It’s after eleven. You expect me to believe you’ve been wiring somebody’s windows and doors all this time—in the dark?”
Earl went over to her and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “I do what my boss tells me to do, sweetheart—”
“You do what I tell you to do. And don’t feed me that sweetheart crap. I’m sick of your whining and I’m sick of your lies. Don’t forget my promise. If I ever find out you’re cheating on me I’ll cut off your—”
“Mom—I’m thirsty!”
“Well, at least you’re home. See if you can shut those kids up, will you?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart. And maybe after I take a shower, we can—” he waggled his eyebrows at her.
She cowed him with a disgusted look. “This time of night? Get home on time to help me with the kids tomorrow and we’ll see. Meantime, you need to get up in the morning and get the kids off to school. I’ll be too tired.”
Earl escaped upstairs, nearly tripping on a toy car on the floor in the hall. He fetched his youngest son a drink of water and told all three children to settle down and go to sleep. He stood at the door and watched the three of them bedded down in the same room.
“Someday,” he whispered. “Someday we’ll have a great big house. Each one of you will have your own room, with your own TV.” Things he’d never had living with his grandpa after his mom was murdered.
He stepped into his bedroom and stopped cold. On the floor in front of the closet was his wife’s old hard-sided suitcase. His heart jumped into his throat. That meant only one thing.
It was time! She was leaving!
Thank goodness! The flame inside him had been building. Day by day it grew until his insides sizzled with the heat. He shook his head and licked his lips. It seemed as if the burning started sooner and built faster these days. He was having trouble controlling it for six long months between Mary Nell’s visits to her mother.
If he were lucky, maybe they’d leave before the weekend. As soon as she and the kids were out of the house, he could begin to prepare.
He took out his wallet and extracted the tiny worn envelope from a secret pocket. For an instant he looked at the faded postmark and the almost unreadable address on the front of the envelope. Mrs. Hannah Slattery. His mom.
He touched the name, then peeked inside. There was the lock of honey-blond hair. And beside it the few precious golden strands that remained of his mom’s hair. He brought the envelope to his nose and inhaled.
He loved the smell of freshly-washed hair—blond and soft like Mom’s. He squirmed and tugged at his pants. Damn that woman of his. He needed some relief.
Carefully, he tucked the envelope back in his wallet. Soon he’d be able to replace the lock of hair. Then he’d be okay for a few more months.
He headed for the shower. It angered him that his wife turned her nose up at him. In the whole time they’d been married, she’d never done anything when he wanted to. It was always her timetable. Sometimes he wondered what she’d do if he used her to ease the inferno building inside him.
He immediately wiped those thoughts out of his head. She was his wife. The mother of his children. He could never do that to her.
He held his face up to the shower spray, reliving the fragrance of his mom’s hair, and the girl’s. The smell renewed him and cooled the burning, at least for a while.
Mary Nell and the kids would leave in a few days. Then he’d be on his own for at least a week, maybe more. He could hold out that long.
Chapter Two
By the time Resa Wade showed up at the firing range the next night, Archer knew a lot more about her than he wanted to. He’d spent most of the previous night poring over the thick file in his desk drawer. It contained copies of the police reports for each of the Lock Rapist’s attacks.
Then, after a couple of hours’ restless sleep, he’d called his former partner, who’d taken over the case after Archer was injured.
Clint had verified what he’d already figured out. Theresa Wade was sister to the Lock Rapist’s sixth victim, Celia Ramsey. Celia had been separated from her husband and staying with Resa when the attack occurred.
He asked Clint what he thought about Resa.
“I don’t know,” Clint had answered. “She’s pretty, like her sister. Why?”
“She’s been here every night for the past two weeks.”
“Here? Where? You mean at your house?” Clint’s voice rose in disbelief.
“At the range.”
“Oh.” Clint took a deep breath. “She called me about a week ago. Said she was being followed. Said she was sure it was the Lock Rapist.”
“What?” It was Archer’s turn to be surprised—and furious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Clint hesitated for a beat. “You’re not on the case, Geoff.”
“I’ve got a stake in it!”
“I know you do.”
“You think it’s him? How would he know about her?”
“I don’t know if he’s following her or if she’s just nervous after her sister’s attack. But she’s kind of an eyewitness.”
Archer slammed his fist down on the desk. “What the hell is kind of an eyewitness?”
“She saw the Lock Rapist running from the scene that night.”
“Damn it, Clint. You promised you’d keep me in the loop.”
“Geoff, you need to get past this. You chose to leave the force.”
He flexed his fingers, flinching when they ached. “Some choice. Sit behind a desk or retire.”
Clint was silent.
“So are you censoring what you think I can handle and what I can’t? You don’t get to do that.”
“Actually I do. I’m already skating pretty close to busting regulations by copying reports and depositions for you.”
Clint was right. He wasn’t obligated to tell Archer anything about the case. Archer was no longer a cop.
“Have you at least got a car tailing her?”
“Can’t afford it. Crime is up twenty percent in our precinct and the governor wants to keep up with surrounding states that are enacting no-tolerance policies for conviction. I told her to get his license-plate number and let me know.”
“Get his license—Clint, you know as well as I do that it’s him. If you don’t give her some protection, she’s a sitting duck.” He winced at the harsh words, knowing they were true.
