Rising Heat (70 page)

From where I sat on the couch, I could see my office door. So much work to do. Clients waiting. How the hell was I going to deal with all this? Why? That was the question that just kept racing through my mind. Where had I crossed paths with a stalker, maybe even a serial killer?

I heard the sound of crunching gravel in the driveway, followed by a car engine. A moment later, Hawk came down the stairs. “That’ll be Cutter,” he said, moving to the front door.

“Did you find anything?”

He turned to me and shook his head. Had I accidentally left the door unlocked? No, I had unlocked it when we got back to the house from the firing range. But had I locked it before we left? I couldn’t remember. I’d have to ask Hawk.

Had I left a window unlatched? No. I had been extremely careful over the past couple of days, nearly to the point of being paranoid. Well, now I
was
paranoid, and with good reason.

Hawk opened the door as the vehicle pulled up to the porch outside. I heard a car door slam shut, followed by another. Wonderful. Detectives Cutter and Westin were here, soon to be regaled with the details of my private life. I was torn between a sudden and nearly irresistible urge to start laughing or run into my office, slam the door shut, and bawl my eyes out.

Footsteps in the foyer. I glanced over and saw Detective Cutter enter, followed a moment later by Detective Westin. Both were dressed much the same as I had seen them the last time; Cutter rumpled, Westin neat. For a second, I thought about the old television show, the Odd Couple.

“Miss Whitcomb,” Detective Cutter nodded as he entered the room.

I glanced at him and nodded, then turned my attention toward Detective Westin, who was giving Hawk a discerning look. What the hell was the deal with those two? I grasped at anything that might distract me from my present predicament. Had they been rivals for a girl? Gone to school together or attended rival schools? Was Westin just prejudiced, or had Hawk done something to him? My imagination ran wild.

Until Detective Cutter cut my musings short.

“Miss Whitcomb,” he said, stepping toward the couch. “Hawk has filled us in—”

“Maybe if you had taken me seriously—”

Hawk cut me off. “Tracy, they’re here to help. Like Cutter and I both explained, there’s not much the police can do with stalker cases.” He glanced at Cutter. “I told her the truth, Cutter, that I didn’t think this was a garden-variety stalker case—”

Westin made a noise in his throat. “We don’t know that, and you should know better than that, Hawk,” he snapped. “She’s a potential victim, a witness—”

“I won’t be a victim!” I interrupted. I scowled at Westin and then at Cutter. “I’ve gotten three notes, and tonight, the stalker, whoever the hell he is, managed to get into my house… my
locked and dead-bolted
house, and—”

“I know you’re upset, Miss Whitcomb,” Cutter said, trying for a soothing expression. “Can you show us?”

I nodded stiffly and rose from the couch. I brushed past all three of them and made my way up the stairs, not bothering to be quiet anymore. No, this time I stomped. The three men followed, Cutter in the lead, Hawk bringing up the rear. I paused at my bedroom door. The light was still on inside. I lifted my arm and pointed.

“What have you got to say about that?” I demanded.

Cutter stepped into the room, warily eyeing the bed. Westin followed suit. His gaze lingered on the destroyed underwear, my panties, a couple of thongs, and my bras from Victoria’s Secret. I was beyond embarrassed. My style, choice, or design in underwear was nobody’s business, least of all the police, but what was I supposed to do?

Westin tore his gaze from the slashed bits of underwear on my bed and looked at me.

“You do know we’ll have to take this as evidence, don’t you?”

My nerves shredded as badly as my underwear, I lashed out. “Well, I certainly can’t wear any of it anymore, can I?”

Once again, I felt panic bubbling inside me. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and strove for patience. I didn’t want to turn into a bitch. But for crying out loud, I was being
stalked,
and they were standing there, calm as can be, staring at my underwear!

“Miss Whitcomb, try to get a hold of yourself,” Westin said. “We know that you’re going through a difficult time—”

“Do you?” I demanded. “Have you ever been stalked? Have you ever had anyone leave you threatening notes, and then get into your house, rummage through your underwear drawer, and slash them all to pieces?”

