Deadly Pursuit Page 9

  Some of Daryl’s anger ebbed as he considered the prank they’d cooked up between them, after he’d told Chuck how Nicole had credited Alison Taylor for helping her get a new start.

  “I hope it scared her so bad she’s afraid to go to the bathroom by herself.”

  Chuck cackled. “Yeah. The bingo card was a nice touch, if I do say so myself.”

  Edging past Chuck, Daryl took out a beer for himself. He hadn’t been all that keen on the idea at first, but he was glad they’d done it. The thought of scaring Alison Taylor, of turning her world upside down, was sweet.

  “You have an evil streak, you know that?” He popped the top, the whoosh of the carbonation sharpening his thirst.

  “Don’t I, though?” Chuck grinned and took another long swallow. “And I got more ideas, if you want to hear them. We can make her life real miserable. Might be fun.”

  As Daryl weighed the can of beer in his hand, he suddenly had the weirdest feeling. Almost like he was standing on the edge of a high cliff, and one move in the wrong direction would send him plummeting into the dark abyss below, while one move in the right direction would lead him to safety.

  That was kind of how he’d felt as a kid, playing chicken on the railroad tracks. You were supposed to jump in front of the train, wait until the very last second, then jump aside and run for cover as the grinding brakes shrieked, metal on metal, sparks flying. He’d always broken out in a cold sweat as the train bore down on him. Hoping he’d make it to safety.

  The same thing he was hoping for now.

  He was tired of messing up his life.

  Tired of proving his old man right.

  Daryl took a swig of the cheap brew, trying to chase the bitter taste from his mouth. It wasn’t as if Michael Barnes had had room to point fingers. Last time he’d seen him, the day he’d left home forever at fifteen, his father had been passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor, oblivious to the squalls of the hungry toddler in the dirty playpen in the corner. Daryl remembered tossing his half sister a piece of bread before he left and whispering, “Good luck, kid.”

  He could use some luck himself now. Some guidance. Someone to tell him how to avoid the abyss. How to elude the train barreling down on him. But even if he didn’t have any clear direction, he did know one thing.

  Hanging around with Chuck wasn’t the right step.

  He slugged down the rest of the beer, crushed the fragile aluminum in his fingers, and tossed the can into the overflowing bag of garbage next to the sink.

  “You know, I think I’m gonna pay Nicole a visit. Calling was a bad idea. I should have talked to her in person.”

  His host swigged his beer again. “You think she’ll change her mind?”

  “It can’t hurt to try.” He’d always been able to sweet-talk—or threaten—her into compliance. And she’d have a lot harder time saying no in person.

  Chuck finished off his beer and tossed his can as well. “Guess not. Nicole always was a looker. It’d be a shame to lose her.” He jiggled the change in his pocket and wiped the sleeve of his T-shirt across his forehead. “Hot night. Think I’ll take a little walk. Maybe find me a chick of my own. Don’t wait up.” With a grin, he crossed to the front door, opened it, and clattered down the steps.

  Through the window, Daryl watched a flash of lightning slash across the sky near the horizon, followed by a low, ominous rumble of distant thunder. Then he turned away from the emaciated figure disappearing into the deepening dusk and surveyed the rented dump Chuck called home. This wasn’t where he’d expected to end up six years ago, when his drinking buddy had filled his head with grandiose dreams.

  Dreams that had turned into a nightmare.

  Shoving his hands in the pockets of his prison-issue pants, Daryl remembered the pitch as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. He and Chuck had struck up an acquaintance at a bar they’d both frequented in between their string of odd jobs. Chuck had been older and more street savvy. The kind of guy who understood how unfair the world could be. Who wanted more out of life—and had a plan to get it.

  He knew how to make meth, Chuck had confided. And he knew of a secluded spot in Jefferson County, off the radar screen of cops, where they could set up a lab. He already had a network of people lined up who’d smurf pseudoephedrine for them in return for enough meth to feed their addiction. They could sell the remainder of the cook. Plus, he had a connection that would supply them with Mexican meth. Big profits there, Chuck had promised. They’d be living on easy street soon.

  Daryl had fallen for the plan hook, line, and sinker.

  But a dumpy trailer and four years in the joint was far from easy street.

  He kicked the edge of the lopsided, lumpy sofa, creating a faint cloud of dust. Like most things that sounded too good to be true, Chuck’s get-rich-quick scheme hadn’t lived up to its promise.

  Leaving him once more a victim of circumstances.

  The abyss yawned at his feet again, sending a cold chill through him. He was on the edge, and he knew it. Desperation and despair could nudge a man into that precarious position. Force him to do things he didn’t want to do.

  But right now he was clean. There was still a chance he could dig himself out of the hole that was his life. All he needed was someone to believe in him. Encourage him. Trust him.

  Someone like Nicole.

  He’d come to that conclusion in Potosi, as he sat in his cell day after day with nothing else to think about.

  The truth of it was, he needed her more than she’d ever needed him. The very woman he’d once rescued from the streets now held the key to his future. To his salvation.

  Go figure.

