Chapter 3
It was five minutes after 8:00 a.m. when Kristie finally woke up. Her disbelief that she’d overslept was soon gone when she remembered that she wasn’t going to work. Not today or tomorrow, and here in Chicago, maybe never again. Somewhere around three this morning, she’d made up her mind that if this stalker wasn’t found soon, she was going home—back to Texas. She didn’t want to die before she’d had a chance to live. Besides, she was an aunt now. She had familial responsibilities that meant more to her than any hotshot job in the big city.
She rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, contemplating her next step. She had to call Scott. That was a given. But that meant he would come over, and she needed to have her game face on before she faced him again. That parting shot she’d given him yesterday had come out of her mouth before she’d thought and while it was a bit embarrassing, it was still the truth. Like it or not, there was still chemistry between them.
She dragged herself to the bathroom, exiting a short while later with a better attitude and freshly washed hair. She was going shopping for a baby gift after Scott came and went. There was a brand-new baby named Daniel back in Midland, and she wanted him to know that, from the very first day, she considered him special.
Once she had dressed and had her first cup of coffee, she found Scott’s card and gave him a call, but the man who answered wasn’t Scott.
“Chicago P.D.”
The unfamiliar voice took her aback. It took her a moment to change what she’d been going to say.
“Uh…may I speak to Detective Wade?”
“Sorry, ma’am, he’s not in. Want to leave a message?”
This wasn’t what she had expected. If she left a message, she would have to wait for him to return the call, which meant shopping for her new nephew would have to wait.
“Yes, I guess so,” she said. “Just tell him that Kristie Samuels called. Tell him I got another call last night. He’ll know what it means.”
Paul Tucker frowned. “Are you the lady with the stalker?”
Kristie was surprised that he knew. “Um, yes, I am.”
“I’m his partner. Does he have your number?”
“Yes.”
“Then hang tight, Miss Samuels. I’ll page Scott and have him call you right back, okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. As she hung up, she realized she’d misjudged the police by not contacting them sooner.
She stood by the phone for a moment, thinking that she would soon hear Scott’s voice. It bothered her a little that she was making too much of his reappearance in her life but she told herself it meant nothing. She was probably transferring her fear over what had been happening to some sort of fixation on Scott, simply because they had a past. Satisfied that she’d figured out what was wrong with her, she went to make some toast.
She had just spread peanut butter on her first slice of toast and taken a bite when the telephone rang.
“Oh, great,” she muttered, and reached for the phone while trying to swallow. “Hello?”
Scott frowned. “Kristie…are you all right?”
“Mmm,” she said, still trying to get the peanut butter off the roof of her mouth. “Wait a minute,” she managed to mumble, then took a sip of coffee to help wash it down. “Okay…I’m fine, now. Thanks for waiting.”
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“Eating peanut butter and toast. It stuck to the roof of my mouth.”
Scott sighed. After the message he’d just received, he’d imagined something dire.
“I hear you got another call.”
Kristie sighed. “Yes. Last night just after midnight.”
“What did he say?”
“He knows I called the police. It made him angry. He said if he couldn’t have me then he’d make sure no one else did.”
Scott’s heart sank as he thought back over the tapes that he’d listened to at the office, as well as the text of the letters she’d received.
“Has he ever threatened you physically before?”
“No.”
“Damn,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I’m not far from your place. I’ll be there soon.”
“Want some breakfast?” she asked, and could tell from the sudden silence that she’d taken him aback.
“Well…yeah. That would be good.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Got any picante sauce?”
She chuckled. “Scott, I was born and raised in Texas. What do you think?”
The sound of her laughter went all the way to his heart, and he found himself smiling.
“Right. Sorry, what was I thinking?”
“So…the eggs?”
“Well-done and scrambled.”
“See you soon,” she said, and by the time she hung up, found herself thinking that the stalker would probably go ballistic if he knew she used to make love on a regular basis with the cop who was working her case.
* * *
Scott found himself moving rapidly as he got out of his car and headed toward Kristie’s apartment building. He didn’t bother to lie to himself as to the urgency of his movements. It wasn’t just about the most recent threat to Kristie’s life. It was because he wanted to see her—to find out if yesterday the pull between them had been more about surprise at seeing one another again.
