Jodie's Little Secrets Page 3

  “I agree,” she said, her voice strong and dead level now that she’d made up her mind to do what she had to in order to keep her boys safe. “The boys’ father does deserve to know the truth. That’s why I just told him.”

  His gaze fastened on hers, his eyes demanding. “Don’t play this kind of game with me, Jodie. I don’t understand it.”

  “Think about it, and you will. A chance meeting between old friends. Chinese takeout and champagne. A rainy night that stretched into seven.” The truth tore at her heart, shredding it into little pieces.

  “No, if you’d gotten pregnant by me, you would have called and told me. And you would never have married another man while you were carrying my children. I know you better than that.”

  “So you do.” She tilted her head to face him head-on. “There never was a husband, Ray. There was only you.” She watched as every muscle in his body hardened to the consistency of solid steel.

  His reaction didn’t surprise her at all. He’d made it plain from the beginning, a wife and kids were not part of his game plan. It wasn’t his fault her heart had refused to accept the truth. Or that the protection they’d used had failed.

  “When this is over, you can ride off into the sunset in your flashy sports car, and I’ll never try to stop you or ask anything of you. But right now Blair and Blake need you. And, whether you like it or not, you are the boys’ father.”

  Chapter Two

  No! No way in the world! The protest, silent but deafening, echoed in every corner of Ray’s brain. He wasn’t a father. He couldn’t be. Fathers were nurturing. They read bedtime stories, changed dirty diapers, shoveled green, slimy baby food into yelling mouths.

  Fathers were gentle, loving, caring. All of the things he wasn’t, the things he couldn’t be.

  “There must be some—” One look at Jodie and the challenge stopped in midsentence. Fear clouded her eyes and powdered her delicate skin with a chalky whiteness that tore at his heart. He reached a hand toward her, his own doubts crushed with a sudden and suffocating desire to cradle her trembling body in his arms. His arms encircled her waist and he pulled her against his chest.

  She stayed there less than a heartbeat before pushing away from him.

  “I know you’re afraid, Jodie, and I want to help you, but…” He trailed his fingers down her arm.

  “Sure you do. About as much as you want to be run over by an eighteen wheeler. But, let’s not make anything more of this than what it is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you can wipe the panic from your face and cut the patronizing routine. This is not some ploy to catch a husband. When this is over, my sons and I will fly back to New York and you can run back to your life of Porsches and parties, and—”

  She tossed her head back, swinging her shiny red mane into a tangle of curls that resettled reluctantly about her face and shoulders. “And whatever else it is that you do in New Orleans.”

  “I’d say what I do is my business.”

  “And it can stay that way. I don’t give a damn about your choice of entertainment or your conquests. But like it or not, you are a father, and right now, your sons need you.”

  His sons. There it was again. But the accusation was only words, and saying them didn’t make them true. Jodie was running scared, steeped in fear as thick and tangible as the worn Persian rug beneath their feet She might claim anything to get protection for her boys. He didn’t blame her a bit.

  A shudder of relief coursed his body. That was it, of course. She was making up the whole paternity issue out of desperation. His brain reveled in the solution his frantic reasoning offered. Fatherhood was inconceivable. Defending beautiful women he could handle. Hell, he’d practically made a career of it.

  “Why don’t we step into the living room?” he offered, taking her arm. “That way you can fill me in on the details about your stalker.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take the boys and keep them safe?”

  “It means I’ll do what I can to keep all of you safe. Me and the police and half the parish if need be. You’re in Natchitoches now, not the Big Bad Apple. Killers don’t wander around the streets unnoticed. The truth is, nobody wanders around here after 7:00 p.m.”

  “A new criminal in town might not know that.”

  “He’ll turn into a believer if he shows up here.”

  “Will he, Ray? I guess we’ll find out soon enough. He’s either here now or on his way. The flowers are proof of that.”

