she’d loved the rental cabins and the slightly larger main house. She’d considered the property charmingly rural, not isolated. These last few weeks had given her second thoughts.
A sixtyish nurse who worked for Dr. Smithson, Gail Fordham wasn’t easily intimidated, but the prowler she and other tenants had spotted during the past month had rattled her as well as Casey.
“Did you call the police?” Unfortunately, the local constabulary consisted of one aging chief, a part-time rookie, a dispatcher shared with several other towns and a few clerks.
“Sure. They said they’d have someone swing by, but you know how much good that will do.” Quickly, Gail added, “I’m not afraid for myself, Casey. I figure if it’s Dean, he’ll get bored after a while and go away or drink so heavily we’ll find him snoozing in somebody’s hayloft.” Dean was Gail’s alcoholic ex-husband who lived in Michigan. “I just wanted to warn you so you won’t go outside and run into whoever it is.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“If you’re worried, I could come over and sleep on your couch. It’s not good for you to be alone this close to delivery,” the nurse said.
“You shouldn’t go outside while he’s around,” she warned.
“I’ve got a baseball bat. If I run into that jerk, it’ll be the worse for him.” The image of the middle-aged nurse clopping an intruder dispelled some of Casey’s tension. “And I’ll make sure you get the sleep you need.”
For a flicker of an instant, Casey allowed herself to imagine how comforting it would feel to have someone watching over her. It wasn’t Gail who came to mind, however, but Jack.
Why isn’t my own husband here when I need him?
Resolutely, she yanked herself out of incipient self-pity. She owned the property. If anyone ought to take responsibility for the tenants’ safety, it was Casey. Her parents had taught her never to pass the buck, and she didn’t intend to start now.
“I’ve got my own baseball bat,” she said. “I’ll handle him, Gail.”
“Now wait a minute! What if he’s armed?”
She would have to mention that. “I’m just going to take a look around. At least we could settle once and for all whether it’s Dean.” Although she’d never met the man, she had Gail’s description of him as balding and in his sixties.
“Think about the baby. You can’t take any risks with her!”
“She’d be proud of her mom. Don’t worry, Gail. I’ll be careful.”
Despite the fact that she’d taken self-defense classes while living in Los Angeles, Casey had no illusions about her own invincibility. But the situation brought home the fact that she was going to be raising a daughter by herself. Suppose this creep lived around here and got the idea that he could make Casey and her tenants—who included several retired people—cower in fear.
Not on her watch.
Okay, so she had sometimes acted on impulse. Like marrying Jack two months after she’d met him. And sleeping with him eight months ago when she went back to L.A. to hammer out the details of their divorce, resulting in a pregnancy that she hadn’t told her husband about and hoped she wouldn’t have to.
Sometimes her lack of foresight got her into hot water, Casey conceded. But this trespasser made her mad. And the last time she’d called the police, it had taken them forty-five minutes to show up.
The only problem, she realized, was that some gardening tools that might serve as weapons lay tucked in the storage shed behind the carport. They could only be accessed by going outside.
Why not take her camera? In the darkness, its flash might ferret out a suspect she couldn’t see and it would certainly provide a means of identifying him. She wouldn’t need to attack anyone or even get close.
Jack would hate the idea. If he were here, he’d warn her, as Gail had, that the man might be armed. But this wasn’t L.A.; it was Richfield Crossing, a town of around five thousand people where crime consisted mostly of fistfights outside the Whiskey Flats pool hall. Most likely the prowler would turn out to be a mixed-up teenager or a transient looking for food.
Casey threw on a sweater against the April coolness and retrieved her digital camera along with a flashlight. She also took a key and locked the door, although normally she left it open.
On the porch, as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she breathed in the perfume of blooms mingled with the scent of newly plowed fields a short distance away. A cool, moist breeze reminded her of last night’s fast-moving rainstorm.
Casey’s heart swelled with love for this place. Six years ago, she and her best friend, Sandra Rawlins, had moved west, full of dreams and fantasies. It had taken many changes and the breakup of her marriage to make Casey realize that Tennessee was where she belonged. More than ever, she appreciated the fact that her parents had bought this property, the Pine Woods Court, for their retirement. She just wished they’d had more time to enjoy it.
Still, if only Jack had agreed to have a family together, she’d have stayed in L.A. with him. The more she’d pleaded, however, the more he’d withdrawn, until nothing remained between them but a strained civility. That, and the white-hot passion that had flamed at their last meeting.
Casey didn’t regret what she’d done, because she loved her daughter even before birth. And she felt glad that at least she had a beautiful place to come home to, where Diane could grow up surrounded by old friends and lots of open space.
Unfortunately, right now that space had been compromised by someone who was obviously no friend. Someone about to be captured for posterity in all his digital ugliness.
As her vision adjusted, nearby dogwood trees came into focus, their pink blossoms appearing white in the dimness. Eager to catch the culprit before he escaped, Casey descended the steps in her rubber-soled shoes.
The four cabins, former motel units that her parents had remodeled into rentals, lay scattered about the wooded property behind the main house. To reach Gail’s place, she followed a footpath along rising ground, leaving her flashlight off to avoid attracting attention.
As she walked, the muscles of her abdomen, perpetually sore these days, tugged from the weight of the baby. Ignoring them, Casey listened for the crack of a twig or the brush of leaves.
She was nearing Gail’s place when she heard a creaking ahead, like that of a wheelbarrow or perhaps the hose storage reel. The trespasser might have bumped into something, or perhaps a raccoon was poking around with its dexterous little hands. The creatures abounded in the woods, along with possums, squirrels and deer.
“Gail?” Casey risked calling out, since she didn’t want the tenant to attack her by mistake. “Is that you?”
No answer.
When she emerged from the tree-lined path, the illumination seeping through the cabin windows intensified the surrounding darkness. Now Casey remembered what else she should have brought—her cell phone—although the darn thing didn’t always work up here, anyway.
She heard another squeak behind the cabin. Treading lightly, she angled closer.
In the shadows, a dark figure moved. Holding her breath, Casey lifted her camera and pushed the button.
As the flash ignited, a blast of icy water caught her full in the face. She staggered backward, dropping the camera and fighting a losing battle for balance. Her arms flailed as she tumbled, out of control.
Fear for the baby’s safety stabbed through Casey, followed by the jolt of her rear end hitting the ground. Ahead, scurrying noises marked the prowler’s flight into the woods.
He’d escaped. This time, he’d physically assaulted her and put her pregnancy at risk.
Although she’d avoided any real harm, hot fury dispelled Casey’s shivers. She was going