  His stomach growled, and he ambled back to the refrigerator. Rummaging through the beer cans, he came up empty except for a moldy pack of American cheese. Looked like it was peanut butter crackers again for dinner. Chuck had a drawerful of those. He grabbed two, ripped off the cellophane, and took a bite.

  That was another thing he’d liked about Nicole. She’d fed him well.

  Plus, as Chuck had noted, she was a looker. That was the reason he’d noticed her in the first place. The reason he’d been willing to take her kid, once she made it clear they were a package deal. And it had turned out okay. She’d worked hard, holding down two jobs. For the first time in his life, he’d eaten decent meals. Lived in a clean apartment. Experienced affection. It had been a sweet deal all around. The best life he’d ever known.

  Until Alison Taylor had poked her nose in and destroyed it all.

  Another surge of anger swept over him, but he tamped it down. He couldn’t let his temper get out of hand. Not this time. He could end up shooting himself in the foot. Besides, if he could convince Nicole to take him back, why worry about the social worker? There’d be no need for revenge if life was good.

  Tomorrow he’d pay Nicole a visit in that nice new place of hers. He and Chuck had driven by to check it out before they’d dropped off Alison Taylor’s present, so he knew exactly where she lived. He’d even take a toy for the kid, if Chuck would loan him a few bucks. Maybe pick up some flowers for Nicole. She’d like that. There’d always been a salvaged flower of some kind stuck in a bud vase from Goodwill at their old place.

  Once more, a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a light rain began to fall. Chuck would be back soon. There were only a couple of other trailers along this stretch of road, tucked back in the woods, and he doubted his former partner was going to find a welcome reception in any of them.

  Let alone romance.

  After picking a path along the littered hall that led to the bedroom, Daryl pulled back the grimy blanket on the futon that had been his bed for the past few nights. If the gods were kind, this would be the last night he’d have to spend in a meth den.

  He stretched out, doing his best to ignore the stench that permeated the trailer as he reviewed his plan. He was only going to have one more shot at this, and he needed to do it right.

&n
bsp; Because his fate was in Nicole’s hands.

  When the knock sounded on her door a little before nine, Alison set down her knitting, gently toed a sleeping Bert off her foot, and stood. It was either Cole or Mitch.

  Much as she loved her brother, she hoped it was Mitch.

  Peeking through the peephole, she smiled. St. Louis County’s newest detective stood on her threshold.

  As she swung the door open, Mitch smiled back. “Sorry to come by so late. But I wanted to give you a firsthand account of what happened with Erik.”

  “Come in.” She swept her arm toward the living room. “Would you like me to make you some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. But I could use a soda.”

  He remained in the living room while she retrieved the drink from the kitchen. Bert stayed behind, and when she returned, she found Mitch sitting on the couch, scratching her pup’s belly. Bert’s eyes were half closed, his expression blissful.

  She handed the soda to Mitch and sat in the wing chair she’d occupied earlier.

  “What are you working on?” Mitch gestured to the mass of fluffy pink yarn peeking out of the knitting bag beside her chair.

  “A baby blanket. I’ve been making them for years for the preemie ward at one of the local hospitals.”

  She couldn’t quite decipher the emotion that flickered through his eyes, but she hoped it wasn’t pity. She didn’t need—or want—that. “So tell me about Erik. Is he okay?”

  Mitch took another sip of soda and set it on the old trunk that functioned as a coffee table. “Yeah.”

  She listened as he gave her a recap, a pang of sympathy tightening her throat when he came to the part about Erik losing his home and his mother.

  “Bottom line, I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore,” Mitch concluded. “The house manager was going to have a talk with him.”

  Alison frowned. “I can understand the wilted flowers and the phone calls. They were just awkward attempts to express affection. But the dead roses and bingo card don’t fit. Why would he send me those?”

  “We don’t think he did.” Mitch leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “He was completely taken aback when we showed them to him. We think someone else was behind those.”

  “You mean two people were targeting me?” A shiver of fear rippled through her.

  “Weird as the coincidence is, that’s our take.”

  Her spirits plummeted. So much for life getting back to normal.

  “Alison, I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you sure you can’t think of anyone who might have a motive to send you something like that?”

  “No. I can’t. But I’ve dealt with a lot of dicey family situations through the years, and not everyone is happy with the outcome. If this is work-related, it could be any one of thousands of people. It might even be a disgruntled child I placed in foster care a decade ago, who’s now an adult. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Bert trotted her way, and she leaned down to pat the warm little body. “Maybe the roses are a random, onetime prank after all.”

  Even as she said the words, they didn’t ring true. The macabre “gift” had an ominous quality that left her feeling unsettled and vulnerable.

  It was clear from Mitch’s reply that he concurred.

  “Maybe. But as the old saying goes, better safe than sorry. We could have some outdoor security cameras installed here. Temporarily.”

  She blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. It was Cole’s idea, but it’s not a bad one. If this guy shows up again, we’d have a much better chance of identifying and catching him with that kind of security.”

  “It sounds like overkill to me. Not to mention expensive.”

