Someone To Watch Over Me (13 page)

Shawn nodded as he reached over and laid the
steaks on the grill. “Thanks. I figured there was a story there
because she’s insistent on not stepping aside. Don’t be worried,
I'll take good care of her.”

Stella reached up and patted his arm. “I know
you will.”

She turned and walked back inside. Within a
few minutes, Shawn joined them with the steaks. As they sat down to
eat, Stella decided Morgan's stalker had been an uninvited guest at
her party long enough. She took control of the conversation and
spent the rest of the evening providing updates on construction
projects and what her family was up to.

After dinner, they deposited the dishes into
the kitchen sink and went to Stella's computer to check on the
status of the online auction.

“Goodness, the weekend getaway in Sedona is
up to four hundred dollars,” Stella said. “Look at all the bids.
With so many at this point, this is going to be a real
moneymaker.”

“I’ll celebrate later, when everything has a
bid,” Morgan said.

“Your father will be extremely proud,” Shawn
added.

Stella glanced at Shawn. He reached over and
touched Morgan’s arm. Her friend’s expression had changed from one
of caution to a soft smile. “Thanks,” she responded softly.

Stella tried not to grin as she focused back
on the computer screen and scrolled down the auction listings
considering what she'd bid on.

***

Where is she?
He'd had been waiting
for over a couple hours and Morgan still hadn’t arrived at home. He
left the cover of the bush and scrabbled his way out of the wash.
The wind from the oncoming storm kicked up the sand which stung his
eyes and buffeted him in sporadic gusts.

He crept up to the arcadia door and leaned
closer, cupping the sides of his face as he peered inside. The
sheer drapes were drawn, and the lights were off. He reached for
the handle and pulled. No luck, it didn’t budge. He stepped off the
concrete patio and walked over to where that master bedroom was
located. The drapes to the bedroom were drawn, but he checked the
window, just in case.

Exasperated, he went to the driveway on the
side of the house. He walked over and took hold of the garage door
handle and jerked it. The metal door heaved slightly before
settling. He checked the front driveway. No car.

She should be home now. Something is
wrong.
He scrambled to the front of the house and stared
through the bay window. The house was silent and dark.

His heart raced. Where could she be? He
threaded his fingers through his hair as he scanned the landscape
and the houses in the distance.
She's with him
. The thought
hit him like a hand slap. The young man dropped his hands and they
tightened into fists as his fear melted into rage. He had to find
her. No, find them.

He jogged back to the wash. The unevenness of
the desert terrain jarred his ankles and the bushes slapped against
his calves, so he slowed to a walk to avoid falling. He prepared to
jump down into the sandy river bottom, then he turned and started
to run back at the house.
Her home.

“You bitch,” he muttered. “You couldn't wait
before you hooked up with someone new.”

Morgan hurt him. Like the others. He needed
to strike back. She must feel his pain and understand. The young
man reached down and picked up a medium sized river rock and with a
gut-wrenching scream he hurled it. The stone fell short of the
large glass door landing with a heavy thud on the concrete patio
before rolling haphazardly to a stop several feet short of his
target. He grabbed another one and charged up to the patio. With
all his strength he launched the rock at the arcadia door. At first
he thought the glass held. The crash and tingle of falling debris
actually sounded like what he heard on the television shows. The
drapes swayed back and then returned, covering the rock’s
disappearance into the dark interior.

Within seconds, the security alarm sounded.
The high pitch wail reminded him of an upset woman crying in
protest. He grinned and ran. The police would arrive soon, followed
by Morgan. Forget chasing her down. This time she'd come to
him.

***

Morgan stared at Stella’s computer screen. If
the brisk bidding continued, this year's fundraiser might raise the
largest amount in the event’s twelve year history. She leaned back
in the chair, inhaled slowly and tamped down the impulse to jump up
and do the happy dance. Instead, she pressed the fingers to her
lips to hide her grin as Stella scanned the list of items up for
bid.

