All Due Respect (18 page)

Her arm throbbed, her head ached, but nothing hurt her as much as the doubt in Seth’s eyes. Damn it, why did he have to matter so much? Why?

Caring was foolish, stupid, dangerous. Definitely not safe. She just wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let herself care.

Turning away from emotions other people considered normal and good and right didn’t do a thing to stop the humiliating act of crying. So she cried on. Weeping for caring when she shouldn’t, for Seth about his mother, for herself and all she had lost.

When she ran out of tears and hot water, she toweled off and put on a thick terry-cloth robe, and then went down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice.

Needing serious fortification, she rummaged through her purse for her wallet, and pulled out a photo of her and Jeff in the classroom, standing in front of the chalkboard. She’d been illustrating a football play and the school photographer had snapped the picture. He had given her a copy, and even though its edges were curled and frayed from being tucked in her wallet and from being handled so much, she ran her fingertips over Jeff’s little face. Whenever things got really bad, Julia pulled out the photo. Just looking at it

grounded her and calmed her down. From the first day of school, Jeff’d had that effect on her. He mattered. He made everything else matter. He … and Seth.

Seth and his laughter.

Seemed she cared anyway, despite her resolve not to do it. She snatched a tissue from the box on the counter, swallowed an Imitrex pill to thwart a migraine-in-the-making, and then trudged her way to bed and crawled in under the covers.

Her mind raced. Things looked bad for her; she’d have to be a fool not to know it. Even Matthew had looked at her with skepticism. That worried her. Matthew was adept at concealing his feelings. When she and Seth had met with Matthew the first time, he had looked at her without a trace of recognition. Julia knew they had met and still had doubted that he wasn’t looking at her and seeing a stranger. Matthew was adept, but Seth … He was a master. He’d shown her nothing. Not in his expression, in his body language, or in his eyes. Oh, he had stood up for her to Colonel Mason and Matthew but, even now, she sensed Seth’s doubt. And she hated it. With passion and conviction, she hated it.

She looked at Jeff’s photo again, felt him clutch at her heart, and wished she could talk to him—just for a minute. God, but she hoped Camden was behaving himself.

Scrunching her pillow, she conjured images of him playing football with Travis, fingering his BAMA key chain, smiling up at her. The medicine kicked in and the throbbing in her head eased. She started to relax and, finally, she fell asleep.

Sometime during the night, she dreamed of a phone ringing and thought she had answered it. But the ring persisted, and she came awake.

Sleep-muddled, she stretched over the spare pillow to the nightstand, glancing at the red digits on the alarm clock—two a.m.—and groaned. It had to be bad news. Preparing herself, she clicked on the lamp, and then reached for the receiver. “Hello.”

“What took you so long, sugar?”

The hair on her neck stood on end. “What do you want, Karl?”

“Hey, I’m your husband, remember? Try to sound a little more friendly.” He paused, then added, “I’ve got good news for you.”

The only good news would be that she would never hear from him again.

“I’m coming home.”

Julia sat straight up. He couldn’t be out of jail. He’d gotten five years. It had been only three. How could he be out of jail? “Did you escape?”

“Now, would I do that?”

He’d do anything. Anything at all.

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Fix me something to eat, okay? The food in here sucks. Mmm, maybe some of Uncle Lou’s spaghetti.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Whether or not he had faked the car accident and had killed Uncle Lou, she didn’t know. But Karl’s taunts certainly made her think he had. That, and knowing her uncle had noticed bruises on her neck only two days before he had died and he had called Karl down on them.

“You know, sugar, prison is hard on cops.” Karl sighed, sending static crackling through the phone. “You’re going to have to work real hard to make it up to me.”

Her throat went dust-dry. “You’re not coming here.”

He laughed. “See you in a couple of hours.”

“We’re divorced, Karl.” She clamped down on the receiver until her fingers went numb. “You can’t come here.”

“Marriage is for life.” He dropped his voice, gritty and menacing. “You made vows, and you’re going to keep them. Accept it.”

Terrified, shaking all over, Julia slammed down the phone. He couldn’t be out. He had to be tormenting her. This was just like all the other calls. It was. Except… Her skin crawled. Something in his voice had sounded different.

