only seconds ahead of his brother Carl and was all the way up on the porch before he saw what was on her doorstep. He stopped, startled by the sight.
“What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?” Carl asked, as he came up the steps behind his brother. When he saw the rat beneath that overturned trap, the first thing he thought of was Paul Jackson beneath that lift. Some sick son of a bitch was messing with her big-time.
“Someone was just here,” Lissa sobbed. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s been harassing me for weeks, and tonight he left this.”
Mack was walking toward the house, pulled toward her presence like a moth to the flame, when he heard the words and the fear in her voice. He was shocked that a stalker was at work in Mystic. And then he reminded himself there was already an open murder investigation and the possibility that his father’s death might somehow be connected. A stalker only added to his disillusionment. He didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again, but the look of pure terror on her face wasn’t okay. He didn’t see the rat until he was on the steps, and then he almost stumbled. The reference was impossible to miss. Who the hell would do something this cold?
Both officers heard the footsteps behind them, and their hands were on their weapons as they turned, but when they recognized who it was, they relaxed.
Before they could ask what he was doing there, Mack walked between them and stopped just shy of the rat, his gaze fixed on Lissa’s face.
“Melissa.”
She stared, too stunned to answer.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She was already in shock from what had just happened, but after his father’s death, she had known this moment was coming and dreaded it. She swayed on her feet as the world began to spin.
Mack leaped over the bloody trap and caught her before she fell.
Lissa grabbed hold of his forearms to steady herself, then hid her face against his chest, too rattled by his appearance to think.
Lonnie glanced at his brother. “Carl, get a couple of pictures.”
Carl arched an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about the rat or the lovebirds?”
Lonnie glared.
Carl grinned as he pulled out his cell phone and went to work.
Mack looked down at the little pink pigs on her white flannel pajamas and sighed. Who knew that it would be an old girlfriend in pink-pig pajamas who would settle a tiny part of the ache in his heart?
“Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” he asked.
She came to her senses just as his hand cupped the side of her face, and she stepped back and away from him so fast she stumbled.
“I’m not hurt,” she said, scrubbing the palm of her hand against the side of her face, trying to remove the sensation of him from her skin.
Lonnie interrupted, anxious to get this dealt with. “Miss Sherman, I need to take your statement, but it’s a little chilly and your feet are bare. How about we go inside?”
Lissa turned on the living room light and then led the way back into the house. Mack followed the sway of her hips all the way to the sofa, with Lonnie behind him, leaving Carl to bag the evidence and search the area for the perpetrator or any clues to his identity.
Lissa sat down with her chin up and her eyes brimming with unshed tears, then pulled an afghan over her legs and absently tucked it beneath her feet.
Mack sat down in a chair with a clear view of her face without being invited to stay. He’d already inserted himself into the ongoing drama without asking, and he wasn’t about to follow protocol now.
Lonnie pulled out his phone, laying it on the coffee table near her as he settled at the other end of the sofa.
“I’ll record and transcribe your statement, and you can sign it later,” he said.
Lissa sighed. Hyperconscious of Mack’s presence and the lingering fear of the stalker in her life, all she could think was I can’t believe this is happening.
Lonnie hit Record and then asked the first question.
“I gather from what you said earlier that this isn’t the first time you’ve been harassed. Am I right?”
She nodded, and then realized that wouldn’t translate to a recorder and answered, “Yes, that’s right.”
“Do you know who’s doing it?”
She clutched the afghan as if it was body armor, unaware she was crying.
“No. I have no idea.”
Lonnie kept firing questions. “How long has this been going on?”
She shivered. “Almost a month.”
“Can you elaborate on what’s happened?”
She did, telling him about the progression of phone calls, the frightening innuendos that had turned into stalking, ending with what happened tonight.
“I wasn’t asleep,” she added. “Today has been a nightmare, and I couldn’t close my eyes without—”
She stopped in midsentence, remembering who else was in the room. She might resent him for the way they had parted company years ago, but she knew he was hurting for what he’d lost, and it was all her fault. She couldn’t face him and see the accusation in his eyes.
Lonnie inserted a quick question to shift the focus.
“Have you been having problems with any of your students?” he asked.
Lissa was startled by the question, and for the first time reacted without thinking.
“No, of course not! My students are six-year-old children. Whoever’s been calling me is a grown man.”
Lonnie tried another angle. “What about parents? Have you had any run-ins with them?”
Lissa shook her head. “No. My life was fine, unexciting, but fine until the phone calls began. And now this.” She pointed toward the porch. “How do I take that? Is this a direct threat aimed at me, or just an ugly reminder that I caused a man’s death?”
At that point, Mack could remain silent no longer.
“That’s bullshit, Lissa. You didn’t cause anything. That could have been anyone’s car. It happened. You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”
“But it wasn’t anyone’s car. It was mine,” she said, and then began to sob.
Mack had never been able to hear her cry, and now he got up and walked toward the kitchen to keep from taking her in his arms. He hurt for what she was going through, and for himself. And he knew something she didn’t. His dad’s death might turn out to have been a murder, which should free her conscience of any culpability.
Lonnie