After they finished, the trio returned to the
den, and Morgan's cell phone rang. She retrieved it out of her
purse and checked caller ID. She shot a glance at Shawn who was
sliding on his jacket. “It's the security company who monitors my
house.”

His eyes took a suspicious expression.
“Answer it.”

She put the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Kennedy, this is Home Security
Solutions. Your alarm has been tripped. Are you safe?”

“Yes, but I'm not at home.”

“The police have been notified and are on
their way. Can you meet them there?”

“Hold please. Shawn, my house has been broken
into. The police are coming, we need to go back.”

He shifted his holster and pistol into place
under his jacket. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I suspect
your stalker is trying to get you to surface.”

“But the police will be there. We can give
them information and they will canvas the area. They might catch
him.” Morgan said.

Shawn didn't appear convinced. Finally he
replied, “All right, but I don't want you to leave my side. If I
think things are unsafe and tell you to get in the car or we’re
leaving, we do it. No discussion. This isn’t negotiable.”

She nodded and turned to Stella. “Thanks for
dinner.”

“Anytime, please keep me in the loop,” Stella
said.

Morgan gave her friend a hug.
“Absolutely.”

She counted three patrol cars stationed in
the driveway and in front of her house when they arrived. A
policeman standing guard regarded them cautiously as they stepped
out of the SUV.

“Are you the homeowner?” The officer
asked.

“Yes.” Morgan replied.

“Someone threw a rock through your arcadia
door. The alarm has been turned off, and the house is clear.”

Shawn interjected. “Did any of the patrol
cars report seeing an older Honda Accord in the area?”

The officer appraised Shawn with a
no-nonsense expression which Morgan found intimidating, but Shawn
appeared unfazed. He stared back at the policeman with a quiet
focus which left no doubt he expected an answer.

“Why do you ask?” the cop asked.

“Ms. Kennedy has a stalker. We believe he
drives a car of that make and model,” Shawn said.

The officer shifted his gaze from Shawn to
Morgan. She tensed and braced herself for the upcoming questions.
Instead, Shawn softly placed his hand on the small of her back. The
simple gesture spoke volumes to her.
You're not alone.

“Go around to the back and talk to Officer
Williams,” the policeman instructed.

“Thank you.” Shawn reached over and gently
placed his hand on her arm before they walked back to the driveway
and to the patio. As they turned the corner, Morgan saw one officer
standing near the arcadia door and two in the yard patrolling with
flashlights. The metal door frame was open with the drapes pulled
back, and shards of glass shimmered like an array of diamonds on
the tile floor.

She and Shawn walked up to the policeman
standing at the door. “Officer Williams?” Morgan asked.

The officer gave both of them a quick visual
once over before speaking. “Are you the owner?”

“Yes, what happened?” Morgan replied.

“Someone tried getting in and broke your
door. We've already gone inside. It’s empty, but you should check
to see if anything is missing.”

Morgan swallowed, and her mouth went dry.

“Officer, did anyone observe an older model
burgundy Honda Accord in the area?” Shawn asked.

The policeman shook his head. “No. We think
he came up from the wash and had left long before we got here.”

Shawn nodded and began to give the officer a
recap of her circumstances. Morgan walked past the two men and
stepped inside. Glass shards crunched beneath the balls of her
shoes as she tiptoed across the tile floor. Someone had turned on
the lights, which was a good thing as it reduced the “someone has
been in my house” factor a notch.

She scanned the room, and found nothing else
had been disturbed. In the background, she heard Shawn’s voice and
she waited, frozen, unable to go further in the home. Despite the
July heat, a numbing chill wrapped itself around her.

Shawn walked up behind her and gently laid
his hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to walk your house?”

She turned and looked at him. Part of her
wanted to check things out and confirm nothing had been taken, and
the other part of her yearned to run and hide. “I guess so.”

Morgan walked through the kitchen and down
the hall with Shawn close behind. His quiet presence gave her
courage. This was her house but thanks to this idiot, right now she
didn't feel safe here.

