Chapter 7
Emily couldn’t
remember a time when she’d enjoyed herself so much, when she’d been
so alive and happy, when she’d felt so cherished. She had grown up
on the Gulf, her time divided between the family’s home in Mobile
and their cottage in Point Clear. No one appreciated the beauty of
land and sea and sky more than she did, but sharing the splendor
with a man like Mitch highlighted how truly romantic an evening
cruise could be.
Emily had persuaded Mitch to drive her
car tonight, and they’d both dressed up. She wondered if he’d
bought himself a new sports coat and slacks or if he’d borrowed
them from Zed Banning.
She’d been down Highway 90 numerous
times, had visited the USS Alabama once with
her father, once with her grandmother and again with
Stuart.
The tour boat, the Captain’s Lady, docked near the historical battleship,
boarded promptly at six-thirty for the dinner cruise. She and Mitch
had chosen their dinner from a three-entrée buffet and danced to
the live music, then joined other couples to stroll the huge
deck.
They stood on the deck, enjoying the
sights that blended the past with the present. The breeze off the
bay ruffled Emily’s long, dark hair. She’d allowed it to fall
freely down her back, secured only with a set of pearl combs that
had belonged to her grandmother.
Mitch draped his arms around Emily,
holding her in front of him as they gazed out at the last remnants
of the May sunset. Long, white-tipped gray clouds spread across the
horizon, floating over the coral red sky.
“I don’t want this night to end.” Emily
rested the back of her head against Mitch’s chest. “It’s all been
so perfect.”
“Well, the cruise will end around
nine-thirty, but the night doesn’t have to end until you want it
to.” Mitch kissed her neck, his lips warm, moist and infinitely
tender.
Emily shivered. “The magic of this
night will end when we drive home. We can’t go on pretending
that...well, that we have no pasts and no futures, that our
relationship can stay the way it is now.”
“You’re right, pretty lady. We’re going
to have to face the truth, and I’m afraid some of my truths aren’t
very pleasant.”
Emily turned in his arms, holding him
about the waist as he did her. “I have a couple of things to tell
you, too,” she said. “One can wait until later. It’s something more
serious, something that could affect our...our ever... Anyway, the
other thing has been bothering me for a while now. I should have
already told you, but I wasn’t really worried about it. But now
that we’re involved, you’ve become a part of it.”
Mitch felt her tense in his arms, saw
the frightened look in her eyes. “It’s all right, Emily. Whatever
it is, tell me.”
“Before I tell you anything, I want you
to understand that I’m not afraid. Not really. It’s just that the
phone calls and the notes—”
“What are you talking about?” Mitch
didn’t like the sound of this. His instincts told him that despite
her denial of fear, Emily was afraid. But of what? Of
whom?
“Maybe I should begin at the
beginning.”
“Best place to start.”
“Several weeks ago, I began receiving
strange phone calls.”
“Threatening phone calls?” Mitch
asked.
“No, not actually threatening. Just
disturbing. He says things like he just wants to hear my voice
and...he quotes poetry to me. Last night, he left two messages on
my answering machine. He knows about you, Mitch. He told me that
you weren’t worthy of me, that you could never care about me the
way he does.”
“Damn! Do you have any idea who he
is?”
“He disguises his voice, so if he’s
someone I know, I don’t recognize him.”
“You have contacted the police, haven’t
you?”
“No. Not yet. I just didn’t think that
there was anything they could do. Somehow he found out what my
unlisted home telephone number is. But he usually calls me at work.
And the numbers that showed up on my caller ID were numbers for pay
telephones.” Emily ran her hands nervously up and down Mitch’s
arms. “A couple of weeks ago, the letters began—love letters. He
quotes poetry to me in the letters, too.”
“And you have no idea who might be
doing this to you?”
“Not really. Everyone has a theory,”
Emily said. “There’s Charles Tolbert. He works for Uncle Fowler in
his accounting firm and we dated on and off for several months. And
there’s one of my art students, Rod Simmons, who has a crush on me.
And...”
“And?”
“Uncle Fowler thought it might be you,”
Emily admitted, shivering when she saw the deadly look in Mitch’s
cold blue eyes. “Before I got to know you, the thought crossed my
mind that it might be you. But I never seriously thought it was
you. I told Uncle Fowler that you would never—”
Mitch’s insides tightened into painful
knots. He gripped Emily’s shoulders. “It isn’t me, pretty lady. I
swear. I’d die before I’d cause you pain, of any
kind.”
