Читать книгу Stalked - Beverly Long - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Hope had just finished her salmon and asparagus when Mack McCann walked up from the backyard. She’d eaten outside because the weather forecasters had been wrong. The rain had held off.

Mack carried an expensive leather bag with a strap over one shoulder and held something else in his hands. When he got closer, she could see it was lightbulbs.

That seemed like an odd thing to pack. He had changed into worn jeans, T-shirt and sandals. He had the job. Obviously no need to dress to impress.

But oddly, he still did impress. It was the confidence he moved with, the assurance that every step he took was exactly the right one.

She envied that. She’d been waffling for months, not able to make a decision about her next steps.

“We have a front door,” she said when he got close enough to hear. “Most people use it.” She stared at the gun that he holstered at his hip. Of course he was armed. She should have expected it but she’d never been all that fond of guns, especially after her father had demanded that she go with him on a deer-hunting expedition when she was about thirteen.

She shifted her eyes, determined to focus on something else besides the black gun. She frowned at the package of lightbulbs. “You didn’t have to bring your own,” she said. “We provide them for our guests.”

He shrugged. “When your father took Bing and me for a tour this morning, I noticed there were some lights out on the other side of the pool house. Light is one of the simplest and best deterrents to unwelcome activity.”

She should probably appreciate his attention to detail. But it was hard to appreciate somebody who was interrupting what would have been ten days of peace. Almost two whole weeks of not pretending to be something that she wasn’t. At least while she was in her own home.

“I still think it’s ridiculous that you’re here,” she said.

He nodded and pulled out a chair. He angled it and she realized he did that so he could see both the house and the backyard. He evidently was still buying in to the fact that the threats were real.

“If you think it’s so ridiculous, why did you agree to the protection?”

“Because my mother asked me to,” she said, blurting out the truth. “She said it was the one thing that I could do to ensure that she enjoyed her trip.” She tapped her index nail against the side of her dirty plate. “My mother has wanted to go to Europe for many years. A year ago, when she was so sick that she couldn’t even lift her head off her pillow, she had accepted that she was never going to get there. And it broke my heart. Such a simple thing to ask for, but time had run out.”

“But she’s getting to go after all,” he said, “and you’re not going to do anything to dull the shine of the experience.”

“I love her too much,” she said. “And when my parents check in with you, as I’m sure they will, I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that I don’t want my mother to have any reason to worry about me. I’ll play my part, Mr. McCann. I hope you will, too.”

“Mack,” he said. “We’re going to be living together for the next ten days.”

Living together. He made it sound so intimate. And a part of her that had been cold for a very long time heated up, making her almost ache with need.

They would not be alone in the house. “Mavis is my mother’s assistant and does some basic cooking and cleaning. About four months ago, she let the lease on her apartment go and moved in here. Right now she’s out to dinner with friends, but you should expect her back around nine. It would be good if you didn’t shoot her.”

She pushed back from the table, making the legs of the wrought-iron chair scrape against the brick patio. “I’m going to my room. Before she left, Mavis told me that the guest room on the second floor is ready for you. Top of the stairs, take a right, third door on the left. There’s an attached bath. I like to sleep late. I’d appreciate it if you’re quiet in the morning.”

* * *

HE KNEW WHERE the guest room was. After agreeing to the assignment, he’d reviewed the house’s blueprints and examined pictures of the exterior and the grounds, which were extensive. In this exclusive rural area of New Jersey, all the lots were at least ten acres. The trees were mature, providing lots of privacy.

From a security perspective, that could be a good and a bad thing. Good because it wasn’t likely that anybody would simply stumble upon the house. That made it easy to separate the good guys from the bad guys. If you weren’t an expected guest, you automatically went into the bad-guy column.

Most of the Minnows’ neighbors raised horses. They had barns and fenced-in pastures and horses that sold for thousands of dollars. When Reverend Minnow had walked them around the grounds, Mack had asked about the barn.

“Been empty since we moved in,” Reverend Minnow had said. “We’re not the horsey type. Hope had a cat for a few years when she was growing up but when it died, I didn’t want any more animals around.”

Mack would have preferred the barn to be bustling with animals. They, at least, would let him know if someone strange was around. Now the barn was just a large empty structure that provided lots of hiding spaces. That, along with the relative remoteness of the Minnow property, presented some security challenges.

