Catch a Shadow (11 page)

Her cheek was throbbing, and her eye hurt. A little while ago, she'd planned to continue her amateur investigation this afternoon, but she didn't think she could focus on it now.

Sam looked at her. “You'll do the right thing. You always do.”

Not always. He didn't know the times she'd done exactly the wrong thing. She hoped the letter would not be one of those times.

They arrived at her house, and he parked the car in front. Hers was in the small garage in back.

With new awareness, she looked around as she got out of the car.

Nothing suspicious.

She went inside Sam's half of the house and prepared for a scolding for her long absence. Instead, Merlin uttered a calm “Hello” from within his cage. “Merlin's a good bird.”

Sam followed her. “After what you told me about Merlin scaring off a burglar, I think he deserves an extra treat.”

“He's had several,” she said, “but I promise to spoil him.”

“You do that anyway,” Sam retorted as he carried Merlin's cage into her house.

“Go and get some sleep,” she said, knowing he had to be at the nightclub in a few hours.

He hesitated. “I can stay here, if you like.”

“I'm fine, really I am. I'm going to take a hot, soaking bath and forget this morning. After,” she added with emphasis, “turning on the alarm system and canceling my credit card and cell phone service.”

“I'm leaving my cell phone with you,” he said. “The club number is one. I'm programming 911 as two. I don't like you being without one.”

The supreme sacrifice. He hated being without his phone.

“I have the land phones,” she protested.

“I know, but with the burglary and now the purse snatching, I would feel better if you had a phone with you room to room.”

He was not going to take no for an answer. She nodded, and he handed his phone to her, then left.

She sank in a chair. She wished she knew how to reach David Cable to thank him. She also wanted to ask him why he'd not returned to the hospital to see his brother and answer questions. Why he'd hurried off after saving her life.

The questions nagged at her.

There was definitely a call she
was
going to make. She was going to call a self-defense academy and take more lessons. Maybe even judo. No one was going to hit her again. Not without suffering some serious pain of their own.

CHAPTER 9

Jake walked quickly to his car after he'd left her. He was stiff. His knee hurt where he'd landed on the sidewalk. He'd suffered superficial cuts, but, as he had told her, none were serious.

Walking away was a hard thing to do. He wanted to stay and wait with her. He wanted to make sure she was all right.

He shouldn't feel this sense of responsibility. She had accepted something from Cox. She had exchanged words with him. She had chosen, apparently, not to go to the police with them.

Yet his conscience wouldn't still. He should tell her what she'd stumbled into. She would probably run to the police, and he would go back to prison. If he were honorable, he would do that. He'd stopped being honorable when his rank and life had been stripped from him.

She'd been lucky this morning, and probably yesterday as well. He had little doubt that Adams had been in her house yesterday and was behind today's attack. Adams hadn't found anything in her house, thus he tried her purse.

If he hadn't followed her, she might well be dead.

The upside was she might trust him now.

Or not. His hurried departure from the scene must have aroused suspicion on her part.

Tell her about Adams
. His moribund conscience told him that.

But if he did, she might dig into the whole story. And who would she believe? A convicted felon or the government? Damned few people believed him eight years ago, despite his eighteen years in the military, thirteen of them as an officer in Special Forces. He could count on the fingers of one hand those who had supported him. He'd become poison.

He'd thought hard last night about Gene Adams. He must have had help setting up the South American mission. Carrying five million in diamonds and cash didn't happen often. Jake had, in fact, opposed it. Too much could happen. His superiors had said the CIA was insistent. He suspected the agency had pushed his court-martial. It took the heat off them.

He wouldn't be surprised at one or more rogue agents in league with Adams. The question was how deep it reached.

How many men did Adams have helping here? So far he knew of two or three. Someone driving the murder car. Someone else waiting to pick up Adams after the hit-and-run. Then the purse snatcher today.

He drove to a minimarket, purchased some antiseptic and a roll of gauze and tape, then, ignoring the clerk's curious gaze, headed for the restroom. He took off his shirt and looked at the injury. Skin had been scraped away, but it wasn't deep. He used a paper towel to apply the antiseptic, then bandaged it to stanch the continued slow bleeding.

He looked at his face in the mirror. Damn but he needed a shave. His beard was dark and grew entirely too fast. It was one reason he was always selected for South American or Mideast missions. With his dark hair and dark eyes, he blended in with the population far better than, say, a blue-eyed blond of Celtic descent.

Yeah, he looked more like a bandit than a lawful citizen. And unfortunately, the government would confirm the former.
Traitor. Killer. Thief
.

Jake filled a large cup of coffee and ordered four ham and cheese biscuits to go. He pulled a fresh shirt from his duffel as well as an electric razor. Once in the car, he gobbled down the biscuits, then drove back to the parking space he'd vacated earlier. Thank God the street was lined with vehicles of all descriptions. He sure as hell didn't want to be obvious. It was a fine line to walk, trying to keep her safe without being labeled a stalker.

He intended to be here when she returned home.

Even now, he felt a warmth in his groin as he thought of that energy in the way she carried herself, the grin on her face as she explained the parrot's alarm system, hell, the way her jeans and T-shirt hugged a body not too thin to have very nice curves.

He even liked her house. Small but infinitely liveable with furniture bought for comfort, not show, and bookcases lined with obviously well-read novels, histories, and biographies. He'd glanced at her CD collection while she'd checked her computer. It had been an eclectic collection of jazz, classical, and Celtic music. On top were several Edith Piaf discs, one of his favorites as well.

He'd studied her house in the few moments he'd been there, wanting to know as much as he could about one Kirke Palmer. There had been no family photos, and he wondered about that.