“Oh, Mitch.” Tears glazed her eyes. “I
know that I trust you. Besides, why would you call and tell me I
should stop seeing you?”
Mitch felt as if his guts had been
ripped open. Emily trusted him! Dear God, if she knew the truth,
knew who he really was, he’d be the last man on earth she’d
trust.
He gently grasped Emily’s face in his
hands, holding her securely as he gazed into her trusting brown
eyes. “Whoever this guy is and whatever his motive, I promise you
that I’ll protect you from him. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”
His voice lowered to a whisper. “Not ever again.”
Wrapping her arms around Mitch’s waist,
she hugged him, then stepped backward, separating their bodies.
“This man probably isn’t a real danger to me. After all, he hasn’t
done anything threatening, except—”
“Except warn you against me.” For one
brief instant Mitch’s heart stopped. Good God, did someone know who
he was? Did they know he was M. R. Hayden?
“I’m glad you told me about the
situation. I’ll always be only a phone call away.” Mitch slipped
his arm around Emily and led her from the deck’s edge. “Let’s
walk.”
“I didn’t tell you before now because I
didn’t want you to think it was a big deal. But Nikki’s been trying
to convince me that my secret admirer might be a mass murderer or
something.”
A cold chill raced up Mitch’s spine.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m around.”
If you’ll let me stay around once I tell you who I
am.
Sighing, Emily cuddled closer to
Mitch’s side. He slowed their walk, turned and gave her a brief,
gentle kiss.
The cooling night breeze swept into the
Buick through the open car window. The smell of the sea and sand
and springtime saturated every breath Emily took. Neither she nor
Mitch had spoken a word for the last few miles. She suspected that
Mitch was cocooned in his own private thoughts and secret emotions,
just as she was.
When they neared the cottage, Emily sat
up straight, lifting her head from Mitch’s shoulder. She gasped.
“The lights are off.”
“You must have forgotten to leave them
on,” Mitch said as he pulled the car into the drive at the side of
the cottage.
“No, I didn’t forget. I never forget. I
always leave several lights on inside the house, day and night,
whether I’m home or not.” How could she explain to him about her
deathly fear of the dark? Would he understand if she told him that
ever since she’d been trapped inside the burning, smoke-filled
Ocean Breeze Apartments, the darkness of night frightened her as
nothing else in her life ever had? No one could truly understand
unless he, too, had been enveloped in the evil, smoldering dark
that had crept through her home, blotting out the light, absorbing
the oxygen.
When Mitch touched her on the shoulder,
Emily jumped and cried out.
“It’s all right, honey. Give me your
key and I’ll go turn on the lights.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Emily
clutched Mitch’s arm. “Something’s wrong. I left the lights on this
evening.” Her heart raced. The palms of her hands moistened. Her
body trembled ever so slightly. “I have an abnormal fear of the
dark.”
Mitch reached over and pulled her into
his arms. “It’s okay, Emily. We’re all afraid of something, if
we’ll just admit it.”
“I almost died in a fire once, years
ago. Ever since, I’ve been irrationally afraid of the dark. The
lights are always left on in my house.”
For a split second the vision of long,
dark hair draped over a fireman’s shoulder, of a tattered pink
satin nightgown, flashed through Mitch’s mind. He forced the memory
from his thoughts. This wasn’t five years ago. This was here. Now.
And this time he could do something to help
Emily.
“Are you saying someone turned the
lights off after we left?” he asked.
“Unless the power is out, then yes,
that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“You stay here in the car.” Leaning
across Emily, Mitch popped open the glove compartment and looked
inside. “Good. Just what I need.” He removed a yellow flashlight,
closed the glove compartment, then lifted his head and smiled at
her. “Don’t worry, pretty lady.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll go take
a look around.” He swung open the door and stepped
outside.
“Mitch, please, be
careful.”
“I will.” Leaning back inside the car,
he kissed her on the nose.
Mitch moved cautiously around the house
to the closed front door and found it locked. Then suddenly, as if
it had been months instead of years, his military training came
back to him. He slipped around the side of the cottage and into the
back door, which stood wide open, one of the glass panes broken.
Emily was right. Someone had been in her house.
He listened for any sound of an
intruder, but only a still, almost eerie silence surrounded him. He
crept into the kitchen and stopped to listen. No sound except the
ticking of a clock.
