01 Only Fear Page 12

  The anniversary of Brad’s death. And wouldn’t that have been perfect? Her parents walking into her living room to find the walls covered in blood.

  Or worse, they could have been at the house while Fearmonger was there. The very thought sent a chill coursing through her.

  Maybe telling them all the details wouldn’t be the right thing. They’d just insist on coming to stay with her. They’d want to see for themselves that she was okay, especially after last time.

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  “Liar.” The word was whispered over her shoulder into her unoccupied ear. She spun to see that Ethan had entered the office behind her and was now dropping some papers on his desk. He turned to leave again but stopped next to her as he passed, examining her face a moment as she listened to her mom talk about what was new with them.

  “Tell her,” he whispered against her free ear. “She deserves to know. For her own safety.” Delightful shivers cascaded down her spine, but she forced herself to listen to his words.

  He was right. She was being selfish. Her parents needed to know that this freak was targeting her, and possibly people around her. Fearmonger was obsessed with teaching her about fear—which was utterly ridiculous, since she understood the emotion all too well.

  She gave Ethan a nod. He turned to leave, closing the door behind him to give her privacy.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she blew it out slowly before diving in headfirst. “Mom, there’s a problem. It’s one of the reasons I’m calling.”

  Her mother’s monologue instantly ceased and her tone changed to one of concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Maggie could have kicked herself for causing worry, but then Ethan’s words resounded in her mind. She had to warn them. “I’m safe now, but…” Better to spill it all at once. “There’s something you should know.”

  “Hang on. This sounds serious. Let me get your dad on the other line.” Several interminable seconds passed and she heard her father pick up, probably in his office, where he’d moved his downsized accounting business upon “retirement” from a larger firm.

  “Maggie, honey. It’s good to hear from you.”

  He says that now, but…

  “Hi, Daddy. I have some bad news.” Her voice cracked. She almost broke down then. How much more pain would she bring to their lives?

  “We’re listening,” he said after a pause.

  “There’s this man.” God, did she sound like she was fourteen and crying to her parents or what? There’s this boy at school, and he’s picking on me…

  She took another deep breath to steady her voice, which had suddenly frozen up along with the air in her lungs.

  “What has he done?” Her mild-mannered father sounded angry. And she hadn’t even told him what had happened. “Agatha told your mother there was a man at your house. Did he hurt you?”

  “No, not him. There’s a…a stalker.”

  “Deborah Frame? I thought she was locked away. Surely someone would have told us if she’d gotten out.”

  “She’s still in the state hospital. No, it’s someone else.”

  “A different stalker? God almighty.” Her father’s exclamation was muttered, but it stabbed her through the heart. He didn’t deserve to deal with this in his retirement. He should be bouncing grandbabies on his knee. She made a mental note to give Julia a little push on that objective. Her sister was more likely to be successful in finding a normal, stable relationship than Maggie ever was.

  “I’ve got Damian here,” she told her parents, knowing his name would conjure thoughts of competence and security. Nancy and Walter Levine had once been friendly with Sam’s parents, Priscilla and Damian Manchester, who’d lived just down the street. What the Manchesters had endured had shaken the whole community. It had shaken Damian and Priscilla so much that they’d divorced and each had moved away. “He’s helping find this guy. And Ethan—he’s the guy Agatha must have seen at my house—he works for Damian and used to be in the Secret Service. He’s protecting me.”

  “That’s good, at least,” her mother said. “The Secret Service protects government officials, so he should know what he’s doing. And Damian would understand how this stalker thinks.”

  As much as anyone can understand such craziness. As a psychiatrist, she knew there were reasons for such deviant behavior. But understanding on an academic level was different than being an actual target.

  “We’re coming down there.” Her father was adamant.

  “No, really—”

  “Don’t argue. We’re your parents. We’ve earned the right to protect you.”

  “I’m a grown woman.” Who sounded like a stubborn child.

  “But we’ll always be your parents,” her mother said. “Please,” she added, her voice dropping. “We need to feel like we’re helping.”

  An image of Damian tortured by the pain of being unable to help his child came to Maggie. Would her parents feel the same if something happened to her? Undoubtedly. She’d seen how they’d clung to each other when Brad had been killed.

  Her mother was still talking. “If nothing else, we need to be nearby. We can stay at Julia’s.”

  Half an hour away. Would that be far enough to protect them? It had to be, because Maggie knew they wouldn’t give up. “Okay. But you’ll have to clear it with her.”

  “So we can’t stay with you?”

  “He’s been to my house, despite the alarm system.” There was a heavy silence. “I won’t be staying there, either,” she added impulsively, hoping to smother their objections. She’d talk to Becca about finding somewhere else to stay, or stay at her place anyway and chalk up the white lie to protecting her parents.

  Her mother breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Have you told Julia yet?”

  “No.”

  “Want us to?”

  Maggie rubbed her forehead, the beginnings of a massive headache coming on. She tried to roll her shoulders back to loosen the tight muscles of her back and neck. “Yeah, could you? Tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  “Better yet, let’s have lunch. We’ll be down there by morning.”

