Wanted By The Marshal. Ryshia Kennie
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out as the authorities took charge were engraved in his mind. The time of her rescue wasn’t public knowledge. He couldn’t imagine the time being anything more than a coincidence though. He wasn’t sure if even she knew the exact time of her escape. He wasn’t sure if anyone had told her. She might only know it was early in the morning, unless she had asked. Either way, he didn’t like the sound of any of this. The bus driver who had first found her knew the time, as did the police and the first responders. Would one of them have leaked the information? Except for the bus driver, that would be a breach of confidentiality and mean immediate firing. He made a mental note to mention the possibility that there was a leak to James. The thought, even the possibility, that someone had taken that information and used it to harass her was, to say the least, disconcerting.
She was back with a dishrag in her hand.
“Let me,” he said. He took the cloth from her and wiped up the coffee just as it had come close to creeping onto the edges of the tablecloth.
“Got it,” he said handing the cloth back. The tablecloth was unique, and he guessed that it was handmade. He’d seen his mother and his aunts embroider many such pieces. This one was a beautiful, vibrant garden scene.
“You embroider?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “I found it at a craft sale.” She leaned over to take the dishrag and wiped a drop he’d missed.
A minute later she sat down. It seemed that she moved slowly every time she was forced to sit anywhere near him.
“Have you reported the calls?” he asked despite the obvious tension.
“Yes,” she said. “Sort of. I spoke to the police officer who was here yesterday but no, unless he put a report forward, which I doubt, they weren’t officially reported. I left that to him.” She got up as if she was unable to sit, as if his proximity made her nervous.
“Kiera? Are you alright?”
“Would you like more coffee?” she asked with her back to him.
“No thanks. Look, I’m sorry that this is happening. I’m sorry—”
She turned around and there was a pallor to her face. “It’s alright. It’s me. This is just all so difficult.”
He’d taken the wrong approach. He’d been in her face since the beginning, but he wasn’t used to dealing with a woman traumatized in quite the way she had been.
“Look, I’ll have another cup of coffee, if you’ll have one too.”
A look of relief crossed her face. And a few minutes later they were talking easily about the craft sales in the area and he was silently thanking the women in his life, in his family, for his knowledge of such things. Ten minutes later she was looking, if not relaxed, at least not so tense that she’d leap at the slightest sound.
“Kiera, I hate to ask this, but you said the anonymous calls you received the last two nights or more specifically, early morning, weren’t reported. Why not?”
She shrugged and was quiet for a minute. He gave her time to get her thoughts together and wondered what she was afraid of revealing and why.
“Like I said, I told the police officer the other night, after the first occurrence. He told me there was nothing to be frightened of, that a prank call was just the luck of the draw.”
“He brushed them off?” Travis asked as he fought outrage and tried not to let that emotion show in his voice. “You didn’t tell him the time and that there were two of them?”
“I told him all of it,” she said. “He didn’t believe any of it was part of what happened. I don’t believe that. Someone needs to know.”
Damn it, Travis thought. There’d been no mention of this, no report. Heads would roll. He pushed the anger back and instead focused his attention on her.
“Tell me about the phone calls,” he encouraged in a gentler tone.
She looked at him with relief.
“And don’t hesitate to tell me anything from here on out.”
She nodded and something in the set of her chin seemed less tense.
“The call occurred again this morning. Two calls, two early morning calls in a row. It begins with a ring and a hang up. Then, ten minutes later, five minutes after five o’clock, they call again. The second call is always heavy breathing for about a minute before they disconnect.”
He was quiet, considering what she had said.
“Here.” She tossed her phone to him. “The calls are there. They’re listed as unknown but the time, duration...”
He looked at the phone’s history that confirmed what she’d already said, although he’d never doubted her—at least on that fact.
“We may get along yet,” she said with a cough. She covered her mouth and turned away. “Excuse me,” she said. “How long did you say I was stuck with you and—” she coughed again and then turned, gave a slight smile, as politeness disappeared “—and, as my aunt would have said, your ilk.”
“Right until the bitter end, sweetheart,” he said, glad to, again, see the hint of attitude. It gave him hope that she’d be able to overcome the trauma she’d endured. She was a strong woman. That was what the therapist had put in his report, and he’d been right. Not many could endure what she had.
“You have no idea what that might mean.”
“You’ll be safe, I promise,” he said although he knew that wasn’t what she’d been alluding to but rather the unknown that lay between now and the trial.
“Will I?” she asked.
He looked into her eyes and saw heartbreak and fear. Both were emotions that tore at his heart in a way no woman had affected him in a long time. But she’d been through more than he could imagine. And other than preventing further threats, he couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t stop the fear, for that arose from a horrifying experience that he could not change. He could only hope that his protection made her feel safe despite prank calls in the middle of the night. He could only try his best to help her face the nightmare she’d endured.
“The calls, they’re just opportunistic pranks, aren’t they?” She asked the question with hope in her voice. She turned away, her shoulders slouched.
“Kiera,” he began. “I’m sorry you weren’t taken seriously.” He thought of the police officer who’d blown the first calls off. He’d be having a few words with him. “They might be pranks.” He wanted to say that they also might not. But all of this was guesswork and needed investigation, monitoring. “I’ll handle this.”
She turned around to face him. “I can’t stop thinking about the phone calls and why they chose me, now of all times. My name wasn’t made public. It’s a stretch to think that there’d be a connection at all. But the time the last one comes in is about the same time in the morning when I was rescued—give or take. I don’t know the exact time—I never asked.”
He knew the exact time. He also knew that she was right.
It seemed too coincidental. It seemed too everything. Had someone leaked information and this was their idea of a prank? He hoped not. He hoped it was an unfortunate coincidence. If they continued, he’d have her phone rerouted and the calls handled. She needed time to heal and get on with her life. The calls were obviously frightening her, threatening her peace of mind. And, because of that, they had to end.
He stood up. His gut told him that something else was going on, that this case wasn’t as straightforward as everyone thought. There might not be a second serial killer, but something was off, something had been missed.
“I’ll be doing some back and forth from the office to here. But I’ll be available by phone and I’ll be in and out throughout the day. There’ll never be a moment