Forever Mine (8 page)

“I asked my wife about the competition Ms. Nash entered,” Thompson said. “She told me Designorama is a pretty important deal. The
Chronicle
had a big spread, along with a number to call in for tickets. There are two hundred seats available to the general public. Sandra and a couple of her friends requested tickets. So far they haven’t heard anything back from the organizers. They’re selling tickets at the door, too.”

“Thanks to Ms. Nash, our good buddy, Barnett, knows all about the competition.”

“Do you think he’d be brazen enough to show up there?”

Ben thought about the ramifications. Either he or Thompson had better find out how many people were expected beyond the two hundred ticket holders. Obviously, the designers would be present along with the women who would model the clothes. For the semi-finals, both detectives were assigned to escort Allie when she brought the clothes to the venue, even though the event took place on Ben’s watch. Dealing with Dave in a crowd was dangerous to everyone. Generally, guns were useless in a large crowd. Besides the disaster of their accidently shooting an innocent bystander, the city didn’t need another lawsuit. If Barnett showed, it would be up to Ben and Thompson to make the collar ASAP.

“That’s a hard call,” Ben said, in answer to his partner’s question.

“The way I see it, his showing up makes some sense. Catch her after all the excitement settles down. A little smooth talk, followed by a late drink invitation to convince her he’s in the game. If that doesn’t pan out, he can always connect with her at home the next day. By now, he knows enough about her from Jimmy or the phone conversations to expect there’ll be no one else around and no distractions,” Thompson said. “Then again, we’re dealing with a warped mind. Who the hell knows how he thinks or what he’s liable to do? Or if he’ll show up in a day, a week, or not show at all.”

A bitter smile pulled at Ben’s lips. “Oh, he’ll show all right. Something about her attracted him enough to call twice and promise to call again. Maybe it’s something as simple as her voice. Maybe he likes dusky tones. Something besides needing a place to hole up sparked his interest. She’s in his sights. I don’t have to draw a picture of what he’ll do to her if he gets inside the front door.”

“I hope he makes his move soon. This whole thing is getting on my nerves. I have to sleep with earplugs so the kids don’t wake me up when they get ready for school. Man, everything about this is a killer.”

“I hear you, partner,” Ben said.

Thompson left via the rear door and headed for the alley and his car. He always parked on a side street away from the prying eyes of Allie’s safety patrol. For the same reason, Ben always cruised the block, keeping an eye out for nosy neighbors—and especially Dave and Jimmy—before he pulled into Allie’s garage.

The day before, he’d asked Allie for a better description of Jimmy. She’d grabbed a pen and artist’s pad and whipped out a sketch every bit as professionally executed as the police artist’s sketch of Barnett. He’d found out sketching was one of the classes taught at the San Francisco campus of the Art Institute where she’d studied fashion design. He’d told her if she ever wanted to change careers to look into a job with the SFPD as a sketch artist. Instead of taking it as a compliment, she’d wrinkled her nose.

He called out to her to let her know he’d entered the house then checked his watch. Ten minutes after twelve. He was glad now there was the lunch at the Beach Chalet to break the routine.

“What time do you want to leave?” He leaned into the banister at the foot of the stairs but didn’t raise his voice, figuring she was close enough to hear him. He waited a few seconds. When he got no reply, he moved onto the lower landing and called out again, louder this time. She didn’t answer again, so he climbed the rest of the way. He had just turned into the hall when a door opened and she walked out of the bathroom and smacked into him. Her hands flew to her chest as if to doubly secure the pink bath towel, which was all she wore except for a pair of white fuzzy slippers.

Chapter Seven

“Aaaagh.” She screamed directly into his ear then clamped her teeth together. Her facial skin tightened around her features, and he was sure, if she dared take one hand off the towel, she would use it to cause some serious damage to his face.

Quickly, he backed up. His right heel went over the edge of the top step, and he grabbed the banister before he did a back flip to the first floor. He regained his balance and waited for the shock that came from such close contact with her to subside. Her shock was still visible in her wide-open eyes. Her face contorted into a grimace, not from actual pain but definitely from something that went way past annoyance.

