Behind Closed Doors Read online

“You all right?” he asked, his eyes radiating a concern that washed over her like a soothing balm. She nodded and he walked over to where the other two cops were still speaking with the group of kids.

  Ann closed her eyes, trying to shake off the hysteria that tried to gain control. She felt better with Clay here, knew it was important to maintain continuity so that one officer had all the facts of everything that had been happening to her.

  “Ann.” She snapped her eyes back open. “Why don’t you give me your car keys?” Clay suggested. “I’ll have one of the officers take your car home and you can ride with me.”

  She nodded, relieved she wouldn’t have to drive, wasn’t sure she could with her hands still shaking so badly. She handed him the keys, surprised when he grasped her hand and looked at the raw, bloody palm.

  For a split second, all warmth disappeared from his eyes and she saw the cold, hard gaze of a cop...a cop angered by the hurt inflicted on her.

  When he looked at her again, the warmth was back, washing over her, infusing her. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  Every time he thought of the vision of her in the beam of his headlights, a burst of laughter bubbled to his lips. It had been a freeze-frame of terror, her mouth in a perfect O, her eyes widened in abject fear.

  He could have killed her. Right then and there he could have hit her and she’d be dead. But he didn’t want that. Not yet.

  A quick, easy death was too good for her. Before he killed her he wanted her to suffer. He wanted her to know the same kind of fear he’d felt for twenty long years. Every morning he’d awakened with a lump of terror in his throat. Each night he’d gone to bed wondering if he’d awaken the next morning. Prison had been hell, and he wanted Ann to suffer hell before she died.

  He’d thought he’d fixed her before, thought he’d killed her before. He’d spent weeks terrifying another Ann Carson, had finally killed her, then discovered when he’d read the obituary that she wasn’t the one he sought after all.

  Pulling the van into his garage, he frowned, remembering the rage that had swept over him when he realized he’d killed the wrong one. Although all her friends had called her Ann, her real name had been Anntoinette and she’d moved to the Kansas City area only months before from back East.

  He was certain now he had the right one. She was the only other Ann Carson in the phone book, and he knew she’d grown up in the Kansas City area.

  Besides, the memory of those pale blond pigtails was burned in his head, as was the blue of the little girl’s eyes. The same blue eyes...the same blond shade of hair belonged to the woman he’d nearly run over. No mistake this time.

  He smiled. He hoped she was frightened. He hoped she had nightmares. He’d had them for twenty years. Now it was her turn.

  Chapter 5

  Clay drove silently, gazing at Ann every few seconds, unsure what to think about the night’s events. It was without dispute that somebody had tried to run her down, or at the very least scare her to death. But, was that somebody the same person leaving notes and making phone calls, or had it simply been a carload of teenagers generating a little Saturday night excitement for themselves?

  Coincidence...or another event in a string of escalating threats? He looked at her once again, amazed by how quickly she’d managed to completely put her fear behind. Her features were schooled in an expression of calm and she seemed to have distanced herself from the events that had just happened. It was as if she were afraid to share her fear, reluctant to share any part of herself with anyone.

  He frowned and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, irritated with his fanciful meandering where she was concerned.

  “Weren’t you able to see what make or model the vehicle was?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “Afraid not. I was too busy trying to stay out of its path.” She drew in a deep breath and rubbed her palms, where the blood had dried. “All I saw were headlights pointed at me and all I heard was the racing motor.” She shivered and Clay realized her grip on control was more tenuous than he’d initially thought.

  He fought the impulse to reach over and pull her close against his side, knowing he was dangerously close to losing all objectivity where she was concerned.

  Something about Ann Carson pulled out protective instincts, alien emotions he’d never felt before. It bothered him, confused him and exhilarated him all at the same time.

  “You’ll never be able to find who it was, will you?” She turned and looked at him.

  He wanted to say yes. He wanted to assure her they’d catch the person who’d tried to run her down, punish him within the structure of the law, but any assurance he gave to her would be a lie.

