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Chapter Four

The fear in Lacey’s voice caught Jim by surprise. She normally seemed so composed and competent that her shivery words made his chest tighten with alarm. “Tell me what’s happening. What makes you think you’re being followed?”

“The other day, before I got to the employment agency, I thought I saw a blue pickup truck following me. I left the highway early, and it passed on by, so I didn’t think about it again. But the same truck is behind me right now.”

“Are you sure it’s the same truck?”

There was a brief pause. “I think it is.” Her voice took on a sheepish tone. “I guess I’m not sure. It’s dark out. Maybe I’m wrong about the color. I’m sorry. I’m probably overreacting.”

“Where are you?”

“I just passed the exit to Dulles.”

Dulles? She was nearly to DC. “I don’t suppose you could cancel whatever you had going on tonight and come back here?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Jim realized the question was entirely inappropriate coming from a nanny she’d just hired that day on a probationary basis.

“I’m sure I’m overreacting,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have called.” She hung up without saying anything further.

Jim pressed his head against the wall, feeling stupid. He had to remember why she’d hired him. She was expecting him to take care of Katie, not protect her from whoever was trying to kill her. He couldn’t come across as overprotective of her.

Katie looked up at him from her seat on the floor, where she was playing with brightly colored letter blocks. “Wacey?” she asked.

“Yeah, that was your aunt Lacey,” he answered, settling himself on the floor in front of Katie, trying to decide what to do next. If he called Lacey back, she’d be suspicious. But what if that blue pickup really was following her? And why was she going to DC in the first place? A date? A meeting with the network?

Or had she been lured into a trap?

He bit back a curse, pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Lacey’s number.

She answered on the first ring. “What?” she asked, her voice tight. He couldn’t tell if she was worried or impatient. Maybe both.

“Look, I know you think you’re overreacting, but at least stay on the phone with me until you get where you’re going safely.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, he thought she’d hung up on him, but then she said, “The truck’s still back there.”

“Has it gotten any closer?”

“No. It hasn’t turned off or fallen back, either.”

“Wacey?” Katie queried, looking up at him with troubled gray eyes.

“Yes, Katiebug.”

“Don’t worry her,” Lacey said quickly. “Kids can sense things.”

“I know.” He pasted a smile on his face until Katie’s expression cleared and she went back to playing with her blocks. He spoke calmly into the phone. “I know you don’t want to tell me where you’re going—”

“I’m meeting someone at the Vietnam memorial.”

He started to frown but froze his expression before Katie could pick up on his anxiety. “There’s no parking near the memorial.”

“I know. I’m going to park at my apartment in Arlington and take a cab into the city.” She released a soft sigh. “I thought it would be safe. There are always tourists at the memorial. A wide-open public place.”

“Maybe not in this weather. And you have to get there first.”

“I know. I should have thought it through more.” She sounded angry, but Jim knew it was self-directed. “I’m not used to being afraid of my shadow. I don’t want to get used to it.”

“Maybe you should call and reschedule whatever this meeting is.”

“I can’t. It might be something I need to know.”

Jim lowered his voice, even though Katie didn’t seem to be listening to him any longer. “About the bomb?”

“I don’t know. Maybe about the bomb. I got a message from one of my State Department contacts. Said he had some information I could use. I didn’t get the details, but I’ve dealt with this person before. He’s been reliable.”

“Was meeting at the war memorial his idea or yours?”

“His.”

“And you’re sure you can trust this guy?”

“I’m not sure about anything right now,” Lacey answered, her voice taut with frustration. “Sometimes I think my whole life has been turned upside down and I don’t know where to go or whom to trust.”

Anything he could say in answer to that lament would probably make her suspicious, he knew. So he fell silent a moment, waiting for her to speak.

Finally, she said, “I’m in Arlington now. I should be at my apartment in a couple of minutes.”

“Is your parking place outside or in a garage?”

“Private garage. Lots of security. I should be okay until I leave the garage.”

“You want me to hang up so you can call a cab?”

“No. I’m going to go up to my apartment. I need to grab a few things anyway. That’s why I left an hour early. I can call the cab from my landline. Listen, I’m at the garage entrance. I always lose cell coverage in the garage, so I’m going to hang up. I’ll call you back in five minutes, when I get to my apartment.”

