Undercover Dreamer

Chapter One

Rivulets of rain slowly ran down the tumbled mass of auburn curls. Meggie weaved long fingers through the hair, tugging the

wild array from the delicate line of her cheek.

Rain. It had done nothing but rain from the day she moved to Portland. Didn’t the sun ever shine in Oregon?

Inserting the key into the lock, Meggie let herself into the apartment. The room, cast in shadows, was gloomy, the open door

dispersing light into the dim interior. It still looked strange to her, even with the bits and pieces of her life scattered

around saying that Mary-Margaret O’Halloran lived here. It wasn’t home, at least, not yet.

Inhaling deeply, she laid the mail on the kitchen countertop and put the kettle on to boil, before wrapping her damp hair

in a towel. She’d do something with the tangles later. Burrowing her feet into soft slippers, she put on a warm sweater to

chase away the chill that seemed to come from her bones. No one had told her Portland could be so cold.

Minutes later the doorbell chimed. A second’s apprehension tripped her heart. No, she had to quit thinking like that or . . .

she’d soon be paranoid. It was crazy how quickly the caller was tainting her outlook on life.

After a quick look in the peephole, Meggie forced herself to smile and open the door. A tall man from the United Parcel Service

with a thatch of brilliant red hair smiled back at her.

“I have a package for your neighbor, Quinn Donnelley. He isn’t home; will you accept the parcel?” the man asked with an impatient

air.

“Oh, sure,” Meggie agreed, and was handed a clipboard.

“Sign in space twelve.”

Meggie penned her name and was given the small box wrapped in brown paper.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if this is the Quinn Donnelley who’s the homicide inspector, would you? He was on television

several times last summer. I think he was working on the Milton murder case.”

“No, I don’t know if that’s him. I just moved in two weeks ago,” she admitted and closed the door, locking it securely.

Her neighbor’s name was Quinn Donnelley, Meggie thought as she examined the package. She had seen him, of course, almost every

morning, in fact. He was an interesting man with an interesting face. Not handsome, his features were almost craggy. He had

a wide forehead and a receding hairline where he parted the straight, brownish blond hair on the side. There was a rugged

appeal to this man and the character that showed in his face was more attractive to Meggie than the prominent stereotypes

who were often considered handsome.

The kettle whistled and Meggie poured herself a cup of coffee. A homicide inspector, she mused; he certainly didn’t resemble

what she thought an inspector would look like. He was a quiet man; kept mostly to himself. She saw him almost daily, but he

never offered her more than a polite nod.

After drinking her coffee, Meggie wrote a note and attached it to his door and wondered how long it would be before she met

her intriguing neighbor.

The phone rang at exactly eight o’clock, the same time it had rung for the past ten nights. The minute it sounded, Meggie

tensed. She let it ring five times, her heart pounding louder and stronger with every ring. Her hands were clammy and trembling

when she finally lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” she whispered, shocked at how weak and wavering her voice sounded.

A crude list of obscenities greeted her in a muffled voice. It had always been the same, night after night, the identical

words. Her hand tightened around the phone until her knuckles were white.

“Please stop phoning me,” she pleaded in a shaky voice. “You’re a sick man. You need help.” Meggie didn’t know what she expected

but certainly not the demented laugh that followed. As if the phone was suddenly burning her hand, she dropped it into its

cradle.

Why was this happening to her? Why would God allow someone to frighten her like this? Especially now, on top of everything

else.

By ten Meggie was tired. A light film of perspiration wetted her brow and she wondered if she was running a fever. Her throat

ached and it hurt to swallow. How much longer should she stay awake and wait for her neighbor’s knock, she asked herself,

glancing at the kitchen clock. Maybe he’d come home and hadn’t seen her note. Maybe he had, and decided to pick up the package

another day. Meggie was heading for the bedroom when the doorbell chimed.

“Who is it?” she called, before unlocking the door. She realized it was fairly safe to assume that an obscene caller would

probably do nothing more than phone, but it didn’t hurt to be sure.

“Quinn Donnelley.”

Meggie couldn’t help but notice how pleasant his voice sounded, husky and deep, creating a cadence with the rhythmic flow

of the sound of his name. Somehow she had expected his voice to be like that. She unlatched the door and let him in.

