Survive the Night

He was always thoughtful, prepared and protective. Della loved those qualities in him. “When you get yourself a wife, she’s going to appreciate many things about you, Paul Mason.”

“Yeah, I do good email. That’ll impress her.”

Della smiled at him. “You do good everything.”

“Thank you.” His smile broadened. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Was it? Really? All he’d done for her, and she’d never offered him kind words? That was pathetic. “I think you’re an amazing man. The way you helped get me here and find a job and a place to live.”

“That’s just part of my job.”

So was talking her through the hard times. Being with her on the anniversary no mother should have to acknowledge. “You do it well, and it’s a lot more to those who need it.” She rubbed his arm “I’ve seen people you’ve helped, Paul. They look at you with such respect and admiration.”

“They were in a jam. Anyone could have done what I did.”

“Could have, but didn’t.” She stroked back an errant lock of hair from his ear. “You did.” A tenderness she didn’t want to feel filled her. It startled her. This was Paul. She couldn’t have these feelings for Paul. He was her best friend. And one of the first rules of survival was to never risk what you couldn’t afford to lose.

“Della?”

“Yes?”

“You get to me, too.” He spared her a glance. “We’re going to have to talk about that someday.”

“But not today.” She lifted her phone. “Today—tonight, I need to get sharp on Crawford before we get to the office.”

“That’s fine.” He looked entirely too happy. He knew she didn’t want more. She knew he didn’t want more. They had to keep things the way they were or they could end up with nothing. How in the world could she stand her world without him in it?

“Della?”

She didn’t dare look at him. “Mmm?”

“Quit worrying and just read.”

He knew. He always knew. She loved and hated that. “Reading.”

Two pages in, she was half-sick. Three, and she thought she was going to have to ask Paul to stop the car so she could throw up.

“You okay?” His face shone green in the light from the dash.

“You said he wasn’t sick, he just likes to kill. But this man is truly one sick puppy.”

“What page are you on?”

“Three.”

He grimaced. “You haven’t gotten to the really bad stuff yet.”

Della felt the blood drain from her face. How much worse could it get?

She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t. But if he could be her stalker...

Clasping Paul’s hand, she turned to page four.

* * *

While the street was still full of festival celebrators, the reception area of Lost, Inc., had been cleared of people. The door chime echoed through the empty downstairs. Moments later, Jimmy, the most junior investigator and chief gofer, called down from the top of the stairs to the second floor. “We’re upstairs in the conference room, Della.”

She looked back at Paul. “I wish I felt better about this. Are we making a mistake? If it is Dawson or Crawford, we could be making targets of these people, too.”

Paul paused on the steps. “You’ve seen Dawson’s work. I’ve seen Crawford’s. If we could do it alone, we would. We can’t.”

He was right. She didn’t have to like it, but she would have to be crazy not to admit it. They walked down the narrow hall and into the conference room.

Madison was seated at the head of the long wooden table near the window. Her assistant, Mrs. Renault, sat to her right, and Doc, the agency’s doctor-turned-investigator, next to Mrs. Renault. Jimmy couldn’t take his regular seat to Madison’s left—a man Della had not met sat in it. She stilled, shooting a worried look at Paul and whispered, “Who is he?” With his shaggy golden-brown hair and full jaw colored by five o’clock shadow, he couldn’t be active-duty military.

“Captain Grant Deaver, an OSI officer from the base.”

The hair on Della’s neck stood on end. Had Major Beech reported what had happened at her cottage? “What’s he doing here?”

Paul didn’t look any happier about Deaver being present than Della. “I have no idea.” He sent Madison a questioning look.

“Come and sit down.” Madison smoothed her long blond hair back from her face. “Grant recently left the military and, knowing his qualifications, I snapped him up. He’s on staff here now with the rest of us.”

An odd feeling pitted Della’s stomach. Madison said the right things, but the look in her eye was at odds with her words. Something was off. Why had she really hired Grant Deaver? Unsure, Della took her seat, and Paul sat down beside her.