  “I doubt it,” he finally answered. “We don’t have a description of the make or model, we don’t even know the color. The kids weren’t sure if it was a Jeep or a van, although they all agreed it was bigger than a car. Unless we find another witness who might have more answers, I doubt we find out who it was.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for being honest with me.” She rubbed her palms once again and winced. “I just don’t understand this. I don’t understand any of this. I’m not sure what’s worse, not knowing who is doing it, or not knowing why.”

  “It’s possible this thing tonight is just a coincidence,” Clay said. “You know, not related to the notes or phone calls at all.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  He sighed. “Not really.” He pulled into her driveway, unsurprised to see another patrol car waiting, Ann’s car parked in the driveway. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” It took him only a moment to get Ann’s keys and send the other officers on their way.

  “Let’s get you inside and get those hands fixed up,” he said as he unlocked her door and ushered her inside.

  She flipped on light after light, as if seeking safety in a blaze of illumination, then stopped in front of the answering machine and frowned. “Not a single call the whole time I’ve been gone.” She looked up at Clay, the blue of her eyes darkened. “It’s as if he knows when I’m home and when I’m not. He didn’t start the phone calls last night until after you left, then he called off and on all night until I finally took the phone off the hook so I could get some sleep.” She sank down in a chair, her hands palms up on her lap. “I’ve felt so safe here...and now somebody is destroying it all.”

  “Come on, first things first. We can talk after we get your hands cleaned up.” He took her by her wrists and led her into the bathroom. She sat docilely on the edge of the tub while he ran water in the sink, turning first the hot, then the cold until he had it the temperature he wanted. Once satisfied, he gestured for her to rinse her palms. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  She shook her head. “There’s peroxide and bandages and such in my bathroom under the sink.”

  “You keep rinsing,” he instructed, then left her to get the required items.

  Although the bright bedspread neatly covered the bed, the moment Clay walked into the room he got a sudden vision of Ann beneath the covers...her shoulder-length hair erotically pale against the colorful pillowcase, her lithe body naked against the crisp sheets.

  He shook his head to dispel the image and went directly into her bathroom. This room breathed an intimacy that stoked the fires of his imagination. A midnight blue silk nightgown hung on a hook near the door and a lacy camisole rested on the edge of the tub.

  The air smelled of her, the whisper of sweet flowers and femininity. He wondered if it came from one of the bottles on the countertop, or emanated naturally from her pores? Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, he grabbed the necessary items and left, hoping to leave his fanciful erotic images behind.

  Ann stood where he’d left her, palms held beneath the spray of lukewarm water. He shut off the faucets and carefully dabbed the wounds with a clean washcloth. As he worked to make certain the cuts and scrapes were clean, he tried not to notice how warm her body was next to his, how her scent eddied in the air. He tried not to im
agine how that blue silk nightgown would hug her curves, display the creamy skin of her throat and chest.

  When he’d finished and had placed a bandage on each palm, her fingers closed around his hands. “Thank you,” she breathed softly. “I’m not accustomed to having somebody take care of me.” Her eyes plied him with gratefulness and something deeper... more compelling.

  He stepped away from her, afraid of getting in too deep, not wanting to care about this woman, and yet finding it impossible not to. He pointed to her knees, where her hose hung in shreds and blood speckled each kneecap. “Why don’t you get out of those clothes and take care of your legs? While you’re doing that I’ll make us a pot of coffee.” He escaped without waiting for her answer, needing to be away from the heat of the small room, her unnerving closeness and sweet scent.

  In the sterile atmosphere of her kitchen, it was easy to regain his composure. It took him several minutes to find the necessary things to get a pot of coffee going, then while the dark brew bubbled through the machine, he sat down at the kitchen table. Twilight appeared seemingly from nowhere and rubbed against his leg.

  “Hey, cat.” He leaned down and rubbed along the gray fur of the cat’s back. Twilight arched in pleasure and closed his eyes as he began a noisy purr.

