Double Take

When they hit pavement, John said, “How come I get the feeling this interview is going to be more like an interrogation?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No, man. You did the right thing. I’m just saying…they better have some good coffee.”

Cole forced a laugh. “Don’t count on it. But maybe they put on a new pot since I was there last.” Less than two hours ago. Parker’s eyes had narrowed then. This time they’d be mere slits. He wouldn’t try to figure out if Cole was a kook or a paranoid bookworm or a bad guy. He’d be pretty certain of the latter. A bad guy with a hero complex.

Well, he’d be basically correct, wouldn’t he?

“Cole, you did the right thing,” John said again. “You have an alibi. There’s no way they’re going to believe you did this.”

In spite of the chill, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Not good. They’d probably take his fear as an indication of guilt, a sign that he knew something.

“What are the odds?” he said. “Only a few days in town and I just happened to choose that bus, that book, at that time? And I didn’t have anything to do with it?” One in a million. One in a hundred million. No, more like…zero, zilch. No chance at all.

“Tell me.” John’s face was hard, his eyes on the road. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

Cole flinched. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The odds aren’t good—so what? Maybe God stuck you on that bus at that time with that book and gave you the wisdom to figure things out. Because He knows how stubborn you can be.” John glanced away from the windshield, caught Cole’s gaze, then concentrated on the road again. “You saved the girl’s life. We can deal with whatever happens next.”

Cole swallowed. Closed his eyes. He’d felt, for that brief moment when he’d held MacKenzie Jacobs—when he lifted her from the water and set her carefully in the backseat of the truck—that he could redeem himself. That this life could make up for one that was lost years ago. That he could start over again with a fresh page in God’s book.

But that would have been too easy, and he deserved anything but easy.

Cole folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head. At three in the morning, he didn’t really care if the action might seem suspicious. His heavy eyelids refused to stay open. So, while he waited for Parker to return, he’d take advantage of the reprieve.

His aching eyes closed, but his mind would not shut down. The routine rolled through his mind—he’d been through it before. They’d analyze the recording of his interview. Maybe test the stress levels in his voice for indications of guilt. There would be stress, all right—he’d been stressed out for almost twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four years, but that was beside the point.

Shut up, Cole.

A chair scraped, jerking him to awareness once again. Lifting his head, he found Parker sitting across from him.

“Sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Leighton,” he said in a neutral tone. “Just a couple more things and then we’ll let you go get some much deserved rest.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’d like you to take a polygraph test. That’ll really help us wrap a few things up, and then we won’t need to take much more of your time.”

At least, not after they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

“Fine.” As if he had a choice.

“Good.” Parker smiled. “Secondly, I wondered if you’d loan us your copy of that book.”

Cole gave a brief nod. “I’d be glad to.” Parker shouldn’t need a polygraph to hear the truth ringing in that statement.

Kenzie didn’t want to open her eyes. The warm bed and soft hospital pillow called to her. Last night she thought she’d never be comfortable again. Now she was, and she didn’t want to move. Ever.

Then the aches hit. Her head. Her hands and wrists and legs. Everywhere, she hurt.

“MacKenzie?”

“Mmm,” she said, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to find out if they hurt, too.

“Oh, honey…”

“Mom.” Her lips were cracked. “You missed your flight. You didn’t need to come.” The days of needing her mother were past…and Mom hadn’t been there then, anyway.

“Oh, it was no bother. Somebody needs to take care of your houseplants until you come home.” She spoke in overly bright tones this time, and it was almost worse than when her voice had dripped with pity. “Did you see the flowers someone sent you? Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.”

Ah, yes. There was the pity again.

Her suffering could have been over. Just a little longer in the water, and Kenzie would no longer have to wish she was the one who died and Mikey was the one who lived.

Kenzie finally opened her eyes to stare at the roses, not allowing herself to glimpse her mother’s expression. She’d learned to read her well, but at this moment she didn’t want to know what lay between the lines in her mother’s furrowed brow.

“Is there a card?”

