Her cell phone rang next to her on the chintz couch in the basement. Hayden and Andrew were upstairs, and while they’d invited her to join them, she’d opted to watch a movie in the basement and give them space.
She flicked a finger across the screen. “This is Emilie.”
For a moment there was complete silence, then she heard slow, deep breathing.
“Who is this?”
“No one important. You made sure of that.” The voice was muffled, indistinguishable.
“You don’t scare me.” Emilie’s mind raced as she scrambled to grab a pen and slide a pad of paper in front of her. She quickly jotted down what little the person had said and then glanced at the display for the phone number. Unlisted. Of course.
“You heard me.” More heavy breathing as Emilie tried to ignore the slight tremble in her fingers. “But you won’t forever.”
“I don’t understand.” Her words were halted by the buzz of a dead line. She glanced at the phone, then hung it up. Her mind raced as she jotted down the last words and then read them all.
She hit *69, but the call didn’t go through.
What did the caller mean that she’d made sure he wasn’t important? She hurriedly dialed Miranda Roberts’s number and left another message. There was little the officer could do to help, but Emilie wanted the woman to have a record that her stalker had escalated to calling her . . . though there had been no other mysterious gifts left on her car.
She rubbed her forehead as she leaned against her desk and reread the words. The call had been short, less than twenty seconds. Not long enough to identify who it was or understand the meaning behind the call.
This month had been too much, and she was over it.
She pulled up the soundtrack to the Chronicles of Narnia on her phone and closed her eyes as the sweeping music built to a crescendo before cascading down to a trickle. The swell and diminuendo formed perfect counterbalances, holding her attention as she relaxed.
After the forced period of relaxation, it was time for action. She collected a notebook, her appointment calendar, and a stack of notes from a side table. She grabbed her sleeve of multicolored erasable pens, since it was easier to write down what she needed to do if it was in pretty colors and any mistakes could be easily swept from the page. Then she sank onto her love seat with a sigh.
Where to start?
January wasn’t too far back.
She flipped to the beginning of the year and quickly scanned week by week. In January she hadn’t noted anything unusual. February looked equally normal. It was in March that she’d made her first notation about something odd. It was something she’d learned to do her first year at Mason when a boyfriend had transferred his anger to her after she’d had a protective order filed against him. A week with a detective coaching her, and she’d gathered sufficient evidence to have the man arrested with certainty of a conviction. That experience had made the Haven the perfect job for her. She understood what these women experienced and could walk them to the other side of their stories as the detective had helped her.
The March entry looked innocuous enough. Thought someone followed me as I walked home. Probably my imagination. It’s been a long week.
As she examined the spread for that week, it came back to her with startling clarity. She’d had two short divorce trials. In both the husband had been angry about custody, insisting the children should be with him. But she’d had the expert testimony to show the damage that had been done to the kids, physical in one case and psychological in the other. The guardians ad litem had sided with her, as had both judges.
It had been a case of what needed to happen being clear, but the men hadn’t agreed.
Could either of them have followed her?
The week had ended with the Haven’s annual banquet. Such an exhausting night.
In April she’d had a series of hang-ups, enough that she’d changed her number and immediately placed it on all the do-not-call lists. That had ended the phone calls.
But as she scanned the calendar more closely she noted that she’d made one other entry about a package that arrived. It had ticked after delivery, as if on a timer. Johanna, the receptionist, had immediately put the package out back and called the police. Because of their clients, the Alexandria City police had an officer there in minutes. He’d called in the bomb squad, but after a thorough inspection the squad had opened it to find a ticking clock and a few sticks that were supposed to look like dynamite. Scary but not dangerous. Emilie hadn’t mentioned the incident to Hayden, because her roommate had been in the middle of a massive trial for one of her court-appointed clients, a trial she had gone on to win decisively with a little of her sleight-of-hand legal magic.
The incident had moved to the back of her mind then, because Hayden became embroiled in the Rodriguez case, which bled over to Emilie’s life. Add in working a little romance wonder for Andrew and Hayden, and then the car accident on Rock Creek Parkway.
The car accident had left Emilie shaken and convinced that someone was out to get her. The park service had been thinning the deer population, and it really could be that a hunter had hit her car by mistake. But the person must have been a terrible shot.