“Be careful,” he said softly, smiling at Katie, who had looked up sharply at his words.

“Five minutes,” she said and ended the call.

“Five minutes, Katiebug. We can handle waiting five minutes, can’t we?”

Katie gazed back at him, her expression troubled.

He held out his hands, and she pushed to her feet and toddled into his arms. He hugged her close, breathing in the sweet baby smell of her, and settled his gaze on the mantel clock.

Five minutes.

* * *

THERE HAD BEEN a time when her apartment had been nothing short of a sanctuary. It was her home base, the place where the craziness of the world she traveled as part of her career couldn’t touch her. Here, she was just Lacey Miles, sister and aunt. Good neighbor and, when she could find time to socialize, a halfway decent friend and girlfriend.

Until the night Marianne and Toby had died.

Just a couple of days ago, she remembered, she’d wanted nothing more desperately than to come home to this condo and try to recapture that sense of safety and calm. But as she walked through the apartment, listening to the silence enveloping her, she felt as if she’d walked into a strange world she’d never seen before.

Furniture she’d spent weeks shopping for looked alien to her, possessions that belonged to a different person from a different time. The vibrant abstract painting on the wall she’d found in a little art studio a few blocks away seemed lifeless, stripped of its beauty and meaning.

She pushed the thought aside and headed to her bedroom. When she’d moved into the farmhouse, it had been an impulsive choice. An attempt at escaping reality, if she was brutally honest with herself. The apartment was a vivid reminder of that night, of the phone call and the police visit that had shattered her life. She’d packed in haste, almost frantic to get out of this place, away from those memories. The farmhouse was a connection to her sister, but one without any memories to haunt her. She’d never even been there. Marianne and Toby had still been living in the city when the bombing happened. The farmhouse had still been a project, not a home.

Surveying the contents of her closet, she looked past the sleek, vividly colored dresses she wore on air. They had no place in her life at the moment. Pushing them to one side, she selected several sweaters and coats, the fleece-lined outerwear that she’d need, since the weather forecasters were predicting a snowy late winter. Rolling them up, she packed them in a medium-sized suitcase and set the bag by the front door so she wouldn’t forget it.

She picked up the phone sitting on an antique cherry table by the door and called for a cab. A car would be there in ten minutes, the cab company promised. It would make her a few minutes late for her meeting with Ken Calvert, she realized, but it couldn’t be helped. Meanwhile, it gave her time to pack the bag in her car for the trip home.

She was halfway down to the garage when she realized she hadn’t called the nanny back.

Jim Mercer answered on the first ring, his voice tight with tension. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly, surprised by his tone.

“You were in the garage a long time. Longer than five minutes.”

“I got busy. I packed a few things I’m going to need at the farm and I had to call a cab.” She felt guilty, which was ridiculous. The man was her nanny, not her keeper. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? “I think you may be right. That truck was probably just headed to town like I was.”

“I’d still feel better if you stayed on the phone until you reach the memorial.”

“I’d feel better if you were concentrating on Katie.”

“She’s right here,” Jim said. “We ate while we were waiting for your call. Now she’s half-asleep in her high chair.”

“Did she make a mess with her food?”

“No more than the average two-year-old. I’ll clean her up before I put her to bed.”

Lacey felt a quiver of envy. Most of the time, she felt completely out of her element with Katie, but the one thing both of them enjoyed was that brief time between dinner and bedtime, when Katie was drowsy and at her sweetest. She loved bedtime stories, and Lacey loved telling them. They’d cuddle in the rocking chair in Katie’s pretty yellow nursery while Lacey spun the familiar old tales of princesses and evil queens, wicked wolves and hapless pigs, evil old crones and two hungry children lost in the woods.

“Give her a kiss for me.” She reached the elevator to the garage. “I’m about to lose my connection again. I’m heading to the garage to put my bag in the car so I don’t forget it.”

“I’ll get Katie cleaned up and in bed while I’m waiting for your call back.” Jim’s voice was firm.

“I think we need to have a talk about who’s the boss and who’s the nanny,” she muttered.