  Maggie blew out a frustrated breath. “Can’t. I have classes to teach most of the day.”

  “Dinner, then. I’ll call you with where.”

  “Sure. Whatever. Just let me know.” It was easier to give in when she knew it was pointless to argue. But she didn’t hang up. She had to tell them everything and they hadn’t heard the worst yet.

  “What is it, Magpie?” her dad asked.

  Maggie smiled. Magpie, a throwback to her childhood, when she used to chatter up a storm. She’d give anything to be that carefree again.

  “There’s going to be a press conference from the university tomorrow. You’ll hear more about this guy who’s stalking me.” She paused to muster her courage. They’d likely hear something before she saw them tomorrow. Or there might even be reporters hounding them. It was her duty to prepare them. “They think this stalker may be a serial killer named Fearmonger. I don’t know if they’ll reveal that much yet. They’re trying not to cause a panic. Just in case, I thought you should hear it from me.”

  “Serial killer?” Her mother’s question was quiet, but Maggie could hear the tears in the words. She closed her eyes and gave them the worst.

  “I just want you to be prepared in any event. They think the guy who broke into my house—while I wasn’t there—” she hastily assured them, “—killed a woman last night. She was a wonderful young woman.”

  “You knew her? And you’re just now telling us about all of this now?” her mother said, incredulous. She was nearly sobbing now. “We could have helped you through this. Don’t you trust us?”

  “It’s not that, I just…”

  “I have to go,” her mother interrupted with a hiccup. “I’m too upset right now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow night at dinner.”

  Oh, that would be lovely, Maggie thought, already dreading their dinner together. Her mothe
r hung up her phone.

  “Dad?” Maggie asked, her own voice thick.

  “Still here, honey.” Still steady as ever. She ached to wrap her arms around him. “Your mother’s just worried about you.”

  “I know.” Exactly what she didn’t want. “Just, please, tell her I have a round-the-clock bodyguard.” Whose focus and determination was unmatched in this world. “Two, actually,” she amended as she remembered Becca. “I’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll tell her. And…” he hesitated, “…tell Damian thank you. It should be me there, but…” There was another pause. “I know he’s more experienced in this kind of…thing,” he finished awkwardly.

  “I will,” Maggie agreed. “And would you please watch out for each other?”

  “Always.”

  She stared at the silent phone in her hand and wished she could call them back, tell them they’d found the maniac and he was dead. He could never hurt anyone ever again. But wishing would get her nowhere.

  A soft knock at the door sounded before Ethan opened it enough to stick his head in. “Everything okay?” Ethan. His office. Right.

  Maggie squared her shoulders and tried for a laugh, which came off more like a croak. “Define okay.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m complaining about my situation when a woman lost her life last night because of me.” She met Ethan’s gaze. “We have to stop this guy.”

  He came forward and put his hands on her upper arms, rubbing them in a soothing manner. “We will. And we’re going to start by looking through those security tapes, at least until Becca returns from the mental health center. Then she’ll take you home and stay with you.”

  That still left hours with just her and Ethan. She felt ashamed, but Maggie had hoped Becca could be a shield between her and Ethan’s comforting touches. Touches that sent shivers of longing over her skin.

  “I…” She looked down, suddenly sheepish. “I don’t want to go home tonight.” His hands stilled their movement as something hot and predatory flashed in his eyes. “Do you think I could stay at Becca’s?” she hastily added. “Or a motel?”

  “We’ll arrange something,” he agreed with a curt nod. His hands dropped away and he took a step back. Whatever heat had been there a moment before was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Fearmonger hid a grin as the shed door swung open. He’d been waiting over an hour for this rendezvous. The afternoon heat was almost intolerable in the confined space, but it would all be worth it.

  “Owen?” a hesitant whisper called.

  “Here.”

  Deborah Frame’s wild eyes, lit by the sunlight that poured through the shed door into the dark interior, darted toward the corner where he sat. He rocked forward so that all four legs of the wooden chair were flat on the ground.

  “Hi, Deborah. I see you followed my instructions.”

  Her gaze scanned what she could see of the dim ten-by-ten shed he’d selected for their meeting. Seeing they were alone, her shoulders dropped and she stepped inside, pulling the rusty corrugated tin door closed behind her with a bang that made her jump.

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. You’re the one on the run from the law.”

  “Where’s Maggie? You said you’d take me to her. She’s not still mad, is she?” She nibbled her bottom lip, and Fearmonger hid his disgust as she almost chewed one long, oily strand of blondish hair. Rather, it would be blond if it had been washed in a couple days. But then, she’d just broken out of a mental hospital and traveled two miles by foot in the afternoon heat.

  He’d found a guard who could be bought. Nurtured a business relationship with her until she’d given him what he needed. It had been incredibly easy, actually—almost as if fate had ordained it. He’d followed the guard for weeks, learning her routine, then approached her at a bar and chatted her up. Confirmed what his surveillance had already told him, that she could use his money and wasn’t overly particular about loyalty and scruples and such, especially with the economy hitting so hard. His coming from a family with money had come in handy in gaining access to Maggie’s worst nightmare.

