Imminent Danger Read online

  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 somebody managed to track her here? Was somebody in the bedroom with her now? Damn Keller for not telling him more. Damn Keller for not warning him she might be in imminent danger.

  He reached the closed bedroom door and paused, listening for a sound, any sound that might indicate what was happening on the other side of the hollow wood. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a single noise.

  Was she already dead? Would he open the door to find her lifeless body draped across the bed? If somebody had entered through the window, she would have never seen him coming. She wouldn’t have known she wasn’t alone in the room until hands had closed around her throat, or a blade had touched the flesh of her neck.

  Jesse grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly, soundlessly. Although emotion demanded he hurry—fling open the door and burst inside—training and instinct warned him to go slow, to face the unknown with caution. He eased the door open and stepped inside, the gun leveled in front of him.

  Nothing.

  The room appeared empty. The bedspread was wrinkled and a depression marked the center of one of the pillows. The window was closed, the curtains neatly in place. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, except Cecilia Webster was no place in sight.

  A renewed burst of adrenaline flooded him as he heard a thump come from the closet. The closet door was half-open, but the waning light of dusk threw deep shadows that obscured the interior of the small space.

  Jesse advanced, his gun once again leading the way. With one hand, he eased the closet door fully open. She was there.

  He lowered his gun and muttered a soft curse beneath his breath. As he gazed at her, curled up in the corner, he
r eyes squeezed tightly shut and her cheeks stained with tears, he wondered what in the hell she’d been through, and what in the hell he’d gotten himself into!

  Chapter 2

  She could see through the wooden slats of the closet door, saw the two men burst into the house with their guns drawn.

  “Hey. Hey…!” John exclaimed. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  Allison watched in horror as her sister and brother-in-law backed away from the men, stood just in front of where she hid in the closet.

  “Don’t do anything stu—” John’s voice was lost in the eruption of gunfire.

  Gunshots resounded in the air. A total of six. Miniexplosions not loud enough to penetrate the walls of the house, not loud enough to beckon help. But loud enough, strong enough for the bullets to kill John and Alicia.

  John fell forward, crashing to the floor like a huge oak felled by a lumberjack’s ax. Alicia flew backward and smashed into the closet door. A bullet slammed into the wall just above Allison’s head. Blood splattered through the slats, a fine spray on her face, her chest.

  Shoving a hand against her mouth, Allison tried to still a scream of disbelieving terror. No! Oh, God…no! This couldn’t be happening. Her mind raced frantically to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of her.

  She fought the impulse to run to her sister, to try to help her. Someplace in her terror-filled mind, the instinct of survival kept her rooted in her hiding place.

  Quiet. She had to stay quiet. If they found her, they’d kill her, too. She had to stay alive. She had to stay alive so she could tell somebody what happened here….

  “Cecilia.”

  The voice came from some distant place, but it had nothing to do with her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and shoved her hand harder against her mouth.

  Blood. There was too much blood. Alicia was dead—murdered, her blood on Allison’s face. Dear God, all that blood. Why had this happened? Why? Why?

  “Cecilia!” The deep male voice called again, this time more forcefully.

  She shrank deeper into the closet, pressing her back into the corner in an attempt to escape.

  A stinging slap across one of her cheeks jarred her from her nightmare landscape to the present. In an instant, she realized she was a long way from John and Alicia’s home. She was in Montana. Mustang, Montana.

  “Sheriff Wilder?” she whispered hesitantly.

  “Jesse,” he corrected her. “I’m right here.” His hand closed around one of hers. His hand was large and warm, and offered comfort despite its unfamiliar feel.

  Her other hand reached up, hit clothes hanging above her. “I’m in the closet, aren’t I?” Weary discouragement weighed heavy on her shoulders.

  “Yeah.” His hand tightened around hers. “Why don’t we get you out of here?”

  She’d had the nightmare again. No, not a nightmare, but rather a tormenting replay of the horror she’d endured. And, as always, she’d sought the safety of the nearest closet.

  When would this end? Would her life—would she ever be normal again?

  Embarrassment battled with overwhelming despair as he guided her out of the small confines and into the bedroom. “How did you know I was in there?” she asked. With a tinge of reluctance, she pulled her hand from his.

  “You screamed.”

  “I’m sorry. I was asleep. It was a nightmare.” She crossed her arms in front of her and hugged her shoulders with her hands. “I guess Keller didn’t warn you about my nightmares.”

  “Keller didn’t tell me much about anything,” he said dryly. “Are you all right?”

  She released a sigh. “Embarrassed. Mortified, but yes, I’m all right.”

  “No need to be embarrassed,” Jesse said in an obvious attempt to comfort. “Everyone has nightmares at one time or another.”

  She said nothing, but she wanted to say that not everyone had nightmares that drove them into the deepest recess of a closet.

  “If you’re hungry, I’ve got some dinner ready in the kitchen,” he said.

