Читать книгу Stalked - Beverly Long - Страница 10

Chapter Three

“Hey!” she yelled.

“A minute of your time,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

She jammed on the brakes, almost causing him to pitch forward. He could tell that she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but good manners or something had her shoving the car into Park. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

Now that they were sitting close and there were no competing fragrances from the chemical-rich pool, he could smell just her. The scent was something light, elegant, and it made him think of the rare orchids that his father grew.

Her bare arms were tanned and fit and he suspected that at some point they did more than just lift a martini glass. She probably had a personal trainer on call.

One polished fingernail tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He glanced at her toes. Yep, they matched. He not only knew his bridal-gown designers now, but he was also pretty up to speed on polish colors, too. There’d been a lengthy discussion over lunch about those. Hope favored something a little hotter, a little sexier, than the pink champagne that his sister and her bridesmaids were wearing.

“You’re wasting time,” she said.

“I talk fast,” he said, and gave her his best friendly smile. It had unarmed bad guys all over the world, but didn’t seem to faze her. Her jaw remained stiff. He wished he could see her eyes but she’d put on her sunglasses.

“I guess I really just want to know why you’re so damned determined to be careless with your personal safety?”

She pressed her lips together.

He opened the folded papers. “I think you should see these.” He handed her the least insulting one. She started to reach for it and stopped.

“You can touch it. These are copies. The police have the originals and the envelopes that they came in. They were hand-addressed and delivered by mail to your father’s office. This one came about a week ago.” Reverend Minnow had shared that he’d asked Chief Anderson, the local cop in charge, to keep the letters confidential unless there was a specific reason for the information to be shared. Evidently the chief was a devout follower. Reverend Minnow had given Mack the chief’s private number and he’d entered it into his phone.

She took the paper. Read it. Her expression didn’t change.

That pissed him off. He leaned close and read aloud. “‘Dear Reverend Minnow. I lost my son because of you. You need to know the same pain.’”

“This one came just two days ago.” He spread the paper out. “‘Dear Reverend Minnow. An eye for an eye. My son. Your daughter.’”

She finally looked at him. “I’m not sure what you want me to say?”

“Maybe something like, ‘wow, I’m kind of worried.’”

“But I’m not.” She took a deep breath. “Do you know that my father has a new book coming out soon?”

Mack nodded.

“My mother’s cancer is in remission. Good news, of course. Not great timing for my father. You see, she’d been recently diagnosed when his last book hit the shelves. Gave him the boost he needed for it to hit the New York Times list.”

Okay. A few things were starting to make sense. First things first. “I’m sorry that your mom was ill.” His own mother had died of cancer when he was just a teenager. “And I’m glad that she’s getting better.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice very soft.

“You really think that your father would engineer something like this just to get some attention?”

“Definitely. Don’t underestimate my father. Others have and they’ve paid the price.”

“Bing believes these threats are real.”

“Uncle Bing is a wonderful man. But his friendship with my father, which I do not understand, is apparently clouding his judgment.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Mack asked. “Do you have so little regard for your life that you’re willing to take the chance?”

She moved the gearshift to Reverse. “Mr. McCann, you’ve used up more than your sixty seconds. Get out.”

He would have thought she was absolutely as cool as a cucumber, but she had a profound tell. Her pretty hot-pink toes on her left foot were moving. Her foot wasn’t tapping. No. Just the toes, expending her nervous energy. If she’d had on shoes or if they’d been seated at a table, he’d never have been the wiser. He opened the door. “Don’t be a fool, Hope.”

He watched her drive away. Let her get to the end of the block before he moved. Then he ran for his car, which was parked around the corner. Before she got to I-280 East, he’d picked up the car and settled in, staying a discreet three car lengths behind.

He called Bing from the car. “I’m following Hope.”

“I’ll let her parents know,” Bing said and hung up.

She drove competently, staying up with the nonrush-hour traffic. They crossed through the Holland Tunnel and weaved their way through lower Manhattan, then up to midtown. Then she pulled into a parking garage one block off of Fifth Avenue that charged a ridiculous thirty-five dollars per hour. He idled in a no-parking zone, giving her time to get out of her car and down the sidewalk. Then he pulled into the same lot and quickly parked.

