Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 109

She managed to pick up the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"He's free," warned the same low, raspy voice she'd heard before.

Eve sucked in a strangled breath. "Who is this?"

No answer. But he was still on the line. She knew it. Could feel him.

"Listen," she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice, "who-ever you are, I know that he's free, okay? So you can quit calling me!"

"Heeee'ssss freeeeeee..." The caller's voice was so low, so ophidian a hiss, she barely heard it.

Click.

The phone went dead.

"Son of a-" she whispered, pus.h.i.+ng her hair out of her face and trying to calm down. Who the h.e.l.l was hara.s.sing her? Phoning her in the middle of the night now, for G.o.d's sake. She stared at the face of her phone, silently praying for a number or name. Of course the call was restricted, and no combination of punching numbers and reading screens and scrolling down menus gave her a clue as to the caller's ident.i.ty. Whoever the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was, he wanted to remain anonymous while scaring the tar out of her.

Turning out the light, she flopped against the headboard and glanced at her alarm clock where the time was illuminated in glowing red numbers.

Two thirty-six.

Who the h.e.l.l in his right mind would be calling at...Her own question taunted her. That was the problem. There was no "right mind" about it. Whoever was doing this had one serious screw loose. Probably two or three.

"h.e.l.l."

She lay in the dark, waiting for her pulse to slow. Who was he? Where was he calling from? Why did he feel the need to tell her that Cole was a free man? It was all over the news. And these calls weren't friendly warnings. No, these were sinister. Evil. Meant to intimidate.

Someone's trying to terrorize you.

"And doing a d.a.m.ned good job of it," she admitted as the cat hopped back onto the bed and curled up against her. She petted him absently, glad that she was forgiven.

Why would anyone- Rap! Rap! Rap!

Her heart nearly stopped. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Someone was knocking on the door! Samson lifted his head and stared at the closed door to the bedroom.

Eve hardly dared breathe, but the knocking downstairs continued, a pounding that sounded as if it were coming from the back door. She thought of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd just called. Maybe he was checking to see if she were home.

But no one knew she was here!

"Don't freak out," she whispered but was already in a near panic. She thought about calling the police but discarded the idea...for now. This was her neighborhood, not some deserted bayou.

Don't think about the night Roy was killed.

Stay calm.... Be rational....

Without turning on a light, she threw on her robe and hurried to the room her grandfather had used as a den, an extra bedroom on the second floor that, twenty years after his death, still held some of his possessions: pictures of him and his wife, his medical degrees, his favorite old recliner, and his revolver. Thin light from the nearest streetlamp gave her enough illumination to find the gun in the bottom drawer of his desk. The gun wasn't loaded, and there were no bullets anywhere in the house that she knew of, but she would carry the weapon, along with her cell phone, downstairs just the same.

If she encountered an intruder, he wouldn't know that the revolver was useless.

Think, she told herself as she eased down the stairs, her eyes accustomed to the darkness. She'd walked down these hallways in the dark hundreds of times as a child and did so now rather than throwing her silhouette in relief and making herself an easy target by turning on a light.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Whoever it was, was banging hard enough on the back door to rattle the window set into the thick oak panels. Certainly no sneak thief would want to call attention to himself. But a crazy person, one hopped up on drugs, someone desperate, just might.

Her fingers tightened over the revolver's handle as she headed down the long hallway separating the parlor from the dining room, past the bath to the kitchen. Her heart was beating crazily, anxiety firing her blood.

Don't panic, she told herself, but as she stepped into the mudroom, where she could see through the window cut into the back door, she spied a man on the porch-a tall man, his face hidden in darkness. A little cry escaped her taut throat.

"Who's there?" she demanded in a strained voice, her fingers gripped around the b.u.t.t of the gun, her pulse pounding. She aimed the revolver at the window as if she intended to shoot then flipped on the switch for the porch light with her free hand.

The lamp lit weakly, the dim bulb casting the porch in a watery blue light that only seemed to accentuate the shadows as it flickered, threatening to die and leave the stoop in total darkness.

Nonetheless she recognized the man on the other side of the door.

Cole Dennis, big as life, stood on her porch.

CHAPTER 9.

Eve didn't flinch.

She aimed the gun squarely at his chest. As if she intended to blow him and his black heart away.

Cole took one look at her through the gla.s.s and froze. Slowly he lifted his arms until both his palms were in the air, his fingers spread wide. "Eve, it's me!" he shouted through the door.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want?" she asked, hating how scared she sounded.

"I didn't know you were here."

"Then why were you pounding on the door in the middle of the d.a.m.ned night?" She was furious with him, her heart rattling, her mind screaming at her to call the police. Remember what he did to you! Remember looking through another window, at Roy's cabin, and seeing the gun go off! He was aiming at you, Eve. YOU. He intended to kill you! Remember what he did to you! Remember looking through another window, at Roy's cabin, and seeing the gun go off! He was aiming at you, Eve. YOU. He intended to kill you!

A light went on in the neighbor's upstairs window.

d.a.m.n, they were causing a scene. The last thing she needed was the whole neighborhood privy to her personal life. She'd had enough scandal to last her a lifetime.