  Dinner. The normalcy of it further comforted her. “That sounds good. I’d just like to freshen up a bit.”

  “Sure. I’ll just wait in the living room for you, then take you to the kitchen.” She nodded. She hated this dependency, she thought as Jesse left her alone at the bathroom door. A moment later she splashed water over her face and stared at the place where she knew a mirror probably hung over the sink.

  Staring with all the concentration she could attain, she tried to force herself to see. A glimmer of light. A pale strand of illumination.

  She desperately wanted to see something…anything. But the blackness that had become her world remained impenetrable.

  It was as if she’d swallowed whole the darkness of night, and the tenebrous shades of black not only resided in her, but had become the sum being of her.

  Odd, that even in complete darkness, while asleep and in the throes of a nightmare and in a strange house, she had found the closet.

  Had she fumbled her way to the enclosure that comforted her? Or had her sight momentarily returned while she’d dreamed, allowing her to find the closet where she could hide and feel safe?

  Turning away from the sink, she felt around until her hands touched the terry cloth of a towel. She dried her face and hands, then left the bathroom. Carefully maneuvering out the door and down the hallway, she headed toward the living room. She stifled a gasp as a hand touched her elbow.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jesse said.

  “It’s all right. It’s just disconcerting to be touched when you can’t see who is doing the touching.” She relaxed and allowed him to guide her through the living room. She knew they’d entered the kitchen when the carpet beneath her feet turned into tile.

  “I hope you like hamburgers,” Jesse said as he led her to a chair at the table.

  “Hamburgers are fine,” she assured him. She touched the edge of her plate, the handle of a fork to orient herself.

  “Mustard or ketchup?” Jesse asked.

  “A little mustard, please.” She heard the squirt of a bottle, then sensed him placing the burger on her plate. “Thank you.”

  “Chips?” he offered.

  “Sure,” she agreed, just wanting to get the meal over and done with. Eating was one of the many things that had become sheer torture since she’d lost her sight. Finger food had become her friend.

  Within minutes they were eating, the meal accompanied by the strained silence of strangers who weren’t quite sure what to say to each other.

  “So, tell me about Mustang, Montana,” she said in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “There isn’t a lot to tell. Small town, slow pace, good people. It’s a great place to grow up and a great place to grow old.”

  “You love it here,” she observed. She’d heard the warmth in his voice as he spoke of the town.

  “I do,” he agreed. “Mustang is a small town with a big heart. I left for four years to go to college, then went on to the police academy, but my heart never really ever left.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “Do you have family here?”

  The moment the question left her lips, the despair of her loss echoed within her heart.

  Never again would she be able to share with her sister the laughter or the tears that life so often contained. Never again would she know the comfort of a sisterly hug.

  “No, no family. My father died three years ago in a car accident and my mother passed away seven months later. The doctors said it was heart failure, but I’ll always believe it was a broken heart.”

  He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed by the personal disclosure. “Actually, even though I have no blood family here, everyone in Mustang acts like they’re family. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and if you have a problem of any kind, somebody is always ready with advice.”

  “If everyone knows everyone else’s business, then I guess it would be smart fo
r us to know our business,” she said.

  “You’re talking about our cover story.”

  She nodded and chewed a chip thoughtfully. “I really hate to tell people we met while camping because I know absolutely nothing about it.”

  “You’ve really never been on a camp out? Didn’t you ever sleep in the backyard with friends or go to Girl Scout camp?”

  She heard the incredulity in his voice. “No outdoor sleepovers, no Girl Scouts. The closest I’ve ever come to camping out was when my sister and I made a tent in our bedroom and pretended we were wilderness guides.”

  The memory brought with it a glow of happiness as she remembered that night. She and Alicia had fashioned a tent from the top of their dresser to the top of their bed. They’d spent hours making shadow animals on the ceiling with the aid of a flashlight.

  They’d eaten an entire package of cookies while making up scary stories to entertain each other. Their mother had grounded them the next morning when she’d seen the mess they had made, but the night’s adventure had been worth the punishment.

  The warmth of the memory battled with the coldness of loss, creating a whirlwind of grief to whip through her.

  “Cecilia?” Jesse pulled her from the memory.

  “We can tell everyone we met camping,” she said, suddenly changing her mind. “We can tell them I was camping with my sister and you were at the site next to ours. I don’t think anyone will really ask me about the actual camping experience, do you?”

  “I sincerely doubt it.” She heard the crunch as he ate a potato chip, then he continued. “And we’ll tell everyone that since that time we’ve been burning up the phone lines.”

  She nodded. “Then it’s official. You now have a girlfriend.” She finished the last bite of her hamburger, then gazed across to where she knew he sat. “Will people think it odd that you fell in love with a blind woman?”

  “People will find it odd that I’m in love with anyone.”

  Again she heard a smile in his voice. “Why is that?” she asked curiously.