Ignoring the elevator, he headed for the stairwell and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Just as he came upon the third-floor landing, the exit door opened and a tall, thin man in drab olive coveralls stepped through.
He saw Scott almost at the same time Scott saw him and stopped abruptly before they collided. Scott noticed the coveralls the man was wearing, as well as the toolbox, and took him to be the maintenance man for the building.
“How are you doing?” Scott asked, more in the way of a greeting than an actual question, but the man obviously wasn’t in the mood to visit.
He gave Scott a nervous look and then moved past him, the toolbox bumping against his leg as he scurried away.
Scott paused on the landing, curiously watching the man’s descent. He didn’t know why, but there was something in his behavior that set off all sorts of alarms. He made a mental note to ask the building superintendent about him later and then continued on his way up to Kristie’s apartment. A couple of minutes later he was knocking on her door. When she opened it with a smile of welcome, one question he’d been asking himself was just answered. It would be too damned easy to fall in love with Kristie all over again.
“You made good time,” Kristie said. “Come in.”
Scott shed his coat and laid it on a nearby chair as he followed her into the living room.
“Your breakfast is ready.”
“I want to hear the tape.”
“But your eggs will get cold,” she said.
Scott frowned. “They’ll reheat, Kristie Ann. The tape. Please.”
Kristie sighed and pointed toward the answering machine on the sideboard.
“It’s on that tape,” she said. “It’s a new tape and the message is the only one on it. Feel free to take it with you when you go. I have another I can put in.”
Scott knew that matter-of-fact manner in which she was behaving was to cover up. She was trying to hide her true feelings, but it wasn’t working. At least not for him. He knew her too well.
He looked at her once and then punched the play button. Within seconds the ugly threats of Kristie’s stalker filled the room. Scott listened, his mouth a thin, grim line. When the call ended, he popped the tape from the machine, dropped it into a small bag and then put it in his pocket. When he turned toward Kristie, it was as if the call had never happened.
“About those eggs…”
Kristie relaxed. At least Scott wasn’t going to quiz her about things she couldn’t answer.
“In the kitchen, along with that picante sauce you asked for.”
Scott slid a hand across her shoulders and gave her a quick hug.
“Did you get any sleep?”
Kristie shrugged. “Enough. Do you still drink your coffee black?”
Scott took her by the arms and turned her around, making her face him.
“Kristie.”
“What?”
“Talk to me.”
Kristie’s frustration over the situation suddenly boiled over.
“And say what, Scott? That I’m afraid to go to work? That I close my eyes at night and wonder if I’ll wake up to live another day? I talked to my mother last night. Loretta and her husband recently became parents. They have a son. They have a son and each other and I have a job in a city that is hundreds of miles away from everyone I love and someone has decided I don’t deserve to live. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.”
She glared.
He gave her back look for silent look, then leaned down and kissed her.
The shock of what he’d done passed almost immediately as Kristie melted beneath the touch. It was so familiar and yet different. She’d known Scott the boy, but not Scott the man. Even as she was telling herself to slow down, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into his embrace.
It took everything Scott had to pull back when his heart was telling him to take everything she would give him and beg for more.
“Oh, honey…that felt so good,” Scott whispered, and pulled Kristie close, cupping the back of her head as she rested her cheek against his chest.
“To me, too,” Kristie said, then looked up at him. “What are we doing here, Scott? We can’t go back to what we had. We were kids.”
“Old enough to make love,” he said softly.
She sighed. “No we weren’t. We weren’t old enough, but we did it.”
“And it was so good between us. You have to give me that much.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll give you that. It was just about perfect.”
Scott heard the hesitancy in her voice and frowned, then reminded himself she had a lot more on her mind besides renewing an old love. And so should he.
“About those eggs?” he said.
Kristie wanted to say more but held her tongue. Like Scott, she was confused as to her priorities. She should be out of her mind with fear that she was the victim of a stalker, but ever since he’d walked into her office, all she’d been able to think about was the past that they’d shared.