Her dark hair coiled around several large rollers that sprouted on her head. Her skin, moist and dewy, glowed. She looked ten years younger than her age, which he knew from the background check he’d run on her. She also had the best pair of legs he’d ever seen on a woman.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Can you please stay out of my way?” She scurried down the hall and into the bedroom. Her free hand grasped the doorknob. Seconds later, the door closed with a loud crack.

He stomped into the kitchen and ripped into one of the colas he’d stored there the previous day. Tension stabbed at a spot between his eyes as if a dark cloud had drifted in from some hellish place and floated above his head. He looked forward to the next twelve hours almost as much as a condemned man looked forward to his execution. He could hardly wait to get his hands on Barnett. Nothing would satisfy him more than to take down the son-of-a-bitch.

While he sipped his drink, he listened for sounds from the bedroom. Other than the scrape of the closet door sliding on the track, quiet reigned in the princess’s chamber. He’d wait for her downstairs except she had stuff for her competition lying all over the place. He hated to think what would happen if he left even one minuscule spot on any of the clothes. Yesterday, a dress, in a dark red material, had draped one of the body forms. Cut pretty low, it clung to the fake hips. Before he could stop himself, he imagined the dress draped over Ms. Nash’s curvy hips. Her curves were hard to beat. No, make that impossible to beat. The fleeting image earned him a mental smack upside his head.

He stepped into the hallway just as she came out of the bedroom dressed in an above-the-knee, tight black skirt that did everything a garment could to show off her figure. A white, short-sleeved sweater, made of some sort of fluffy yarn, didn’t cling nearly as much as the skirt but enough to give his libido another bump. A little black purse dangled from her wrist. Wedge shoes in shades of red and orange tied around her ankles, adding at least three inches to her height, so now the top of her head came up to his nose. Her hair hung in thick loose waves around her shoulders. Her skin still had the dewy glow, and she’d applied just enough shadow and liner to her lids.

His life would be a thousand times easier if she had a horse face and acne. Coming on top of the robe discussion with Thompson and the collision with her outside the bathroom, his equilibrium rocked like a carnival ride. Babysitting a stool pigeon, who spilled his guts about the mob, would be a piece of cake compared to guarding Ms. Nash.

He waited for her to say something, to berate him for his earlier intrusion on her privacy. When she didn’t, instead of feeling relief, he was overcome with the kind of awkwardness he hadn’t experienced since his teen years. Thoughts short-circuited inside his head, and he couldn’t pull enough words together to break the silence. He shifted his feet.

She checked her slim gold wristwatch. “We should leave ourselves extra time. In case there’s traffic. Are you ready?” Her gaze slid to his hand clutched around the soda can.

“Yeah, sure.” He headed back into the kitchen and dumped the remains of the cola down the sink then dropped the can into the recycling bin. He’d tossed one in the trash the day before and had received a lecture on saving the environment.

She’d already cleared the hallway by the time he returned. He hit the stairs and followed her into the back room. What resembled a gift box wrapped in sparkly paper with a poofy bow on top sat on her work table. She fiddled with the bow for a few seconds then picked up the box.

“I suppose you have a plan so we don’t bump into my gal pals.”

A plan?

“Yeah.” He shoved his brain into overdrive and pulled up a mental picture of the Beach Chalet. He and Danielle had met there every Friday night, unless he was deep into an investigation, which he’d often been. He’d steered clear of the spot since their breakup. These days, he spent what little free time he had in a place that was dark, noisy and fueled with testosterone. The kind of establishment where cops usually hung out. But memories of the place helped him ad lib now.

“We’ll park around the corner. I’ll stay twenty, twenty-five feet behind you. You’ll be in my sight at all times.”

“I’m not sure that will work.”

He released an exasperated sigh. “We’ll make it work.”

She shrugged.

He waited until they were in the car before he broached the importance of keeping mum about Jimmy and Dave.

“You don’t have to worry. I don’t plan to ruin everyone’s lunch talking about a man who’s a…a…serial killer.” She mouthed the last two words and shook her head. The motion set her curls bouncing, and he allowed himself a few guiltless moments of enjoyment.

