Sharon Sala - Cold Hearts

Bobo scratched at the door, and Reece opened it just enough for the little terrier to squeeze in, then locked it behind him, tossed the bottle in the trash, burped, farted and went to get dressed. He thought about logging on to the computer and checking the NASDAQ or maybe seeing how his international investments were doing but changed his mind. He didn’t want to keep the little lady waiting.

* * *

It was just after midnight, and Lissa still couldn’t sleep. Her heart was so heavy that even taking a deep breath seemed impossible. The weight of her guilt was more than she could bear.

And she kept thinking about Mack.

He would come home, if he wasn’t already here. Sometime she would have to face him, if for no other reason than to get her car before she could get rid of it. Their lives had been so intertwined and then shattered in a way she would never have expected. Now, knowing she would most likely see him again as the owner of the instrument of his father’s death seemed the height of all irony.

She gave up trying to sleep and sat in the dark with the TV remote in her hand, watching a sci-fi classic with the sound on mute.

Even after she began hearing footsteps on the porch, she was so numb she didn’t react. If it was the stalker who’d been bothering her, she was going to pretend she wasn’t home.

But then she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock and threw back the covers. Her heart was pounding as she moved barefoot through the house. Surely this wasn’t a real visitor—not at this time of night. It had to be her stalker! Didn’t he know what had happened? Wasn’t there a rule in the universe that if one really bad thing was happening to you, then you were no longer fair game for anything else? If there wasn’t, there should be.

The house was bathed in shadows of varying shades of darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlights showing through the blinds. When she got to the living room she peeked out, but there was no one in sight. She turned on the porch light and peered through the small window in the door, but the yard was empty. Hesitantly, she turned the dead bolt and then opened the door.

Still focused on looking for some one , she stared intently into the shadows beyond the yard before she happened to look down. Breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw a stream of blood seeping out from under the overturned rattrap. When she realized the feet of the dead rat were still twitching, the world tilted. She began to scream and was still screaming when she slammed the door and ran for the phone.

* * *

When Mack left Mystic, he drove straight back to Summerton and holed up at his home. He’d spent years remodeling the old two-story house into the showpiece it was now, and it represented everything he loved about architecture.

The interior was also a reflection of the things that made him comfortable: oversize sofas with accents of dark wood and rich oxblood leather upholstery, heavy damask draperies hanging floor to ceiling. He had a king-size bed, large walk-in closets and wide plank hardwood flooring in a warm walnut stain.

It was not only a source of great pride that it was his, but he’d come back to it because it was his safe place to fall. Only, once he got here, nothing had changed. There was nowhere to go to get away from the fact that his father was dead. The last time he’d felt this sad and empty was the day he’d found out Melissa had aborted their child. And knowing he would have to see her again at some time during this nightmare didn’t make him feel any better. He had lost all faith in women after that day. But he knew his heart and, while she’d shattered it completely, after the years in which they’d loved without boundaries, she was still under his skin.

Now that he was home, he changed clothes, brought in the mail and began going through some phone messages regarding work before he dug through the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he felt empty and it was all he could think to do to fill up the space.

When he began looking at his options, his stomach turned. There was a refrigerator full of food at his dad’s house, but he didn’t want any of that, either. He wound up eating a piece of leftover cake and emptying the entire pot of coffee he’d made.

As time continued to pass, the urge to stay here was overwhelming, but the last thing he could do for his dad was stay strong and see this through. So he cleaned up the mess he’d made, locked up the house and headed back.

It was past midnight when he drove into Mystic. The sky was overcast, and the moon that had been high in the sky hours earlier was hidden somewhere behind gathering clouds. He was wondering if Chief Jakes had been in contact yet with the people who serviced the lift down at the garage when he braked suddenly for a cop car. It went flying through an intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

Someone was in trouble.

He started to accelerate through the intersection when another police car appeared at the far end of the street and took a sharp left, obviously heading to the same location. He frowned. It wasn’t his practice to be a siren chaser, but since this was where he’d grown up and he knew almost everyone in town, he turned and followed the disappearing lights.

Five

Lissa was standing in her living room in the dark with her arms wrapped around her waist, still struggling with the urge to scream. Her bare feet were cold on the hardwood floors, her eyes wide and fixed on the front door. She had locked onto the faint sound of approaching sirens as if they were her lifeline, and when the lights from the first cop car appeared in the driveway and swept across the wall behind her, her knees buckled.

They were here. Thank God, thank God. She was no longer alone. Without hesitation, she stumbled to the front door and then opened it wide.

* * *

The two police cruisers arrived at the house within seconds of each other just as Mack turned the corner at the far end of the block. He watched the officers emerge from the patrol cars and immediately recognized the Doyle brothers. Now he was even more curious as to what was going on.

When it dawned on him that they were at the old Sherman house and he remembered Melissa was living there again, he tapped the brakes, slowing even more. Then he saw the front door open, and when he saw the blonde with a familiar tangle of curls appear in the doorway, he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He thought about driving away—letting her business be hers—but something held him here, so he stopped in the middle of the street to watch.

The officers were all the way up on the porch by the time Mack noticed the porch light highlighting the terror on her face. He would never be able to drive away without finding out what was wrong, so he shifted the car into Park and headed for her house.

* * *

Lonnie Doyle arrived in his patrol car only seconds ahead of his brother Carl and was all the way up on the porch before he saw what was on her doorstep. He stopped, startled by the sight.

“What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Carl asked, as he came up the steps behind his brother. When he saw the rat beneath that overturned trap, the first thing he thought of was Paul Jackson beneath that lift. Some sick son of a bitch was messing with her big-time.

“Someone was just here,” Lissa sobbed. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s been harassing me for weeks, and tonight he left this.”

Mack was walking toward the house, pulled toward her presence like a moth to the flame, when he heard the words and the fear in her voice. He was shocked that a stalker was at work in Mystic. And then he reminded himself there was already an open murder investigation and the possibility that his father’s death might somehow be connected. A stalker only added to his disillusionment. He didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again, but the look of pure terror on her face wasn’t okay. He didn’t see the rat until he was on the steps, and then he almost stumbled. The reference was impossible to miss. Who the hell would do something this cold?