Plus, he had to contend with lots of ground-floor windows and multiple points of access. Hell, even the second floor had direct access—right to Hope’s room. There was a lovely little balcony off her bedroom. Only good thing was there wasn’t any easy way up to the balcony and the door was hooked up to the security system. However, he’d looked at the specs of the system and he wasn’t impressed. It was ridiculously basic and a tenth grader could probably bypass it. And if the alarm were triggered, the responders were from a well-to-do suburban police force that rarely saw any real crime. They wouldn’t be much help.

This morning, when he’d been touring the property, he’d debated requesting that Hope take a more secure room in the house. But had ultimately decided it wasn’t necessary. If anybody tried to access the balcony, he’d hear the movement and motion outside and have time to respond.

After five minutes, he followed Hope into the house and walked upstairs. He was okay with stashing his stuff in the guest room, but he sure as hell didn’t plan to sleep there. He’d sleep downstairs on a couch or in a chair, somewhere where he could easily respond if the home were breached.

It took him just minutes to unpack. He left the room, but instead of going downstairs, he started opening doors. It was one thing to study a blueprint, an entirely different thing to walk through and get a feel for the layout of the rooms.

The big staircase split the upstairs, with two bedrooms and two baths on each side. He and Mavis were sharing a side. When he opened her door, he saw that the bedrooms were laid out much the same, although it was clear that Mavis had a special fondness for giraffes. They were scattered all over the dresser and chest, in all materials and sizes. There was an especially beautiful one in glass and a real ugly one made out of burlap. In the corner, there was a metal one that was tall enough that it looked him in the eye.

He crossed the hallway and checked out the bedroom next to Hope’s. It was another guest room and quite frankly, based on the dust that was on the dresser, it hadn’t been used recently. He avoided Hope’s room, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate him knocking on the door.

Next he went downstairs. Archibald and Patricia Minnow’s room was just off the kitchen. The bedroom was spacious, with a king-size bed. There was a separate sitting space, with a desk and several comfortable chairs. Then a huge bath and two walk-in closets, both jammed with clothes.

He glanced into the kitchen, which was painted a nice pale green and had lots of stainless steel. Hope had rinsed her dirty dinner dishes and neatly stacked them in the sink. Somebody had made a loaf of what smelled like banana bread and left it cooling on a rack near the stove.

Other rooms on the first floor were a family room with a wall of books and a big-screen television, a formal living room with overstuffed leather furniture and expensive artwork and, finally, the study. Nice windows, more books on built-in shelves and a desk that he recognized. In the center of the desk was a big Bible. Every week Archibald Minnow recorded his weekly television show from this room. He started and ended the program with his hand on the Bible. Mack had watched a few episodes in preparation of the assignment.

The camera liked Reverend Archibald Minnow. No doubt about it. The man came across as passionate about his faith and committed to his flock. In the segments Mack had watched, Reverend Minnow had spoken lovingly about his wife. He had not mentioned his daughter.

Mack searched the basement next. The house was almost eighty years old and the basement showed it. The walls were big blocks of white stone and the space had not been remodeled or fixed up, like in so many of the newer homes. The floor was cement. There was a treadmill and a weight bench in the largest space. The rest was storage and at the far end, the furnace and water heater.

Confident that he understood the house, he went back upstairs and settled in on the couch. Mavis would return shortly. He’d met the woman earlier in the day, when he and Bing had first arrived. She’d shown them into the living room, where they’d waited until Reverend Minnow had come to get them. Bing had met the woman before and the two of them chatted easily. Mack’s impression of Mavis was that she was competent and fiercely loyal to the Minnow family, especially Patricia.

Mack heard a car approach shortly before nine. He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Mavis parked her Toyota next to his BMW and came in through the front door. When the alarm went off, the woman entered the code on the keypad to shut it off. Then she reset it.

“Mr. McCann,” she said, turning to greet him. “I’m glad to see you. I was hoping Hope wouldn’t have a change of heart and run you off.”

Mack smiled. “I’m not that easy to shake.”

Mavis shrugged. “And Hope Minnow is tougher than she looks.” The woman put her foot on the bottom step. “I’m tired so I think I’ll turn in right away. What time would you like breakfast, Mr. McCann?”

“It’s Mack, please. And don’t cook for me. I can take care of myself.”

“You sound just like Hope. Looks as if these next ten days are going to be a vacation for me, too. Good night.”

Mack 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.