It took her a moment to peg it, and another to stop shun

ning and accept it. That self-righteous, superior sneer he had lorded over her their entire marriage was back in his voice. Good God. He could be out!

She tossed back the covers, ran downstairs and grabbed her purse from the kitchen bar, then ran back upstairs and dumped it on her bed. Fumbling through her wallet, scattering credit cards, her driver’s license, her calling card, she finally found Detective LeBrec’s business card. He would know the truth.

Shaking head to toe, she punched in the number, fumbled and misdialed, and had to do it again. Detective LeBrec worked the night shift. He would be there. He had to be there.

A woman answering the phone put Julia right through and, finally, he came on the line. “Julia?”

Relieved to hear his voice, she swiped her hair back from her face. “Is Karl out of prison?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“Is he out?”

“Yes. I left a message on your voice mail.”

Oh, God. Oh, no. Karl was out. He was really out. “I didn’t get any message,” she mumbled, pushing a hand against her cramping stomach. Dear God, Karl was free!

“I called three days ago.” LeBrec’s sigh crackled in her ear. “I did my best, Julia, but they let him out due to overcrowding.”

Three days? Her throat muscles clenched. Spasms started in her arm, and her head throbbed. She paced between the bed and the wall. “When?” Her voice faltered and she tried again. “Exactly when did he get out?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“Oh, God.” She slid against the rough wall, down to the floor, and crouched in the corner. “He’s coming after me. He called and said he was coming here.”

“Leave, Julia.” Urgency flooded LeBrec’s voice. “He conned the parole board, convinced them he’s not a threat to you, but we know better. Get the hell out of there and get a restraining order against him.”

“He—he could already be here.” She scrambled over to the window, squinted out through the slats in the mini blinds, checking up and then down the street. Nothing moving, thank God.

A stray thought had her chest going tight. Had Karl taken the hammer from her, flung it at Seth? Had he turned the lights out and knocked her off balance? God knows, if she had sensed he was that man, she would have blocked out the memory.

“We can get local cops to you.”

“No. No, he’s got something planned. Otherwise, he would’ve already shown up. He wouldn’t have warned me.”

“Julia, don’t take any chances, okay? We both know what that bastard is capable of doing.”

“Yes, we do.” Julia stared sightlessly at a weeping iris on her bedroom curtains. “And we both know that no piece of paper is going to stop him.”

HIS body clock still attuned to Europe, Anthony Benedetto sat on one of three verandas, eating a predawn breakfast of strawberries, blueberry muffins, and a Mexican omelet, reading the headlines in The Observer Gazette, a newspaper far too liberal for his tastes.

Roger joined him. His navy suit crisp and his tie straight. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning.” Anthony folded the paper and set it aside, then motioned for Roger to sit down. “Have some breakfast.”

“Just some juice, thank you.” He poured a glass of orange juice, and began the morning briefing ritual.

On completing the portion of the briefing dealing with loyalists’ trials, tribulations, and triumphs, Anthony asked, “Have you spoken to our friend at Grayton?”

“Yes, sir. He has the sensor codes and nearly everything else we need to get up and running.”

Anthony poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver pot. “And you’ve completed the hiring of our lab staff?”

“Yes, sir. All loyalists. The lab is functional.”

“Excellent.” Anthony sipped from his steaming cup. “Transport the Rogue to the lab tonight.”

Roger nodded. “You asked about that woman scientist, Dr. Warner-Hyde.”

“Yes?” Talk of the woman made Anthony uneasy. He had taken risks on her he would have preferred not to take. But for the good of his people…

“Our friend at Grayton says she’s under control,” Roger said. “She doesn’t have any children of her own, but she’s developed a special attachment to one of her students, Jeffrey Camden. His mother died a few months ago—heart attack—and his father is being investigated for abuse.”

Abuse. Anthony lost his appetite and dropped his napkin onta his plate, then shoved it away. “If the father disappears, what happens to the boy?”

“I don’t know, sir. He has no other living relatives.”

Anthony thought on that a moment. Could be important. “What about the scientist? Would she want him?”

“Definitely.”

“Thank you, Roger.” This new development gave Anthony much to consider. Much to-consider.