“Okay. We’re cool then.”

“What about after we finish lunch and leave the restaurant? If some of the others can’t find a spot out front, the most logical place is around the corner. That’s where we usually head when parking’s tight. In that case, since we’ll leave at the same time, they’ll want to walk together.”

His momentary enjoyment crashed like a misfired rocket. He shot her a quick glance and restrained from punching the steering wheel. Instead of sitting around that morning, eating fake eggs and sucking up a month’s worth of filial guilt, he should have put his brain to work on logistics. If he didn’t remain vigilant, next thing, along with her many interferences, she might try to wrestle the whole damn case from him.

“Um…we’ll park adjacent to the beach. That shouldn’t cause a problem. After you finish your lunch just head back to the car. I’ll be…”

“Yes, I know. Twenty to twenty-five feet behind me.” She rolled her eyes.

After they entered the car and he raised the garage door, he headed for the Great Highway. When they reached the Beach Chalet, he swung off the thoroughfare and trolled for a parking place. He found one facing the ocean, which gave them approximately a four to five-minute walk to the restaurant. The wind had subsided, and the sun had gained enough strength to poke through the wispy clouds floating beneath an azure blue sky. A thin layer of sand dusted the walkway; a hint of salt-freshened the air. He appreciated the fine weather as much as he’d once enjoyed the Beach Chalet’s famous home-brewed ale. Alcohol was off limits now, since he was on duty.

The moment he shut down the motor, she pushed her way out of the car, picked up her gift then walked away at a pretty fast clip. He grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment, shoved them on his face and followed behind at the promised twenty plus feet. He kept his eyes on her legs and tried not to think beyond the next couple hours.

Chapter Eight

When Allie arrived at the Beach Chalet, the usual lunchtime crowd packed the restaurant. One of only two dining spots with a full-on view of the ocean, the restaurant currently enjoyed a renaissance after having fallen into disrepair years before.

Allie had started the morning in a celebratory mood. Now, without warning, something within her shifted toward a darker emotion, and a sudden overwhelming sense of vulnerability gripped her. Her heart thumped noticeably inside her chest. The only reason she could find to explain her apprehension was being outside the safety of her house. Not for the first time, the deadly realization that she was the target of a serial killer hit her full-on. Was Dave still miles away? Or had the gap narrowed, further elevating her danger level?

She stepped through the doorway and scanned the room. Her friends occupied a corner table abutting one of the expansive windows and offered both some privacy and a lower noise level. A silver Happy Birthday balloon floated above a quartet of smaller pink-and-red ones tied to the back of Jen’s chair.

Although she faced a room overflowing with diners, and with Sutter somewhere close behind, she felt very much alone and at risk.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to banish her disquieting thoughts. The birthday lunch was a rare, welcomed break. The week ahead promised long hours accompanied by the usual stress she often experienced when meeting a deadline. Then there was the nightmare possibility of another phone call from Dave. The cops were certain he’d get in touch with her again. This lunch posed her best chance to relax, if only for a couple hours.

Once her heart returned to its normal rhythm, she headed for the table, maneuvering past waiters who threaded through the crowd, balancing food and drink-laden trays. The subtle aroma of grilled seafood and charbroiled burgers wafted on the air. A pleasant vibe spread within the multi-windowed room. Across the Great Highway, waves slapped gently onto the beach.

Allie gave each of her friends a hug, before settling into the empty seat beside Michaela. She placed her gift on the table along with the others. A square box tied with string held the birthday cake Sarah had baked—three chocolate-frosted layers with raspberry filling and decorated with white roses—her specialty. Allie set her wristlet on her lap. She sat across from Sarah, the only one of the four who possessed blonde hair and blue eyes. Best friends since grade school, they sometimes referred to Sarah as “the foundling.”

Michaela, a personal trainer, wore her hair in a French braid. That along with casual jeans and a white, short-sleeved cotton top suggested she might have a job prospect after lunch. Making a renewed effort to enjoy the afternoon, Allie quizzed Michaela.