  With an arm around her shoulders, Ray led her to a Victorian sofa made for delicate ladies half his size. He eased down beside her, his long legs fitting awkwardly in front of the low-slung coffee table. Careful not to topple the collection of crystal pieces that glared at him threateningly, he scooted the curved cherry legs of the table back a couple of inches, catching a crocheted doily on the edge of his watch.

  Jodie unhooked the fragile threads with shaking fingers, and once again he felt the overpowering urge to hold her close. He grabbed her hand and encased it in his. It was cold as ice.

  “This man really has you spooked.”

  “A man. Only a man,” she said, her eyes cast downward. “I keep telling myself that, but in my heart I know he’s a monster.”

  “He’s a man.” The assurance sounded good, but Ray wasn’t sure he believed that himself now. Not after seeing Jodie like this. He struggled to assimilate the fear in her eyes with the images of her that lived in his mind.

  Jodie in faded cutoffs, shimmying up the highest oak in Miss Emily’s yard and dangling from a half-dead branch to save a wild-haired tomcat. Jodie in her first year of college, taking on the dean and finally the governor to right the injustices of campus housing policies.

  Pain stabbed him in the gut as his mind considered the possibilities of just what it had taken to reduce her to this state of desperation. “Has this man touched you, Jodie? If he’s laid a hand on you…”

  “He’s never touched me. He left packages and letters. I found them outside the door of my apartment or on my desk in the advertising firm where I worked.”

  “But he has been in your apartment in New York?”

  “Yes, but only once while I was there. That night he picked up Blake and moved him into the crib with Blair. He left a note, a promise that he would return.”

  Ray felt the involuntary tightening of his muscles, and his hands knotted into fists. “The guy’s a sicko.”

  “Exactly. And for some reason he’s picked me to be the receiver of his morbid attentions.”

  “No wonder you were so afraid of him. It’s just a damn shame a guy like that could get by with forcing you to give up a job you loved and make you run the length of the country to escape him.”

  “To try to escape him. Apparently I failed.” Resignation tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Not necessarily. Even though he hasn’t identified himself, there’s a good chance you know him, at least casually, or he knows someone you know. Either way he could have heard that you have a grandmother who lives in Natchitoches. He may have wired the flowers here on a hunch. Especially since Miss Emily is the only family you have.”

  “Then he’s as good at hunches as he is at terrorizing.”

  “It looks that way. But I still don’t think you need to panic. Wiring flowers from New York is a far cry from traveling a couple of thousand miles just to torment you for no good reason. There are millions of victims in New York he can switch his sick attentions to.”

  Jodie stiffened her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’ll lick this thing.”

  “I’m not your girl.” She yanked her hand from his. “I’m not anyone’s girl. I’m a woman. And believe me, Ray Kost-ner, I’ve heard enough empty reassurances. I’m only asking one thing of you.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Take the boys. I want them away from me entirely until th
is mess is over.”

  He swallowed, but the choking lump in his throat didn’t disappear. Getting involved with Jodie Gahagen again would mean breaking every promise he’d made to himself over the last two years. The woman was pure, unadulterated trouble to a man like him. And she was asking the impossible. But, she needed him, and he didn’t have a chance in hell of convincing his heart to walk away and leave her alone and frightened.

  “I’ll help you find the lunatic who’s stalking you. Count on it.”

  “That’s not good enough, Ray. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “I don’t want everything. I’ve given up on expecting that a long time ago. I’m only asking one thing of you now. Either do it or stay out of my life.” A lone tear escaped and slid down her pale cheek.

  Ray brushed it away, his finger lingering on her skin, his gaze locked with hers. “I can’t take the boys. I haven’t the slightest idea how to tend to kids. Even if they were mine—”

  “If they were yours?” Accusatory fire leapt to her eyes. “If they were yours, you’d deny them to keep your precious freedom intact. Old good-time Ray Kostner. Free and easy.” She met his gaze head-on, her lips drawn into thin, straight lines, the color returning to her face in shades of livid red.