Mrs. Renault, svelte and sophisticated in all things at all times, opened her notebook and poised her pen, prepared to go. She had the best electronic equipment money could buy—Madison would accept nothing less—and Mrs. Renault used it. But she also still took notes by hand for her backup copy. That determination to cover all bases made her an excellent assistant for Madison as well as a fountain of information for the rest of the staff. The woman seemed to know everything about everything and everyone.

“Della, you said you were in trouble and needed our help.” Madison leaned back in her high-back chair. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

For the next fifteen minutes, Della briefed them on Leo Dawson and the events from her past, all the way up to receiving the package tonight. It was more information than she had ever given anyone except Paul, and given a choice, she’d have elected to have a root canal without anesthetic over baring her soul to her coworkers now. But Dawson had been in her house. Or Crawford. Or someone else. And that changed everything.

“Is that it, then?” Madison asked, her expression guarded and closed.

Della had no idea how she or any of the others felt about all that they’d heard. If nothing else, this group knew how to mask their reactions. “I think that’s everything.”

Madison looked down the long table between Della and Paul. “So you two knew about this—that you were being stalked for six weeks, Della—and you didn’t tell me?”

“I was seeking evidence.”

Mrs. Renault lifted her chin. “Which is why you’ve reviewed all your past cases.”

“Not all of them.”

“All you’ve worked on in the last six months,” Mrs. Renault guessed. “Gauging by the misshapen stacks of files in your office.”

Jimmy grunted. “That’s what the wreck in there is all about.”

“Back to the matter of nondisclosure.” Madison’s tone made it evident she wasn’t happy. “Not only have you put yourself in more jeopardy than is necessary, but you made the rest of us vulnerable. That’s what secrets like this one do. I can almost understand, but I don’t like it, and I don’t expect it to happen again. Understood?” When Della nodded, Madison continued. “Paul, you being a party to this stuns me—especially if you think Gary Crawford is the stalker.”

He made no move to defend himself.

“Wait.” Della held up her hand. “Paul didn’t know.” Kind of him to be willing to take being chewed out for her, but it was wrong. “I just told him tonight.”

From his expression, Grant Deaver found that interesting. Mrs. Renault hiked her left brow, a sign she wasn’t at all surprised, and Madison uttered her infamous “I see,” which meant, unfortunately, she really did.

“Understood.” Madison addressed Della. “We’ve got a grip on the problem. Let’s focus on a plan. You will work with a partner until the case is resolved. That’s not a recommendation, it’s a requirement.”

“That’ll be me.” Paul spoke up. “I know most about Crawford and she knows most about Dawson.”

And he wanted her close, to protect her. Della withheld a groan. Caring, touching and predictable, but he would be protective and that would slow her down.

“He’s been in her cottage, Madison,” Mrs. Renault reminded her.

Madison rocked in her seat. “You’ll stay with me.”

“No.” Della refused. “You’re on the water. It’s easier to attack and harder to defend.”

Deaver rubbed his jaw. “She’s right.”

“The ranch is safest,” Paul said.

“Totally inappropriate.” Mrs. Renault frowned.

“Not if I move into the barn apartment with Warny.” Everyone knew his uncle, so there was no need to explain he helped Paul at the ranch.

Madison glanced between the two, then landed on Mrs. Renault. “With the security upgrades Paul did after Utah, his ranch is the safest place in the state.”

Did everyone know about Paul and Maggie’s incident last year except Della? Apparently, since no one asked any questions—including Grant Deaver. He shared a very personal look with Madison that drew sparks. What was going on there? “Do you think this is necessary?”

Madison looked at Della. Her bright blue eyes were laced with regret. “Yes. You move into Paul’s, he moves in with Warny and you two work together at all times.”

“I want to run down the shipper on that package,” Della said.

“Fine.” Madison nodded, Mrs. Renault wrote and Jimmy frowned. “Jimmy, you canvass the neighborhood and see if anyone’s seen anything. Mrs. Renault, run Della’s ex, Jeff, and let’s rule him in or out. Grant, dig up whatever you can find on Leo Dawson and, Paul, you check with Maggie and see what her sources consider the latest on Gary Crawford. Let’s see if we can’t locate both men or at least see what they’ve been up to. Doc, for the time being, I’m reassigning Della’s active cases to you. Mrs. Renault, assist him, as you’re able. Review the files in case someone’s gone rogue and turned stalker.”