  “Cole says he can get a deal on some equipment. And it’s less intrusive than a bodyguard.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t tell me he suggested that too?”

  “No. Your other brother gets the credit for that one. Cole called him while I talked to Erik.”

  “Good grief.” Bending down, Alison lifted Bert to her lap. “Talk about overreacting.”

  He regarded her, his expression difficult to decipher. “Your brothers love you.”

  “Yeah. I know.” That was just it. She did know their concern was well-intentioned. But it was also smothering. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we wait and see if anything else shows up? In the meantime, I’ll be extra careful. I’ll hold off on resuming my evening walks with Bert, and I’ll double-check all my locks every night. If there is another incident, we can think about adding some security. How does that sound?”

  “Your brothers aren’t going to like it, but I’ll pass it on. I just hope they don’t kill the messenger.”

  “You want me to call Cole?” Her offer was halfhearted, at best. Going a round with her brother tonight held no appeal.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can handle him.” He stood and stretched. “You know, I seem to recall promising a pretty lady a trip to Ted Drewes tonight.”

  He smiled at her, but the fine fan of lines beside his eyes betrayed his weariness, reminding her it had been a long day for him too. He’d never changed out of his jacket and tie, so he must have gone straight from investigating the homicide to the quick shop.

  After setting Bert down, she rose too. “Would you mind giving me a rain check this time? I’m beat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Go home and get some sleep.” She set off for the door.

  He followed, pausing in the tiny foyer. “I like that plan. Unless my dad corrals me for another grout session.” One side of his mouth hitched up.

  “How’s everything going on the home front?”

  His grin faded. “He thinks I’m being overly protective.”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, speaking from the standpoint of the protectee, I can vouch for the fact it gets old very fast.”

  Mitch leaned a shoulder against the door frame and shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I realize it’s a fine line to walk. And it’s been kind of weird, stepping into the role of caregiver. To be the one watching out for him instead of vice versa. Frankly, I don’t think I’ve been doing the best job of it.”

  “I bet your dad is struggling with the role reversal too. I know what it’s like to go from being very independent to being forced to rely on people to do everything for you, and it’s not fun. But you know what was worse? Having Cole and my mom—and Jake, after he got back from Iraq—hover. It drove me nuts. Still does. So I can sympathize with your dad. If you want my advice, give him some space to test his limits—and trust he’ll respect them when he finds them.”

  “Sounds like excellent counsel.” The last word ended with a yawn, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

  She opened the door and gestured toward the porch, which was illuminated by the twin lanterns. “Go home, Mitch.”

  “Throwing me out, huh?”

  “You need to get some rest.”

  “I need something else first.”

  He grasped the edge of the door and closed it again. Long enough to lean close and brush his lips over hers in a quick kiss.

  Too quick.

  “Sleep well. Call me if anything comes up.”

  His breath was warm against her cheek, and as she inhaled the scent that was uniquely his, she fought the temptation to pull him close.

  Slow and easy, Alison.

  As if he’d heard that admonition echoing in her mind, he straightened up. With one touch of her cheek, he eased through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

  Through the peephole, she watched him disappear down the walk, into the shadows. A few moments later, the lights on his car flicked on. She stayed by the door until his taillights faded into the night.

  Bert trotted over, and she looked down at him. He’d been a loyal and steadfast companion this past year, and his entertaining antics had helped cheer her and keep l
oneliness at bay through many a solitary evening as she battled pain, knitted afghans, and thought about babies she would never have.

  But tonight, as she scooped up the little fur ball and accepted his slurping expression of affection, it was someone else’s kiss that lingered on her mind and filled her heart with comfort—and hope.

  8

  “Mom, can we go to the Magic House sometime? Jeff said it’s got really cool exhibits.”

  Nicole Larson turned into the entrance of the apartment complex she and Kyle had called home for the past two years and checked on her son in the rearview mirror. He’d been chattering nonstop since she’d picked him up from the aftercare program at school, but her mind had only been half on the conversation. Just as it had been only half on her duties at work.

  Thanks to Daryl’s unexpected call last week.

  The day he’d been released from prison.

  After years of no contact, she couldn’t believe he’d expected to waltz back into her life as if nothing had happened. She’d tossed every one of the few letters he’d sent directly into the trash. What had he expected her to do when he called out of the blue? Welcome him back with open arms?

  Fat chance.

  “Mom? Can we?”

  Kyle’s voice pulled her back to the present. “I don’t know, honey. It’s pretty expensive.”

  “Jeff says it’s free sometimes on Friday night.”

  Was it? She’d scoured the city for kid-friendly things to do that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. The Magic House had never popped up, but she knew he’d love it. From what she’d heard, it was filled with hands-on, interactive exhibits for the younger set. And Kyle was a hands-on kind of boy.

  “I’ll check into it, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  She smiled at him in the mirror as she pulled into a parking place. He was a good kid. Smart, polite, loving. She’d made a lot of bad mistakes in her life, but the baby she’d once considered aborting had turned out to be her greatest blessing.

  Still smiling, she turned off the engine and spoke over her shoulder. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah! What’s for dinner?”