Читать книгу Unmasking The Shadow Man - Debbie Herbert - Страница 11

Harper leaned against the pillows on her mom’s headboard and wearily brushed a hand through her tousled hair. Six cardboard boxes lay scattered on the floor, filled to brimming with her mother’s old clothes. On the bed, she’d kept out a few things she couldn’t bear to part with—a couple of Mom’s old silk scarves, the flannel night robe she’d worn for decades and several sweaters that were still stylish. The rest would be donated to charity. The sooner everything was packed up, the sooner she could hold an estate sale for the furniture. Whatever didn’t sell would also be given away.

Coffee was in order. Tonight, she wanted to finish the master bedroom and then move on to either the basement or attic in the morning. Harper kicked aside boxes and headed to the kitchen.

Twilight cast its dusky hue along the riverfront. Today had gone by much too quickly. There was so much to do before she returned to Atlanta and her normal routine. Without Doug. It wasn’t so much that she missed him, it was being alone yet again. And now, with Mom’s passing, the thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas on her own was depressing. Maybe she should book a tropical cruise and pretend the holidays weren’t even taking place. The idea lifted her spirits. Her business was successful, so why not have a little fun after this sad year?

Humming, Harper measured water into the coffeepot. Might as well fill it to the brim—Officer Andrews had called earlier, saying he’d stop by after work. Didn’t all cops love coffee and doughnuts? Tonight, cheesecake would have to do. Speaking of which, a tiny slice now would be a reward after all her hard work cleaning and packing. She got the dessert out of the fridge, then frowned at the dwindling size of the cheesecake. Had she really eaten that much of it in the past two days? Evidently, she had.

She limited herself to only a couple bites, eaten over the kitchen sink. A neighbor across the street, Mrs. Henley, walked down the driveway to collect her mail, which reminded Harper to check hers as well. Outside, the air was a bit chilly for October. Harper hugged her arms as she sprinted for the mailbox. She waved at Mrs. Henley, an old friend of her mom’s, and then withdrew a handful of envelopes.

An icy finger of fear trickled down the nape of her neck. Someone was watching her. She lifted her head and caught a faint swish of the lace curtain hanging in her attic window. Harper drew a deep breath. Inhale, hold for four counts, and then a long exhale—just as her yoga teacher advised for easing stress. Nobody’s there. The house had been locked up tight ever since Mom died. A couple more therapeutic breaths and she dismissed the silly feeling of being watched. The prank email this morning had her jumpy, that was all.

Quickly, she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk, but a couple of utility bills were due. Call and cancel utilities for next month—Harper added the chore to her mental checklist. By then, the house would be on the market, and…

A flash of something large came toward her at breakneck speed. A whisper of tires on asphalt, the faint scent of car exhaust—Harper’s head snapped up in alarm. A black pickup truck barreled down on the wrong side of the road and aimed straight at her, its headlights blinding. Paralyzing fear kept her rooted to the spot for a couple seconds.

Get back. Her body caught up to her brain’s screaming message. Harper lunged off the curb and rolled onto the sidewalk. The truck crashed into her mailbox, and then its engine revved, increasing speed. Gaping at the truck’s fading taillights, she lay on one elbow and watched as it sped around King Street’s sharp curve, disappearing into the night as quickly as it had arrived.

“Harper! Harper, are you all right?”

Mrs. Henley’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Harper tried to catch her breath, to let her neighbor know that she was okay, but damned if the words wouldn’t form past her numbed lips.

Pain radiated from the palms of both her hands and her right hip. Blood formed beneath the ripped knees of her jeans. She raised her hands to eye level and stared blankly at the deep abrasions marking the tender skin.

“Oh my God, Harper. Tell me you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley knelt beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The nerve of some drivers! He could have killed you with his recklessness.”

The reality that she’d been seconds away from possible death or disfigurement finally sank in, and Harper trembled uncontrollably. Reckless? It had seemed deliberate.

She sucked in deep breaths of the crisp air and managed a wan smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Let me help you up.”

“No. Wait a minute.” She needed to collect her wits.

“Of course.” Mrs. Henley nervously scanned her prone body. “Where all are you hurt?”

Good question. “I—I think just my knees and hands and hip.” She drew a deep breath and sat up. “Okay, I think I’m ready to stand now.”

Mrs. Henley placed her hands under Harper’s right forearm. “I’ll help.”

She surveyed her neighbor’s somewhat frail body. “That’s okay. I’ve got this.”

The sound of a racing motor set her heart skittering. Had the truck returned to finish her off? Harper twisted around. A Baysville Police Department sedan screeched to an abrupt halt by her fallen mailbox. Officer Andrews was halfway out of the vehicle before the motor turned off.

“What happened? Are you injured?” he called, running toward them.

He was beside her, his brow furrowed with concern, assessing the situation. Harper had the oddest sensation of falling into the warmth of those gray eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lean into the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders—to draw momentary comfort from his strength and kindness.

“Some fool driver nearly ran her over,” Mrs. Henley jumped in to explain. “He nearly gave me a heart attack! And he didn’t even stop, just kept right on going.”

