Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The sound of male voices coming from the living room woke Becca out of a peaceful sleep.
The laughter and talking grew louder as she slid out of the bed and peered out the bedroom door.
Men she knew all too well walked back and forth across the hallway opening out into the living room.
Oh, hell no. Ryker had not come over to set up security before Becca had even opened her eyes, much less had the time to call Harper to have her call off her husband. Was this how her day was starting?
“What the hell is going on?” Becca flung the bedroom door open, bouncing it off her wall, before stomping down the hall.
Her brothers-in-law, Collin, Cooper, Ryker, and Sam, were in her living room. Some stood on furniture with drills in their hands; others had her lamps in their hands as they were attaching little devices.
Each man glanced in her direction before ignoring her question. They went back to doing what they were doing before she’d walked into the room.
Ian walked in the front door with extension cords draped over his shoulders. “These should work.”
Where in the world had he gotten those? Becca didn’t want to know. She stomped across the room and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the kitchen and away from some of the noise. “What are they doing here?”
“Installing security,” Ian said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Ryker told Harper, and next thing I knew, all of the guys showed up to help. Your sisters are picking up breakfast, and then they’ll be over.”
“I’ve spent twenty years keeping this secret.” Anger boiled through her veins. Twenty years of keeping her sisters safe from worrying about her had been thrown out the window because she’d trusted the wrong man.
“They care about you, lass. We all do.” Ian patted her ass. “Fix yourself some coffee and relax. We’ve got this covered.”
Ian disappeared out of the kitchen and left Becca grasping the counter in an attempt to keep from strangling him and having to spend the rest of her life in jail for murder. Her heated cheeks had her clenching her eyes tight before she opened them. Her gaze landed on Ian’s cell phone.
She snatched it up and went into his messages looking for the one from Ryker last night. She scrolled until she had two addresses, one of the dead nurse and the other located on Briar St.
A smirk split her lips as she shoved his phone into the waistband of her yoga pants and covered it with her shirt. She smiled as he walked back out into the living room and past her brothers-in-law. “I’m going to take a shower, and I expect all of this to be gone before I get out.”
They ignored her like she knew they would.
If her luck could just hold out for a bit longer, she might be able to handle this on her own.
The killer had never shown up at her house.
Not once had he tried to make contact with her.
Heck, it wasn’t until recently that she’d felt, in her gut, that the connection went both ways, although there was nothing to indicate the killer knew anything about her, much less where she lived.
The guys were wasting time, but who was she to point that out?
Becca changed into jeans, slipped into her tennis shoes, and brushed her teeth and her hair before grabbing her keys and climbing out her bedroom window, like a horny teenager up to no good.
A smile formed on her lips as she peered around the side of her house to find that none of the guys were outside.
She crouched beneath windows as she made her way to her car unseen and slipped inside.
“If they want to waste their time, far be it from me to stop them,” she said through gritted teeth as her passenger door opened and a woman slipped into the passenger seat. Her long, blonde hair was styled to perfection, as were her dress and heels.
“Ian isnae verra good at keeping an eye on you.” The woman’s Scottish accent made Becca pause.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Ah, now you sound like Quinn. I shouldnae be surprised.” Blondie let out an aggravated breath. “I’m Margarete, Ian’s sister.” She gestured toward the window. “If you have any hopes of running, you should do it now. I’m sure one of them is bound to notice you gone.”
“Get out.” Becca leaned over and pulled the handle to open the passenger door.
“Afraid not.” Margarete slammed the door shut again. “Ian told me he couldnae come home until he’s helped you.” Margarete lifted her hands as if that would explain everything.
“I didn’t ask for his help.”
“That’s a funny thing about Highlanders,” Margarete said, flipping the visor down to see the mirror. She flipped it closed and glanced Becca’s way. “They donae follow orders verra well. So I’m here to get things situated for you both.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Becca tossed the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. She hit the gas, squealing her tires as she sped up the road and farther from her house.
Margarete wasn’t as graceful as she first appeared. Her hand automatically went to the oh-shit handle above the door before she grabbed the seatbelt and slipped it on.
Becca glanced in the rearview mirror to find Ian standing in the street with his hands on his hips. “I thought when Ian talked to you last night that you were in Scotland. How did you get to the States so fast?”
“I’d already arrived to bring Ian home. You Americans need driving lessons.”
“And you Scots should keep your nose out of my business.”
“He’s going to have his hands full with you.” Margarete laughed.
“Seriously, lady.” Becca slowed to take the corner and glanced at Ian’s sister. “I’m going somewhere that might be dangerous. I can pull over and let you out.”
“Now, Quinn would have locked the doors and driven me right into the thick of it.”
“I’m sure it had nothing to do with how…hospitable you were when Quinn first arrived to Scotland. Hospitable isn’t the right word. You were more like an animal marking her territory?” Becca’s words were covered in honey.
“Ah yes, she told you.” Margarete cleared her throat. “Collin’s and my family go way back.”
“To the emerald.” Becca winked. “I know.”
“It was always assumed he’d be the one to marry me, and when your sister showed up, it changed…everything.”
I was free to make my own choices.
Becca hadn’t been meaning to listen in to the woman’s thoughts. It just kind of happened. Had Margarete been wanting to marry Collin out of some sort of family honor? Huh.
“I could drop you at Quinn’s house and let you explain,” Becca said with a little laughter in her voice. “Although her hormones are still in a tizzy from the baby.”
