you standing?”
Tyler lifted the hem of his pant leg, revealing his new titanium addition.
Tears filled Ericka’s eyes.
Tyler gripped Ericka’s hand firmly. Claire’s breath hitched. Had the doctor really cleared him to kneel, or had Tyler just insisted on it? Damned HIPAA laws.
He turned one prosthetic foot onto its toe, and slowly slid it backward until he was kneeling.
“Ericka, from the moment I saw you at my bedside after the worst day in my entire life, I knew that one day you would be my wife. I have never seen anyone assemble a rifle as fast as you or cook spaghetti better than you. Sorry, Mom,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
“You have been the great love of my life, and my inspiration to keep trying after my injury. You are the kindest, bravest, most incredible woman I know. I bought this home for you. For us, to start a lifetime of happiness together. Would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”
Ericka nodded forcefully, tears now dropping freely. “Yes!” She pulled Tyler to his feet to hug him properly. Her hat fell to the ground as he pulled her in for a celebratory kiss.
Claire brushed a tear from under her eye. It was even better than she had imagined.
There was thunderous applause, and the marching band broke into song. The neighbors in the upstairs window lit sparklers. Claire cued the fireworks technician, who sent a burst of red, white, and blue sparks into the sky. Ericka’s parents clapped and wept behind them.
Ericka jumped when the fireworks started, and the bottom dropped out of Claire’s stomach for a split second. Tyler had suggested them, since the Fourth of July was the first holiday they had celebrated together. Could fireworks trigger PTSD? Ericka and Tyler both had combat experience. How could Claire have been so careless?
But in a millisecond, they were back together again, hugging and celebrating. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. Neither seemed any worse for the wear.
As the fireworks fizzled out, the marching band filed out around either side of the house. Servers passed hors d’oeuvres while the chefs prepared the Korean barbecue. Champagne flutes were making the rounds. Family had descended on the couple.
Claire took a last look around to make sure unattended candles had been extinguished, and that the final handrails had been securely attached to the wall in the kitchen.
She turned to sneak out and let the happy couple celebrate, but Tyler’s voice called out to her.
“Claire!”
She spun back around, smiling.
“Ericka, this is Claire. She made it all happen.”
“It was nothing,” she said, shaking Ericka’s hand.
Ericka had a very firm grip, and the emerald-cut diamond on her ring finger sparkled when she smoothed a hair back into her tight bun.
She pulled Claire aggressively into a half hug. “Thank you. You’ve given us so much.”
“You deserve it. Thank you both for your service. Now go, enjoy your new home and each other.”
Claire turned and walked away, feeling lighter and yet heavier than she had in weeks. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. For the first time since Paris, there weren’t any messages from Luke. It had been less than a week since her escape from the Seine, and he had grown tired of her already. Why did that make her feel so strange? She shouldn’t have been surprised. He had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. When he couldn’t get her to do the interview, he cut ties. Simple as that.
The bridal party field day loomed on the horizon. In fourteen short hours, she would be face-to-face with Luke, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was going to take every ounce of strength she had not to nail him in the nuts with a perfect football spiral. But it was for Kyle and Nicole, and Claire couldn’t ruin their day. No matter how asinine Luke was.
She collected Rosie from her helper, Emily, and crawled into her car a block away. Her back seat and trunk were free of murderers. There weren’t even any threatening notes stuffed under her wipers. The serial killers must have had a more pressing engagement that evening.
Jack’s words about future victims popped into her head again. A tingle ran down her spine. There was no guarantee that he was correct. People went missing every day. Her stalker could just be a bored high school kid copying a killer.
Maybe she should make that binder. Just in case.