Paula Graves - Operation Nanny

“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 she phoned Ken Calvert on her way back to the elevators. After four rings, his voice mail picked up.

“Ken, it’s Lacey. I can’t make it tonight. Call me tomorrow and we’ll reschedule.” She hung up the phone and entered the elevator, trying to calm her rattling nerves.

The walk from the elevator to the Impala was a nightmare, as she found herself spooked by the normal noises of cooling engines and the muted traffic sounds from outside the garage. She didn’t start to relax until she was safely back on the road out of town.

Settling her phone in the hands-free cradle, she called Jim. “I’m on my way home.”

“Stay on the line,” he said.

“I’m feeling like an idiot right about now,” she admitted. “Jumping at shadows.”

“You’re being safe,” he corrected her firmly. “It’s not like the danger isn’t real, right?”

“Can we talk about something else?” she asked, trying to control a sudden case of the shivers. She turned the heat up to high, wishing she’d donned one of the heavy coats she’d packed before she got behind the wheel of the car.

“Sure. I could read to you. After all, I know where to find a copy of Goodnight Moon.”

“That’ll put me to sleep.” She didn’t know if it was the blast of heat coming from the vents or Jim Mercer’s warm, comforting voice doing the job, but the shivers had already begun to subside. In their place, a creeping lethargy was starting to take hold, making her limbs feel heavy. “Don’t you have any salty tales from your time in the military? Tell me one.”

He told her several, with the seductive cadence and natural delivery of a born storyteller. Katie was going to love him, Lacey thought. Her little niece was a sucker for a well-told story.

The drive home seemed to pass in no time, unmarred by any further sightings of the blue pickup. As she drove through the tiny town of Cherry Grove, the snow that had been threatening all day finally started to fall, first in a mixture with tiny pebbles of sleet, then as fat, wet clumps as she turned into the long driveway to the farmhouse. “I’m here,” she said into the phone.

“I know. See you in a minute.” Jim hung up the phone.

The outside lights were on, casting brightness across the gravel drive. The front door opened as she walked around to the Impala’s trunk to retrieve her suitcase. By the time she hauled it out, Jim Mercer stood beside her, tall and broad shouldered, a wall of heat in the frigid night air.

He took the suitcase from her numb fingers. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered, almost believing it.

He followed her inside, waiting next to her while she engaged the dead bolt on the front door. “I heated up the potpie. I thought you might be hungry.”