“Hi,” she greeted with a warm smile. He looked older than what she’d expected, in his mid-thirties. His dark eyes were tired

and he slouched forward slightly as if exhausted.

Although Meggie felt a bit like the woman with the medical complaint who invariably corners a doctor at a house party, she

hoped to ask Quinn what she should do about the phone calls.

“You have my package?” His hand held the note she’d attached to his door.

“Oh, yes.” She knew he’d be the no-nonsense type. He’d attend to business and be on his way. She’d only take a little of his

time, she promised herself. “It’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

She held the box. “If you have a minute, I’d like to ask you a question.”

He paused and Meggie could see he was irritated. “Yes?”

“Are you a policeman?”

“Inspector,” he corrected in unfriendly tones. “Listen, if you got a traffic ticket there isn’t a thing I can do about it.

I suggest you pay the fine.”

Meggie bristled, straightening to the full extent of her five feet, eight inches. With heels she would be nearly as tall as

he was. Pressing her lips tightly shut, she gave him an icy glare and handed him the parcel. She held the door open for him.

“I believe you have what you came for,” she said coolly.

The dark brows ascended and his mouth twisted wryly.

When the phone rang, Meggie started violently and whirled around. Only once had the caller phone twice in one night. The second

ring, and she pleaded silently for the phone to stop.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Quinn asked, watching her closely.

She shook her head, her hands knotted into hard fists at her side. “It’s probably a wrong number.” At least she prayed it

was. There wasn’t anyone she knew who would phone her this late.

Four rings and still Quinn stood poised in the doorway waiting for her to move. But Meggie stood mesmerized, watching the

phone as if it could reach out and grab her, as if the phone itself was the villain, her eyes round and filled with fear.

“Is something the matter?” he asked after the phone had rung five times.

“No,” Meggie denied. Her life was falling apart, but at the same time she had never been more whole than she was now.

Six rings and still Quinn remained.

“Would you answer it?” Meggie questioned nervously. The sound of each ring seemed to increase in volume until she was sure

the next one would impair her hearing.

Something must have communicated her terror to him because he slowly walked across the room and lifted the receiver. He didn’t

say a word and a few seconds later, replaced the phone.

“Is this what you wanted to ask me about?” He motioned with his head toward the phone.

Meggie nodded. “I’ve been getting these calls almost from the day I had the phone installed.”

“These things happen all the time. . . .”

“I’m sure they do,” Meggie interrupted, resenting his attitude. People had been making obscene phone calls probably from the

time the first telephones had come into use. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying to her. It didn’t reassure her to

have him say it was a common occurrence.

She remained beside the open door. “I believe you have your package, Mr. Donnelley,” she said crisply. If he could be brusque

and impatient so could she.

His face remained expressionless and he shrugged lightly. As he walked out the door he gave her a half-smile. Even that had

the power to disturb her, and she sighed as she closed the door after him.

She had trouble falling to sleep that night. She pounded her pillow and tossed several times trying to find a comfortable

position. About midnight she took a couple of aspirin and drank a glass of milk. Her college roommate had once told her that

if she had trouble sleeping she shouldn’t count sheep, but talk to the Shepherd. Jacquie was responsible for bringing Meggie

to the Lord, for clearing away the misconceptions she had regarding Christ and religion.

Meggie missed Jacquie terribly now. Her friend had married the summer before and was living back East. They wrote often, but

it wasn’t the same as having Jacquie there to talk over her problems. Although they were the same age, Jacquie had always

seemed so much more mature. Meggie realized that was because Jacquie had been a committed Christian most of her life. Meggie

had only been a Christian two years and sometimes she felt very much like a struggling toddler.

It had been Jacquie who recommended that Meggie leave Los Angeles. The situation with her father and Sam had grown more strained

every day. Meggie loved her father deeply. They’d always been close. It had only been since she’d graduated from college and

was living at home again that he began applying pressure for her to marry Sam.

It wasn’t that Meggie didn’t like Sam; she always had. Perhaps that was the problem. Sam hung around so much while she was

growing up that she looked upon him as a brother more than a boyfriend. They’d dated in high school and she’d attended the

junior-senior prom with him. Sam was the typical boy next door.