Margarete shook her head. “I’m no’ here to make peace with Collin or Quinn. I’m here to talk some sense into you. Either marry Ian or let him go.”
“Okay.” Becca leaned back in her seat. “I’ll let him go. When you tell me how to cut the cord, I’ve got the sharp scissors waiting and ready. God knows I’ve tried.”
“Hmm.” She glanced at Becca. “I was told you were the sweet one out of the bunch. He’s had his eye on you since he’s arrived.”
“Someone lied to you,” Becca said, turning down several more roads. She pulled Ian’s phone out of her pocket and flipped it open when she got to the right street to check the address.
She slowed as she spotted the green door and checked the address against the one in the phone. She parked the car and slipped her gun out of the glovebox.
Margarete held up her hands. “Why do you need that?”
“It’s dangerous. I told you,” she said, opening her door. “Stay here and you’ll be fine. Just lock the door behind me.” She tossed Ian’s phone to her after climbing out. “Call 911 if anything should happen. Ask for Detective Danny Thompson. Tell him that Becca found the next victim.”
“Wait—”
Becca cut off her protest, slamming the door. She glanced both ways while slipping the gun into the waistband of her jeans and jogging across the street.
She jogged up the stairs to the townhouse and rang the doorbell. A shiver skirted down her spine. She could feel a pair of eyes on her, watching her. She’d slowly turned on the spot, glancing up and down the street, when the door opened behind her.
“Yes?” the same woman with red hair from Becca’s dream asked.
What was she going to say? You’re being stalked by someone other than her? Before she could form the words, the redhead’s eyes widened in alarm. She took Becca by the arm and pulled her inside, slamming the door and locking it.
“You’re Becca Thatcher.”
“How do you know me?” Becca asked as she reached behind her back for the gun.
“I’m Sylvia Cross, Michael Thompson’s therapist.”
Her words made Becca pause. She moved her hand away from the gun. “He told you about me?”
She nodded, moved to the window, and peered outside before pulling the curtains all the way closed. “He was obsessed with you. So all these years, I’ve been watching you to make sure the two of you didn’t cross paths. If you were okay, then I knew he was okay.”
Sylvia let out a long breath and gestured toward the kitchen. “Please, let’s have some tea.”
Tea? Becca hadn’t risked her life to drink tea. She’d come to save a life. Sylvia’s life.
Becca followed behind her into the kitchen. “You’re in danger. If Michael has told you about me, then you know about my abilities and someone has been watching you.”
“You must be mistaken.” Sylvia paused, holding the teakettle. “It’s not me in danger, dear. It’s you.”
“I had a premonition; someone was watching your door.”
Sylvia poured two china cups full of tea and handed Becca one. “The door you just came through?”
Becca slipped into the kitchen chair. Her legs were almost ready to give out as her heart fell into her stomach. How could she not have seen that maybe she’d been the one the killer was watching at the door? Becca’s stomach churned. Sylvia must be mistaken. “You said Michael was obsessed with me?”
Sylvia set her cup down. “Obsessed is a light way of say it. Wait here, and I’ll show you.”
She disappeared, returning only moments later with a file in her hand. “I could lose my license for discussing a client, but I don’t see the harm in showing you his artwork. He did give them to me.”
Becca flipped the file open. There were detailed drawings of her as a young girl with her sisters.
One of her alone looking into the wishing well in the woods behind her parents’ house.
One of her looking up while bent down petting the dog before he died.
One of her in her bedroom window looking out into the night sky.
All of them were from when she was younger; none were of her as an adult.
Becca flipped to another one to find a picture of the dead dog.
Michael standing over it, looking down at the red resembling blood on his hands.
Her heart clenched. The next one was of Michael standing in a wooded area behind his house and the house she’d grown up in, looking down at a fresh mound beneath his feet.
This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
How was it that Michael and she were connected?
Michael had to be three years older than Quinn, which would have made him eight years older than Becca.
There was no reason why she’d be connected to him. None of this made sense.
Becca flipped to a new picture.
“I know this picture.” One of her at her fifth birthday party, only this one was different. A woman standing at the table was scribbled over with black marker. Who was she? Becca tried to recall who it might have been and came up blank.
“This is a lot of anger,” Becca said, glancing up at the woman. “Did he tell you who this was and why he scribbled her out?”
“Michael drew those years ago when I first started seeing him. When he first came to me, he was filled with anger, but he’d never tell me who it was pointed toward. He was filled with sadness too. He never told me the person’s name or why he was mad. We would have warned that person.”
“But you didn’t see fit to warn me that Michael was drawing pictures of me?”
“There wasn’t any hostility in the pictures. There was nothing to indicate that you were more than just a fascination to him.”
Becca rose from her seat and picked up the picture. “Can I borrow this?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Becca swallowed around the lump in her throat as she headed toward the front door.
“Ms. Thatcher, Michael has stabilized over the years. He quit drawing those pictures several years back when he was ready to get better, and he has showed tremendous improvement on his medication. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have released him back to his family.”
Becca opened the door and turned back to her. “If you weren’t concerned, then why would you pull me into your house and out of sight?”
“Michael was gifted. He’d often go into a trance-like state and wake with premonitions. Most of which came true. He warned me that he had one the night before leaving the facility. He said if you ever came to see me, then we’d both be in danger.”
“He’s had premonitions?”
“Yes, and you showing up here unannounced has to mean something.” She laid her palm on my arm. “Be careful and vigilant, Ms. Thatcher.”