Alias: Daddy Page 8

  “Too bad for the woman who was killed, but probably lucky for your mom that she can’t identify the guy.”

  “Yes, lucky.” Resisting the urge to jerk her arm out of his reach, Kerrie studied his face. Roman’s concerns about the attack on her mother being made by Loverboy ricocheted through her brain. Was there basis for Roman’s concern? She grabbed the menu and opened it. Or had Jeremy asked about her mother being able to identify the killer out of morbid curiosity? Or was he fishing to see if the police had connected anyone to the crime? Perhaps himself?

  “I guess I’ll have the special.” She lowered the menu just enough to see Jeremy’s face. “The salmon.”

  “Sounds good.”

  While Jeremy gave the waitress their orders, Cage said, “Ask him about his accent.”

  The waitress left. Kerrie longed for the menu to use as a barrier between herself and this creep. Again she lowered her hands to her lap, leaning back against her chair. “You aren’t a native of the northwest, are you?”

  The question brought a wary look into Jeremy’s cool blue eyes. They shifted right, then left, then back at her. “I wasn’t born here, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Somewhere back east, I’ll bet.”

  “Boston. But I’ve lived here most of my life.”

  “Boston?” Cage said. “No way. Wrong inflection.”

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Boston.” She noted the slight slump of Jeremy’s shoulders. Was he relieved? Had he counted on her not knowing the difference in east coast accents? Her suspicions of him doubled. He had to be hiding something big to risk such a blatant lie.

  “Boston’s okay. But I like Seattle better.”

  “So is Seattle where you’ve lived most of your life, or somewhere else?”

  “Seattle.”

  That was all Kerrie heard. Cage let out a yelp, startling her. Then Roman’s voice sounded in her ear. Apparently Cage had been about to tell her something and been interrupted before he could switch the microphone back to Listen.

  She saw Jeremy’s mouth moving, but her attention was on the two men she could hear in her ear as clearly as if she were in the van with them.

  Roman said, “Did you put a tail on Springer?”

  Cage barked, “Take a hike.”

  “Did you put a tail on Springer?” Roman’s voice came across the line like a wild animal’s growl.

  “Yes, but…he lost it.”

  “He lost it?” Roman’s disbelief was laced with ire. “If he’s Loverboy, and I think he is, at best, he’s out prowling the streets. At worst, he’s gone after Glynna Muldoon again.”

  “Again?” Cage was incredulous. “You think Loverboy tried stabbing Kerrie’s mom yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t explain it. Instinct Experience.”

  “No offense, man, but we can’t arrest him on your instincts.” Cage spoke with the schooled patience of a father talking to an irate child. “If it will make you feel any better, we know where to find him.”

  “Yeah, if he went straight home.” Roman’s exasperation radiated through the earpiece. “But Springer was furious when he left here, and he knows Kerrie isn’t going home anytime soon. At least dispatch a car to her house.”

  “Lookit, Donnello, I respect you as a cop, man. But you aren’t calling the shots here and I can’t give orders on your command. Capeesh?”

  Ten seconds of silence followed.

  “Capeesh,” Roman answered begrudgingly. “I’ll check on Glynna and Maureen myself.”

  What? Kerrie tensed. He was going to her house. Given her mother’s state of mind, when she saw who was at the door, she’d likely let him in. God knew what else she-was likely to do. Terror wrapped icy tendrils around her heart. Dear God, she had to phone.

  “Kerrie?” Jeremy was shaking her arm. “Kerrie? What is it? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  “Excuse me, Jeremy.” She scooted out of her chair, grabbing her purse as she stood. “I forgot I was supposed to call my mom. I’ll be right back.”

  He half stood as she hurried from the table in search of the pay phone. Moments later, she was listening to the unanswered rings with growing aggravation. Why didn’t her mother pick up? If they’d gone out somewhere Glynna would have put the machine on. But she wasn’t planning on going out. Not tonight. Was Roman right about Loverboy attacking Mom at home?

  Terror of another kind swept through her.

  Kerrie glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock. Of course. The twins’ bath time. She slumped against the wall with relief. It was short-lived. Mom ignored the telephone when she bathed the girls and would keep on ignoring it until she was done.

