Texas! Chase #2 (21 page)

stopped and bought carryout Chinese food for dinner. I hope you don't mind. Everybody wanted to look at houses today," she told him with an excited little laugh.

Setting the aromatic sack of carryout food on the table beside the telephone, she shrugged off the jacket of her suit and stepped out of gray high-heeled pumps.

"In the spring the housing market always picks up. I think some people would rather move than do spring housecleaning. Anyway—"

She ceased her happy chatter abruptly when she noticed that he was standing woodenly beside the hall table and hadn't spoken a word.

He was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before, rather like an oddity he couldn't figure out and was therefore highly suspicious of.

"Chase?" When he didn't immediately respond, she touched his arm. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Using his free hand, he pushed hers off his arm. His eyes were dark, implacable. "Chase, what?" she cried, her voice underlain with panic.

"How long have you lived in this house,

Marcie?"

"How… how long?"

"How long?"

"I, uh, I don't remember specifically." She picked up the sack of food and headed for the kitchen.

"That's bull." He yanked the sack out of her hand and returned it to the table. Gripping her by both shoulders, his fingers dug into her.

"You remember everything, Marcie. You've got a photographic memory. You were the only kid in Miss Hodges's history class who could remember all the state capitals and the presidents in order." His voice increased in volume and intensity. He shook her slightly.

"When did you buy this house?"

"Last summer."

"Why?"

"Because I like it."

"Why?"

"Because I like it."

"Who owned it before you bought it?"

"Chase," she said plaintively, almost inaudibly.

He, on the other hand, roared, "Who did you buy it from, Marcie?"

She struggled with tears. She wet her lips.

She was in obvious distress. Her lips were so rubbery she could barely form the words.

"From you."

"Jesus!" Turning, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall. Then he leaned into the wall and banged his fist against it several times.

He kept his head averted.

Extending her hand imploringly, she touched his shoulder. "Chase, please let me explain."

He flinched at her touch, but whirled around to confront her. His features were congested with outrage.

"What's to explain? I get the picture. This is Tanya's house."

"It's my house," she protested. "I bought it—"

"From me. Because you think of me/as some freaking charity case."

"That's not true. I bought it because I

wanted to make a home for you here. This is where you were supposed to live."

"With another wife," he shouted. "The wife

I loved. Doesn't that matter to you? Don't you have any more pride than to settle for second place? Are you so willing to settle for second place that you'd resort to tricks?"

"I never tricked you."

"Oh, really? Then why didn't you ever mention that this was the house Tanya was so crazy about? The house that you and she looked at right before she was killed. The house that she wanted me to see with her."

Her gaze fell beneath his accusing stare. He raised her head so that she had to look into his face. "Never mind answering. I know why.

Because you knew I'd feel just this way about it."

"Maybe I went about it the wrong way. But

I only wanted to make you happy."

"Happy?" he cried. "Happy? I've been balling you in Tanya's house!"

"And liking it very much!" she shouted back.

They glared at each other for the span of several seconds. Then, muttering a litany of vulgarities. Chase started upstairs. By the time

Marcie caught up with him, his suitcase was lying open on the bed and he was pitching articles of clothing into it.

"Chase," she cried, her voice tearing, "where are you going?"

"Houston." He didn't deign to look at her, but stamped into the bathroom and began tossing his toiletries into a suede kit.

"Why?"

"I was scheduled to leave tomorrow anyway."

He gave her a fulminating glare. "I

believe I'll go tonight instead."

"When will you be back?"

Brushing past her where she stood in the connecting door, he placed the kit in the suitcase and slammed it closed, latching it with an angry thrust of his fingers against the metal locks.

"I don't know."

"Chase, wait!"

He stormed downstairs. She clambered after him. At the front door she intercepted him and tenaciously hung on to his sleeve.

"Please don't go."

"I've got to. It's business."

"Don't go like this. Not when you're so angry.

Give me a chance to explain. Wait until morning."

"Why? So you can give me another night of sex to dull my memories of Tanya?"

Her whole body went rigid with affront.

"How dare you talk to me like that. I'm your wife."

He merely snorted, an uncomplimentary sound. "On paper, Marcie. Only on paper.

But never where it really counts."

He yanked his jacket off the coat tree and within seconds was gone.

"Lucky? It's Marcie."

"Hey, my favorite sister-in-law! How are you?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

Chase had been gone for three days. She hadn't heard a word from him. She didn't know where he was staying in Houston or why exactly he had made the trip, so there was no way she could track him there.

Unable to bear it any longer, she had swallowed her pride and called his brother to fish for information.

"What's up? Getting lonesome for that brother of mine?"

"A little."

A lot. Loneliness ate at her like a vicious rat. It's sharp, pointed teeth gnawed at her.

When awake, she replayed the horrid departure scene in her mind, willing it to be only a nightmare. In her sleep, she yearned for him, reached for him, and awoke startled and bereft when she realized he wasn't lying beside her and that he might never again.

"Devon and I discussed taking you out to dinner one night while Chase is gone," Lucky was saying, "but she hasn't been feeling very well."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Has she told her o.b.?"

"Yes, and he tells her to stay off her feet, rest more, and try to be patient for another seven or eight weeks."

"If there's anything I can do…"

"Give her a call. It might improve her disposition.

She's a regular bitch these days."

Marcie laughed, as she knew she was expected to. Lucky's criticism of his wife wasn't intended to be taken seriously. "I'll call her later this evening."

"I would appreciate that."

The conversation lagged. He was waiting for her to get to the point of her call. "Uh, Lucky, have you spoken with Chase today?"

"Sure. He called right after the interview."

"The interview?"

"With the oil company execs. That's why he went, you know."