“You were attacked a couple of days ago, and now you think you’re being followed by the same blue truck that followed you that day. On top of what happened to your sister—” Jim’s voice cut off abruptly. “I’m sorry.”

“You said the guy who attacked me drove off in a van.”

“He was the passenger in the van. But when he attacked, he came from the opposite direction, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he had the blue truck parked nearby.”

As much as she wanted to talk herself into believing she was letting her imagination run away with her, Jim had a point. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you back. All right? But I’ve got to go down to the parking garage now, or I’ll miss my cab.” She hung up the phone and shoved it into her pocket.

A woman exited the elevator when it opened. She looked up in surprise at Lacey, her expression shifting in the now-familiar pattern of recognition, dismay and pity. The woman smiled warily at Lacey as they passed each other, and for a moment Lacey feared her neighbor was going to express some sort of awkwardly worded sympathy, but the elevator door closed before either of them could speak, and she relaxed back against the wall of the lift, glad to have dodged another in a long line of uncomfortable moments.

Nobody knew how to express condolences for Lacey’s bereavement. Lacey herself would have been at a loss for the right words. How do you say I’m sorry your sister was murdered in your place without making everything a whole lot worse?

She stashed her suitcase in the trunk of her sister’s Impala and took the elevator back to the lobby to wait for the cab to arrive. As promised, she dialed her home number. Jim answered immediately, his voice slightly muffled by a soft swishing sound Lacey couldn’t quite make out. “Thanks for calling me back. I know you think I’m overstepping my bounds.”

Surprised by his apology, she bit back a smile. “I know you’re just concerned for my safety.”

“But you’re a smart, resourceful woman who’s made her way through war zones. I know you know how to take care of yourself.” A touch of humor tinted his voice. “I mean, I saw you with that tire iron the other day.”

She released a huff of laughter, some of her tension dispelling. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to have someone out there watching your back, right? Even if it’s over the phone.”

“When’s the cab supposed to arrive?”

She glanced at her watch. “Should be anytime now. How’s Katie?”

“I got about three pages into Goodnight Moon before she fell asleep. I’m just washing up from dinner now.”

That explained the swishing sound. It was the water running in the sink. “You know, we have a dishwasher.”

“I know. But when I’m worried, I like to keep my hands busy.”

“I thought you knew you didn’t have to worry about me.” She looked up as lights flashed across the lobby glass. Probably her cab arriving.

“Knowing you can take care of yourself is not the same thing as not worrying about your safety,” he murmured in a low, raspy tone that sent a ripple of animal awareness darting up her spine. It had been a while since anyone outside of Marianne had really worried about her safety, she realized. Her bosses at the network wouldn’t have been happy for her to be killed on assignment, of course, but she knew it was more about liability and the loss of a company asset than about her as a person.

Maybe Jim’s concern for her was more about not wanting to lose his new job almost as soon as he’d gotten started. But something in his voice suggested his worry for her was more personal than pragmatic.

And while her head said there was something not quite right about his instant preoccupation with the danger she was in, she couldn’t quell the sense of relief she felt knowing there was someone who cared if she lived or died, whatever his motivation might be.

The lights she’d seen moved closer, and she reached to open the lobby door as they slowed in front of the building.

Until she realized the lights belonged to a familiar blue pickup truck.

She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

She must have made some sort of noise, for Jim’s voice rose on the other end of the line. “What’s happening?”

“The blue pickup truck is in front of my building,” she answered, slowly retreating from the door until her back flattened against the wall.

“Is it stopping?”

The pickup slowed almost to a halt, then began to move again, moving out of sight. Lacey released a soft hiss of breath. “No. It almost did, then it drove on.”

“Lacey, you can’t go meet your friend out there tonight. You need to get in your car and come home.” Jim’s tone rang with authority, reminding her that he’d spent a lot of years in the Marine Corps. She could almost picture him in fatigues, his hair cut high and tight, his voice barking instructions in the same “don’t mess with me” tone he was using now. “Call him and cancel.”

She wanted to argue, but he was right. Whatever Ken Calvert wanted to tell her could wait for another night. “Okay. I’ll call him right now. I’ll call you back when I’m on the road.”