  Roman would have arrived by then.

  Panic pinged through Kerrie. She hurried back to the table and began stuffing her arms into her coat. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. Mom’s having a bad time. I promised I’d come right home.”

  “But…” He stood, catching hold of the pink rose. “What about—”

  “I’ll call you. I promise.” She left him holding the rose toward her.

  MINDFUL OF THE THORNY rosebushes, Loverboy knelt on the soggy garden bed beside Kerrie Muldoon’s house and jimmied the window lock. There were no motion-detecting lights on this side of the house, just sweet darkness. He heard the latch give and grinned. A moment later, he lowered himself into the basement, landing, sneakers first, on what he suspected was a washing machine. The dryer hummed alongside, obviously containing a load of clothing.

  He could smell laundry detergent and wet clothes.

  He flicked on his flashlight, relatched the window, then took his bearings. Wet laundry was stacked on the dryer. His footprints decorated the washer, muddy testaments to his presence here. He picked a wet towel off the pile and wiped the evidence away.

  A moment later he’d abandoned his sneakers to the wet towel and started across the cramped basement in his stocking feet. The stairs were old, worn and wooden. Gingerly he stepped on the first riser. Then the next. And the next.

  The mother was home. She wouldn’t escape her fate tonight. Light winked off the knife blade as he nudged open the door into-the kitchen. The sickly sweet stench of burned peaches stung his nostrils. Damned potpourri on the stove. A radio played soft music.

  Loverboy stepped into the kitchen. His eyes quickly scanned the room. No one. Voices echoed down the hall—one adult and two small children. Anticipation had his heart hammering in his chest. Kerrie Muldoon loved these people and she was going to lose them. She would feel the same loss he’d felt. But hers would be three times worse.

  “Okay.” Glynna’s voice was closer. She had opened he bathroom door. “All done, my little princesses. Next top, story land.”

  Loverboy flattened himself against the corner wall and eeked around its edge into the hallway. Sweat beaded on lis upper lip and scurried down the small of his back. Glynna was carrying the two pajama-clad children, one on each hip, down the hall away from him. He grinned. He’d give her a couple of minutes to put them to bed and then…he’d strike.

  The doorbell rang.

  KERRIE PULLED into the alley behind her house, abandoned the car outside the garage and raced up the back walk, stopping only once when she dropped her keys. She took the back stairs two at a time. She scrambled into the kitchen and rammed to a stop. She couldn’t swallow at the sight. Her pulse beat so furiously she felt certain her heart would explode.

  Glynna sat at the kitchen table holding Maureen. Roman sat across from her, his amber eyes hot and watery as if he had a raging fever. He was holding Gabriella.

  Chapter Seven

  Wet and muddy, Loverboy huddled beside Kerrie’s back porch. Debilitating rage burned hot inside him, keeping the chill at bay, making his limbs feel weighted, waterlogged. All my plans destroyed by the ring of one lousy doorbell. He puffed out an angry breath, sending a tiny burst of foggy air away from his mouth. The last fifteen minutes had been pure hell. Everything had gone wrong. />
  He closed his eyes and let the memories slide through his mind like a bad B movie, each moment as vivid as if it were happening here and now.

  He’d peered down the hallway toward the sounds issuing from the bathroom. The wall had felt grainy against his cheek. The switchblade heavy in his gloved hand, the peach potpourri stinging his nostrils.

  The doorbell rang.

  A death knell. Jarring. Loud. Terror shot through his limbs. He scurried into the kitchen and ducked back into the dark basement He clicked the door shut With pulse tripping and chest heaving, he listened for a clue as to who the visitor was who had so rudely ruined his plans.

  Luck eluded him. Five steps below, the dryer rumbled loudly, blocking all but the squeals of the two brats. Damned noisy machine. Damned visitor. Damn Glynna Muldoon.

  He grabbed the handrail, balancing the tremor in his legs, stumbling down the stairs. He hoisted himself onto the washer and put his shoes on. Adult voices sounded in the kitchen. His heart climbed his throat.