My voice rose until it cracked. I choked back a sob and then quickly turned from all of them and headed back downstairs. I returned to my seat on the couch, taking huge gulps of air as I tried to calm my shattered nerves. Hawk followed a moment later. The detectives remained in my room doing God knows what. How embarrassing.

“You all right?”

Hawk spoke softly as he sat down on the couch near me. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually get so upset, but…”

“You have every right to be upset,” he said. “But Cutter and Westin are good detectives. You need to trust them.”

“Why should I?” I asked. “I don’t know either one of them. As a matter of fact, I—”

I heard footsteps on the stairs and Detective Westin appeared a moment later. He didn’t look into the living room, but headed toward the front door. He opened it and stepped outside. I heard the car door open, then the sound of the trunk closing. He came back into the house carrying a couple of paper bags that looked like they came from the local grocery store, as well as a handful of gallon sized plastic bags. Great. All of my underwear was now headed for the Seneca Police Department, where everyone was going to see it.

I said nothing, listening to the sound of the detectives moving around upstairs. Hawk didn’t say anything either, but leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back, his fingers nearly touching my shoulder.

I ached for his touch, for his comfort, but that wasn’t going to get me anywhere, was it? In fact, in only minutes, I knew the detectives would be coming down. I would hand over all the notes I had received from the stalker, including the last one.

I glanced at Hawk. “Any chance of us not showing them the last note?” I knew it was a stupid question to ask, withholding evidence, especially under such circumstances, but I thought I would try.

“We could,” Hawk said. “But do you really want to do that?”

Yes.

No.

I was torn.

My pride versus my safety? I shook my head and closed my eyes. “Sorry, that was stupid. I’m just—”

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. My heart started pounding again in my chest. The moment of reckoning was approaching. I don’t know why I cared so much what the detectives thought of me. I didn’t, or at least I hadn’t thought so. But the thought of them finding out what Hawk and I had done last night, well, that was supremely personal, and no one’s business. Unfortunately, the stalker had made it his business.

The two detectives entered the living room. Westin placed two paper bags on the floor and then leaned against the doorjamb. “We’ve collected the evidence, but I have to be honest with you, Miss Whitcomb. I don’t think we’ll find any trace of whoever this might be on your… on your underwear.”

“But we’re going to take a look at it anyway,” Cutter said, glancing at Westin. He sat down on the small armchair opposite the couch and placed his elbows on his knees, leaning slightly forward. “We’ll want to take those messages he left for you, book them into evidence.”

I nodded and glanced at Hawk. Without saying a word, he rose, stepped into the kitchen, and opened my freezer door. He pulled out the plastic bag containing the flower and the first note. The second postcard sized note, the one the detectives had already seen, was in another plastic bag. I felt myself cringe when he picked up the last card, still sitting on the kitchen table in its own plastic bag. Hawk carried all three bags back to the living room.

He handed them to Westin as he entered and then returned to the couch and sat down, his face impassive. No one said anything. Westin glanced at the flower, read the attached note, and then handed it to his partner. He did the same with the second. He glanced at the third. I saw his eyes widen slightly. His mouth grew tight around the edges. And then, to my horror, he read it out loud.

“I saw what you did with him. You belong to me. You will pay.”

He looked at me and then Hawk. His eyes narrowed. He handed the note to Detective Cutter. I felt my face flame with heat, glanced down, and began picking at an imaginary fuzz ball on my jeans. Detective Cutter cleared his throat.

“When did you get this?”

The question came from Westin. I glanced at him. “This evening.”

“Miss Whitcomb,” Cutter said, glancing at his partner and then back to me. “Can you tell me what this last one means? Who is ‘him’?”

I swallowed and glanced from Cutter to Westin. Both watched me carefully. “I… well…” I frowned. “Does it really matter? You did see the other two sentences, the ones where he said that I belong to him, whoever the hell he is, and that I’m going to pay?”

“Yes, I did,” Cutter said, not unkindly. “But if we’re going to understand the motives of this guy, we have to know what makes him tick. He sounds annoyed. This last incident with your underwear upstairs seems to be the result of something he saw you do. It’s important that we know what that was. Every little thing we can learn about this guy will help us catch him.”