She hung up and dialed the cab company first, canceling the cab. “I have an account,” she told the dispatcher when he balked at canceling the cab when it was nearly to her apartment. “Bill me for it.”

Then she phoned Ken Calvert on her way back to the elevators. After four rings, his voice mail picked up.

“Ken, it’s Lacey. I can’t make it tonight. Call me tomorrow and we’ll reschedule.” She hung up the phone and entered the elevator, trying to calm her rattling nerves.

The walk from the elevator to the Impala was a nightmare, as she found herself spooked by the normal noises of cooling engines and the muted traffic sounds from outside the garage. She didn’t start to relax until she was safely back on the road out of town.

Settling her phone in the hands-free cradle, she called Jim. “I’m on my way home.”

“Stay on the line,” he said.

“I’m feeling like an idiot right about now,” she admitted. “Jumping at shadows.”

“You’re being safe,” he corrected her firmly. “It’s not like the danger isn’t real, right?”

“Can we talk about something else?” she asked, trying to control a sudden case of the shivers. She turned the heat up to high, wishing she’d donned one of the heavy coats she’d packed before she got behind the wheel of the car.

“Sure. I could read to you. After all, I know where to find a copy of Goodnight Moon.”

“That’ll put me to sleep.” She didn’t know if it was the blast of heat coming from the vents or Jim Mercer’s warm, comforting voice doing the job, but the shivers had already begun to subside. In their place, a creeping lethargy was starting to take hold, making her limbs feel heavy. “Don’t you have any salty tales from your time in the military? Tell me one.”

He told her several, with the seductive cadence and natural delivery of a born storyteller. Katie was going to love him, Lacey thought. Her little niece was a sucker for a well-told story.

The drive home seemed to pass in no time, unmarred by any further sightings of the blue pickup. As she drove through the tiny town of Cherry Grove, the snow that had been threatening all day finally started to fall, first in a mixture with tiny pebbles of sleet, then as fat, wet clumps as she turned into the long driveway to the farmhouse. “I’m here,” she said into the phone.

“I know. See you in a minute.” Jim hung up the phone.

The outside lights were on, casting brightness across the gravel drive. The front door opened as she walked around to the Impala’s trunk to retrieve her suitcase. By the time she hauled it out, Jim Mercer stood beside her, tall and broad shouldered, a wall of heat in the frigid night air.

He took the suitcase from her numb fingers. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered, almost believing it.

He followed her inside, waiting next to her while she engaged the dead bolt on the front door. “I heated up the potpie. I thought you might be hungry.”

She was, she realized. “Starving.”

He set the suitcase on the floor in the living room and led her into the kitchen, where a warm, savory aroma set her stomach rumbling. “It’s not much,” he warned. “Canned vegetables, canned chicken and canned cream-of-mushroom soup.”

“Beats ramen.” She shot him a quick grin as he waved her into one of the seats at the kitchen table and retrieved a plate of casserole from the microwave. It was warm and surprisingly tasty for something straight out of a can. “Not bad.”

“I’m glad you’re home safe,” Jim said. The warmth in his voice and the intense focus of his gaze sent a ripple of pleasure skating along her spine. She quelled the sensation with ruthless determination.

He was Katie’s nanny. Nothing more.

“Why don’t you try to relax?” he suggested when she started to carry her empty plate to the dishwasher. “I’ll clean up.”

“That’s not your job, you know—” The ring of her cell phone interrupted. With a grimace, she checked the number, frowning at the display. It had a DC area code, but there was no name attached. She briefly considered letting it go to voice mail before curiosity made her pick up. “Hello?”

“Lacey Miles?” the voice on the other end asked. It was a male voice, deep and no-nonsense.

“This is Lacey,” she answered, troubled by something she heard in the man’s voice.

“This is Detective Miller with the Metropolitan Police Department. Did you place a phone call to a Ken Calvert earlier this evening, telling him you couldn’t meet him?”

She tightened her grip on the phone and dropped into the chair she’d just vacated. Jim paused on his way to the sink, turning to give her a worried look. “How did you know that?” she asked Detective Miller.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “We found the message on Mr. Calvert’s phone. I regret to inform you that Mr. Calvert died earlier tonight.”