  “Well, don’t worry, you’re off the hook. You’re right. They’re not yours, and they don’t need you.”

  “Take it easy, Jodie. I know you’re upset, but we need to look at this stalker issue rationally.”

  “We don’t need to do anything. The stalker is after me, and I don’t need or want your advice or your brand of help. The fact is you’ve done way more than enough for me already.” She stood up, her slim body hardened into fighter stance.

  “You’re taking this all wrong, Jodie.”

  “Forget it, Ray. Let yourself out. I’ll explain to Grams why you couldn’t stay.” The words sliced the air as she turned on her heel and strode away without a backward glance.

  JODIE PUSHED THE screen door open and slid through it, thankful the agonizing dinner for two was finally over and the kitchen was back in ship shape. Grams hadn’t bought for a second her feeble story about Ray’s suddenly remembering a previous engagement. She’d grilled Jodie like a piece of red meat.

  Who did he have to run off and meet so suddenly? Why didn’t he just telephone if he couldn’t make it to dinner instead of coming all the way over? Why didn’t he at least step into the kitchen and make his apologies to her? After all, she was the one who’d invited him for dinner.

  Jodie had stammered and hemhawed with answers. Lying was not her forte, although she was getting better at it since necessity had made it a way of life. And the first set of lies all traced back to a rainy night twenty-two months ago. Her heart constricted at the memories, poignant and bittersweet.

  She took a deep breath, consuming the scents of a southern fall. Damp leaves harboring fallen pecans, perfume from the clusters of blooming chrysanthemums that bordered the fence line. The wind picked up, shuffling the carpet of leaves and sending a cascade of new ones swirling to the ground.

  She stood still, suddenly cold and shaking. It was as if she could feel someone’s gaze crawling her body.

  “I thought you might be out here.”

  The scratchy male voice came from nowhere. In a split second, her hands wrapped about the only weapon in sight. Twirling, she raised the flowerpot over her head.

  “Sorry, Miss Jodie. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  A giant stepped from behind the hedge that bordered the house and sheltered the backyard from traffic on the street. Breath escaped her body in a surge, leaving her so lightheaded she leaned against the porch railing for support.

  “Gentle Ben,” she said, her voice quaking with relief.

  “It sure is me. And I’d hate to know who you were expectin’ to greet with that flowerpot.”

  “No one,” she lied. “Just my big-city reflexes in top form.” She sat the flowerpot back in its appointed spot and gave Ben a quick hug. Fifteen years of tending the yard and garden and keeping the fishing boat in good condition had elevated him to family status.

  He stood back and gave her an appraising look. “Well, if living in the big city makes you that jumpy, you need to move right on back down here with your grandmother.” He slid his hands into the pockets of a pair of new-looking overalls. “She pines away for you all the time. Worries about you, too. New York ain’t the place for a pretty southern girl like you.”

  “Thank you. For the pretty part,” she added, “but not the advice. Most of the time New York is the perfect spot for me.” Jodie attempted a reassuring smile. “Besides, you know you’re exaggerating, Ben. Grams is not the type to pine away.”

  “Maybe not, but she misses you just the same. We both do.”

  “From what I hear, you haven’t been around enough to miss me. When did you get back in town?”

  “Tonight I called Miss Emily to tell her I’d be at work in the morning. That’s when she said you were here. She said it would be all right if I dropped over to say howdy.”

  “Of course it’s all right. Is your son better?”

  “As good as he’s ever been. He wasn’t near as sick as he let on. He just had me up there waiting on him.”

  “He’s lucky to have a father who cares enough to come running when he needs you.”

  “Yeah. ‘Cept he don’t know that.” A dog’s barking interrupted him, a growl that dissolved into a mournful howl. Ben got up and walked to the edge of the porch, staring into the darkness. “Full moon tonight. It riles the animals. People, too. Makes ‘em restless and uneasy. Makes ‘em do things they oughtn’t.”