  They both jumped as the phone rang, the discordant jangle breaking the relative silence.

  “Want me to get that?” Clay yelled.

  “No, let the machine pick it up,” she replied from the bedroom.

  He got up and walked into the living room where the machine sat next to the phone on a polished wooden table. On the third ring, the machine answered and Ann’s voice filled the room. After a brief greeting message, the tone beeped and whoever was on the other end of the line breathed noisily. After a moment, a soft giggle replaced the breathing. “Close call tonight, sweet Ann. Next time I might not miss.” Click.

  A gasp pulled Clay’s attention from the machine to Ann, who stood in the doorway, face pale and a hand at her mouth.

  Although he knew she was frightened, relief flooded him. At least now he knew, now he had proof. He wasn’t dealing with a lonely, half-psychotic woman writing herself threatening notes. He was dealing with attempted murder.

  “That’s the first time he’s talked,” she finally said.

  “Does the voice sound familiar?”

  She walked over to a chair and sank down. “No...no it didn’t sound familiar at all.” Her eyes were so dark they appeared nearly black.

  “Let me play it again. Concentrate and see if you recognize the voice.” Clay hit the Play button and the voice resounded in the otherwise silent room.

  “No. I don’t recognize it.” She swallowed audibly. “He tried to kill me. Who is he? Who is he?” Her voice rose slightly and she leaned back and swallowed again, as if fighting hysteria. “Wait...there’s a caller identification box.” She jumped up and hit a button on the answering machine. Her shoulders sagged. “Of course. He called from a pay phone.”

  Clay took the tape from the machine and placed it in his pocket. “You have another tape for this thing?”

  She nodded and opened a drawer. She pulled out another tape and handed it to him. “What are you going to do with the other one?”

  “Give it to the lab...listen to it over and over again...see what clues we can get off it.” He smiled gently. “We’ll get him, Ann. Whoever he is we’ll find him.” He touched her arm. “Come on, let’s go get some coffee.”

  Clay poured the coffee as she sat down at the table. She’d changed from her torn, dirty clothes to a soft peach-colored, floor-length dress. Although Clay knew little about women’s clothing, he guessed it was some sort of lounging thing and not something she’d wear outside. The peach color did nice things to her complexion and made the blue of her eyes deeper.

  Setting their cups down, he sank into the chair next to her, tugging his thoughts from personal observation to professional matters. “Ann, are you certain there’s nobody from your past who might think they have a reason to do these things to you?”

  She tucked a strand of shining hair behind her ear. “I can’t imagine who it might be.”

  “Old boyfriends? Lovers?”

  Like a chameleon, her face took on the hue of her gown, cheeks pinkened in obvious embarrassment. “There was only one man before Greg. It’s been a couple years since I’ve seen or heard from him. I don’t even know where he is anymore.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Mark. Mark Livingston. We were in college together, had a fairly typical college romance. But once school was over it just didn’t work out. The last I heard he was living on the south side of town and dating a former Miss Missouri contestant.” She wrapped her bandaged hands around her coffee cup. When she looked back at him, her eyes were the exact hue of the gown he’d seen in her bathroom. “I’m scared.”

  The simple words, spoken with little emotion tore through him. He wanted to take her in his arms, make her feel safe and protected, hold her until the fear passed. Instead he reached out and touched her arm. “I know and I wish there was something I could do to make you feel not scared, but right now there’s nothing.” He drew his hand back and took a drink of his coffee. “You have any family here in town? Or a friend you could stay with for a little while?”

  “No. I don’t have any family and although I have lots of casual acquaintances, I’m not close enough to anyone to feel comfortable asking to stay with them.” She raised her chin a fraction of an inch. “Besides, I won’t be put out of my home by some creep.”

  “Okay, then what you need to do is be cautious. Don’t go places alone, don’t linger in parking lots after dark. Use your common sense and don’t put yourself in dangerous positions. Until we know who’s behind all this, you’re at risk.”