"Yes, I know. I just didn't realize the interview was today." She hoped that her bluff sounded convincing.

"Yeah, they interviewed the three finalists, so to speak. Chase wants that contract so damn bad, Marcie.

It's more than the money. It's a pride thing with him. I guess because you, well, you know, you bailed us out. He wants to prove to you and to himself that you didn't make a bad investment."

"Did using my money shatter his pride?"

"No," Lucky said, obviously pondering the response even as he gave it. "But he needs to feel as if he's in charge again."

"He is."

"We know that. I'm not sure he's convinced of it."

"Well, if you speak to him—"

"I'm sure he'll call you. He's probably just been busy. He had another appointment this afternoon."

Probably with a divorce lawyer, she thought miserably. "Yes, he'll probably call me tonight.

Unless he's already on his way home." she suggested tentatively.

"I wouldn't look for him this soon. He said he wouldn't come home until they announced their decision and awarded the contract."

"Yes, that's what he told me before he left."

Since when had she become a liar?

"Course if he gets so hot for your bod he can't stand it, he might hop in his pickup and make the trip in record time," he teased.

Unfortunately, she couldn't tease back. Lamely she said, "Well, give Devon and Laurie my love when you get home. I'll try to call Devon tonight. Have patience with her."

"I'll grin and bear it till the baby gets here.

Bye-bye."

Marcie hung up. Without interest she padded into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk. Ever since Chase left, she had had very little appetite. She would certainly never want Chinese food again.

Hours later, while lying in bed reviewing the latest property tax laws, the telephone on the nightstand rang. She stared at it suspiciously and decided at first not to answer.

But what if it was Chase?

"Hello?"

"I'm coming to you," the whispery voice said. "I want you to see how hard I am for you.

Disobeying all the rules of common sense, she asked, "Who is this? Why don't you stop calling me?"

"I want you to touch me where I'm hard."

"Please stop."

"I know your husband isn't there. You're not getting any, are you, Marcie? You must be real horny.

You'll be glad to see me when I

get there."

Sobbing, she slammed down the receiver.

It rang again immediately. This time she didn't pick it up. She reasoned that if he were calling, he couldn't be trying to break into her house. Nevertheless, she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe and ran downstairs.

Frantically she checked all the doors and windows. She monitored the alarm system to see if it was set.

She considered calling Lucky, but he had enough to deal with. He didn't need a hysterical sister-in-law on his hands in addition to a cantankerous, pregnant wife.

She had insisted in her conversations with

Chase that telephone creeps never actually did anything. They got their kicks by scaring their victims because they were usually terri

fied of or traumatized by women. So why was she placing any credence in this last call?

Because he had called her the night Chase left and every night since. He was knowledgeable about her comings and goings and seemingly everything else about her. And for the first time, he had started warning her that he was coming after her. He intended to take it a step further than telephone terrorism.

Leaving all the downstairs lights on, inside and out, she returned to her bedroom. She didn't fall asleep for a long time. Every sound in the house was magnified by her fright.

She scolded herself for being so afraid over something as ridiculous as telephone calls. It wasn't like her to cower in fear and tolerate something like this. She always tackled her problems head-on.

Tomorrow, she vowed, she would do something to put a stop to this.

It wasn't quite dark when Chase arrived at the house on Woodbine Lane six days after leaving it, but the sun had already set and the yard was deeply shadowed beneath the trees.

Marcie's car wasn't there. He was glad. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her when he saw her. During his absence his anger had abated, but he was still distraught over living in Tanya's house with another woman… and liking it so much. Unable to deal with that aspect of it, he dwelt on Marcie's clever maneuvering and how unconscionably she had manipulated him.

He slid his key into the notched slot of the front door lock and tried to turn it. To his annoyance and puzzlement, it wouldn't unlock.

After several attempts, he stood back, placed his hands on his hips, cursed impatiently, and tried to figure out another way into the house. All the other exterior doors locked from the inside.

The only immediate solution he saw was to break one of the frosted panes of glass beside the front door, reach in, and unlock it from the inside and then get to the digital alarm pad before it went off.

He scouted around the yard for a stout stick, and finding one, carried it back to the door.

The window shattered after his first hard rap.

He reached in, groped for the lock and unlatched it, then opened the door. His boots crunched on broken glass as he made for the alarm transmitter. He punched out the required code, but the forty-five-second interim beeping didn't stop.

"Damn!"

Wasn't anything working right tonight? He tried the code again, meticulously depressing the correct digits. The beeping continued.

Knowing that the central control box was in the utility-room closet, he started across the living room at a run, hoping to get there and disconnect it before the actual alarm went off.

"Stop right there!"

Chase came to a jarring halt and turned toward the imperative voice. He was struck in the face by a brilliant beam of light and threw up both hands to ward it off.

"Chase!"

"What the hell is going on here? Get that light out of my face."

The light was switched off, but the glare had temporarily blinded him. Several seconds elapsed before he could focus. When he finally located Marcie, she had moved to the alarm pad. After she punched in the correct sequence of numbers, the beeping stopped, making the resultant silence even more pronounced.

It was as shocking as the sight of his wife, who, in one hand, was holding a high-powered flashlight, and in the other, a high-powered pistol.

"Is that loaded?" he asked temperately.

"Yes."

"Do you intend to use it on me?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you lower it."

Marcie seemed unaware that she was still aiming the handgun at his midsection. Her arm came unhinged at the elbow; she dropped the gun to her side. Chase realized the pistol would be extraordinarily heavy in her feminine hand. It would have been hard for many men to tote.

He moved to a lamp, switched on the light, and received his third shock. Marcie's face was ghostly pale, in stark contrast to the black,