Christmas Vendetta Page 8

  “Okay,” she drawled, “then why are you making scary faces?”

  “I’m not.” Clay flashed her a lopsided smile. “This is my normal face.”

  “Maybe it’s the black-and-blue eye socket that makes you look odd,” she said, not believing that excuse for an instant.

  Again he stayed silent. She felt the car begin to accelerate. The tires slipped in the slushy street, and they fishtailed several times before Clay got it under control.

  “Okay. That does it. What is going on?”

  “We’re being followed,” Clay said as he sped up, sliding again and again. “I’m heading for the police station.”

  “Finally, something that makes sense.” Bracing with her left hand on the dash, her right gripping the over-the-door assist handle, Sandy Lynn did her best to anchor herself on the seat.

  Clay turned corner after corner until she was unsure of their position. “I thought you said—”

  A hard smack jolted her car and snapped her head back against the support at the top of the seat. She wanted to shout orders at him, to tell him how to get them out of this situation, but truth to tell, she didn’t have a clue.

  Prayer would be good, she reasoned, if she had the words to pray or knew what to ask for.

  Survival leaped into her thoughts as she called out wordlessly to her heavenly Father.

  The car was hit again. Clay righted it.

  A harder smash followed quickly.

  Clay hollered, “Hang on!”

  They went airborne, diving nose-first into a drainage ditch.

  Sandy Lynn saw his head snap forward just as the airbag engulfed him. The passenger side of the dated vehicle was not equipped with crash protection, so the seat belt was the only thing keeping her from flying through the shattering windshield.

  Breathless and shocked, she just sat there, wondering if this was as bad as it was going to get or if their pursuers were going to stop to finish them off.

  * * *

  Long seconds passed before Clay recovered sufficiently to push his way out of the car with his pistol in hand. The street behind them wasn’t deserted, and curious bystanders did seem concerned about their welfare. Several women were using cell phones while men yanked on Sandy’s door, failing to budge it.

  Clay leaned in past the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can you get your seat belt undone?”

  “Yes.” He watched her struggle against the tightness caused by the accident until she succeeded.

  “Crawl out this side. That other door is too buckled to open.”

  “What about you? Are you hurt?”

  “No. Mad at myself is all.”

  “Don’t be. Those guys meant business. Did you get a look at them? I’m not even sure what they were driving.”

  “An SUV,” Clay said. “Probably from out of state, maybe Arkansas.”

  “How do you know?”

  “No front license plate. Missouri requires them, but Arkansas and some other states don’t.” Tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans and offering her a hand as soon as she got close enough, he helped her out of the car and up onto the edge of the roadway.

  A couple of women approached with empathic expressions, but Clay kept his arm around Sandy Lynn’s shoulders and waved them off. “Somebody called nine-one-one?”

  Heads bobbed.

  “Good. Then give her room to breathe and we’ll be fine.”

  “I seen it all,” a nearby man said, gesturing. “I was gettin’ ready to back out of my driveway when you come past like you was goin’ to a fire.”

  Clay couldn’t argue. “Did you get the license number of the vehicle that hit us?”

  “Hit you?” He harrumphed. “All I seen was you speedin’. I didn’t notice nobody else.”

  He felt Sandy Lynn lean more weight against him. “How can that be? We both felt the impact.”

  Nodding, Clay sought to reassure her. “Witnesses can be funny about details. Ten people may see the same accident and tell ten different tales about it. That’s one reason we try to separate folks for their first interviews. One will call a car green and the guy who thought it was blue may actually believe he was mistaken and switch his memory to green, instead. They don’t do it on purpose. It’s just the way our brains work.”

  “That can’t be right.”

  “Scientifically proven,” Clay insisted. “Look it up on the internet when you get a chance.”

  “So, I might be all wrong about Charles being Enid’s attacker? I can’t imagine I’d make a mistake like that.”

  “You wouldn’t under less stressful circumstances. But you’d just found your roommate wounded. Fear may have taken your mind back to a time when you’d been just as scared and filled in the sounds you expected to hear, namely Hood’s voice.”

  She leaned away to look up at him. “You’ve thought this all along, haven’t you? That’s why you didn’t seem too worried about the mix-up at the prison.”

  “I was concerned. I’m worried about everything that’s been happening. The thing is, I can let my fear take hold of me and alter my responses, or I can keep my head and get you out of whatever nightmare is coming to life around you.”

  “That’s pretty much how it feels,” she said softly.

  A shiver made Clay pull her closer and wrap his other arm around her, as well. It didn’t matter whether she was chilled or just nervous, she needed to be held, to feel safe and cared for.

  And he needed to hold her, he added, steeling himself to withstand the pull of his growing affection. Each moment spent in her company made his heart swell with forgotten fondness and left him one step closer to the time when he knew he’d have to deny his feelings and walk away for her own good, as he had in the past.

  Leaving Sandy Lynn when they were teenagers had seemed fairly difficult. Now, he knew it was nothing. Saying goodbye to her after all this was going to hurt worse than he’d ever imagined.