JULIA jerked on a white blouse and navy suit, stuffed her things back into her purse, then slung its strap over her shoulder on her way down the stairs.

She made it to the car. Halfway down Fairway Lane, she realized she had no idea where to go.

For the fifteenth time, she checked to make sure her car doors were locked, checked her rearview mirror. No lights behind her. None in front of her, or at the crossroads. Fury seethed inside her. A marriage from hell, a divorce from hell, a recovery from injuries inflicted in an attack from hell, and she’d survived. Yet, three years later—three damn years later–and just the sound of his voice sent her tumbling back into all the old fears. A stupid phone call, and once again she was a terrified victim.

She stopped at the crossroads. It was decision time. Left to Seth’s, or right to the lab?

Her stomach curled, yearning to go to Seth. He would understand. Having lived through what he had with his mother, he really would.

Are you crazy, Julia? He doubts you already.

She gripped the steering wheel hard. Her sweaty palms made it slick, hard to hold on. She snatched a tissue from the box on the console, swiped her hands dry, then tossed the tissue to the floorboard.

Okay, so Seth had just cause to believe she had cracked

him in the head with the hammer—and she had locked him in the transporter, thanks to her forgetting about the damn flashlight. But she hadn’t done either one. She had no idea who had taken the flashlight, though her money was on Dempsey Morse—he did have a master key—but Karl could have taken the hammer. He could have thrown it at Seth. Either way, she felt certain of her innocence. And because she did, Seth’s doubt ticked her off.

Liar. It hurts you. What he thinks matters. You care about him, Julia. Enough to think he’s special, to kiss him, and to want to make love with him—after Karl, and after swearing off men. You care, and that’s that.

“Shut up,” she told herself, not wanting to care. Angry with herself because she did care. Men could hurt you, deceive you, destroy you to the point where anything is better than being with them. Even death.

You care, Julia.

“Damn it, just—just shut up, and think.”

The vault. She hooked a right. She’d be safe in the vault.

Safe from Karl, and Seth. Coward.

Survival.

Cowardice.

Whatever! She had survived once … so far. If it took cowardice to survive again, then so be it. Dead women don’t get to breathe. Cowards do.

At the entrance gate to the base, Julia flashed her ID and nodded at the guard. He waved her through and she drove on to the lab’s staff parking lot. Hopefully, whoever had used her old badge would try to use it again, and then Sergeant Grimm, Colonel Mason, and Matthew could nail him.

Or her.

Linda’s anger and frustrations at being a frequent Saudi widow, left behind to deal with the kids and the family crises, wouldn’t get out of Julia’s mind. She couldn’t shake the thoughts, but she resented them. Linda honestly seemed like a good woman.

Even good women can be pushed too hard and too far.

True. The blue truck Seth had mentioned being parked in the north lot earlier was now gone. Two unfamiliar cars were in the staff lot. She parked close to the lab entrance and then went inside, unable to stop herself from checking back over her shoulder. Access to the base was restricted, but Karl had gotten into restricted areas before, and she’d be crazy to think he couldn’t do it again.

A lieutenant sat at the first checkpoint station, reading one of Grisham’s paperback novels. She didn’t recognize the guard, but dredged up a smile, hoping her head didn’t explode. The throbbing at her temples had expanded to her nape, and now a solid band of pain circled her forehead. “Morning.”

“Starting early today, Dr. Warner?”

She might not know him, but he’d already been briefed on her. “Just getting a jump on things.” She looked back at the door. Karl couldn’t get into the vault, but he could get into its outer rim, up to this checkpoint.

“Ma’am?”

She glanced back at the guard. From” the look in his eyes, he knew her backside was in a sling around here. If not for Colonel Mason and Matthew taking a leap of faith on her, she would be without a security clearance and, without a clearance, she couldn’t do anything, including enter the lab. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Go on through, ma’am.”

Julia nodded and walked on, then made her way through the maze to the cylinder. It mocked her like a tall glass tomb. When she went to put her card in the slot, her stomach filled with butterflies. But not with fear. That cylinder was the one place on earth Karl Hyde, and his cop friends he’d duped into covering up his crimes, couldn’t get to her. Karl might get on base, but he could not get into the vault.