A few minutes later Scott was sitting at the table, pouring hot picante sauce over his scrambled eggs and sausage as Kristie slid a plate of hot buttered toast in front of him.
“This smells fantastic,” Scott said, and then took a big bite, chewed and swallowed then rolled his eyes in appreciation. “Oh, man…talk about a little taste of home and heaven.”
Kristie grinned. “Well, good grief, Scott. It’s only scrambled eggs.”
“Honey, do you remember the time I cooked for us?”
Kristie frowned, thinking back over the years. Then her expression lit.
“Are you talking about the night that your folks drove to Odessa to the Gatlin Brothers concert and gave us free run of the backyard grill?”
He grinned and nodded as he took another bite.
“I remember that you tried to cook.”
“Exactly,” Scott said. “My point is, I haven’t gotten any better. I eat out a lot.”
“Then I’m glad you’re enjoying your food,” Kristie said.
Scott paused, a forkful of eggs and sausage halfway to his mouth.
“I’m enjoying a whole lot more than your cooking,” he said softly.
Kristie looked at him and then sighed. “When this is over—this stalker thing, I mean. What happens then?”
“What do you want to happen, Kristie Ann?”
“What do you want?” she countered.
“You. I want to call you and to take you out to dinner. I want to laugh with you and to make love to you. I can’t make up for the years we lost, but we can start from now and see where it goes.”
Kristie felt light, as if she’d suddenly gone weightless. It was more than she’d hoped for.
“If you’re going to do all of that, then you need to finish your breakfast and go catch my bad guy.”
Scott grinned. “Does that mean I’ve got a chance?”
“Want some more coffee?”
“I already told you what I want,” Scott said, and then finished off his eggs and sausage.
He was swallowing his last sip of coffee when his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, glanced at the Caller ID and frowned.
“This is Wade,” he said as he answered.
“This is Leslie, from the lab.”
“What do you have for me?” Scott asked.
“We got DNA off the envelope, just as you expected. Give me a suspect and I’ll be able to tell you yea or nay.”
Scott frowned. Therein lay there problem. At the present time, there were no suspects.
“What about fingerprints?” he asked.
“Oh…there were prints all over the envelopes, as we expected, and you were right on the money about the stamps. We got three partials from underneath three different stamps. Two partial forefingers, one partial thumbprint.”
“I’m not liking the sounds of this. Do we have enough of a partial to make an identification?”
“It’s not likely, but we’re going to give it a shot.”
“Damn,” Scott muttered. “Thanks for letting me know, and if you come up with something definite, give me a call immediately. We’re working against time here.”
“You know it,” she said.
Scott hung up.
Kristie could tell by the look on his face that the call hadn’t been good news.
“Bad news?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” he said. “We got DNA off the envelopes, but unfortunately we have no suspect to match it to. There were three partial prints from under the stamps, but we don’t know if there was enough to make a match.”
Kristie felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. All the previous joy she’d been feeling was gone and she was back to square one.
“So what now?” she asked.
Scott dropped his phone back into his pocket.
“You don’t worry about it. You’re going to have to trust me on this. Can you do that, honey?”
Kristie clutched her fists to her stomach. “I don’t have any other choice.”
“That’s not true, Kristie. You always have choices.”
Kristie looked at him then, at the cool, confident expression on his face and the light in his eyes.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so pathetic. I do trust you, Scott, and I’m thankful for your presence.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he took her by the hand and tugged until they were standing face-to-face. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.”
Scott couldn’t quit looking at her—so familiar, and yet a stranger.
“You are so beautiful,” he said softly, tracing the soft curves of her cheeks with his thumbs, then tangling his fingers in the thickness of her hair. The color always made him think it would be hot to the touch, and yet he never ceased to be amazed at the cool, silken texture, instead.
Kristie smiled. “You always did talk pretty, Scotty.”
He smiled, satisfied for now to let her change the subject. “What will it get me?”
“For now…a goodbye kiss.”
“I’ll take it,” Scott said, and took not only Kristie’s kiss, but her breath, as well.