She’d tried hard to believe it was a case of wrong place wrong time. Those sorts of things happened all the time. The split-second decision that changed a person’s life.
But the truth was she wouldn’t have headed toward the parkway if she hadn’t received a text from a client requesting help. By the time she’d remembered that detail, the woman was gone. Off to South Carolina to stay with a relative, as Rhoda had encouraged. Emilie mentioned the text to the police officer, but he was more consumed with the spiraling drug case spreading around Hayden.
So she’d let it go.
What else could she do without losing her mind?
She’d watched.
Distance had crept in. She removed herself from the closeness of friendships. To protect them. To protect her.
Emilie tried to pull her thoughts free, but as she tapped the pen against her lips, she felt lost. Encircled with fears. What if someone wanted to do more than scare her?
Perfect love casts out fear. She knew that, but the truth barely dented her fears. She reached for her Bible on the small table next to the couch. Maybe if she saw those words in context she’d push the knowledge past her stubborn mind to her heart. She turned to 1 John chapter 4 and read:
God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we’re free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ’s. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love.
What did well-formed love look like? She worked with women who needed to know that. They needed kindness and patience as they worked their way to freedom. But had that purpose somehow become corrupted as she worked with more women? Was it a combination of the 1 Corinthian 13 attributes read at every wedding, or did it look like the fruit of the Spirit? Either list seemed unattainable. On her best day she didn’t live half of either.
Or was her focus off, and she was just supposed to love God well? Was that the beginning and end?
She didn’t think so, since Jesus had clearly answered the religious leaders that the greatest command was to love God, and the second to love one’s neighbor as oneself. That’s what she was trying to do at the Haven. Love her neighbors, those who needed help because they were the least of these in many ways.
Then why did she feel overwhelmed, afraid, and alone all at the same time?
The sky darkened beyond his windows at Fletcher & Associates as Reid pushed back from his desk and rubbed his eyes. The research was coming together, but they’d need to do more to win the competition. Vince could replicate what they’d accomplished with a little hard work of his own, or by helping himself to information left carelessly on a desk. They needed appointments with the prospective clients to learn the details good research couldn’t always find. The personal stories and motivations that formed the foundation for long-term relationships.
He pulled the first file to the center of his desk and then picked up his desk phone. But instead of dialing his client, he found himself calling Emilie. It wouldn’t hurt to get an update from her. See if she’d found a way to protect Kinley while they figured out what had happened.
“Hello?” The voice was small, almost emotionless. A stark contrast to her usual enthusiasm.
“You all right, Emilie?”
“Sure.” She cleared her throat, and he bet if he were in the room with her, he would observe a startling transformation. “What’s up?”
“Thought I’d see if you’d learned anything today.”
“The diamonds are real. Probably worth thirty thousand as fast cash, maybe more.”
“Those were her running funds.”
“As soon as she sold them, she would have had time to hide and rebuild with the girls.”
“Okay.” He let that reality sink in. “She was getting ready.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat again. “Maybe we should go talk to her neighbors tomorrow. They might be home since it’s a Sunday.”
“That would work. I could get you around two.”
“That sounds good.” She paused, then hurried forward. “Why’d you call? Really?”
Could she see through him so easily? The thought didn’t leave him feeling exposed but relieved, like someone might care to get to know him. It would be easy to say the call was just about his concern for Kinley, but that wasn’t the whole truth.
“Reid?”
“Want to go to dinner with me tonight?” There was a pause. “If you have other plans, I understand. This is rather spontaneous.”
“Did you say ‘rather’?” She laughed, and there was delight in her voice. “I think I’d like that. Especially if it means you might say things like that again. Can you pick me up at seven?”
He glanced at his clock. That gave him forty-five minutes to get home, clean up, and drive to her place. “Make it seven thirty, and I’ll be there. I know the perfect place.”
“There you go again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sounding like you’ve got a script right out of Hollywood. I don’t need anything fancy. You’d better let me go, or I’ll be wearing yoga pants when you arrive.”
“Yoga pants are fine.”
“Not this time.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “See you at seven thirty.”
Reid started powering down his computer, ensuring it would require a password to restart. No way would he make it easy for Vince to steal his work. But tonight he would forget work for a while and get better acquainted with an interesting lady.