Stalked. Beverly Long
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rack near the stove.
Other rooms on the first floor were a family room with a wall of books and a big-screen television, a formal living room with overstuffed leather furniture and expensive artwork and, finally, the study. Nice windows, more books on built-in shelves and a desk that he recognized. In the center of the desk was a big Bible. Every week Archibald Minnow recorded his weekly television show from this room. He started and ended the program with his hand on the Bible. Mack had watched a few episodes in preparation of the assignment.
The camera liked Reverend Archibald Minnow. No doubt about it. The man came across as passionate about his faith and committed to his flock. In the segments Mack had watched, Reverend Minnow had spoken lovingly about his wife. He had not mentioned his daughter.
Mack searched the basement next. The house was almost eighty years old and the basement showed it. The walls were big blocks of white stone and the space had not been remodeled or fixed up, like in so many of the newer homes. The floor was cement. There was a treadmill and a weight bench in the largest space. The rest was storage and at the far end, the furnace and water heater.
Confident that he understood the house, he went back upstairs and settled in on the couch. Mavis would return shortly. He’d met the woman earlier in the day, when he and Bing had first arrived. She’d shown them into the living room, where they’d waited until Reverend Minnow had come to get them. Bing had met the woman before and the two of them chatted easily. Mack’s impression of Mavis was that she was competent and fiercely loyal to the Minnow family, especially Patricia.
Mack heard a car approach shortly before nine. He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Mavis parked her Toyota next to his BMW and came in through the front door. When the alarm went off, the woman entered the code on the keypad to shut it off. Then she reset it.
“Mr. McCann,” she said, turning to greet him. “I’m glad to see you. I was hoping Hope wouldn’t have a change of heart and run you off.”
Mack smiled. “I’m not that easy to shake.”
Mavis shrugged. “And Hope Minnow is tougher than she looks.” The woman put her foot on the bottom step. “I’m tired so I think I’ll turn in right away. What time would you like breakfast, Mr. McCann?”
“It’s Mack, please. And don’t cook for me. I can take care of myself.”
“You sound just like Hope. Looks as if these next ten days are going to be a vacation for me, too. Good night.”
Mack watched the older woman walk up the stairs and listened for her room door to open and shut. Then he rechecked the security system to make sure it was on. Finally, he shut off the television and followed her upstairs.
He took a quick shower and pulled his jeans back on. They were comfortable enough to sleep in and he didn’t want to get caught with his pants down or off. Then, cognizant that Mavis and Hope were asleep, he very quietly left his room, walked downstairs and stretched out on the couch in the family room.
And he didn’t wake up until he heard the very soft beep of the security system being turned off. Then the distinct sound of the front door opening and softly closing.
In seconds, he was up and at the window, gun in hand. He saw a woman walking down the long lane, headed for the road. If he’d been even a second slower, he’d have lost her in the heavy tree line.
What the hell? It had to be Hope. Right height, right weight. Same sexy walk. But her hair was short and dark.
He slipped on his jacket, patted his pocket to make sure that his small flashlight was still there and followed, gun in hand. She was walking fast, her head down, likely watching to make sure she didn’t trip.
An ankle injury would put a damper on her escape plans.
Was she running away? That was crazy. He knew she wasn’t happy, but running away was for temperamental teens. And she had it made at her dad’s house. No real responsibilities. Plenty of funding.
Out for a night on the town? In a disguise? Maybe. But she was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and baggy khaki pants. Not right for the club scene, even in Jersey. And why walk? She had a perfectly good car.
She stopped when she reached the road. She had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her head was no longer down. She was looking to the left, as if she were waiting for someone.
He considered approaching. He should, really.
But he knew that if he did, she’d simply lie about what had driven her to leave her warm bed at midnight.
And he’d be no closer to figuring out what made this woman tick.
So he stayed quiet, hidden by the trees. And in less than five minutes, an old car came along, slowing well before they could have seen Hope. When the car stopped, Hope stepped from the trees and opened the passenger-side door.
The car’s interior light came on, showing the driver. A woman. Dressed in dark blue or black scrubs. Probably ten years older than Hope.
Hope slid in and shut the door. The car drove away, leaving Mack McCann, who rarely got surprised by anything, standing at the side of the road, with his mouth hanging open.
Hope leaned back against the headrest of the old car and sighed. It had been an emotionally draining day, and while she normally slept for a few hours before Sasha picked her up, she’d been unable to drift off tonight. Because of him.
Mack McCann. A necessary precaution, her mother had cajoled. Trusted friend, claimed Uncle Bing.
Brilliant strategy, she suspected, from her father’s perspective.
Didn’t really much matter what anybody else thought. She pretty much had him pegged as a thorn in her side.
She’d heard him come upstairs after Mavis had gotten home. Had heard the pipes of the old house groan when he’d showered. Could admit that she’d spent a few warm moments imagining how his naked body might look and had told herself it was normal to fantasize a bit, given that she hadn’t had sex in almost two years.
And he was seriously handsome with his dark hair and hazel eyes. And physically fit. She knew he’d graduated from the naval academy with honors, spoke several languages fluently and was an expert marksman. Her mother had listed off those attributes this afternoon.
She hadn’t been thinking one bit about those things when she’d spent several valuable minutes of her life wondering if he’d packed pajamas in his leather bag. Finally, she’d punched her pillow for the tenth time, closed her eyes tight and thought about the surprise and the delight on the stranger’s face earlier that day when the woman realized that Hope intended for her to take all the packages that Hope had managed to accumulate while grazing on Fifth Avenue.
It had been an excellent way to end the day.
“Tired?” Sasha asked, her tone kind.
“No,” Hope lied. If anyone had a right to be tired, it was Sasha. She always picked Hope up after she’d finished her three-to-eleven shift at the nursing home. “How was work?”
“Charlie Fenton ran away again tonight. Without his clothes on.”
That wasn’t a pretty picture. Hope recalled that Mr. Fenton was almost ninety. “Where did you find him this time?”
“Where we always find him. Buying donuts down the street. He was bringing them back for Delores. They’re dating.”
“That’s sweet. How old is Delores?”
“A spry eighty-three. They’re talking about getting married.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Hope said, laughing.
“You would think. Can you imagine?” Sasha gave her a quick sideways look. “Sorry,” she added.
Sasha was