Imminent Danger. Carla Cassidy
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rubbed his hands down the sides of his jeans, realizing his palms were damp with nervous sweat. A blind woman in his care. Was this somebody’s idea of retribution? Reparation for the unresolved trauma in his life?
Again that distant memory knocked in his brain. For an instant, he saw everything as it had been on that night so long ago. The headlights of his car shining on the black glaze of the road…the pull of the steering wheel as the car went out of control…the thick, twisted tree that loomed closer…closer until… Jesse gasped and forcefully shoved the memories away. He turned from the window.
One week. Two at the most, and then she’d be gone from his life. Surely for two weeks he could take care of her, keep her safe and not think about the past, about the man whose life he’d destroyed on a wintry slick road almost thirteen years ago.
Seven steps from the doorway to the edge of the bed. Five steps from the bed to the chest of drawers and four from the bed to the closet. Her entire world had become comprised of steps.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. “My name is Allison Welch,” she whispered to herself. “Allison Welch. Allison Welch.”
Like a mantra, she repeated it over and over again, afraid that one of these days Allison Welch would somehow cease to exist altogether.
Allison Welch had the world by the tail. She was an up-and-coming interior designer, and her shop, Comforts Of Home, was gaining more and more popularity in Chicago.
She had a fantastic apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, a full social life and a close relationship with her sister and brother-in-law.
A sob rose and she slapped a hand across her mouth to contain it. She wouldn’t think about Alicia and John and that night. If she let those horrendous visions replay, she’d lose her mind.
Unpack. Deal with the here and now. If she thought of the past, grief would overwhelm her. If she tried to anticipate the future, fear and despair would engulf her.
Four steps to the closet and she found her suitcases on the floor. She grabbed the big one and carried it back to the bed, where she clicked it open and began to unpack. There weren’t a lot of clothes inside, and everything was already on a hanger.
They all had been bought by a female officer when Allison had been released from the hospital a month ago. A dress, two pairs of jeans, a pair of dress slacks, two T-shirts, three sweatshirts and two silk blouses, all in shades of blue so she could dress herself and not worry about clashing colors.
The smaller suitcase held toiletries, underclothes and her nightgown and robe. She finished unpacking, then once again sat on the edge of the bed. At least it would be nice to be in the same place for more than three days.
The last month was a blur of motel and hotel rooms. Her knees and shins were bruised by the fact that they hadn’t been in any one room long enough for her to learn navigating the furniture. Just as she’d figured out how to walk in the room without bumping into something, they’d move to a new place.
She thought of her host. Jesse Wilder. All she knew about him was that he was sheriff of Mustang, Montana.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She also knew he had a deep voice as soothing as a velvet wrap on a wintry night. As he’d led her into the bedroom, she’d gotten the impression that he was tall, and smelled of the pleasant combination of soap and spice cologne.
She had no idea how old he was, what he looked like or if she could trust him. Although she assumed Kent Keller and Bob Sanford wouldn’t have placed her in his care if he couldn’t be trusted.
She frowned at thoughts of the two men who’d been in charge of her life for the past month. Blind, and reeling from what she’d experienced, it had taken a considerable amount of reassurance from Bob Sanford before she’d tell him anything about what she’d seen from the closet.
Once Sanford had been assured by her doctor that physically she was ready to be released, she’d been transferred to Keller’s care and had begun the motel room jumping that had eventually brought her here.
She pulled her glasses off the top of her head and placed them on the nightstand, then stretched out across the bed. The spread smelled of sunshine and fabric softener.
The moment she’d walked in, she’d noticed the entire house had the odor of lemon wax and cleanser. Sheriff Wilder had obviously cleaned for her arrival.
Tears pressed hot and heavy at her eyes as she thought of all she’d lost. Everything. She’d lost everything. She’d gladly accept the blindness for the rest of her life if in return she could give John and Alicia back their lives.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, knowing that was impossible. John and Alicia were gone forever. Murdered in their home. No sacrifice on Allison’s part, no bargaining with the devil or with God would bring them back. The best she could hope for was to bring down the men responsible for their deaths.
As she had done for the past four weeks, she consciously willed away her tears, refusing to give in to grief. Retribution. That had become her reason for being, the sum total of her existence. The guilty had to be punished.
This was the goal that kept her from sinking into the utter depths of despair, from giving up all pretense of living.
She would survive whatever fate threw her way…as long as in the end, the people responsible for John and Alicia’s deaths paid.
She rolled over on her side, staring blankly at the window, where she could feel the sun warming the spread, splashing her face.
She was supposed to be Cecilia Webster now, a twenty-six-year-old blind woman from Cleveland, Ohio.
It was an identity provided for her protection, but she hadn’t felt safe one moment in the past four weeks.
A couple more weeks. That’s what Keller had promised her. In a couple more weeks the investigation should be over and the killers would be behind bars. Then she could return to her life…at least the shattered pieces that were left.
She closed her eyes, hoping, praying for the sweet release that sleep could bring, hoping, praying that the nightmares that so often plagued her sleep remained at bay.
Jesse looked at his watch for the third time in twenty minutes. His houseguest had been in the bedroom for nearly three hours and he hadn’t heard a peep.
While she’d slept, he’d made dinner, deciding on hamburgers and chips. Not exactly a gourmet welcome meal, but simple and easy to eat.
He checked his watch yet again. After six. He wondered if perhaps he should wake her, but was reluctant to intrude on her sleep if that’s what she needed. He supposed she’d get up when she was hungry, and in the meantime all he could do was wait.
He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator and popped the top. He took a long swallow, then moved to the window to stare outside.
He’d called the sheriff’s office earlier to let Vic Taylor, one of his deputies know he needed to take a day or two off. Even though Keller had told him to keep a normal routine, he couldn’t very well leave a blind woman to her own devices in strange surroundings.
He’d begun to perpetuate the cover story, telling Vic that a friend had stopped by for a surprise visit.
There had been no new breaks on the Casanova case, nothing else pressing that couldn’t wait a day or two. Vic had assured him that the four deputies could handle whatever arose and Jesse had hung up, knowing the people who worked for him were good, competent and fair lawmen.
He took another sip of his soda and moved away from the window with another glance at his watch. A scream ripped through the silence of the house.
For an instant, Jesse froze. The scream had come from the guest room. Adrenaline pumped through him. He slammed his drink down and grabbed his gun from the holster hanging on a hook near the back door. He flipped off the safety and advanced slowly, cautiously down the hallway.
Had