Her mother’s graceful fingers stretched toward the vase and rotated it. “Nothing.”

“Did you…see who brought them?” The man who’d saved her? She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t missed him, yet hoping he had come.

“They were here when I arrived.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie turned her face toward the ceiling and blinked as the tiles swam out of focus.

“Are you okay? Anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Just need sleep.” The blankets weighed her down until they smothered the incessant beeping and the aching pain.

Someone rapped on the door, then cracked it open.

Kenzie held her breath, fighting the urge to run. No one would hurt her here. The kidnappers had made their escape. That’s all they’d wanted, right?

But she closed her fingers around the television remote—some weapon—and slowly turned her head. A police officer stood just inside the doorway, his expression grim and tired.

“Miss Jacobs?”

“Yes.” Letting go of the remote, Kenzie drew her blankets close, then adjusted her bed until she was sitting up.

“I’m Detective Parker. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She was too tired to dredge up yesterday’s nightmare, but, pasting on a smile, Kenzie nodded.

The policeman came around the bed and opened the blinds slightly, then scooted a chair close. Out of his briefcase came a black folder with a legal pad, a bulky pen, a digital recorder.

Her eyes drifted closed, exhausted by the mere sight of his equipment.

“Miss Jacobs.” The detective’s kind voice pulled her from the edge of sleep. “I don’t want to put off this interview since the more we know, the more likely we are to make arrests. But if you’re not up to it…”

“No, please. Wouldn’t want to hold up justice.” She meant it, but her eyelids did not want to cooperate.

Finally they fluttered open, and she found the man settling into his chair, legs crossed and folder propped just so. He’d done this before. Caught lots of criminals. If she could just stay awake, she could help him catch more. Then this whole thing would be over and life could get back to normal. Whatever that was.

Maybe now she’d have something new to mix in with her old nightmares. She still felt the gun against her temple, the rope chafing her wrists, the water lapping around her shoulders. Maybe because she relived it every time her eyes closed.

Detective Parker cleared his throat. “Miss Jacobs, I want you to run through everything that happened yesterday, but first, can you describe the men who took you?”

“No.” From now until the moment the camo guy and his smooth-accented boss landed behind bars, she’d probably suspect every male who came within twenty feet of her.

As if her dating life wasn’t bad enough already.

“I was blindfolded most of the time, but…” She allowed her eyes to close again, brought up the image of the bus and talked about what she’d seen, felt, heard. She told him about the leather jacket and sinewy arm locked around her shoulders. The ski mask and how that, almost more than the gun, gave the man a twisted and terrifying appearance. She hadn’t noticed his eye color; the glint of metal had been a stronger draw for her gaze.

“There were two men.” A shudder shifted the blanket. Kenzie clenched it in her fists, chilled once again. “The man with the camouflage jacket must have driven the van away, while the man with the leather jacket took me to…to the boathouse. But everything’s kind of hazy. I blacked out when they put me in the trunk of a car, and when I woke up, I was in the water. That…that’s all. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing fine. Do you think—”

“Wait…” She paused with her eyes tightly closed. Remembering. Shadows filled her mind. A blur of black and gray and white-hot pain. “At the boathouse, I think I came to for a moment when the man with the accent took off my blindfold. Just before he—” She choked back an unexpected sob.

“Take your time, Miss Jacobs.”

A gulping breath. Warm air filled her lungs, and she found the strength to focus again on the vague memory. “So dark, but he must have had a flashlight. I saw…”

She was flopped over his knee, one of his arms steadying her while his other pulled the blindfold free. Legs untied, wrists bound more tightly, but in front of her now.

Her breath came faster. She was falling. Knees hit the deck hard. Turned her head as her hands—forced out over the water—touched metal. Caught a glimpse of dark hair, lighter neck, white scar.

Then she plunged into the icy water.

A quick gasp. No. She was okay now. But the tremors took over again. And, as she tried to recount the day through chattering teeth—every exhausting and excruciating detail—she wondered if she’d ever really feel safe again.