  He levered the window open, then spread the towel over the sill and scrambled up and out The ensuing clamor would have brought the neighborhood out to investigate—if not for the rumbling dryer. Wonderfully noisy machine. He hadn’t planned on using this exit to leave. Should be going out the back door. He crawled out onto the rose bed, and gasped a breath of rainy night air.

  He shoved off the windowsill, kicking at something bunched beneath his shoes. A second too late, he realized it was the towel. No! He spun and grabbed for it His gloves were muddy, slick. The terry cloth slid through his grasp and landed with a plop on the washer. Swearing, he leaned into the window and made a grab for the towel. No good. It was out of his reach. He swore again. The only way to get it was to go back into the basement What if he couldn’t get back out again?

  Just latch the window and go. He grabbed the latch, smearing mud on it It refused to engage from the outside. Frustration spilled through him. The hell with it A dirty towel, a half-open window and size eleven footprints amounted to exactly nothing as clues. Laughing inwardly, he scrambled out of the flower bed and onto the damp lawn.

  Switchblade in hand, he tread stealthily toward the alley, easing alongside of the house. The motion-detecting light flashed on. Loverboy jolted. He dropped to the ground. His face pressed the wet grass. His heart pounded several minutes before he risked moving, inching on his belly like a soldier pushing toward the enemy camp.

  Something hard dug into his thigh. His hand curled around a chunk of wood. In the light he could see it was an oblong, gaily painted child’s building block. Perfect. He palmed it then crouching near a rhododendron, he aimed and threw the block at the light The glass bulb shattered, tinkling to the ground.

  Once more in blessed darkness, Loverboy froze, listening to the thundering of his pulse, waiting for someone to come and investigate the noise. Seconds passed. No one came.

  He started to stand. Headlights swept the alley. The sound of a car rapidly approaching struck terror through him yet again. He ducked behind the rhododendron bush. The car screeched to a stop. Its headlights swept across him, but were extinguished so quickly he doubted he’d been seen.

  A second later, high heels clicked on the concrete walkway. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized the woman hurrying toward the house was Kerrie Muldoon. What the hell was she doing here? She was supposed to be occupied elsewhere. Could nothing go according to plan?

  His fist curled around the switchblade, and a sudden thought brought a smile. Maybe this was better. Providence.

  She didn’t seem aware of the disabled motion-detecting light. Just as well. It would keep him hidden until it was too late.

  Acting with speed, he reopened the switchblade and slid to his full height in one swift motion, the knife readied-for the toss. Totally hidden by the dark night, the large bush, and his black clothing, he held his breath until Kerrie was within his target line. Aiming for her throat, he snapped his wrist, hurling the knife with deadly accuracy.

  At the same instant, he heard a jangle. Keys hitting concrete. Kerrie swore. Crouched.

  The knife zipped over her and landed in the soft grass beyond with a dull thud. Before Loverboy could react, she disappeared into the house.

  Just remembering recharged his fury. So close. So damned close. Twice tonight He let out a low growl. Cold was finally penetrating his awareness. He ought to just burn the damned house to the ground. Serve them all right. Even the visitor, whoever the hell it was.

  Suddenly he wanted to know the name of the visitor, the person who’d foiled his plan. Suddenly he wanted to know what had brought Kerrie Muldoon home in such a huff. Was it something to do with the doorbell ringer? Loverboy stared up at the lighted kitchen windows. Something perhaps to do with himself?

  Fingering the retrieved switchblade, now closed in his jacket pocket, and the box of matches in his other pocket, he schooled himself against acting without planning. His father had taught him to strike when and where least expected—that that kind of random-looking kill required patience and planning. Revenge was sweetest served cold.

  Right now it burned hot inside Loverboy. Because of that, he’d made mistakes tonight, one after another. Mistakes led to discovery. He must think of what to do next; then carry it out with cold deliberation.

  He walked gingerly around the house and edged close to the front porch. His wet clothing made a soft swicking sound with every step. A car was parked at the curb. He intended to have a look inside that car. He should be able to do that with relative safety. The nearest streetlight was two houses over. The front part of the Muldoon house was dark. The Muldoons and their guest were in the kitchen.

