Night Stalker. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ look like you’re planning to go somewhere,” he commented as she grabbed her purse from the table beside the bed. Bubbles had brought that, too.

      “I am.”

      “That’s not a good idea, Charlotte.”

      “I don’t see why not.” She reached for a sheet of paper that lay on the table, the flowery stationery covered with a scrawled thank-you note from Bethany Andrews. Wren had delivered it in a plain white envelope. No hint of where it had come from or who had sent it. Charlotte had read the note several times already, the ER nurse’s heartfelt thank-you reminding her that everything she’d been through had been worth it. Hopefully, they’d have a chance to meet face-to-face one day. She had a feeling she’d get along well with Bethany. She sounded like a sweet young woman.

      Young? According to Wren, Bethany was twenty-five. Just three years younger than Charlotte. They’d attended Whisper Lake High School together for one year. Charlotte had ended her senior year six months pregnant, and she didn’t remember much of her last year of high school except for the fact that she’d worn baggy shirts and oversize dresses, hoping to hide her growing belly.

      Needless to say, she didn’t remember Bethany.

      She folded the note and slid it into her pocket, making the mistake of meeting Adam’s eyes. He was watching, his shoulder against the wall, his expression neutral.

      Whatever he was thinking, he hid it well.

      “What?” she asked, breaking the silence because it felt too thick, too heavy and too filled with words that should have been said years ago.

      “You’re an intelligent woman, Charlotte. I’m sure you know exactly why leaving the hospital isn’t a good idea.”

      “The Night Stalker doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know where I live, and as far as law enforcement can tell, he left town and hasn’t returned.”

      “Law enforcement has no idea who he is or where he lives. For all anyone knows, he’s your next-door neighbor.”

      “Bubbles is my only neighbor,” she pointed out.

      “I’m aware of that, Charlotte. We did live together for four and a half years.”

      She hadn’t needed the reminder.

      Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, she’d think about how it had felt to have someone lying in bed beside her. She’d remember what it was like to be wrapped in a solid embrace, or to reach out in the middle of the night, knowing that someone would reach back.

      She missed that.

      She was honest enough with herself to admit it.

      “Wren said the Night Stalker probably hunted for his victims far away from home. If that’s the case, he doesn’t live anywhere near here,” she commented.

      “He changed his MO when he went after Bethany. He’s always taken women from large hospitals. This time, it’s different.”

      “That doesn’t mean he lives close by.”

      “It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t,” he pointed out.

      She grabbed the Bible that Bubbles had brought to the hospital. The leather cover was cracked with age, the pages thin, wrinkled and highlighted with pink and yellow and lime green. Charlotte’s grandmother had spent hours studying scripture. The Bible had been hers. In the years since Daniel’s death, Charlotte had pored through it, seeking comfort in the words her grandmother had highlighted years ago.

      She tucked it under her arm and reached for the slip-on shoes that Bubbles had set on a chair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Adam.”

      “I want you to say that you’re going to follow the team’s plan.”

      “What plan? The one where I get on a private jet and travel to an unknown destination?”

      “Yes.”

      “Were you part of making it? Is that why you want me to agree to it?”

      “You know I’m on leave,” he said. “I have nothing to do with the plans that are made.”

      “I’m sure you’d like to be part of the decision-making process. You can go back to Boston and back to work,” she replied and felt like an ogre for it. Adam had been nothing but kind, and she’d done nothing but try to push him away.

      “No. I can’t. Not until I know you’re safe.”

      “I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she murmured, but her heart wasn’t in the words. They sounded hollow and sad and a little lonely.

      “I didn’t say you did. I said I need to know you are. We might be divorced, but I still care about you, Charlotte. That has never changed.”

      She dropped one of the shoes. It bounced across the floor and slid under the bed.

      “I’ll get it,” Adam said, grabbing her elbow when she bent to reach for it.

      His fingers were warm, his skin calloused, and she could feel his touch long after he released his grip. She rubbed the spot, trying to wipe away the warmth and the memories that filled her head. Cold nights. Hot fires. Long conversations as they lay side by side.

      He’d been her best friend.

      He’d known everything there was to know about her.

      And then he’d been gone.

      She swallowed down grief that she shouldn’t be feeling and whirled away, the quick movement making her light-headed.

      She grabbed the doorjamb, her fingers curving around cool wood.

      “You okay?” Adam asked, and she realized he had both of her shoes in his hand and was watching her.

      “Fine. Just anxious to get out of here.”

      “For the record,” he said, placing the shoes on the floor so she could slip into them, “I don’t approve.”

      “Your disapproval is noted.”

      “But you’re leaving anyway?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll get a wheelchair.” He gave in with a lot less of a fight than she’d expected.

      “I can walk.”

      “Suit yourself.”

      “I will.” She stepped toward the door, and he touched her arm. Not stopping her. Just offering support. Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. His lashes were still long, thick and curly, his skin deeply tanned. He had a faint scar on his left jaw, and a solemnness to his demeanor that had been missing when he’d been a young deputy sheriff, fresh-faced and eager to prove himself. She felt dizzy with the memories, or maybe from moving too much and too quickly.

      “On second thought,” she murmured, “a wheelchair СКАЧАТЬ