This portion of Fifth Avenue was one designer store after another. The shoppers were an eclectic bunch. Parents with children, likely on vacation to the Big Apple, and much more likely, he figured, to be window-shopping rather than buying at the overpriced stores. There were business types—men and women—with briefcases or expensive leather bags on their shoulders and cell phones in their hands. Maybe they shopped but he thought not. Probably en route from one meeting to the next and using the expensive street as a convenient thoroughfare.

And then there were the real shoppers, the people like Hope Minnow, who had the means and the inclination to pay for a designer name and some personalized service. He caught up with her in a small store that was somehow managing to pay their rent selling purses, scarves and shoes.

He stayed outside because the interior was too narrow to provide him any cover. He stood off to the side of the big windows, pulled his cell phone off his belt and pretended to make a call.

He knew there was some chance that he could lose her if she decided to run out the back door but it was a calculated risk. He was confident that she didn’t realize she was being followed.

Wedding dresses, nail polish, now the accessories. He could feel his masculinity eroding. He needed some scratching and spitting.

It was a good thing he owed Brody Donovan a call. The two of them were going to throw Ethan a hell of a bachelor party, but first Brody needed to get back into the country. He’d been working on the front lines for a long time, patching up soldiers who had the misfortune to lose limbs to roadside IEDs. The last time Mack had spoken to Brody, just after Chandler had surfaced in Ethan’s capable hands, the man was looking forward to getting back to the States. He intended to join the trauma team at one of Southern California’s most prestigious hospitals.

The three of them were going to have some fun in Vegas first. Mack had seen the movies. He could do better.

But now, his only real responsibility in life was following a woman intent upon spending her daddy’s money.

When she walked out of the store fifteen minutes later, she was carrying just one bag that, by the shape, appeared to be shoes. It made him think of her pretty pink toes again. Shame to cover those up.

She went to three more stores and the pattern pretty much repeated itself. She went in, spent about twenty minutes and came out carrying another bag. Their shapes were not as definitive as the shoe bag, but given the types of stores, he suspected she’d purchased jewelry, dark chocolate and clothing. She was just about to enter a huge toy store when she suddenly detoured from her path and headed toward a bus stop at the corner. There was a group of people but she sought out a woman who was standing with a stroller in front of her and two other young children, one on each side. The woman wore a fast-food worker’s uniform. Mack suspected she was either just getting off or just going to work.

He couldn’t figure out what Hope had in common with the woman. But it didn’t take him long because suddenly Hope was handing the woman all her packages. The woman appeared hesitant to accept them, but Hope must have said something to convince her because she finally accepted the bundle.

He wished he could hear the conversation but he couldn’t afford to get any closer. In fact, when Hope turned quickly, retracing her steps, he had to jump behind a group that was waiting for the crosswalk light to come on.

What the hell? She’d spent two hours shopping only to give away the merchandise? He was confident the woman with the children hadn’t been expecting to meet Hope.

He followed her as she headed in the direction of her car. They were still two blocks away when she pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She glanced at the phone and answered. Then she walked and talked, an animated conversationalist, shaking her head, even waving an arm. The call continued all the way back to the parking lot and for another ten minutes after Hope was in her car. When she finally put her phone down, she slumped over the steering wheel for a few seconds.

Even from a distance, he could tell that she seemed defeated, and he had the most insane urge to storm the car and demand to know what was wrong. He wanted to fix it. Why, he wasn’t sure. She’d snubbed him, kicked him out of her car and made him waste two hours of his life on Fifth Avenue.

But before he could make the decision to show himself, she straightened up, started her car and pulled out of the lot. He got in his own car and followed her back onto the highway, dropping off when she turned the corner to return to her home.

He called Bing again. “She’s back, safe and sound. The only thing that was in danger was her wallet.”

“I was just about to call you. I’m out to an early dinner with Patsy and Archie before we catch our plane. Patsy called Hope while she was shopping and they had a long conversation. She’s agreed to have you provide security.”

That explained the phone call.

“Why the change of heart?”

“I could only hear Patsy’s side of the conversation. At first, it didn’t appear as if Hope was going to give in. But Patsy kept insisting, almost begging her. I guess she finally agreed.”

“When is she expecting me?”

“Tonight. But don’t expect her to cook you dinner.”

He’d be lucky if she didn’t throw her dinner at him.