Running his hand along the wall by the
back door, he sought and found the light switch. Just as he flipped
the light on, he heard someone run up behind him. Jerking around,
he grabbed Emily in a stranglehold.
“What the hell do you think you’re
doing sneaking up on me like that?” Loosening his deadly grip, he
pulled her into his arms. The thought that he might have harmed her
shook him badly. “I told you to stay in the car.”
Coughing several times, Emily regained
the breath Mitch had momentarily cut off when he’d grabbed her
around the neck. She breathed deeply in and out, in and out. “I’m
not very good at taking orders. Besides, I couldn’t sit out there
not knowing what was happening to you.”
“The back door was open. A pane is
broken out. So I assume you’ve had a visitor. I’m sure whoever it
was is long gone by now.”
“I don’t see anything out of place in
here.” Emily glanced around at the undisturbed orderliness of her
sunny-yellow kitchen.
“Follow me and we’ll check each room.”
When she moved in front of him, he grasped her by the shoulders,
halting her. “You follow me.”
“Why?”
“Just in case I’m wrong about the
intruder being long gone.”
“Okay.” Emily allowed Mitch to walk in
front of her.
He flipped on light switch after light
switch as they moved down the hallway, checking in the bedrooms and
the bathroom before reaching the living room. Emily gasped and
grabbed Mitch’s sleeve.
“Oh, my heavens. Look at my living
room!” .
The cotton jabots that crowned
twelve-over-twelve pane windows had been ripped. Two peach wingback
chairs lay turned over on each side of the small trunk used as a
coffee table. And the camelback sofa’s green-and-cream print
upholstery had been slashed in several places. The handmade hooked
rug that covered a large area of the room was littered with sand,
obviously hauled from the beach and deliberately dumped. An antique
secretary’s contents had been scattered. A pair of Staffordshire
dogs lay broken on the wooden floor.
Mitch’s gaze wandered around the room,
slowly taking in all the random destruction. He sucked in his
breath when he saw the message printed on the large mirror over the
unused fireplace.
“‘Don’t ever see him again! He’s the
wrong man for you!’” Emily read the message aloud.
“Come on, Emily. Let’s go back in the
kitchen. I’ll call the police while you make us some
coffee.”
He’d never felt so protective of a
woman in his life. The thought that someone was harassing Emily
made him want to kill. And knowing that his relationship with her
had prompted her poetry-quoting admirer to become destructive made
him more determined than ever to take care of her. Whoever was
wreaking havoc in her life would have to answer to
him.
When they walked into the hallway,
Mitch placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. “After the police take a
look at things here, do you want me to drive you over to spend the
night with Nikki?”
“I’m not going to let anyone force me
out of my own home. I’m staying here, and tomorrow I’ll start
cleaning up that horrible mess in the living room.”
“Then I’ll stay here with you tonight,”
he told her.
“Mitch, that isn’t—”
“I’ll sleep in the guest
room.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled at him, obviously grateful
for his concern, and that shy, sweet smile of hers turned him
inside out in a way nothing and no one ever had.
The police came and went, giving Emily
little hope that they would ever find her intruder, unless he
struck again. And although he hoped he was wrong, Mitch didn’t
doubt that whoever was harassing Emily wouldn’t give up easily. Was
her mystery man only a jealous want-to-be-lover, or was there more
to his warnings? Did he know who Mitch really was? If so, why
hadn’t he already told Emily?
“His phone calls and letters weren’t
threatening, until...until he found out about you,” Emily said. “My
soft-spoken secret admirer has become dangerous, hasn’t
he?”
Emily talked to Mitch briefly about
what had happened and about her fears, then she told him she needed
to be alone. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold and comfort
her, but she shut him out, and he felt he didn’t have the right to
intrude on her private thoughts.
Hours later, Mitch tossed and turned in
the natural wicker bed in Emily’s guest room. He’d listened to
Emily stirring about in the adjoining room, and when she’d quieted,
he’d tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. His mind had shifted
into overdrive—all he could think about was the possibility that
someone posed a threat to Emily. But who? And why? Rod Simmons, her
lovestruck art student? Or Charles Tolbert, the guy she’d said she
had been dating on and off for the past year? Or was it someone
else? Someone who knew Mitch?
Hell! He might as well get up. He
wasn’t getting any rest this way.