  No, not her worst nightmare, he corrected with a grin. He was Maggie’s worst nightmare. She just didn’t fully realize it yet. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

  Deborah’s eyes darted around again. “This isn’t a trap, is it? I mean, why would you help me with this?”

  He chuckled. “If it is a trap, it’s too late now, right?” He stood and went forward a few steps, extending his right hand and injecting a large dose of awe into his expression. “And I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m a fan. Remember? I told you everything in my letters. I had to pay good money to get those letters to you. I care about Maggie as much as you do. Why else would I go to so much trouble? Together, we’ll make Maggie understand.”

  Hesitantly, she put her hand in his, and he tried not to grimace at the sweat and grit he felt on her skin. After all, she’d made his job that much easier. She’d come to him. Yeah, he’d made it possible by cultivating their “relationship” over the past few months. And by giving her the means and directions to escape. But she’d trusted him enough to follow through. He’d reward his pupil by making this quick.

  “I still don’t understand.” She removed her hand from his and ran it over her hair as if suddenly self-conscious. “Everyone hates me for what happened with Dr. Levine. You said in the letters that you know her?”

  He nodded and tucked his hands into his jean pockets in an unthreatening way. “I do.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Why would I show you compassion? Understanding?” God, she was eating this crap up. He could see the way her face softened as he explained. “I know what it’s like to want something, or someone, so much that you do crazy things.”

  She scowled. “I’m not crazy. Is that what Maggie thinks? I have to explain everything to her. Make her understand. You said you’d take me to her.”

  “You’ll see her soon enough. But you’re going to have to wait just a little bit longer.”

  “When? Where do I get to see her? Why would she want to see me? She hasn’t contacted me since…” Her throat worked.

  “I’m going to send you somewhere, and you’ll be free.” His hand was out of his pocket within seconds, a knife glinting in the low light. He spun around behind Deborah, locking an arm at her throat as he brought the knife up with the other, holding the point to the pulsing artery exposed there.

  She thrashed and bucked, but he tightened his grip until she passed out. He let her fall to the ground and stepped over her to the duffel bag under the chair. He pulled a roll of duct tape out and taped her wrists together behind her back, so tight that she moaned in her unconsciousness. Bending in front of her, he moved to strap her ankles together. Before he realized she’d regained consciousness, her other ankle swung out and kicked him in the arm.

  “Moron,” he muttered, slapping her so hard that her neck made a popping noise that echoed in the shed. But it was his father’s voice he heard in his head.

  Moron. Should have seen that coming, you idiot. Didn’t move fast enough. Never do. Lazy piece of shit. Can’t even get through school. Always flunking out of your courses. How could I ever leave the business to you? Over my dead body.

  “Go to hell!” a frightened Deborah Frame yelled. For a moment, he was confused. His father had a woman’s voice?

  But then the face became that of his mother—the rich bitch, trophy wife that she was, tottering around in ridiculous three-inch heels with drink in hand. Her nose was crinkled in disgust—or at least as much as it could be. It had seen the knife of more than one plastic surgeon. Her face barely registered any emotion at all anymore. It didn’t matter. Her words dripped enough venom to convey her hate.

  You’re worthless. You’ll never fill your father’s shoes. Even after his stroke, he’s more man than you’ll ever be. Her voice, even in his head, was like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Stop it!” he yel
led, slapping his hands over his ears.

  Then the only thing he heard was the rasping of Deborah’s breath as she struggled to control her fear. He could already see understanding dawning in her eyes. Pathetic, really. Snot slid down to her upper lip as she started pleading for her life. Repulsive. And this woman had thought she deserved a spotlight in Maggie’s world. Granted, she’d succeeded in scaring Maggie—and that he would have paid good money to see.

  Well, he would show Maggie who deserved her. He was her teacher. Her master. Her conscience.

  This was his gift to her.

  He smiled and raised his knife. “Time for class.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Could you repeat that, please?” Damian rubbed his forehead. The team had dispersed hours ago, but he’d waited at the SSAM offices, hoping for good news. This call wasn’t it.

  “Deborah Frame escaped from the state hospital.” Becca sounded distracted by the background noises. He could hear people arguing and someone shouting orders. Deborah’s disappearance had obviously thrown things into an uproar.

  “How could she have escaped? She must have had help.” There couldn’t be two separate stalkers after Maggie at the same time. That would be too much of a coincidence. Damian’s gut told him Fearmonger, who seemed to get off on making power plays in Maggie’s life, had a hand in this.

  “My contact at the hospital won’t say, exactly. They’re embarrassed and are covering things up as well as they can. They’re afraid what will happen when the press gets hold of this.”

  He’d double the protection on Maggie until her stalker was behind locked doors again. “What’s being done to find her?”

  “They already have.”

  “What?”

  “The trail was pretty simple. A Cub Scout could have followed it.” Becca’s tone indicated disgust.

  “So she’s back in custody?” Damian felt his chest relax as he released the breath he’d been holding.

  “Not exactly. Deborah Frame is dead. They found her body a couple of miles from the hospital in a rusty old shed on an abandoned property.”