James stood to the side of the window in the darkened dining room and parted the edge of the curtain. Across the street, he could make out the bumper of an automobile. It had parked in that location within minutes of his evening arrival. The foreclosed house where it was parked had been vacant for six months, and few other cars lined Oak Street.
“That’s a professional?” James said under his breath. He’d noticed a similar sedan parked near the PI office that afternoon. Yet now, this obvious move could mean they wanted him to know he was being tailed.
Opening the curtain farther, he squinted to make out any details, but night was falling too fast.
The questions remained. Who would be following him? And why?
A vehicle moved down the suburban street, and the headlights flashed over the parked car. The color appeared light, maybe gray or silver. He strained to see more.
The timing was suspicious. They weren’t following Rosalyn. The only thing different from his work with her was his digging around in the killing of Benjamin Gray and the Leonard Dubois trial.
Thirty years ago James would’ve approached the car or sneaked over neighbors’ fences until he could get a license, make, and model on the car. It would’ve been a matter of whether or not he wanted the perpetrator to know he was onto him. Today his considerations included a bum knee, diminished speed, and recent inconsistencies at the shooting range.
The house phone rang, piercing the quiet. James moved along the wall as he hurried to grab the kitchen phone.
Rosalyn sounded out of breath and jumped right into talking before he’d barely said hello. She was probably hurrying to her car or popping into the office and had called him as she raced around. The woman had more energy than he’d had as a teenager.
“Can you believe we got her? I’m so thrilled! If she’d crossed that border, Matt would’ve never seen those kids again. They just found her loser cousin hidden inside the car—he was trying to get through the border with them. Who has trouble getting into Mexico?”
“You did good work,” James said. He flipped on the kitchen light, pulling out the phone cord as he took a bottle from a grocery bag on the counter and put it into the refrigerator.
“We did good work.”
“I barely contributed. I’m giving you the credit for this one, so take it.”
James could actually hear her smile through the line.
“Well, tonight deserves champagne either way,” she said in that silky tone she only used on certain occasions. James felt his ole ticker pick up a few beats.
“I just put some into the refrigerator,” he said with a chuckle. What this woman saw in him, he didn’t understand. He kept expecting her to grow tired of him, move on, open her eyes, get her head examined. But as long as she was around, James would try to enjoy it.
“Should I grab some takeout from Giovanni’s?” she asked. He heard the ping of her car door opening.
“Got that too,” he said. He’d bought enough at Giovanni’s for three, on the off chance that Lisa would still be at the house when he arrived. As expected, his daughter was gone, but he held a slight hope that she’d change her mind and move her luggage from that ridiculously opulent hotel to her old room down the hall.
“Jimmy Waldren, I am impressed. I’m on my way now.”
As happy as Rosalyn sounded, perhaps he was glad his daughter wouldn’t be staying at the house tonight. His eyes swept the room for one of those fancy candles Rosalyn had brought over on a night she’d cooked for him and stayed over.
“Great,” he said, then suddenly remembered the vehicle outside. Another thought occurred to him—what if the house was bugged? “Wait, will you bring home that little computerized thing that we used in the Brickman case? You know what I’m talking about, right?”
Rosalyn was silent for a moment. “Yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“And be careful driving home. There was an accident pretty close to the house,” James said.
“So you believe me now . . . that the roads are dangerous out there?” she said. James knew she understood perfectly.
“I should never doubt you.”
“You know, most women wouldn’t find it at all romantic to have work suddenly ruining the moment.”
“Did I ruin the moment?”
“Of course not. It makes it even more romantic to me.”
James laughed loudly. “Of course. I am a lucky man.”
“You’re trying to get lucky,” she said, laughing with him. “And it’s working. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
James hung up the phone and shook his head at himself. Special Agent James Waldren searching for candles, chilling champagne, and shamelessly flirting with a younger woman? His buddies would fall off their chairs laughing. And yet the thought of that car parked across the street brought an old fear creeping over him. He was getting too close to Rosalyn. And his daughter was back in his life, even if only for four days or so. No one was in danger when he kept those he loved at arm’s length.
He reached into a high cabinet over the stove and pulled down a pistol and box of bullets. After loading the gun, he opened a drawer in a more strategic location close to the kitchen entrance. Two long candles rolled toward him.
James pulled out the candles and placed the gun inside. This could all be a chance to finally get things right—or an enormous mistake.