Operation Hero's Watch. Justine Davis
Читать онлайн книгу.
apparently, it still was. Because he’d simply come when she’d made that near-panicked phone call the night she’d seen that shadow lurking outside her bedroom window.
And then she noticed Jace was staring past her. The lighthouse photo? Was that what was making him look so...so...
Thankfully, Rafe brought them back to the matter at hand.
“The police didn’t think that was enough description?”
She grimaced as she refocused. “More that it could match any one of a dozen people on the street at any given time. Tourists come through here on their way to the national park, and a lot of them are bundled up, like Jace said.”
“But you’re sure he’s following you?” Rafe asked.
Maybe it really was all in her head. Why on earth would anyone fixate on her, after all? She wasn’t famous, she certainly wasn’t rich; the shop was barely getting by. And she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous; she hadn’t broken up with anyone recently—hadn’t dated anyone in a sadly long time—nor had she had any angry encounters with anyone, male or female. No new people or angry customers at work, where she generally kept to her office in back of the florist shop except when she had to cover the counter or made deliveries to help out. No passing contacts with people while shopping or picking up her morning coffee. The answer to every question the police had asked was no, including if she had any idea why someone might be following her.
“I know it sounds crazy, there’s no reason for anyone—”
“Sometimes all it takes is an attractive woman alone,” Jace said. Cassidy’s head snapped around. She stared at him. “What?” he asked, looking utterly blank.
She reined in her pulse, laughing at herself for the silly jump it had taken. That’s all it takes, Jace saying you’re attractive? Didn’t you outgrow that long ago?
Not, she thought, that any woman’s pulse wouldn’t jump. He was still Jace, after all. Sexy cute, with those bright blue eyes and that kind of wild dark hair that always looked a bit windblown.
Do you even own a comb?
That’s what fingers are for.
She nearly blushed at the years-old memory. He’d answered her question with a glint in his eye she’d been too young at the time to understand, and it wasn’t until much later that she’d realized he hadn’t necessarily been talking about his own fingers. She’d finally gotten it the day she’d seen him outside the gym, with Kim Clark running her fingers through that thick hair. The rather predatory social leader, the kind who sniffed audibly at studious types like herself, had set her sights on Jace the day after he’d won his first judo competition.
To his credit, Jace hadn’t fallen for it.
She’s a user, Cassie. She never even glanced at me before. Besides, she doesn’t get me.
But she did. Where most people found his quirky way of seeing things puzzling, she found it fascinating. She always had.
She found him fascinating. She always had.
“Cassie?”
She realized she was still staring at him. “Sorry. Memory bomb went off.”
He looked startled, and then he was grinning. That devastating, flashing grin that didn’t just light up his face, but the whole room he was in.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
I remember everything about you. But “It’s still the best description ever” was all she said. Then she shifted her gaze—reluctantly—to Rafe. He was watching them rather assessingly.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said quickly.
“You have history,” he said simply.
Oh, yes. And I just got smacked with the fact that for me, it’s not history at all.
“How long has this been going on?” Rafe asked her.
Jace felt oddly relieved that he was bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. He wasn’t sure why—he’d known there would be memories involved, simply because Rafe had been right, they had history.
“Almost three weeks,” Cassie answered, then quickly amended, “That I’m aware of. It could be longer. I might not have noticed right away.”
“Where?” Rafe asked. “Work, home?”
“Both. At least, I think it’s the same guy. I haven’t really seen him here, only his shadow. At night.”
Jace frowned. “His shadow?”
“He—assuming it was him—was outside my bedroom window.”
Jace swore under his breath.
“That’s...when I called you. I got scared that night.”
“I would think so.”
“Where did you first notice the guy?” Rafe asked.
“Outside the shop. He was just hanging around. And he looked...”
“Sketchy? Edgy?” Jace asked.
“More...watchful. Like he was waiting for something. But he wasn’t looking at the street or sidewalk, he was looking at the shop.”
“And what did you think he was there for?” Rafe asked.
“No idea,” she said.
“But what did you think?” he asked again, gently.
Cassie looked puzzled. “Usual stuff, I guess. He was waiting for someone—we had a couple of customers inside. Or he wanted to come in and hadn’t worked up to it yet.” She smiled. “Some guys have an amazingly hard time deciding to buy flowers for someone.”
“I buy them for my mom,” Jace protested.
Cassie blinked. Looked as if something had clicked in her mind, but she only said, “That wasn’t aimed at you.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He grinned rather crookedly. “Must have been from being around you guys growing up. I never thought flowers were scary.”
“I know,” she said, and this time her voice was soft, her smile fond. “I remember you used to ask my mother what they all were called. And the lilies were your favorite.”
Now he was embarrassed. “Yeah,” he said. “I liked how they looked so delicate, but if you didn’t take care they’d mark you forever with that orange stuff.”
“Attack of the Tiger Lilies.”
He had to laugh as she quoted the old title he’d made up as a kid for a horror film starring the tiger lilies simply because he liked the name.
And yet again Rafe had to steer them back to the matter at hand.
“What else did you think or wonder about him that first day?” When she hesitated, Rafe leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sometimes your brain processes things faster than your conscious mind is aware of. So you have a thought that seems out of the blue, or baseless, when in fact there was an entire thought process that brought you to it.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Cassidy said.
“He means—I think,” Jace added with a glance at Rafe, “like when you see a bluebird. You think you instantly know it’s a bluebird, but really it’s a process. First you see that something’s there, then recognize that it’s a bird, then that it’s blue, and then that it’s not a blue jay, and voilà, you arrive at bluebird. But you’re not conscious of all those