Mitch flipped on the wood-and-brass
bedside lamp sitting in the middle of the unfinished-pine
nightstand. The long, wide windows, covered with wooden shutters,
overlooked the front of the house, giving a clear view of the beach
in the daytime.
He flopped down in the twig chair and
propped his feet on the matching ottoman, both covered in a muted
beige animal print. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Mitch leaned back
in the chair.
At first, he thought he was imagining
the sound, but when he cleared his mind and listened carefully, he
could make out the muffled cries. Emily’s cries.
He jerked upright in the chair, his
body tensing as he listened to her quiet little sobs. Was she
crying into her pillow, trying to keep him from hearing
her?
Standing, Mitch reached down to the
foot of the bed, picked up his slacks and slipped into them. He
opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall. Hesitating
outside Emily’s room, he listened at the door.
He knocked lightly. The crying stopped.
He knocked again.
“Yes?”
“Emily, may I come in?” He grasped the
doorknob.
“I—I guess so. Yes.”
Mitch opened the door slowly, uncertain
what to expect, unsure what he should do. The room was alive with
light, soft light coming from several different lamps—a white,
wrought-iron floor lamp placed beside a chaise longue, etched glass
hurricane lamps flanking the bed and a tiny crystal boudoir lamp
sitting on the dressing table.
Mitch took a tentative step into the
room. Emily sat on the chaise longue. She stared at him, her eyes
red and swollen, her face damp with tears.
“Please, come in, Mitch.” She scooted
to the edge of the chaise and stood. “Is there something wrong? Do
you need anything?”
Did he need anything? Yes. He needed
her. Was something wrong? Yes. He wasn’t holding her in his
arms.
“I heard you crying. I was worried,” he
said.
“I’m sorry if I woke you. I tried...
It’s just that I’m scared, and I don’t want to be
scared.”
“You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t
sleep.”
“You’re in a different house. A bed
you’re unaccustomed to sleeping in. I understand.”
Mitch stared at her. She stood there
looking like a lost child who only moments before had been crying
for her mother. Only, Emily wasn’t a lost child, and his instincts
told him that if she’d been crying for anyone, it had been for
him.
“I can stay with you.” He saw the
uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation before she
spoke.
“Mitch...I...”
“Wouldn’t it be appropriate for friends
to sit and hold each other, to comfort each other, to talk the
night away if they wanted to?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d
seen anything as lovely as Emily Jordan standing there wearing a
pair of darkgold pajamas, the feminine contents of her lacy bedroom
surrounding her.
He’d never seen so much lace. At the
windows. On the tables. Covering the bed, creating a canopy with
curtains that dropped down from the top of each bedpost. White and
cream and ivory combined in a room that whispered the word
lady ever so softly.
An ivory damask chaise by the windows
basked in the moonlight. The wooden floors had been painted a plush
cream and delicate striped wallpaper in shades of white and cream
decorated the walls. Etched crystal lamps sat on each side of the
bed, one on a round, lace-draped table and the other on a cherry
Victorian bedside table. Watercolors that he felt certain Emily
herself had painted hung in gilded frames, punctuating the walls in
shades of palest pink, blue, lavender and green.
“There hasn’t been a man in my bedroom
since...since...” Emily held out her hand to him.
Her hand trembled. Damn! He wanted to
sweep her up into his arms and lay her down in that big, lacy bed
of hers and give her the kind of relief a night of lovemaking could
provide for them both. But Emily wasn’t asking for sex; she was
asking for comfort.
God help him, he hoped he bad the
strength to give her what she wanted and needed, without demanding
more.
Emily had tried not to cry, and when
she’d failed, she’d tried to mask her sobs by crying into a pillow.
Now she wondered if she’d wanted Mitch to hear her, if she’d
subconsciously cried out for him to come to her.
He stood only a few feet away, wearing
nothing but his unbuttoned slacks. The brown hair on his broad
chest glistened like golden silk curls in the warm light of her
bedroom. He looked so big and hard and totally male-in the midst of
all her feminine lace.
He didn’t make a move toward her,
standing rigid as a statue, as if he were afraid to reach out and
touch her. Emily took a step forward, then another. Mitch waited
for her to come to him. She raised her hand to his face, touching
his cheek with her fingertips.
“Will you come and sit with me?” she
asked. “Will you hold me in your arms? Will you spend the rest of
the night talking to me?”
Every nerve in Mitch’s body came to
full alert. Control! Control! he told himself. Give her what she’s
asking for. Prove to her that you’re the man she can count on. You
need this woman as much as she needs you.
