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How much time had lapsed? He checked his watch; ten minutes since he had talked to Strawn, so that was thirty minutes since Leah had left Hamm
erstead. She could hit the interstate highway system and in half an hour could be anywhere in the Detroit area, or have crossed over into Windsor, Canada. That would be great; they already had four or five jurisdictions involved, so why not bring in another nation?
He thought about calling Jaine, but decided to wait. He didn’t know anything definite about T.J. and couldn’t put her through the ordeal of waiting to hear, not so soon after Luna.
Thank God Jaine was at Shelley’s house. She wasn’t alone, and she was safe, because Leah didn’t know who Shelley was or where she lived—
Unless Jaine had listed Shelley as her “contact in case of emergency.”
Because he and Roger had divided the personnel files alphabetically, with Sam taking the top half of the stack of printed sheets and Roger the bottom half, Roger had Leah Street’s file—and he had Jaine’s. There were more Bs than any other letter of the alphabet, and he hurriedly riffled through the stack. When he found Jaine’s file, he jerked the pages out and quickly scanned them.
Shelley was listed.
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He didn’t bother with a land line; he dialed Shelley’s number on his cell phone and was running when he went out the door.
The reporters had done some investigating and tracked down Shelley, looking for Jaine. The constantly ringing phone got on their nerves so much that Shelley had finally turned it off, and they went out on the patio in back to sit by the pool. Sam had been so insistent that Jaine keep her cell phone with her that she took it outside with her and laid it beside her hip on the cushion of the teak chaise.
A large umbrella was angled overhead to block the sun, and Jaine dozed a little while Shelley read. The house was blessedly quiet; knowing Jaine’s nerves were raw, Shelley had sent Nicholas to a friend’s house to play, and Stefanie had gone to the mall with her friends. A CD of classical piano pieces was playing softly in the background, and Jaine felt her headache finally begin to recede, like a wave pulling back from the shore.
She couldn’t think any more about Marci and Luna, not right now. Her mind and emotions were exhausted. In her lightly dozing state, she thought about Sam, and what a rock he was. Was it only three weeks ago she had thought he was the blight of the neighborhood? So much had happened that she had lost her perspective of time; it seemed as if she had known him for months.
They had been lovers for almost a week, and in another few weeks they would be married. She couldn’t believe she was making such an important move so hastily, but it felt right. Sam felt right, as if they were interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She hadn’t rushed into anything with her other three fiancés, and look how well those engagements had turned out. This time she was just going to do it. To hell with caution; she was going to marry Sam Donovan.
There was so much to do, so many details to handle. Thank God for Shelley, because she was in charge of all the tactical problems, such as location and food, music, flowers, invitations, large awnings for shade and shelter. Never shy, Shelley had already talked to Sam’s mother and oldest sister, Doro, and involved them in the preparations. Jaine was a little chagrined to realize she hadn’t yet met any of Sam’s family, but with Marci’s death and funeral, and now Luna, she hadn’t had the opportunity. She was just happy Sam had thought to tell his folks before Shelley called, or it would have been an even bigger shock.
The doorbell chimed softly in the background, pulling her from her drifting thoughts. She sighed as she glanced over at Shelley, who wasn’t moving. “Aren’t you going to see who’s at the door?”
“No way. It’s probably just a reporter.”
“It might be Sam.”
“Sam would have called—Oh, right. I turned off the phones. Damn it,” Shelley griped, putting her book facedown on the table between the two chaises. “I’m getting into a really good part. Just once I’d like to read a book without being interrupted. If it isn’t the kids, it’s the telephone. If it isn’t the telephone, it’s the doorbell. Wait until you and Sam have kids,” she warned as she opened the glass patio door and stepped inside.
Sam alternated between cussing and praying as he wove between cars, his dash light flashing. There was no answer at Shelley’s. He had left a message on the answering machine, but where could they be? Jaine wouldn’t have gone anywhere without calling him, not under the current circumstances. He had never before in his life been so terrified. He had patrol cars on the way to Shelley’s house, but, God, what if it was already too late?
He remembered Jaine’s cell phone. Driving with one hand, the gas pedal pressed to the floorboard, he glanced at his phone and pressed Jaine’s speed-dial number. Then he waited for the connection to be made, and he prayed some more.
The patio gate rattled. The privacy fence around the pool was eight feet high, constructed of wooden slats in a solid lattice weave, but the gate was made of wrought-iron bars. Startled, Jaine sat up and glanced over.
“Jaine!”
It was Leah Street, of all people. She looked frantic, and with one hand she rattled the gate again as if she could shake it open.
“Leah! What’s wrong? Is it T.J.?” Jaine bolted from the chaise and ran toward the gate. Her heart almost leaped from her chest, so strong was the panic that seized her.
Leah blinked, as if Jaine’s question surprised her. Her strangely intent gaze locked on Jaine. “Yes, it’s T.J.,” she said, and shook the gate one more time. “Open the gate.”
“What’s happened? Is she all right?” Jaine skidded to a halt in front of the gate and reached to open it, then realized she didn’t have a key to the lock.
“Open the gate,” Leah repeated.
“I can’t, I don’t have the key! I’ll get Shelley—” Jaine was almost weeping in terror as she turned away, but Leah reached through the gate and grabbed her arm.
“Hey!” Startled out of her panic, Jaine jerked free and whirled to stare at Leah. “What the hell—”
The words died in her throat. Leah’s outstretched hand had blood on it, and two of her fingernails were broken. The woman pressed closer to the gate, and Jaine saw more red splotches on the baggy skirt.
Instinct had Jaine backing up a step.