  Like send flowers, Jodie thought, wrapping her hands and arms about her body to ward off a sudden chill. Only some people didn’t need a full moon to cause their darker side to surface. “Does the moon affect your moods, Ben?” she asked, more to make conversation than anything else, to shift her thoughts from her own troubles.

  “Yeah.” He nodded his head, still staring into space. “I guess maybe it does, seeing as how I feel right now. A little crazy, a little wild with fighting feelings I shouldn’t have.” He turned and gave Jodie a nervous smile. “I reckon it’s a good thing full moons don’t last too long.”

  Heavy footsteps interrupted Ben’s words. Jodie’s gaze flew to the corner of the house, but this time she didn’t go for the flowerpot. She should have. It would have fit nicely on the top of Ray’s head, and the dirt could have spilled deliciously over his shirt, streaking the snowy white with muddy gunks of earth.

  She stared icily but didn’t say a word while Ray and Ben exchanged greetings, offering a smile only when Ben excused himself and made his exit. And then the smile was only for Ben. The ice in her stare remained for her newest caller.

  “What are you doing here, Ray?”

  “Is that the way you greet guests in New York? It seems awfully unfriendly.”

  “Good. Then you got the message.”

  He dropped to the swing beside her. “I vote we cut the games, Jodie. We’ve been friends too long.”

  Friends. There it was again. All she had to do was forget they’d ever made love, that she had lain awake for nights afterward, reliving every touch of his hands, his lips, his body merged with hers. Forget that he hadn’t returned her phone calls. Forget that he had fathered sons he wanted no part of.

  “If you’re here to renew an old friendship, you’re wasting your time. Our definitions of friendship don’t correlate.”

  “No, I came back because I’m worried about you.” His hand closed over hers. “This terrorizing routine has got to stop.”

  “What a novel idea.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, but I can understand it. Nothing is more frightening or frustrating than an enemy who won’t come out in the open. It’s a coward’s way, but it works. I have a few ideas for stopping it.”

  “Your memory is short,” she said, scoot
ing to the far edge of the wooden swing. “It hasn’t been two hours since I told you to stay out of my life.”

  “And when this madman is caught, I’ll heed your wishes, if that’s still what you want. But I’m not turning my back on you now, so you might as well accept my help.” He leaned forward and planted his feet on the porch, stopping the motion of the swing. “How much do you know about stalkers, Jodie?”

  “The typical profile information.” Jodie got up from the swing and paced the porch, quickly realizing there would be no getting rid of Ray before he was ready to go. No wonder he had the reputation for being a barracuda attorney. Telephone solicitors were less persistent.

  “And what do you consider typical?” He stood up and walked to the railing of the porch, leaning against it easily as if they were talking about the weather or the brightness of the moon.

  “They usually follow a path of increasingly obsessive behavior. They’re usually former lovers or spouses, but not always.” She was quoting the literature now, the way the cops always did. “Occasionally they’re total strangers who pick you out for some unknown reason. Apparently my stalker falls into that category.”

  The howling started again. This time she felt dark shadows of the madness Ben had talked about. It built and shivered inside her, pushing her closer to the edge of hopelessness.

  “But my stalker always leaves a calling card.”

  “But not his name?”

  “No. A red heart. Sometimes it’s a cutout, sometimes a sticker or a printed pattern like the one that came with the flowers. More often, it’s drawn with a red crayon.” Her voice caught. Natchitoches had seemed so safe. Until tonight. “Sometimes he adds a message.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “A warning. He tells me things that let me know he’s watching me. He says I need to be a good girl, that he wants me to save myself for him. If I do, he’ll continue to love me and make sure I’m safe. If I don’t, I’ll have to pay the ultimate price, like the others did.”

  Ray reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. His eyes bore into hers, penetrating her resolve. “What others?”