“I’ll call,” he said as he headed toward the door moments later. “Stay safe for me, honey.”
“I thought about going shopping for a baby present for Loretta and Billy’s baby.”
Scott frowned and then made himself relax as he picked up his coat and put it on.
“Yeah, well, it should probably be all right, but take a cab, okay, and stay out of the parking garage until this is over. The less you’re alone in places like that, the safer you’ll be.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And call me when you get back in your apartment so I’ll know you’re okay.”
She smiled. “I’ll do that, too.”
He opened the door and stepped into the hall. Kristie followed him, reluctant to say goodbye. As she did, they both heard someone running down the stairwell. Instinctively, Kristie stepped toward the door of her apartment as Scott’s hand slid beneath his coat to his shoulder holster and the gun within. Moments later, the door flew back and Marjorie came out at a jog.
Immediately, Kristie relaxed, although Scott was still uneasy.
Marjorie saw them standing in the hallway and smiled as she jogged past.
“Morning,” she said to Kristie, while eyeing Scott curiously as she jogged in place. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Kristie smiled. Subtlety, it seemed, was not one of Marjorie’s virtues.
“Marjorie Petrowski, this is my friend, Scott Wade. Scott, this is Marjorie. She lives on the floor above me and is quite the avid athlete.”
Scott let his hand fall to his side. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, and tried not to grin at the blue-gray curls bouncing against her forehead as she jogged in place.
“Indeed,” she said.
“On your way outside for your morning run?” Kristie asked.
“Not today, my dear. It’s threatening rain and I just got my hair done yesterday. I’m taking my morning constitutional indoors this morning. See you later,” she said, and started off down the hall at a brisk stride, aiming for the other stairwell at the far end of the hall.
“Quite a woman,” Scott said.
“I guess,” Kristie said. “I don’t know her well, but she seems nice.”
“Okay, honey, I’m out of here. Don’t forget to call me when you get home.”
“Yes, all right,” Kristie said, and stood in the hall, watching until Scott got on the elevator.
As the doors closed Kristie realized she was standing in the hallway alone. There was a thump at the far end of the hallway where Marjorie had disappeared. She turned to look, half expecting to see Marjorie on a return jog, and instead saw a tall, thin man carrying a toolbox. Almost immediately she recognized him as the maintenance man. For a moment they stared at each other—Kristie at one end of the hall, the maintenance man at the other.
He started toward her, his toolbox bumping against his leg. Suddenly, Kristie realized that she didn’t really know him. She began backing toward her doorway and then abruptly turned and ran into her apartment, slamming and locking the door behind her.
She stood with her ear to the door, her heart pounding as she waited for him to pass by. Moments later she heard the faint clank of metal against metal and knew he was coming closer. She looked out the peephole just in time to see him pass by and then he was gone.
Determined not to let that ruin her shopping trip, she hurried to her bedroom to change clothes. The stores would be crowded with after Christmas shoppers but there was nothing to be done for the fact. She wanted to get the baby’s gift in the mail as soon as possible.
As she was changing, Scott was downstairs, talking to the building superintendent.
“The maintenance man,” Scott asked. “How long has he been with you?”
“Almost a year. He’s a good worker. Never late and knows his stuff.”
“Does he live on the premises?” Scott asked.
“No, why?”
“Just checking,” Scott asked, then started to leave when he noticed a huge stack of pornographic magazines on the floor by the sofa. “Do a lot of reading?” he asked.
The super caught the drift of Scott’s gaze and grinned.
“Oh, yeah…I’ve got a real intellectual mind.”
Scott looked at him again, seeing the grease spots on the belly of his shirt, the stub of an unlit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth and the dissolute expression in his eyes.
“How do you spell your name?” he asked abruptly.
The smile froze on the man’s face. He blinked twice, as if trying to come to terms with the question, and then yanked the cigar from his mouth.
“That’s Abrams. Pete Abrams. A-b-r-a-m-s.”
Scott wrote it down without speaking, gave the man another long, studied look and then left.
Pete Abrams shuddered slightly as he shut the door, then jammed the cigar back into his mouth. To hell with cops. Who needed them?