  “Clay...” She looked down into her coffee cup, as if unable to meet his gaze. “I know this is asking a lot, but could you stay here tonight? Sleep on the sofa?” Her hand trembled as she reached up and once again tucked her hair behind her ear. He had a feeling she rarely asked for favors, wasn’t accustomed to needing anyone. As she raised her gaze and looked at him, he saw the fear still darkening her eyes. “I just...I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “Sure, I could bunk on the sofa for tonight if it will make you feel better,” he said after only a moment of hesitation. She wasn’t asking him to sleep with her, she wanted him there because he was a cop, nothing more, he reminded himself.

  “Thank you.”

  She seemed to relax somewhat. For a moment they sipped their coffee in silence. Twilight sauntered into the kitchen and curled up on the hooked rug in front of the sink and the ice maker in the refrigerator clunked and spewed new cubes.

  Despite Clay’s desire to maintain a professional distance, he found himself studying her, curious about what kind of a woman she was. A woman without a best friend was an anomaly to him. Every woman he’d ever dated had a close friend to confide in, share experiences with. No family, no friends. He couldn’t help but be intrigued and somehow saddened.

  He stood up and poured them each another cup of coffee. “Did you grow up here in Kansas City?” he asked as he eased back down.

  “Yes, I’ve always lived in this general area,” she said, looking relieved at the change of topic. “What about you?”

  “Born and raised here.”

  “Is your family still here?”

  “My mom is, my dad passed away ten years ago.”

  “Are you close to your mother?” she asked.

  He grinned at thoughts of his mom. “Yeah, we’re close. She gets mad if more than a couple of days pass and she doesn’t hear from me. She also expects and demands I take her out to dinner at least one time a week.”

  She smiled, and again Clay felt as if he’d been gifted. The gesture warmed her eyes, and made her features come alive with a vibrancy that nearly took his breath away. “That’s nice,” she said. “So you’re an only child?”

  “T
hat’s right. My mother is fond of saying that I was such a cranky, fussy baby she didn’t dare have another one.”

  Ann’s smile increased. “I find that hard to believe.”

  He shrugged. “When I was five I had a make-believe brother. His name was Charlie and he was bigger and smarter than me. I drove my mother crazy with Charlie, made her set a place for him at each meal, kiss him goodnight and comb his hair. Charlie had lots of hair.”

  Ann laughed, the color of her eyes lightened as the fear receded beneath his silly story.

  “You were an only child, too?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Although I didn’t have enough imagination to dream up an invisible sister or two.” She stood up and took her cup to the sink. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll get some blankets and a pillow for you to use, then I’m going to try to get some rest. I’m exhausted.”

  Clay looked at the clock on the oven, surprised to realize it was after eleven o’clock. “Of course you’re exhausted,” he said, adding his cup to hers in the sink. “You’ve had a horrendous experience and I’ve kept you up talking about silly imaginary brothers.”

  “I’m glad you told me about Charlie and thank you for agreeing to stay the night. I know it’s above and beyond the call of duty. I just feel that if I can get one good night’s sleep then I can face whatever tomorrow brings.”

  “At least for tonight you have nothing to worry about,” he assured her.

  It took only minutes for her to make up a bed for him on the couch. “Twilight, get off,” she demanded as the cat jumped up and snuggled amid the sheets.

  “He’s all right,” Clay replied and sat down next to the ragged tomcat. “The sofa’s big enough to share.”

  Ann shook her head. “I can’t get over how he takes to you. Normally he doesn’t trust anyone.” As if to further prove her wrong, the cat rolled over on his back and bared his furry tummy to Clay.

  “We’ll be fine, won’t we, tough guy?” Clay stroked the cat, causing him to purr in contentment. “If the phone rings, I’ll get it,” he said. “Unplug the extension in your bedroom for the night. Hopefully you can sleep in and get some needed rest. I’ll probably be gone when you get up, I’ve got to be back at the station by eight.”