“Did you get a plate number?”

“No. Sorry, Officer. It happened so fast.”

Andrews turned back to Harper. “What about you?”

“All I can tell you is that it was a large black pickup truck.”

“Catch the make and model?” he asked hopefully.

“No.” Even if it hadn’t been for the darkness and her shattered nerves, Harper couldn’t have relayed that information. Vehicles were just vehicles, and she’d never bothered learning different manufacturers’ specifications. Not that Officer Andrews needed to know all that.

“How bad are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, don’t. I’m fine. Was just going to stand when you drove up.”

Andrews held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He wouldn’t let her fall. His grasp was strong, an anchor to momentarily lean on. She winced, though, as the raw patches on her palm pressed into the hard strength of his hand. Luckily, her legs and ankles were uninjured, and she stood on her own two feet again. She gave him a nod, and he released his hold.

“Thank God, you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley held up the stack of envelopes Harper had dropped as the truck came at her. “I believe I’ve gathered all your mail.”

Harper took the envelopes and shook her head. How unimportant the mail seemed now.

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll fix you something to drink while I take your statement.”

Andrews’s deep voice washed over her scattered senses like a balm. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”

“I can do that for you,” Mrs. Henley chimed in.

“That’s okay, ma’am. Thanks for your help.”

Harper shot him a grateful look. Mrs. Henley meant well, but once she came in the house and settled down, she was likely to stay for hours, wanting to chitchat. While her neighbor was a perfectly lovely person, Harper didn’t feel up to that.

Andrews guided her in the house and helped her get seated at the kitchen table.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Where are your first aid supplies?”

She pointed to the hallway on their left. “Second door on the right. Should be alcohol and bandages below the sink. At least, there used to be, years ago.”

He left momentarily, returning with an old, dusty bottle of rubbing alcohol, a washcloth and several square packages of gauze. Kneeling by her feet, he gently cleaned the abrasions on her knees and palms. At her slight, involuntary hiss as alcohol touched the wound, he bent low and blew on her skin to ease the pain.

Holy hell. The tender intimacy of the gesture bulldozed her senses with as much impact as when she’d crashed to the ground dodging the wayward truck. After he wrapped her palms with the gauze, he moved on to her knees and she gulped hard, fighting back unexpected tears. What was wrong with her? Was she so broken that a kindly ministration reduced her to a puddled mess?

He finished, cocking his head to the side as he regarded his handiwork. “Might want to pick up some antibiotic cream tomorrow. Just to be safe.”

She cleared her throat, determined to keep her voice steady. “Thank you. I’ve made coffee, and there’s some cheesecake in the fridge,” she told him. “Help yourself.”

She instructed him where to find cups and dishes. He set to work, and she watched. Andrews’s presence filled the kitchen, and she was again struck by his aura of confidence. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense like Bryce—his features were a little too sharp, his body more lean than overly muscled—but Harper was drawn to him nonetheless.

Bet the man was sorry now he’d offered to stop by and check her house. Seemed she was one problem after another lately.

Andrews sat across from her. “About that truck—I’ll need to file a report on the incident.”

“Okay. Sorry Mrs. Henley and I are no help in providing anything more specific, Officer.”

“Liam.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“My name’s Liam.”

Liam. The lovely syllables washed over her.

“Why don’t I get started on the house search while you finish your coffee?”

“Okay. Be warned, it’s a bit of a mess with boxes everywhere. I’m getting ready to sell the place.”

“Understood.” He rose and regarded her with something that seemed like…interest. “So, you’ll be here, what, a couple more weeks?”

“More or less.”

He nodded. “I’ll start in the basement and work my way up.”

“Sure. I’ll tag along with you. I’m fine now.”

Her legs were still shaky, and she hoped Liam didn’t notice. He followed her to the basement, and she was conscious of his large form so close to her own. A stirring of excitement whispered through her body. How pathetic was she? The man was merely paying a kindness. Harper flipped on light switches and flushed a bit as he examined the junky, damp room.

“Lots of Dad’s old tools are still down here. Plus, Mom always kept a large pantry of canned goods and stored holiday decorations in the basement, too. Got loads of work to do clearing it all out.”

Liam shone a flashlight on the narrow overhead windows. “No sign of forced entry here.”

And didn’t she feel foolish. Going to the cops over a few scratching noises and a silly email?

“Onward and upward,” she joked. He followed her upstairs, and they made their way through each room. Liam opened all the closets and checked the windows. With each passing room, her embarrassment grew. In the attic, he walked through and inspected the cramped space filled floor to ceiling with plastic bins. “More holiday decorations,” she explained. “Mom went all out for every holiday—Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s Day, you name it, she had knickknacks to commemorate its occurrence.” An unexpected pang of nostalgia for the old days hit her in the solar plexus. Old meaning the years before Presley died. There hadn’t been much need to celebrate anything after that.

“This house is huge,” he commented as they made their way back to the kitchen. “Come from a large family?”