As they entered the master bedroom, Morgan’s
eyes traveled to the dresser, half expecting to find the drawer
open and more lingerie missing. But it was closed. She walked over
to the closet, her stomach tensed and she took a deep breath as she
prepared to open the door. A quick mental collage of images from a
horror film threaded through her mind.
The closet, he's in the
closet. The bad guy always hides in the closet.
She opened the
door firmly and realized no one was inside, and all her clothes
were untouched. She exhaled and the muscles in her shoulders
loosened a notch.

She and Shawn moved on to check the guest
bedroom and then the office. Each time, the same routine, exploring
closets, drawers and even once under the bed hunting for her
personal bogeyman. When they finished, they returned to the arcadia
door.

“Any luck on the patrols?” Shawn asked.

“Nothing, looks like your guy is long gone,”
Williams replied. “You may want to see if you can get this boarded
up for tonight.”

“No, I've got a contact for emergency glass
installation.” Morgan replied, as she pulled out her phone. Within
a few minutes, she had contacted the company the jewelry store used
and arranged a repair man to come out for a door replacement.

The officers came in from canvassing the yard
and gradually departed, leaving Morgan and Shawn alone.

***

He jumped into the sandy wash and sprinted to
his car. As soon as the engine started, he changed gears and sped
away. As he traveled west, the police cars appeared. One came from
Tatum Road and the other from a side street. Both vehicles had
their emergency lights flashing, but their sirens weren’t on.

Did they think they would catch him by
getting there silently? He grinned as they faded from sight in his
rear view mirror. Now all he had to do is stay away for a little
while. Give them time to investigate and for Morgan to arrive.

Morgan would come to secure her house. This
time, when she left, he'd follow her. This should teach her a
lesson. She'd never get away from him. He pulled into a
Jack-in-the-Box restaurant and parked the car. He laid his head
against the seat’s head rest and conjured Morgan in his mind. Her
golden brown eyes emerged from the darkness. She looked concerned,
sorry for what she'd done. “Good,” he murmured.

He glanced down at his wristwatch, noted the
time, before he unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted to reach back to
his pocket to retrieve his wallet. After counting his money, he
decided to order a large Coke. This promised to be a long night and
he could use the caffeine.

***

Shawn opened the front door to his loft.
Morgan waited in the hallway as he stepped in and turned on the
lights. As she entered, Morgan found out what Scottsdale loft
living was like. The open floor plan highlighted the dark wood
floors, leather furniture and drop dead gorgeous view of the urban
skyline. She gazed through the glass door which lead to his patio
and faced south into downtown Scottsdale. The city lights twinkled
and gave the room a soft glow. Morgan knew she should say something
but somehow, “wow” didn't seem to be quite enough.

He walked around her and said, “I'm putting
you up in this bedroom.”

With her suitcase in one hand and the evening
gown hanging in a garment bag in the other, he led her past the
dining area and down a short hall.

“Bathroom is here, and you make a sharp turn
to your bedroom.” He walked in, flipped on the light switch,
dropped the suitcase on the bed, and walked to the closet and hung
her dress.

She took a deep breath. A large double bed
with a brass headboard was draped in a lavender floral comforter
and solid colored pillow shams. Pictures of Winnie the Pooh
characters had been framed and arranged in a gallery on the wall.
This room belonged to his daughter.

She gazed over at Shawn “What's her
name?”

He regarded her. His eyes held a wary
expression and his lips were pressed together firmly. Morgan smiled
in an effort to encourage an answer. “What's your daughter's
name?”

“Emma,” he replied. “Her name is Emma.”

“That's a lovely name. How old is she?”
Morgan guessed by the decor the girl couldn’t be more than seven or
eight.

“She's six.”

“I didn't know that you’re married. Will I
meet your wife and daughter?”

“I'm not married,” he answered abruptly as he
walked toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Morgan watched him retreat. Not married?
Strange he didn't speak of a divorce. In her experience, divorced
men eagerly talked about - no, complained- about their ex-wives. He
was so reluctant to tell her his daughter's name. Why?