I sighed. “I was with—”

“She was with me, Cutter,” Hawk broke in matter-of-factly. “The details are unimportant.”

I saw Hawk staring at Westin, as if daring him to say something. The detective didn’t. Hawk gestured to the small knick-knack shelf attached to the wall next to Westin’s shoulder. “On that shelf, you’ll find four wireless cameras that we found inside the house. In the living room here, her office, bedroom, and in the bathroom. They’re state-of-the-art, high-tech, and expensive.”

Westin reached for a plastic bag containing the cameras. He gazed between Hawk and me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Amusement? Disbelief? Disgust?

“Miss Whitcomb, I’m sure Hawk’s already suggested it, but I think it would be a good idea if you stayed at a motel for a day or two. I know that you don’t feel safe staying here alone in your house, and you are a bit remote.”

I was relieved that he said nothing more about the note. I’m sure that both he and his partner could use their imagination and come to the conclusion that Hawk and I had shared a private, or really not-so-private, moment together. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. So violated. Not only was the stalker making me feel this way, but unfortunately, so too were the detectives.

I knew they were just doing their job. Still…

Detective Cutter stood. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, Miss Whitcomb,” he said. “I want you to know that we’ll do our best to find this guy.” He gestured to Hawk. “Until then, I want you to do everything Hawk tells you to in regard to your safety.”

Westin finally spoke up. “We’ll send a crime scene unit over here first thing in the morning, see if they can determine how the guy got into your house. I have to state the obvious though. Have you given a copy of your key to anyone?” He glanced pointedly at Hawk as he said it.

“No,” I said. “I haven’t even had time to make myself any extra copies. I just got the locks changed.”

“I already checked with Bernie,” Hawk told them. “He came out here and did the job alone.”

I gathered that Bernie was the locksmith who had come out and changed my locks. I wasn’t surprised that Hawk knew him. It was a small town.

“Well,” Cutter said, gesturing toward Westin. “We’ll get this stuff looked at, and if we find out anything, I’ll give Hawk a call.” He looked at Hawk. “Keep me posted. I want an update tomorrow morning, and if she gets any more notes, I want to know immediately.”

Hawk said nothing, merely nodded as he watched Westin and Cutter leave the house. Moments later, I heard the sound of their car starting and then the sound of gravel under their tires as they made their way down the driveway toward the highway. I sat still, staring around at the objects in my living room. Just a few days ago, I had felt so safe and comfortable here. Now I was wary of any shadow.

“Tracy, pack a bag. I’ll take you to a motel where you can pick up wireless. Will that help?”

I sighed. “I suppose so, although I have to finalize any designs on my desktop. My laptop is kind of old.” I still didn’t move. I felt frozen. The bastard was driving me out of my home. I glanced at Hawk, wanted to ask. Perhaps I could stay in my home if he agreed to stay here too. No. I couldn’t ask him to do that. He had a life of his own. For all I knew, he had a family. I doubted it, but it was possible.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked.

I shook my head. No, I could pack a bag all by myself. Sans underwear. I glanced at him as I stood and headed toward the staircase, speaking over my shoulder. “We’ll need to stop someplace along the way to get more underwear.” I stomped up the stairs, muttering every filthy name I could think of under my breath.

*

I followed Hawk in my truck as he drove to the local Walmart. It was still open. He said nothing as we walked inside and I headed toward the lingerie department, grabbed one bra and a package of underwear. I refused to look at him. Never in my life…

The few patrons and employees in the store that I passed gave us weird looks. They stared at Hawk as if he were… what? So he wore his hair long. So he towered over six feet tall. So he was so good-looking he made you practically—

Why was I so annoyed? Maybe because I didn’t want to be the center of attention or the reason for gossip. Then again, they weren’t really looking at me, were they? I sighed.

After I purchased my underwear from the store with what little cash I had on me, we both got back into our vehicles and I followed him to the motel at the edge of town. The Tomahawk. It looked like it was straight out of the 1950s. It looked like the set of Psycho, without the creepy looking house on the hill in the background.