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“I’ll be right there,” Elizabeth yelled back. She opened another envelope at random and read another message. The same, only darker . . . more obsessive. Her pulse elevated. Who did this? Why? Panic rose within her and she tried to tamp it down, keep hold of herself. Her dream flitted across her memory, and the uneasy feeling that she was being observed.
Something evil was going on. Something she didn’t understand.
Why? Who?
Hearing the thump of her daughter’s feet hitting the floor, Elizabeth straightened her spine and went back down the hall to meet her.
“Mommy? Where are you?”
“Right here, honey.” She put a smile on her face. Seeing Chloe standing by the front door, she said, “Hey, are you finished? We’d better get your shoes on and pick up your lunch pail. Today we take home your preschool blankets and wash them. Gotta get ready for next week.”
Chloe stared at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just . . . lots to do, and I’m making lists in my head. Let’s get those shoes on and head to school. We’re late.”
“Again?”
“Yep.” She turned Chloe around and down the hall to search out her shoes, then race-walked back to her own bedroom, gathered up the envelopes, and shoved them in her purse.
In the kitchen, she snagged Chloe’s lunch box and was standing by the door to the garage when her daughter appeared, her shoes on the wrong feet. Quickly, Elizabeth exchanged them and then said, “Let’s go,” much too brightly.
Chloe frowned at her, but didn’t make a comment as she buckled herself into her seat.
Driving through the familiar streets, Elizabeth kept checking her rearview mirror, her thoughts whirling in her head. Who left those notes on the doorstep? Who would be so bold? And who wrote them? Someone who said they were in love with me, but what kind of love was that?
Who?
“Chloe, that man you heard in your head who said he loved me? The one who did bad things? Do you know what he looked like, by any chance?”
“I don’t see him.”
“Okay.” It was stupid to question her daughter. She was grasping at straws.
Hands slick on the wheel, she thought about Gil Dyne whose wife had maybe committed suicide and who’d taken a real interest in her. And Peter Bellhard. He still was calling and trying to connect with her. She’d hoped he would give up, but apparently he wasn’t a man to take no for an answer.
When people love each other, they stop at nothing.
That was the tone of the letters, she realized, shooting a glance in the rearview mirror at her daughter. Just exactly like the words that had come out of Chloe’s mouth.
She dropped Chloe off at school and checked her in. They were late enough that she didn’t see any of her friends. After handing her off to the preschool teacher, Elizabeth said, “I’ll pick you up later,” and then hurried away, her purse feeling inordinately heavy with the notes inside. She realized she’d left her briefcase at home, but didn’t care.
At the office, Elizabeth shoved her purse under her desk then called Rex on her cell. As the call connected, she again thought of the sexy dream where Rex was her lover. When he suddenly picked up, she felt a thrill race through her.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” he said, obviously recognizing her number.
She damn near fell apart at the sound of his voice, but she held herself together. “Something’s happened,” she said quietly, just in case Pat or Connie or someone else decided to cruise by. “I’d like to meet with you again. The sooner, the better.”
“What is it?” he demanded, his voice was sober.
She swept her gaze to where she’d stuffed her purse. “I got some letters. Left on my front porch. I want you to see them.”
“Who are they from?”
“Anonymous.”
“Left on your porch?”
“In the middle of the night. I stepped on them this morning. They’re . . . disturbing.”
