Vicki Hinze - Survive the Night

“What’s Maggie got to do with this?”

“I’ve protected her since we were kids. I’ve had to. But something happened last year that proved beyond any doubt, when you’re dealing with monsters capable of this kind of evil, one man’s protection isn’t enough. We need help.”

Tension crackled off her like hot live wires. “We’re not going to any of them,” she insisted, then fell silent.

“All right. You’ve got a point. The OSI would consider you a security risk, and probably would work to yank your license and carry permit until you proved you weren’t. But the blood on that knife tested human. Whose blood is it? And this stalker was in your home. He isn’t some amateur. He’s a serious stalker who could be anybody.”

“It has to be Dawson. He used the same words in the note.”

“Dawson is a mental patient. He could have told anyone, dozens already know it, and this stalker could be a copycat or someone who’s read about Dawson in the paper.” Paul winced. At the moment, he would give everything he had—his money, his ranch, even his horses and his beloved rottweiler, Jake—to not have to dispute her. “The fact is, we don’t yet know the stalker’s identity. This incident could be unrelated to Dawson. It could be related to me. I make a lot of enemies at Vet Net. It could be someone trying to get to me through you.”

“Doubtful. You help people reintegrate into civilian life after their military service, rebuild their families and find jobs. Okay, so some get irritated because you’re persistent, pushing for veteran’s rights, but they’re not the kind of people to inflict physical harm.”

“Not always true.” He let her see his worry. “You remember the Gary Crawford case?”

“The notorious serial killer. Sure, everyone not living under a rock knows about him.”

“Maggie was nearly his victim. The Utah incident last year—that was him, and he got away. It’s possible he’s your stalker.”

“Why would he come after me?”

“Because you’re important to me.” Paul clasped her hand. “Della, we can’t discount him. He left notes with his victims that he signed Baby Killer.”

* * *

Shock pumped through Della’s body. “Maggie was profiling Gary Crawford’s case?” She’d been an FBI agent, but she wasn’t anymore.

“Yes.”

“But she’s an artist now.” With her off the case he had no reason to hunt down Maggie, much less her brother, and even less reason to come after her brother’s friend. “No, it’s Dawson. He assaulted me. He bombed my mailbox and killed...”

Paul spared her having to say her son’s name. “Are you a hundred percent positive that you weren’t Leo Dawson’s intended victim?”

She lifted her hands. “I’d been in Afghanistan for months.”

“Did he know that?”

Della opened her mouth to answer but stopped short. Had he known? After a stream of home invasions, robberies and property thefts, the military kept specific deployment dates and names quiet to avoid making victims of those left at home. They even ordered soldiers to have their addresses removed from phone books. Dawson could have assumed the assault had kept her from being deployed. He could have believed she was at home and she would open the mailbox. “I don’t know.”

“So you could have been the intended victim?”

“Maybe.” It actually made more sense. Why would someone bomb a mailbox claiming to be protecting a child or use the “baby killer” slur to harm a child? More guilt layered on inside her. Dawson must have thought she was at home and she would be his victim. Oh, Danny. Mommy is so sorry. She crossed her chest with her arms to hold in the hurt. “Dawson likely did mean to kill me—” her voice cracked “—and my poor baby just got in the way.”

Paul clasped her shoulder. “I don’t know, Della. All I’m saying is that we both have enemies. Everyone in North Bay considers us a couple no matter how many times we tell them we’re not, so we shouldn’t just assume Dawson is your stalker. The reason for this could be tied to me.” The expression on Paul’s face sobered. “I hope not. But it’s possible, and the FBI or the local police could know something we don’t.”

What Paul hadn’t said was as significant as what he had. “You didn’t notify the OSI then—when you and Maggie were attacked?”

“Maggie was the target. I was collateral damage, so no. There was no reason to contact them. But that’s beside the point. I couldn’t protect her alone and—”

“This is why you don’t date much,” Delia interrupted.

The topic shift seemed to surprise him. “I see who I want when I want.”

“But you don’t date because you don’t want to put anyone else in jeopardy.” Finally their relationship made sense. He spent time with Della because they weren’t dating. She was safe.

Except that, while their relationship had started out that way, now everyone thought they were dating no matter what they said.

So why hadn’t he stopped spending so much time with her?

She’d have to think about that. Right now she just wished the idea of them being more than friends didn’t thrill her or make her heart flutter and her breath hitch. But it did, and that terrified her.

“Look, all I’m saying is we need help. This is complicated. Until we can prove who the stalker is, we need to keep an open mind. He could be anyone.”

“I hear you, but I have to say that this is too much like Dawson for me to really believe it’s anyone else.”

Paul lifted her hands, pressed them to his cheek. “And I can’t dismiss that Gary Crawford could have found out what happened to Danny and is using it to get to me through you. I survived his attack, and he hates loose ends.” Fear flashed through Paul’s eyes. “I’m afraid—”

“He’ll kill me to hurt you,” she interjected. “I understand.” She slid off the porch step, stood up and then moved away from him so she could think beyond the feel of his work-roughened hands on her face. “Did your guy stalk his victims?”

“Yes.” Paul leaned forward, spread his feet and laced his fingers at his knees. “And he’s very good.” He looked up at her. “Whoever sent this package—Dawson, Crawford, some crazy copycat—he’s dangerous and smart. We need help to stop him before he hurts you.”

“I’m not opposed to help. I am opposed to going through normal channels for it.” Her chest went tight. “You have to understand, Paul.” It took all she had to meet his gaze. “I’ve got so little left. Going through normal channels, I could lose it all and gain nothing.”

Anguish crossed his face. “But, Della—”

“No. We need help. I get it. But we’re going to get it my way.” She took his phone and keyed in her boss’s number. “I hate my way, but things are what they are. I have no choice.”

He dragged a frustrated hand through his wind-tossed hair. “What is it you hate—exactly?”

“Bringing my dirty laundry to work.” Della stared into his eyes, motioning for him to scoot over on the step and make room for her. “Madison, it’s Della.” She sat down beside him. Sounds of the party flooded in the background. “Can you hear me?”

“Barely. The diehards are still going strong here, as you can tell.” Madison laughed, soft and melodic. “Let me get somewhere quiet. Just a sec.” A brief pause and then she returned. The background noise faded. “What’s up?”

No sense in sugarcoating it. “I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“Can we handle it, or should I summon the troops?”

Paul apparently could hear every word. “Tell her to summon the troops. If this is Crawford, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”