Those observations would help him strategize on how best to earn her trust.

This morning may have helped. After spending the previous night in his car, he'd followed her at a distance. When he saw her go into a restaurant, he'd loitered with a newspaper across the street as if waiting for a bus. He'd noticed someone else loitering across the street nearer the restaurant. When the woman came out the door, the loiterer made his move, and Jake darted across the street. His heart nearly stopped when the thief pushed her into the busy street.

Did she have someone to bring her home? The Sam she'd mentioned yesterday? That thought raised an unexpected spark of jealousy in him.

He was nuts. Completely. She would run as fast as she could from the likes of him. A convict. A convicted thief and possible traitor. God knew what else they would say about him if she made queries about Jake Kelly.

At the moment, he couldn't do anything but wait for her, then try to convince her she should just disappear for a while. After giving him the letter.

Or had the letter been in her purse? Had that been the purse snatcher's objective?

Three hours later, he saw a car turn into her driveway and stop. A lean man in his thirties stepped out and accompanied Ms. Palmer into her side of the duplex. He stayed a while, then went to the other side of the duplex.

Jake waited and watched for an hour. No more movement.

Finally he couldn't wait any longer. Reluctantly, he broke his own rule about the cell phone and called her. If he got inside, he could search for a bug and get another cell if necessary.

She mumbled when she answered, and he knew she'd already gone to sleep.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I hope I didn't wake you. This is David Cable. I just wanted to check on you.”

“David Cable?” Surprise edged her words. “I thought you'd left Atlanta. Twice.” She paused, and the silence was pregnant. Then she said, “When I was at the hospital, I asked about Mark Cable. They're really anxious to talk to you.”

“I need to talk to you about that.”

She hesitated.

“I won't stay long,” he promised.

Another silence, then, “Okay. Where are you?”

“Not far.”

Another silence.

“I was worried about you,” he persisted.

“Like this morning? You were following me.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Why? How did you know I would be attacked?” Her voice was suspicious now.

He couldn't afford any more lies. “I didn't know. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

He waited, not wanting to push her.

“Come on over.” She hung up.

He left his car where it was and walked to her house. She was in an overlarge shirt and pair of shorts when she met him at the porch, unlatched the door, and let him inside. The shorts, he noticed immediately, revealed a pair of very nice, long legs.

She didn't turn toward her own front door but waited for him to speak. She had a cell phone in her hand.

She also had her neighbor next door.

She was no one's fool, but she lacked experience. She thought she was taking precautions, but one quick sweep of his arm, and the phone would go bouncing across the floor.

She was still too trusting.

He hated to disabuse her of that quality. It was appealing. It aroused something protective in him. He tried to push it away. It was an emotion he couldn't afford.

A white bandage covered part of her cheek. The area around her right eye was dark and bruised. Several bandages dotted her arms. Another emotion surfaced in him. Anger. White-hot anger at the man who hit her.

“Ouch,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You didn't say I looked like hell—as Sam did—but your look said it all …”

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Now, that's very true.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “You're very much a puzzle, Mr. Cable.”

“Can we go inside?” he said.

“Why?” Her body was tense as if ready for battle.

Unaccountably, he reached over and started to touch her.

She shied away.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly as he dropped his hand.

“Why?” she said, her hazel eyes searching his. “You didn't do anything. Just the opposite, I would say.” She paused, then added quietly, “Or am I wrong about that?”

He met her gaze but didn't reply.

“You expected something to happen, didn't you?” she charged directly.

“I thought it could,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He noticed her fingers clutched the cell. He thought about what he wanted to say. He hadn't expected such a direct approach.

“You were following me,” she persisted. “You said you were leaving and …”

“I meant to leave. I'd planned to leave. I had a plane ticket. Then …”

“Then?” she prompted.

“I started worrying about you. I didn't think you took the burglary seriously enough. Whoever did it was careful not to disturb anything. He didn't want anyone to know he'd been there.”

“Maybe he didn't have time.”

“Maybe.” He turned and looked down the street. He'd driven down it several times, looking for anyone, anything out of place. That he hadn't noticed anything didn't mean someone wasn't there, waiting for another chance.

“Who are you?” she asked suddenly. “Not David Cable, I think.” Her right eye was nearly closed. She looked embattled, but there was a determined glint in her eyes.

“I do think we should go inside,” he said again. He didn't like the fact that both of them were visible to the street, but there was a new wariness about her. As well there should be.

He saw emotions flicker across her face.

“Why?” she asked again.

“Talking in plain sight could be dangerous. For both of us.”

She looked rebellious, then sighed. “I guess if you meant harm to me, you wouldn't have risked your life to save mine.”

“No,” he agreed softly.

She hesitated, then opened the door and went inside. One hand continued to clutch the cell phone as he followed.

“G'day,” Merlin said with good cheer.

“Not a good day,” Kirke muttered.

Well, she had a right to a certain surliness.

She turned back on Jake. “You lied to me,” she charged. “I did some research last night. I'm not sure David Cable exists. Or Mark Cable, for that matter.”

“They don't,” he said quietly. “They never did.”

He saw shock cross her face. Despite her statement, she hadn't really believed it. Then she asked, very quietly, “What do you want from me?”

Something caught in his chest. He might be an ax murderer for all she knew, and yet she stood her ground. There was a certain gallantry about her. She made her living saving lives and had probably encountered horrific situations, but now she was alone.

He had no choice now but to present his case and hope to hell she believed him. “I think you have something meant for me.”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” she said, but something flickered in her eyes, and he knew that she understood exactly what he meant.