Closer…. Jo Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ banged back with her head, kicked him again and tried to reach him with her nails.

      “Shit, would you stop?” She could feel the muscles in his chest, the strength of his thighs. He was big, and in her stupid sleep-shirt, barefoot, she couldn’t hurt him. She also couldn’t breathe.

      It was the latter that made her still. Time slowed as she grew lightheaded. All she could think was Please, make it fast. I can’t stand pain. Don’t hurt me.

      Then darkness. Then nothing.

      2

      CHRISTIE WOKE. It was her bed, her room, and it was night. As the muddle in her head cleared, she felt her fear surge back full force. It hadn’t been a dream. The bastard was here, in her house. She reached over to her bedstand, but the drawer was open and empty. Instead, she grabbed the phone, but there was no dial tone. Tossing it to the bed, she got up, not willing to waste a second panicking. He was here. She had to get out.

      Going directly to the window, she tried to open it and couldn’t. Of course, she’d locked it. To keep him out. Her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the lock right, and when she finally did, there were the screws above the inside window to pull free. She’d never experienced terror like this, not with any of his phone calls or even the notes he’d left inside. If she didn’t get out, she knew she would die.

      “What are you doing?”

      She spun around at the voice. “Don’t come near me.”

      He stood in the doorway, but all she could see was his silhouette. He was so large. His shoulders nearly filled the space, his head just a few inches from the top. There was something in his hand. A mug. Her coffee mug. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke softly. Barely above a whisper.

      “You son of a bitch. I’ll scream. I’ll scream my head off.”

      “You don’t have to do that. I promise. I’m here to help. But please, keep your voice down.”

      She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

      “Christie,” he said, moving a bit closer. “Your brother sent me.”

      Her breath caught. “My brother’s dead.”

      “I know. But he gave you a phone number. You called that number this morning.”

      “What?” she asked, knowing it was a trick.

      “I served with Nate,” he said, his whisper deeper, as if it wasn’t quite real. “He saved my life.”

      “You could have tapped my phone.”

      “I could have, but I didn’t.”

      He took a step into the room and Christie backed up, banging her head against the window.

      “Hold on. I’ll show you.” He walked over to her bed and put the mug down on the side table. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

      Christie watched him, knowing she should make a run for it. Break the window if she had to. Scream, like she’d threatened. But she felt immobilized. As if her feet were stuck to the floor.

      He approached, and every muscle in her body tightened. He handed her a snapshot.

      Her fingers shook so it was hard to focus. It helped when he turned on the light by her bed. In the photo, she found Nate instantly. He wore camouflage, complete with floppy hat. Next to him was a big guy. The one standing not a foot away. There were other people in the picture, two men and two women. The six of them were smiling. Happy. Their weapons held casually, the way she used to hold her stuffed bear.

      “That was in Kosovo. I’m sure Nate told you we were there.”

      She looked at his face, which she could see clearly for the first time. Like Nate, he was a good-looking man. Dark hair cut short, but not as short as in the picture. Vivid eyes with long, dark lashes. An angular jaw and a full lower lip. He wasn’t as tall as she’d thought. Maybe six-two. And while his shoulders were broad, his hips were slim, his legs long. There were small lines at the edges of his eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. “They said it was a pizza parlor.”

      “It is. But the man who owns it doesn’t just make pizza.”

      Her hands still shook as she returned the picture. “Why the hell did you break in?”

      “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d wake you. I didn’t want your stalker to know I was here.”

      “You know about the stalker?”

      He nodded. “I got on it as soon as I heard about your call.”

      “Got on it? What, you broke into the police department?”

      “No. I have someone at the FBI who helped.”

      “Jesus.” She pushed back her hair, wondering if this was the part where the men in the white coats entered. “So, what, you’re here to…?”

      “Help. To catch him. To make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

      “The police and the FBI haven’t been able to do squat. What makes you so sure you can do anything?”

      “Trust me. I can. I’ve already done a preliminary sweep in here. I found these.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a jumble of tiny electronic bits. “Why don’t we sit down. Talk this thing through.”

      She nodded, hardly believing her eyes. The bastard had put bugs in her bedroom? It creeped her out so much her knees nearly buckled. She barely made it to the bed, where she sat for a few minutes remembering how to breathe.

      When she was calm enough to talk, she looked up. “What’s your name?”

      “Boone. Boone Ferguson.”

      “There are only two possibilities here,” she said. “One, you’re him, and you’ve planned this whole thing, including the picture in your wallet. Two, you really did serve with Nate, and for some unknown reason, you want to help. If it’s the first, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it. You win. If it’s the second…” The breath she’d fought for slipped away. “You win there, too. I have nothing left. I was going to leave first thing in the morning. But he got to the bank. Had the IRS seize my accounts. I’m broke. I’m tired. I give up.”

      Boone nodded. “Here’s what you’re going to do right now. Put on a robe and some slippers, take that mug of tea and come into the kitchen. Give me about ten minutes. I want to make sure we’re not overheard.”

      “Where’s Milo?”

      Boone almost smiled. “He’s in the kitchen. Ten minutes.”

      She watched him leave. He wore jeans and an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He could have been a businessman or an architect. In truth, she had no idea who he was. Only that if he were telling the truth, he’d known Nate.

      Instead of the robe, she changed into jeans and a shirt. She’d never go to bed in just a T-shirt again. As she dressed, she remembered СКАЧАТЬ