  This time, however, he was mature, settled, wiser. This time he would sit her down and explain his reasoning so she wasn’t confused. The way Clay saw it, all he’d have to do between now and then was figure it out and accept it, himself.

  NINE

  Sandy Lynn flatly refused to be transported back to the hospital in an ambulance. She’d backed up Clay’s verbal report about their accident, signed the EMT’s release form and ridden with him to her apartment in the back of a patrol car while the police had her car towed in as evidence.

  “Don’t bother arguing with me,” she told him after the pair of patrol officers dropped them off, and they walked into her building. “Enid and I both need clothing and necessities.”

  “Who’s arguing?” Clay shrugged, palms up. “I just want to go in ahead of you, that’s all.”

  “Okay, okay.” She unlocked the door and stood back. “Don’t take all day.” Gruffness masked her fear, and she figured it was better for Clay to think she was short-tempered than to realize how much she coveted his company. She definitely wouldn’t have gone there alone.

  As he sidled past her, she was almost overcome with the urge to grab him and stop him. Such thoughts were ridiculous, of course, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to protect him the way he had repeatedly protected her.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Sandy Lynn called after him.

  Clay didn’t answer.

  She tried again. “Hey, Danforth, what are you doing?”

  Finally, he said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  That wasn’t good enough for her. Wariness warred with curiosity, and curiosity won. She edged her way into the apartment.

  When she spotted Clay and realized what he was trying to do for her she was touched. He’d shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and was down on his knees with a scrub brush and pail o
f soapy water, trying to clean up the crime scene.

  “Wait. We have a carpet shampooer. I’ll get it.”

  “I didn’t want you to have to deal with this.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have realized this would be waiting. Why didn’t you mention it?”

  He stood, shaking his head and drying his hands on paper towels. “What I should have done was call a cleaning service or our landlord and had them take care of everything before I brought you back here. We were on our way before it occurred to me.”

  “You’re forgiven,” Sandy Lynn said, hoping the response sounded like a quip instead of something more serious. “Tell you what. Let’s both leave that for professionals and get out of here. What do you say?”

  “Agreed. You go pack what you need from your room, and I’ll get the cleaning equipment out of your way so you can grab a few things for Enid. I’ll call the apartment manager and leave the rest to him. I imagine he’s heard plenty about what happened, so he should be ready to fix the problem for you.”

  With a heavy sigh Sandy Lynn turned toward her room, speaking her thoughts as if she was alone. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to feel safe here again.”

  “You need a dead bolt on the door, for starters. I noticed you only have the door lock and a flimsy chain. Almost anybody can push through that. The anchor screws are so small they just popped out.”

  She wheeled and saw what he meant. “Maybe that was what woke me to begin with. I know I was already awake when I heard a struggle in Enid’s room.”

  “Possibly. I’d rather believe that than imagine he was able to gain access without making a sound.”

  Sandy Lynn wrapped her arms around herself and felt a chill working its way along her spine. The heat was evidently off in the apartment, which was probably for the best. “Um, why don’t you leave everything for the cleaners and come with me? I mean, have you checked my room?”

  “Yes, but I understand,” Clay said with compassion. “This place creeps you out and you’d rather not be alone.”

  “I didn’t say that.” She made a face. “Not exactly.”

  A smile was spreading as he picked up the bucket of soapy water. “I’ll just dump this and join you. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  She didn’t want to even think of the horrible night she’d spent and all the mayhem that had been caused in such a short space of time. Truth to tell, her friend—friends—were all that really mattered. The rest of the damage was nothing compared to a human life.

  Blankets and the coverlet remained tossed aside on her bed. Her sweat suit was crumpled in a heap. Leaving a mess went against her nature so she quickly put the bed in order, then went to hang her sleeping outfit in the closet.

  Something bright and colorful on a high shelf caught her eyes and made them flood with unshed tears. Christmas presents. Waiting for Enid. Reaching up for them, she sensed someone behind her. Froze. Held her breath. Until Clay said, “What’s that?”

  Sandy Lynn whirled, two gift boxes clutched to her chest. “You scared the life out of me.”

  “Sorry. I thought you heard me come in.”

  His nonchalance irked her. “Last I knew, you were in the other room.”

  “You did invite me to join you.” Smiling, he gestured. “Christmas presents?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “For Enid.”

  The smile spread. “I kind of figured they weren’t for me. Shall I look in her closet to see if she hid something for you?”

  “Enid is crazy about Christmas, so she probably did. The tree was her idea, too.”

  “You don’t celebrate?”

  “Not the way most people do,” Sandy Lynn said flatly. “I go to church if there’s a special service, but I’ve never been into all the decorating nonsense.”

  “Why not?”

  “Humph.” Sandy Lynn was pensive. “You really don’t know? Think back. Remember the first time I showed up to stay with the family next door to you?”

  “Was it the holiday season?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big-time. There I was, stuck in a house with strangers while my mother went to jail to detox and my dad hit the road without me. I didn’t even try to pretend I was enjoying myself. I sulked through Christmas and half the next year.”

