Stalked. Beverly Long

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СКАЧАТЬ watched the older woman walk up the stairs and listened for her room door to open and shut. Then he rechecked the security system to make sure it was on. Finally, he shut off the television and followed her upstairs.

      He took a quick shower and pulled his jeans back on. They were comfortable enough to sleep in and he didn’t want to get caught with his pants down or off. Then, cognizant that Mavis and Hope were asleep, he very quietly left his room, walked downstairs and stretched out on the couch in the family room.

      And he didn’t wake up until he heard the very soft beep of the security system being turned off. Then the distinct sound of the front door opening and softly closing.

      In seconds, he was up and at the window, gun in hand. He saw a woman walking down the long lane, headed for the road. If he’d been even a second slower, he’d have lost her in the heavy tree line.

      What the hell? It had to be Hope. Right height, right weight. Same sexy walk. But her hair was short and dark.

      He slipped on his jacket, patted his pocket to make sure that his small flashlight was still there and followed, gun in hand. She was walking fast, her head down, likely watching to make sure she didn’t trip.

      An ankle injury would put a damper on her escape plans.

      Was she running away? That was crazy. He knew she wasn’t happy, but running away was for temperamental teens. And she had it made at her dad’s house. No real responsibilities. Plenty of funding.

      Out for a night on the town? In a disguise? Maybe. But she was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and baggy khaki pants. Not right for the club scene, even in Jersey. And why walk? She had a perfectly good car.

      She stopped when she reached the road. She had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her head was no longer down. She was looking to the left, as if she were waiting for someone.

      He considered approaching. He should, really.

      But he knew that if he did, she’d simply lie about what had driven her to leave her warm bed at midnight.

      And he’d be no closer to figuring out what made this woman tick.

      So he stayed quiet, hidden by the trees. And in less than five minutes, an old car came along, slowing well before they could have seen Hope. When the car stopped, Hope stepped from the trees and opened the passenger-side door.

      The car’s interior light came on, showing the driver. A woman. Dressed in dark blue or black scrubs. Probably ten years older than Hope.

      Hope slid in and shut the door. The car drove away, leaving Mack McCann, who rarely got surprised by anything, standing at the side of the road, with his mouth hanging open.

       Chapter Five

      Hope leaned back against the headrest of the old car and sighed. It had been an emotionally draining day, and while she normally slept for a few hours before Sasha picked her up, she’d been unable to drift off tonight. Because of him.

      Mack McCann. A necessary precaution, her mother had cajoled. Trusted friend, claimed Uncle Bing.

      Brilliant strategy, she suspected, from her father’s perspective.

      Didn’t really much matter what anybody else thought. She pretty much had him pegged as a thorn in her side.

      She’d heard him come upstairs after Mavis had gotten home. Had heard the pipes of the old house groan when he’d showered. Could admit that she’d spent a few warm moments imagining how his naked body might look and had told herself it was normal to fantasize a bit, given that she hadn’t had sex in almost two years.

      And he was seriously handsome with his dark hair and hazel eyes. And physically fit. She knew he’d graduated from the naval academy with honors, spoke several languages fluently and was an expert marksman. Her mother had listed off those attributes this afternoon.

      She hadn’t been thinking one bit about those things when she’d spent several valuable minutes of her life wondering if he’d packed pajamas in his leather bag. Finally, she’d punched her pillow for the tenth time, closed her eyes tight and thought about the surprise and the delight on the stranger’s face earlier that day when the woman realized that Hope intended for her to take all the packages that Hope had managed to accumulate while grazing on Fifth Avenue.

      It had been an excellent way to end the day.

      “Tired?” Sasha asked, her tone kind.

      “No,” Hope lied. If anyone had a right to be tired, it was Sasha. She always picked Hope up after she’d finished her three-to-eleven shift at the nursing home. “How was work?”

      “Charlie Fenton ran away again tonight. Without his clothes on.”

      That wasn’t a pretty picture. Hope recalled that Mr. Fenton was almost ninety. “Where did you find him this time?”

      “Where we always find him. Buying donuts down the street. He was bringing them back for Delores. They’re dating.”

      “That’s sweet. How old is Delores?”

      “A spry eighty-three. They’re talking about getting married.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding,” Hope said, laughing.

      “You would think. Can you imagine?” Sasha gave her a quick sideways look. “Sorry,” she added.

      Sasha was one of the few who knew the real reason that Hope’s brief marriage had crumbled. She’d been there to pick up the pieces. That was how the two women had met. “No problem,” Hope said easily. She’d never be able to laugh about her own situation, but she wasn’t so jaded that she couldn’t feel good about these two old people sneaking around, as much as one could sneak when using a walker, acting like teenagers again.

      “Think we’ll be busy tonight?” Sasha asked, attempting to change the conversation.

      It was a rhetorical question. No one could ever predict what kind of night it would be. The hotline had been quiet for a few nights so maybe it would heat up. They’d had a brand-new client and her two children two nights ago. She’d had two black eyes, a chipped tooth and a broken finger. Her young children had hung on to her the entire night, their little hands tightly clenching her cheap cotton T-shirt. Fortunately, they hadn’t had a mark on them, but they’d evidently watched what their father had done to their mom.

      Finally, Hope had gotten the four-year-old girl and five-year-old boy to follow her into the old kitchen. She’d convinced them to help her make some cupcakes so that Sasha and Jackie could work with the mom and get her started on rebuilding her life, one that didn’t include regularly getting the hell beat out of her.

      Sasha pulled her car into the parking lot of the nondescript one-story building. From the outside, it looked quiet enough. Always did. There were no neon signs blinking in these windows. Just a small sign on the door, one you had to be close to in order to read.

      Gloria’s Path. Named for the founder, Gloria Portland, who’d scraped together grants and private donations to open the ten-bed shelter eight years earlier. Now Gloria worked mostly days, leaving the night work to trusted volunteers and just a few paid staff.

      Hope СКАЧАТЬ