“Nope. There were only two of us kids and Mom and Dad. My dad used to talk about quitting work at the factory and turning this place into a B&B. But once he died, Mom lost all interest in the project. Truthfully, I don’t think she was ever gung-ho about the idea. She enjoyed waitressing at the diner. And Presley and I didn’t like the idea of sharing our home with a bunch of strangers, either.”

“Sorry about your sister’s accident.”

Speaking of which… “How did you know of it? Were you outside the office when I spoke with Bryce?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear,” he said easily. “I don’t like to barge in when he’s in the middle of a conversation.”

“Ah, I get you. Well, it’s been seventeen years since she died, so you don’t need to walk on eggshells when it comes to discussing what happened.” Harper cast an involuntary look back over her shoulder. “She fell down in the kitchen and passed out. The soup she had on the stove caught fire. She died from a combination of a head wound and smoke inhalation.”

“I see.” His kind gaze sent waves of comfort through her body. Lots of people acted weird when you brought up tragedies and tried to immediately change the subject. To his credit, Liam did not. “That must have been awful for your family.”

“Yeah. She was only sixteen.”

“Were you two close?”

“As close as you can be when you’re seven years apart. I looked up to her as a kid. Presley was smart. Genius kind of smart. Used to earn extra money tutoring students, including your boss.”

She motioned to the table, and they sat down, this time side by side. She was hyperaware of his arms and shoulders so close to her own. Harper gripped her coffee mug with both hands to resist an impulse to reach out and touch Liam. “What about your family?” she ventured. “How long have you lived in Baysville?”

A contented smile washed over his face. “I have a huge family. Three brothers and two sisters. Most of them live in Arlington.”

“Parents still living?”

“Yep. Both still kicking.”

“You’re lucky.”

A heartbeat of silence fell between them, a locked gaze that lasted a second too long to be casual. Liam scooted his chair. “Time for me to get moving. You going to be okay here by yourself?”

“Yes, of course.” They both rose at the same time, and Harper almost sighed. It would be ridiculous to start anything with her moving so soon, and she wasn’t into one-night stands. Damn it.

“What the hell?” Liam frowned and strode toward the back window of the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“Look outside.”

Dutifully, she walked over and stood beside him. An elliptical flashlight beam pierced the marshlands abutting the far side of her property. Liam hurried out onto the back porch, and Harper grabbed the flashlight she always kept on the chifforobe for emergencies. By the time she joined up with Liam, they were halfway across her yard.

“Get back,” he ordered. “I’ll check it out.”

“Alone?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Shouldn’t you at least call a dispatcher before you take off to investigate potential danger?”

“It’s one person with a flashlight. And I have my cell phone on me. Not to mention a sidearm. Stay inside,” he added. “Until I’m sure the area’s safe.”

But instead she fell into step behind him. “I’d feel safer with you.”

They walked away from the lights of town and into the dark silence of the marshes. Cordgrass leaves brushed against her thighs, and her sneakers sank slightly into the muck covered by black needlerush. In the distance, flowing river water lapped against the shore, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuated the night. Moonbeams glowed silver on the tips of cypress trees and wax myrtles.

Again, the inky blackness was pierced by a flashlight beam, but it was farther away now.

“Whoever it was, they’re leaving,” she whispered.

Liam turned her flashlight on full beam and directed it toward whoever had been lurking. “Damn. If I thought I could trust you not to run after me, I’d give chase.”

“Good thing I’m here, then.”

He shot her a severe frown. “I’m going in a little closer anyway to see what he might have been up to.”

“We’re getting near the railroad tracks. Probably a vagrant wandering the area.”

“Awful brave of him, considering the several recent murders.”

“Several?” she asked in alarm.

“Over the past ten years, six have been reported. All were vagrants. You weren’t aware of this?”

“I’d heard of a couple over the years, but I didn’t realize there were so many. That’s awful. Have they been fighting among themselves, like some sort of gang war?”

“That’s one theory,” he said drily.

“I take it that’s not your favorite theory.”

The rev of an engine sounded from far away, but no headlights appeared.

“Think that’s our flashlight man—or woman?” she asked.

“If it is, he’s definitely up to no good.”

“Or she,” Harper remarked. “I’m an equal-opportunity crime theorist.”

“Fine. You go home and theorize up a storm. Can you see well enough to make it back?”

“Sure. I left the porch light on.”

“Great. I’m going to investigate.”

She’d said she could see the way home, but not that she’d obey. “Be careful,” she answered, turning around and taking a few steps. Once Liam was out of sight, she stopped and waited. Better to be here and learn what he’d found firsthand than to sit at home waiting and wondering. And no doubt every tiny rustle in the house would set her imagination down a fearful path she was sick of traveling.

Headlights beamed from far off, appearing for an instant and then vanishing along the winding county road out of town.

Harper shivered and wished she’d thought to grab a jacket from the porch. Liam moved quickly through the marsh, the flashlight beam set on high and shining in an arc over the wetland field. Whatever was out there, she hoped it wasn’t dangerous. She wished they would return to her house and call for backup—in case of trouble.

A hoot owl screeched, and chills bristled her skin. According to legend, the night’s predatory raptor had cried a message of death.