  “MOMMY,” both girls cried at once. Kerrie was too shaken to move, too furious with her mother to speak. All the crazy ride from McRory’s, she’d feared this was what she’d find when she arrived. Glynna had cautioned her to tell Roman, had made it clear where she stood on his knowing. She likely thought she was doing the best for all concerned.

  But she’d done the worst.

  Kerrie plopped her keys and purse on the kitchen counter. Her voice quavered with rage. “Mother, it’s past the girls’ bedtime.”

  “Of course.” Glynna’s chin shot up. As long as she felt she’d done the right thing, there would be no apology from her. She stood, shifting Maureen to one hip and extending her free arm for Gabby. “You two need to talk. alone.”

  But Roman was reluctant to give Gabriella to Glynna, wanted to take Maureen from her. “No, please, not yet.”

  He stroked Gabriella’s raven hair as if it were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, gazed at Maureen as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

  Kerrie’s heart swelled inside her chest like a balloon with too much air, squashing her lungs and her ability to draw in breath. She lifted Maureen into her arms. “I’ll call you in a minute, Mother.”

  “I’ll be in my room,” Glynna said, leaving them alone with their daughters.

  Kerrie drew a bracing breath and leveled her gaze at Roman. Her insides were a mass of jelly. She clutched Maureen’s warm little body to her, irrationally fearful that he might try to snatch her away. “I’m sure this is a shock—”

  “Shock! Oh, Irish…” He shook his head. He looked as if she’d shattered every illusion he’d ever held of her, every truth, as if she’d run him through with a rusty dagger, fatally wounding him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She arched her brows at the idiocy of his question. Wasn’t it obvious to him? “I thought you were a smuggler…or worse.”

  “You know differently now.”

  “Even if I’d known sooner, I didn’t know where to reach you.” Anger and hurt collided inside her. Roman was every bit as much to blame as she that she hadn’t told him about her pregnancy, but that didn’t justify her not telling him last night. Purely and simply, her reasons for keeping her secret were selfish. But she’d be damned if she’d apologize for them. “I’m not the one wh
o walked away…who stayed away.”

  Her reproach was wasted on Roman. He couldn’t get past the fact that she hadn’t told him after she’d found out the truth about him. And he’d been so sure he couldn’t have children…“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  Kerrie bit back the desire to hurl his own words at him. He was the one who didn’t want children…ever.

  “Mommy, too tight.” Maureen squirmed, pushing against Kerrie, protesting the tightened grip Kerrie hadn’t realized she’d applied. Maureen looked ready to cry. Gabby looked just as unhappy and confused, obviously picking up the tension, the distress her parents could neither control nor hide. “The girls are getting upset. Let me put them to bed, then we can discuss this alone.”

  “Okay.” He knew she was right. But when she reached for Gabriella it was as if she were tearing his heart from his chest As far back as he could remember he’d wanted children of his own. As far back as he could remember, he’d known he’d never have them. But Kerrie couldn’t deny Gabby was his. One look into her eyes had claimed his soul for eternity—as Maureen had the night before simply by being Kerrie’s child. His daughters. He wanted to shout it to the world. And he would.

  He watched Kerrie scoot them from the kitchen and ached to run after her, help her put them to bed. But he was a stranger to his own children; he wouldn’t risk distressing them anymore tonight. Glynna came into the kitchen. She went straight to a cupboard, took out a bottle of Scotch, filled a gimlet glass and handed it to Roman. “I expect you could use this.”

  “Thanks.” He hoped she knew he was thanking her for more than the whiskey.

  She patted his arm, and set the bottle on the counter within his reach. “I’ve interfered enough for one night I need to pay a visit to Sophia, one of my neighbors. Tell Kerrie to call when she wants me to return.”

  “Sure.” As the front door closed, Roman tossed back the Scotch, then carried his replenished glass into the living room. Voices drifted from a room down the hall, feeding his aching joy, his desire to participate in this nighttime ritual that he’d been heretofore denied. But he was still too tense, too angry. He forced himself to sit on the sofa as he had last night.