be there in ten minutes, the cab company promised. It would make her a few minutes late for her meeting with Ken Calvert, she realized, but it couldn’t be helped. Meanwhile, it gave her time to pack the bag in her car for the trip home.
She was halfway down to the garage when she realized she hadn’t called the nanny back.
Jim Mercer answered on the first ring, his voice tight with tension. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said quickly, surprised by his tone.
“You were in the garage a long time. Longer than five minutes.”
“I got busy. I packed a few things I’m going to need at the farm and I had to call a cab.” She felt guilty, which was ridiculous. The man was her nanny, not her keeper. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? “I think you may be right. That truck was probably just headed to town like I was.”
“I’d still feel better if you stayed on the phone until you reach the memorial.”
“I’d feel better if you were concentrating on Katie.”
“She’s right here,” Jim said. “We ate while we were waiting for your call. Now she’s half-asleep in her high chair.”
“Did she make a mess with her food?”
“No more than the average two-year-old. I’ll clean her up before I put her to bed.”
Lacey felt a quiver of envy. Most of the time, she felt completely out of her element with Katie, but the one thing both of them enjoyed was that brief time between dinner and bedtime, when Katie was drowsy and at her sweetest. She loved bedtime stories, and Lacey loved telling them. They’d cuddle in the rocking chair in Katie’s pretty yellow nursery while Lacey spun the familiar old tales of princesses and evil queens, wicked wolves and hapless pigs, evil old crones and two hungry children lost in the woods.
“Give her a kiss for me.” She reached the elevator to the garage. “I’m about to lose my connection again. I’m heading to the garage to put my bag in the car so I don’t forget it.”
“I’ll get Katie cleaned up and in bed while I’m waiting for your call back.” Jim’s voice was firm.
“I think we need to have a talk about who’s the boss and who’s the nanny,” she muttered.
“You were attacked a couple of days ago, and now you think you’re being followed by the same blue truck that followed you that day. On top of what happened to your sister—” Jim’s voice cut off abruptly. “I’m sorry.”
“You said the guy who attacked me drove off in a van.”
“He was the passenger in the van. But when he attacked, he came from the opposite direction, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe he had the blue truck parked nearby.”
As much as she wanted to talk herself into believing she was letting her imagination run away with her, Jim had a point. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you back. All right? But I’ve got to go down to the parking garage now, or I’ll miss my cab.” She hung up the phone and shoved it into her pocket.
A woman exited the elevator when it opened. She looked up in surprise at Lacey, her expression shifting in the now-familiar pattern of recognition, dismay and pity. The woman smiled warily at Lacey as they passed each other, and for a moment Lacey feared her neighbor was going to express some sort of awkwardly worded sympathy, but the elevator door closed before either of them could speak, and she relaxed back against the wall of the lift, glad to have dodged another in a long line of uncomfortable moments.
Nobody knew how to express condolences for Lacey’s bereavement. Lacey herself would have been at a loss for the right words. How do you say I’m sorry your sister was murdered in your place without making everything a whole lot worse?
She stashed her suitcase in the trunk of her sister’s Impala and took the elevator back to the lobby to wait for the cab to arrive. As promised, she dialed her home number. Jim answered immediately, his voice slightly muffled by a soft swishing sound Lacey couldn’t quite make out. “Thanks for calling me back. I know you think I’m overstepping my bounds.”
Surprised by his apology, she bit back a smile. “I know you’re just concerned for my safety.”
“But you’re a smart, resourceful woman who’s made her way through war zones. I know you know how to take care of yourself.” A touch of humor tinted his voice. “I mean, I saw you with that tire iron the other day.”
She released a huff of laughter, some of her tension dispelling. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to have someone out there watching your back, right? Even if it’s over the phone.”
“When’s the cab supposed to arrive?”
She glanced at her watch. “Should be anytime now. How’s Katie?”
“I got about three pages into Goodnight Moon before she fell asleep. I’m just washing up from dinner now.”
That explained the swishing sound. It was the water running in the sink. “You know, we have a dishwasher.”
“I know. But when I’m worried, I like to keep my hands busy.”
“I thought you knew you didn’t have to worry about me.” She looked up as lights flashed across the lobby glass. Probably her cab arriving.
“Knowing you can take care of yourself is not the same thing as not worrying about your safety,” he murmured in a low, raspy tone that sent a ripple of animal awareness darting up her spine. It had been a while since anyone outside of Marianne had really worried about her safety, she realized. Her bosses at the network wouldn’t have been happy for her to be killed on assignment, of course, but she knew it was more about liability and the loss of a company asset than about her as a person.
Maybe Jim’s concern for her was more about not wanting to lose his new job almost as soon as he’d gotten started. But something in his voice suggested his worry for her was more personal than pragmatic.
And while her head said there was something not quite right about his instant preoccupation with the danger she was in, she couldn’t quell the sense of relief she felt knowing there was someone who cared if she lived or died, whatever his motivation might be.
The lights she’d seen moved closer, and she reached to open the lobby door as they slowed in front of the building.
Until she realized the lights belonged to a familiar blue pickup truck.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
She must have made some sort of noise, for Jim’s voice rose on the other end of the line. “What’s happening?”
“The blue pickup truck is in front of my building,” she answered, slowly retreating from the door until her back flattened against the wall.
“Is it stopping?”
The pickup slowed almost to a halt, then began to move again, moving out of sight. Lacey released a soft hiss of breath. “No. It almost did, then it drove on.”
“Lacey, you can’t go meet your friend out there tonight. You need to get in your car and come home.” Jim’s tone rang with authority, reminding her that he’d spent a lot of years in the Marine Corps. She could almost picture him in fatigues, his hair cut high and tight, his voice barking instructions in the same “don’t mess with me” tone he was using now. “Call him and cancel.”
She wanted to argue, but he was right. Whatever Ken Calvert wanted to tell her could wait for another night. “Okay. I’ll call him right now. I’ll call you back when I’m on the road.”
She hung up and dialed the cab company first, canceling the cab. “I have an account,” she told the dispatcher when he balked at canceling the cab when it was nearly to her apartment. “Bill me for it.”
Then