After lifting her off the floor and
into his arms, Mitch carried her across the room. He sat down on
the chaise, bracing his shoulders against the back, positioning her
between his legs. Circling her arms, he clasped his hands across
her waist. Emily leaned back, resting against his chest, her head
on his shoulder.
Mitch kissed the side of her face,
brushing his lips against her hair directly above her ear. “Talk to
me, pretty lady. I’ll listen to every word you say.”
Closing her eyes, Emily breathed
deeply, absorbing the feel of Mitch’s strong arms holding her, his
hard body protecting her. Turning her head, she buried her nose
against his flesh, loving the clean, masculine smell of him. She
kissed his shoulder. He tasted hot and salty and
delicious.
“You aren’t talking,” he
said.
Snuggling into his embrace, Emily
sighed. “I can’t ever remember feeling so safe, and so very
special. Thank you, Mitch.”
“And I can’t ever remember looking
forward to spending the night just talking to a beautiful woman.”
Mitch chuckled, and felt warm relief spread through him when he
heard Emily’s quiet laughter.
“Have you ever had a dream, Mitch?
Something you wanted so very much?” she asked.
“Yeah. Once. A long time
ago.”
“Did your dream ever come true?” She
rubbed her fingertips across his clasped hands, caressing his
knuckles.
“In a way.” Was now the right time to
bare his soul and tell her about his past, as he’d planned on doing
after their date last night? “I wanted to be a successful
businessman and make a ton of money. I accomplished that goal, but
I made a lot of mistakes along the way, and not only did I pay
dearly for my mistakes, a lot of other people did,
too.”
Opening her eyes, she tried to turn
around in his arms, but he held her in place, nuzzling her neck
with his nose. “What about you, Emily, do you have a
dream?”
“You don’t want to tell me, do you?
About what happened to your dream? Is what happened to you that
painful?”
“I’ll tell you everything, honey.” He
tightened his hold on her. “I had planned to tell you last night,
but that was before we discovered someone had broken into your
house. What I’ve got to tell you can wait another day. You don’t
need anything else to make you unhappy tonight.”
“Have it your way. We’ll talk only
about happy things tonight.” She held both of his hands. He turned
her hands over, twining his fingers through hers.
“Is your dream something that makes you
happy?” Mitch asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“I want to publish my Hannah books. You
know. I’ve told you about my little heroine, Hannah, whom I based
on my Grammy. I’ve almost finished the first book, watercolors and
charcoal sketches and the story itself.”
“I think you’ll sell your book,” Mitch
said. “I’ve seen your work, you know. You’re very
talented.”
Emily sighed. “It’s been my dream to
write and illustrate children’s books ever since I wasn’t much more
than a child myself.”
“You really do love children, don’t
you?” He knew that many of her art students were children, a few of
them physically and mentally handicapped. She often spoke about
individual students. A little boy who liked to paint everything in
his pictures various shades of red. A little girl who talked
incessantly and giggled every time Emily scolded her. And always,
there was a wistful look in Emily’s eyes when she talked about
children.
“That was my other dream.” Emily willed
the tears to stay inside, willed the pain not to come. “I’ve always
wanted children of my own.”
“Then someday—”
“I lost a baby.”
Inadvertently, Mitch slipped their
entwined hands down over Emily’s flat stomach. She quivered. He
gripped her hands tightly.
The pain in her voice was almost his
undoing. She had lost a child when Ocean Breeze had collapsed and
caught on fire. She had lost more than a husband that fateful
morning in April five years ago. Both deaths weighed heavily on
Mitch’s conscience. If only he’d realized sooner what Randy was
doing. If only...
“Do you want to tell me about the
baby?” Mitch asked.
“No. Not tonight. Only happy talk.
Remember?”
He remembered. “Tell me some more about
your Hannah books, and about your Grammy.”
Mitch held Emily in his arms for hours,
talking a little, but mostly listening to her as she told him every
detail of her Hannah books and countless stories of her life
growing up with her beloved Grammy. He’d never spent a night just
holding a woman, comforting her and loving her with only his
thoughts.
When dawn broke, spreading a thin coat
of pale pink across the horizon, Emily slept in Mitch’s arms, there
on the chaise longue. Safe. Secure. Cherished.
And finally, Mitch slept, too. Hopeful
for the future for the first time in a long time.