He must protect her.
No one else was going to do the job properly.
Stronger measures were necessary now. One often was forced to step several degrees outside one’s comfort zone to ensure the greater good.
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He frowned. Usually he turned the nuisance off before stepping through the library’s hallowed doors. But with the tragedy that had befallen CJ, he didn’t dare cut off that communication link.
He didn’t recognize the number.
Worry trickled. Perhaps he should see to this. She could be calling from most anywhere. The hospital. The police department.
The worry hurdled toward panic.
He rose from his chair, cast a glance at the mingling crowd below, then surveyed the mezzanine. Deserted. Still, a little too open for a private conversation. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and found it mostly deserted as well. The woman behind the help desk of the reference section glanced up, smiled at him. Edward returned the smile and journeyed to a corner of the second floor that was rarely visited. The city’s historical records.
With the push of a button, he returned the missed call.
“Good evening, Mr. Abbott.”
Edward frowned. The voice was male but certainly not one he recognized. There was a surliness about the tone. Quite distasteful.
“Who is this?” Edward inquired. Few people knew his cell phone number.
“This is your worst nightmare, Edward old boy,” the voice taunted. “I’m starting a new game. Are you ready to play?”
“I’m certain you have the wrong number.” The man had used his name, but Edward clearly did not know him. The very idea was ludicrous.
“Oh, no, Eddy boy. I have the right number. Now ...” He paused for effect. “You ready to play?”
A new kind of uneasiness took root deep in Edward’s stomach. “Who is this?” he repeated.
“I already answered that question. Try to keep up.”
Enough of this folly. “What is it you want?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the overbearing voice said. “What I want ... well, I haven’t made up my mind. This call isn’t about what I want. It’s about making the first move.”
“I believe I’ll hang up now.” Edward didn’t play games. He made it a point not to involve himself with those who did. This man was obviously some sort of con artist.
“I don’t think you want to hang up,ProfessorAbbott.”
“Make your point, sir.” Edward doubted the caller deserved such a designation.
“Sir.” He laughed. “I like that.”
Fury ignited, burning away a little of the uneasiness.
“My point is, Edward Abbott, that I know what you didthatnight.”
The fury vanished, giving the unease a new boost. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that poor bitch Shelley Patterson. I know all about you and what you did. The tragic ending to the sick story is right there on video. I bet you didn’t know that ho was recording your ass.”
“Whatever you think you know,” Edward challenged, “you are very wrong. If you harass me again—”
“You’ll what?” the man interrupted. “Go to the police? I don’t think so. Here’s the lowdown, old man, I want something from you. As soon as I make up my mind what, I’ll let you know. Until then, you think about what you did. What you said. You think it all over. I’ll call again in a few days and give you my decision. Until then, you just need to remember one thing.”
Edward didn’t bother with a response.