  “You didn’t seem all that unhappy to me.”

  “Then I deserve a trophy for acting. I was miserable.”

  His voice lowered, softened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “It forced me to face the fact that life would never be the same as it had been when I was little. That wasn’t a bad thing, it just soured me on the kind of picture-postcard holiday fun that everybody else seemed to be having. You know what I mean. The happy family seated around a big dinner table with a turkey and fixings ready to eat while a lighted Christmas tree twinkles in the background.”

  “That’s mostly a Norman Rockwell fantasy,” Clay countered. “A lot of us try to recreate that scene and fail. It’s not the decorations, it’s who you’re with. Families don’t have to be big to be loving.”

  “Small ones aren’t loving, either.”

  “That can change, Sandy. People can change. Your father and mother made mistakes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find joy for yourself.”

  She might have argued if she’d felt she could speak without bursting into tears. Instead, she pushed past him, tossed the gifts onto her bed and stripped her pillow of its case to use as a tote. Neither of her parents cared about her. If they had they would have at least tried to keep in touch. As things stood, she wasn’t even sure they were still living, and although she had done her best to convince herself she didn’t care one way or the other, she grieved the loss.

  I will not cry, I will not cry. She kept telling herself that even after Clay left the room. Self-pity was an ugly thing. She had a dear friend whose life had been spared, she had a job she loved, a roof over her head and enough to eat. These were blessings others might not enjoy, and she was wrong to let dour memories rule her.

  “I’m thankful for all the gifts You’ve given me, Father,” she prayed softly. “Forgive me for not being satisfied.”

  The pillowcase was stuffed with clothing and toiletries in mere minutes. Grabbing it like Santa’s sack she threw it over her shoulder and scooped up the gifts.

  “Okay, I’m ready to do Enid’s room,” she called out from the hallway.

  There was no answer. Not even a whisper.

  The bedroom door stood open. She peered in.

  Clay wasn’t there!

  * * *

  Cell phone in hand, Clay had made his way to the top of the staircase to wait for Abe and the crime scene techs he’d just summoned. They wouldn’t respond with sirens, of course, and he had placed himself to keep close watch on the apartment door. At this point he supposed it was futile to try to keep Sandy Lynn from seeing any more disturbing clues, but something inside him insisted he make an attempt.

  The gravity of what she had confessed about her youthful disappointments had hit him hard. How could he have missed seeing the signs back then? He supposed that being eighteen had had a lot to do with it. Scientists had proven that the human brain wasn’t fully developed until a person was in his mid-twenties, although women reportedly matured ahead of men, so he guessed he could give himself a pass. Then, not now. Now he felt her distress keenly, and it was doing strange things to him.

  Take celebrating Christmas, for instance. Look at all Sandy Lynn was missing. At least she hadn’t given up on the spiritual significance. That was a relief. But the rest? Feeling as if he had failed her terribly in the past, Clay wondered if it would be possible to make up for it this year. Maybe, providing they were still together in another week when the day came. His fondest wish was that Enid would be discharged to join them. If not, perhaps they could v
isit her in the hospital and do a little celebrating there.

  The door on the ground floor opened and Abe entered, accompanied by a uniformed patrol officer. Clay gave silent thanks that it was Tucker, not Allgood or Harper, as the men climbed the stairs and he greeted them.

  “I was helping Ms. Forrester pack a few things for her friend and noticed something I think Forensics missed. The area it’s in looks pristine.”

  “We relinquished control,” Abe countered. “Whatever you found may not be admissible.”

  “I realize that. I just wanted somebody to see it and take a swab. From where it fell, I suspect it may belong to the attacker, not the victim.”

  “You’re positive it wasn’t already tested?”

  Clay shook his head. “I doubt it. The closet door was open, and it landed in the crack where the hinges are. It’s only visible if the door is at exactly the right angle. Even partway closed and you can’t see it.”

  “What were you doing in the closet?” Tucker asked.

  “Looking for Christmas presents.” Clay pulled a face and focused on Abe. “You won’t believe what Sandy Lynn told me.”

  “About her ex?”

  “No, no. Farther back than that. I had no idea she was so miserable when I first met her.”

  “Teenage girls are known for rotten moods,” Abe teased. “I should know. I had three sisters.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up so much over it.” He took the lead. “C’mon. I stuck a business card in the door to keep it from locking.”

  As he pulled it open he heard a gasp, then a scream. Sandy Lynn? How could she be in jeopardy when he’d checked the apartment from top to bottom and stayed just outside in the hallway?

  In four long strides he was back at the crime scene. There she was. Her mouth gaped. She covered it with her hand and took a shuddering breath, then dropped the parcels she was holding and threw herself at him as if he were the last lifeboat left on the sinking Titanic.

  Clay reacted from instinct and opened his arms to accept her. Momentum from her frantic approach pushed him backward. He bumped into Abe, who then hit Tucker, and the four almost landed in a heap on the floor.