“Someone called and hung up. I’ll be alright,” she said before he could say anything.
He wasn’t so sure. She’d been pushed to her limits and beyond. No one should have to endure what she had. He wanted to comfort her but there was nothing that he could say that would change what had happened. He could only offer his protection, his words that didn’t change anything and his promise to protect.
She shivered in her light T-shirt and shorts.
He glanced to where the afghan hung over the edge of her sofa. She was meticulous about her things. He’d learned that yesterday. The arrangement of her house, the position of her belongings was as familiar as his apartment. Yesterday, he’d made it a point to get to know her environment. Now he knew what might help and what might hinder her, what he needed to know to keep her safe. He went over to the sofa and got the afghan. He brought it back and placed it over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said as she looked at him with a gentle smile.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. Even though he wasn’t quite sure if she was thanking him for the afghan, for noticing that she was cold—or for being here. Maybe for all three.
“For noticing.” She finished on a rather lame note, as if she’d been privy to his thoughts.
He considered asking her to give him her phone, let him take charge. He wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.
One thought rolled into the other. He was overthinking it all. Still, he hesitated, unsure for one of the few times in his career. He didn’t want to misstep. She was fragile. In a situation like this he knew that, for the victim, control was something that was important, even if it was an illusion. That meant not taking her power away from her. In this case, he decided, she would lead.
“Was it the same as last time?”
“Yes. There was just dead air after I said hello and they hung up within seconds. I didn’t say anything more. I don’t know why…”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. He couldn’t help himself. He put a hand on her shoulder as his other hand lifted the edge of the afghan that trailed on the floor and wrapped it more securely around her. “That’s why I came to your door. I wanted to be here, in case it happened again.”
“Thank you.”
He tensed. There was a quiver in her voice and it was hoarse. But when he looked at her, he knew that it wasn’t tears that had changed her voice. She was tougher than that. She’d proved that by surviving her ordeal, and by confronting him yesterday. He wanted to lash out at the perpetrator. He wanted to roar with anger but there was nowhere and no one to vent his ire at.
He looked at his watch.
“The next call should be in five minutes,” she said as she watched him.
A frown marred her beautiful creamy skin. The lines in her forehead only drew his attention further, to the bruise on her cheek. The bruise was only beginning to yellow. He wanted to reach out and run a thumb along it, to somehow emphasize that it would never happen again, not on his watch. Her kidnapper had backhanded her more than once according to what was reported. Reading that in the file enraged him. Hearing James mention it and now seeing the evidence again only made him want retribution, vigilante justice. None of that would happen.
“You think it will follow the same pattern as the previous nights?” He asked the unnecessary question in an attempt to divert his thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, “I don’t have any doubt. It’s already begun.”
He wished there was something he could do to stop the idiot who was doing this. This was a coward at work. A coward who was further scaring a woman who had been terrorized beyond what any human should have to endure. He wanted to get his hands on the piece of crap who was doing this.
The fact that there was nothing he could do only made him feel awkward, and too big for the small living space. The driveway surveillance had been long and monotonous and despite his orders to the other two marshals who would take turns relieving him, that there was no need to remain every minute on location, he’d remained for every hour of his shift and beyond.
His thoughts went back to the possibility of another call, minutes away. Was the caller just picking a random number? Had the caller heard a woman’s voice and that had prompted him to continue his rather sick game? Or was this something deadlier, as Kiera had alluded to?
“Have a seat,” she said and pointed to the couch that sat angled in a way that offered a view of both the front and back yards.
The condo was small and yet its size was inviting and reflected her personality. They’d talked yesterday beyond the parameters of the case and she’d told him that she loved to sit on the couch and read. The butter-yellow couch was completely her. In a way it seemed to reflect her warm personality. He remembered times through the day when they’d talked about something other than the case. He could see her sitting there in the lazy hours of the evening reading on that same couch. He sat on the left side. She’d already told him that the right-hand side was where she sat. She’d said that with a laugh. They both knew that with her living alone, the whole darn couch was hers, she could sit anywhere, not just on the side she said she claimed. A side she also said she preferred for it allowed her to watch the birds and squirrels come in for the seeds and peanuts that she left out for them.
“It will be okay. I promise, Kiera. The killer is locked up. He can’t get to you. The calls are nothing but some jerk with nothing better to do.”
“Maybe,” she said. But the word held neither sureness nor fear. “But how did they get my number?”
Random chance, the explanation he’d offered when he’d first heard of the calls, hadn’t sounded plausible even to his own ears. It hadn’t yesterday either. He wasn’t sure what the connection could possibly be. The serial killer was behind bars unable to perpetrate such calls. Possibly, someone with an evil bent. He was at a loss.
Two minutes to go.
“When you answer, put your phone on Speaker,” he said as he handed the phone to her.
“I will,” she agreed.
Another minute ticked by. She looked at him but didn’t say anything. He’d protected other witnesses, especially in his early days as a US marshal, but none who had gone through what she had. It enraged him to think about what had been done, what she’d escaped.
She looked at him with fear in her eyes and a tense, determined look to her lips.
It was four minutes after five o’clock.
“I’m here, Kiera. It will be alright. We’ll put an end to this, I promise.” He squeezed her hand and she held on tight as if she never wanted to let go.