But this was Cole Cole.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

A second light shone in Mrs. Endicott's house, and Eve swore under her breath. If she didn't want the police and everyone on the block to know what was going on, she'd have to let him inside.

Reluctantly she unlocked the door and let it swing open, leaving the thin barrier of the screen door between them. "You can stop shouting. Say what you need to say, then leave."

Cole lowered his voice. "I didn't know you were here when I came by. I just got out of-"

"I know about that. It's all over the news."

"-but I saw your car."

"So you decided to wake me up at two-d.a.m.ned-thirty in the morning?" she mocked, trying to whisper. What the h.e.l.l was he doing here? Nothing good. Nothing good.

He hesitated, his hands lowered a bit, and he nodded.

"Why?"

"I think you'd better let me inside."

"No way." She was shaking her head violently, the short strands brus.h.i.+ng the back of her neck.

"Eve, please. This is serious."

"You bet it is!" Trembling inside, her emotions nearly strangling her, she couldn't help staring at him. Three months earlier, she'd seen him aim a gun at her, viewed it with her own eyes. Witnessed the blast. Felt the bullet. Suffered the aftereffects.

He lowered his voice even more. "No, I mean it. I need to talk to you."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned if you'll set one foot inside my house. It's over, Cole. Got it? Over!" She felt in the pocket of her robe with her left hand, found her cell phone, and held it up, all the while training her grandfather's handgun on his chest. Good Lord, she'd been a fool to love this man so fervently. How blind she'd been. "I'm calling the police."

"Great." He frowned, his lips twisting in that familiar thin line of frustration she'd witnessed dozens of times. He muttered something to himself then said, "Go ahead."

"You don't think I will? You think I'm bluffing?" She began pressing b.u.t.tons with her thumb and watched as he scowled into the night.

"I don't think you know what you're doing."

"Nice, Cole. Way to score points."

"It beats pointing a gun."

"You should know!"

"d.a.m.n it, Eve. I didn't come over here just to kill time!" He stepped closer to the door. Through the mesh, in the weak light, she noticed how tired he looked, how the crow's-feet around his eyes were etched deeply into his skin, how his jaw was dark with a day's growth of beard. "Hear me out."

"So you can lie to me again? So you can kill me?"

"I never tried to harm you," he insisted angrily, his gaze finding hers in the darkness. Blue eyes so serious, so sincere, she wanted to cry out, to trust him. But she didn't dare. Couldn't trust herself. "I never never put your life in jeopardy." put your life in jeopardy."

"Liar!"

"You know it, Eve. Deep in your heart, you know I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I saw you, Cole."

"No." He held one hand lower, palm flat as if to stop the tirade he sensed was coming. "You think think you saw me. But you're not sure. That's why you couldn't testify. Your memory's messed up." you saw me. But you're not sure. That's why you couldn't testify. Your memory's messed up."

"You were there," she insisted, trying to convince herself. Hadn't this been the problem all along, that she hadn't believed what her eyes, or trusted what her d.a.m.ned faulty memory, had told her had to have happened? And the ADA had known it. Yolinda Johnson had said as much. "I know know what I saw." what I saw."

"Do you?"

She waggled the gun. "Don't try any of this BS with me. Got it? All your wow-the-judge-and-jury tactics don't work with me."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"The 'truth.'" She sighed and noticed another light in the neighbor's house switch on. d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l! No doubt Mrs. Endicott could hear the argument. "That's the problem, Cole. You're deluded. You wouldn't know the truth if it sat down to dinner with you."

"I'm not the one who's suffering from amnesia."

"That's right. Your Your memory is selective. You memory is selective. You choose choose to believe what you want to believe. I don't get that luxury. You know what's sick about this? You actually believe all the c.r.a.p you're peddling my way." to believe what you want to believe. I don't get that luxury. You know what's sick about this? You actually believe all the c.r.a.p you're peddling my way."

Some repressed emotion flashed in his eyes, and his lips flattened over his teeth. "Fine." He drew a breath deep into his lungs. "But I think you might want to know about your dad."

"My dad?"

"Terrence."

"I know who he is." Her composure cracked a little. She wanted to think that he was baiting her, but there was something in his serious expression that kept her from arguing. "What about him?" she asked, but as the words pa.s.sed her lips and he looked at her again, she caught a glimmer of something that squeezed her heart with dread.

"I think it would be better if I came inside."

She paused, her pulse drumming.

Could she trust Cole Dennis?

Not as far as she could throw him.

This was probably some kind of trick.

"We're fine this way."

"I'm serious, Eve."

"So am I."

"It's not good news." He hesitated as if he were trying to decide how to deliver the news.

Her insides turned to ice. He wasn't bluffing. Swallowing back a mounting sense of dread, she dropped her cell phone on the counter, unlocked the screen door, pulled it open, and stepped to one side. "Just don't tell me he's dead," she said.

"Eve..." His voice was unsteady.

Her mouth opened in horror. No. It was a trick! It had to be. A way to gain her sympathy. "II don't believe you."

But his face was white and stern. "I just came from there. I found him on the floor of his den. Someone killed him, Eve. Just like they killed Roy."

Her legs started to give way, and she backed up into the kitchen, where she leaned against the counter to avoid collapsing. He wouldn't lie about this, would he? Even Cole wouldn't stoop so low.