Della couldn’t believe it. “You’re yanking my cases?” She was the agency’s lead investigator. Routinely, she solved three times the cases anyone else did. “But I’m at a critical stage on Horner—the missing teen, and Panedia is—”

“Critical. They’re all critical, Della. But I am reassigning them for now. It’s best for the clients and for you.” Madison’s tone signaled she wouldn’t waver. “I want you focused a hundred percent on this situation until it’s resolved.”

“But I’ve already reviewed the cases. There’s nothing there.”

“Indulge us, Della,” Mrs. Renault said. “You’re a wonderful investigator, but unfamiliar eyes can be an asset. We’ll work them as hard as you do.”

Mrs. Renault wasn’t being sarcastic but diplomatic. It’d taken Della a while to figure that out about her. Her husband had been the base commander, which was one thing all the employees at Lost, Inc., had in common with Paul. At some point in their military careers, all of them had been stationed at the base, in some capacity. Mrs. Renault’s husband died at his desk and then General Talbot had taken over. She knew how to get things done quietly and efficiently, and she didn’t tolerate being thwarted.

Seeing the proverbial writing on the wall, Della nodded and admitted, if only to herself, that this was all good. Things were working out for the best. Just the thought of spending the night alone in the cottage, knowing her stalker had been there, touching her things...it gave her the creeps and scared her out of her skin.

“Good,” Madison said, seemingly as fresh as she’d been when the long night had started. She glanced at her watch. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but we do have one more urgent matter to discuss.”

Della had sensed it, and now she knew something wasn’t just off, but way off.

“There’s more?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Madison touched a hand lightly to Mrs. Renault’s poised pen. “No notes on this one.”

Della cast Paul a worried look and saw it reflected back in his eyes. Never before had Madison told Mrs. Renault not to take notes. Typically she’d stop intermittently during a discussion and ask if she’d gotten everything.

Madison stood up and paced a short path between her chair and the window, covered in heavy green-velvet drapes. “As you know, General Talbot and Colonel Dayton were here tonight for the open house.”

The base commander and vice commander.

Doc rubbed at his neck. “Nothing odd in that.”

“Nothing at all, Ian,” Madison said. She rarely called him Doc. No one knew why, and no one else called him Ian. “But they weren’t here tonight as guests or for the festival. They were here on official business.”

“What official business?” Jimmy’s hand on the table curled into a fist. He still harbored a lot of anger against the military. If he and his buddy in Afghanistan had had the proper equipment, they both would have walked away alive. Instead, his friend had died.

“To quiz me about myself and all of you.” Madison glanced at Deaver, then at Jimmy, and settled her gaze on Paul. “Let me preface this by saying if you know anything at all, the time to tell me is now.”

“Anything at all about what?” Mrs. Renault asked.

Madison stilled. “There’s been a security breach at the Nest.”

* * *

He cut the wires to the security light that had flooded Lost, Inc.’s rear parking lot. Now the cars stood in shadows silhouetted by slivers of moonlight that penetrated the darkness through the trees. Pausing, he listened, but only music from the street festival muted by the brick building filled the air. He stabbed the tires of all the other vehicles in the lot, then quickly finished up his work on the one that most mattered, gathered his tools and hid behind an ancient oak and waited.

The message to the others hadn’t been planned, but when an unexpected opportunity arose, he happily seized it, and this opportunity was golden. Rather than convincing these people to butt out and mind their own business or pay the consequences one by one, he could put out the message en masse.

Della would learn swiftly the penalty of running to her friends for help. She’d suffer the consequences of dragging them into her problems, and bear the guilt. His whole body quivered with anticipation. She’d also know that they couldn’t protect her. No one could. Not even her precious Paul.

And soon they’d all know no one could protect them, either.

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