SEVEN

Cole stopped at the end of the corridor and stared at the number on MacKenzie’s hospital room. He fingered the get-well card, wishing he’d thought to purchase flowers, as well. Maybe he should go to the gift shop—

Too late. The door swung open. Detective Parker stepped out.

Cole stood tall, not bothering to force a smile.

“She’s pretty tired,” the detective finally said, his steely eyes giving a silent warning.

Cole didn’t flinch. “I won’t be long.”

“Good.” Parker gave him a pointed look. “She’s been through a lot.”

Time for that fake smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

A short nod, and the detective finally walked away—probably no farther than a vacant chair in the hall. Cole took a breath, then stepped into the room, leaving the door partially open behind him. He had nothing to hide. MacKenzie lay silent, her eyes closed. He should leave, let her rest undisturbed, but his feet remained planted to the floor at the foot of her bed. His chest ached as he scanned her for signs of her ordeal—pale skin, a bandage taped to her left temple—

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. A gasp escaped her chapped lips, stabbing his conscience as her dark-blue eyes widened in shock.

“I’m sorry, MacKenzie.” Why had he stayed? Staring at her while she slept…Of all the thoughtless—“I just wanted to drop off a card for you.” He set it on the side table and started to back away.

“Kenzie,” she said softly. “My friends call me Kenzie.” The fear was gone from her face, and her eyes shone when she looked at him.

Kenzie. Casual, but slightly exotic. It fit her well. A real smile stretched his lips as she met his gaze and held it.

“I’m Cole. Don’t know if you remember me from the bus stop or…later. But you’re going to be okay.”

She seemed so fragile, but her nod reassured him. “Thanks to you.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “How did you find me?”

The question of the hour. Cole sat down and considered his response. The truth was too out-of-this-world, so Cole settled on a more believable but equally out-of-this-world answer. “Must have been a God thing.”

Her tears slipped free, and he glanced away, not wanting to see her cry. His gaze fell on her hands, and without thinking, he gently tugged one toward the edge of the bed and examined it. Ointment covered the raw red burns. Band-Aids hid the smaller wounds but not her bruises.

“Are you in pain?” he asked softly.

“Not too bad. Just tired. How can I ever…?”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re going to be all right.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie’s eyes closed briefly. “You think Detective Parker will catch them?”

“Hope so.” For more reasons than one. “He’s very thorough.”

“I’m just glad it’s over. Or almost.” Her voice softened to a pained whisper. “I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“I know.”

Her hand moved until her fingers rested on his palm, a feather-light touch. “When you walked in and turned on the light, I felt safe for the first time in…in a long time.”

Cole couldn’t find a response.

Her fingers tapped his, then withdrew. “Thank you.”

Cole blinked and raised his gaze to her face, but her eyes were shut. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. He fiddled with her controls, lowering the bed to a more comfortable sleeping position. Kenzie’s eyes opened slightly, then fell shut again. Sun shone brightly through the open blinds and the warm rays played across her face, disguising her bruises as shadows.

A satchel rested beside his chair. It belonged to someone in her family, no doubt. Someone who would be returning soon and might not welcome company. He started to rise, wanting to stay—to make sure she stayed safe and kept breathing those slow, even breaths—but not wanting to be in the way.

The chair creaked, and Kenzie stirred, then stretched a hand toward him. “Don’t…leave,” she whispered, eyes still closed.

Cole swallowed the lump in his throat and settled back down, her hand cradled carefully in his as she retreated once again into sleep. Why hadn’t he gone looking for her sooner? Talking to Parker had just stalled him. If he’d just allowed himself to trust his instincts, Kenzie may still have been hurt, but he might have been able to shorten her ordeal.

He shook his head once. MacKenzie Jacobs would live to see another day, to light up the world with her smile. He had been late, but not too late this time. Her nightmare was over.

Or was it?

Cole froze as he pictured the cover of Obsession, the scrap of paper that marked his spot, only a few chapters in when he’d turned it over to the detective.

If Monique’s car hadn’t died, she might not have either…

He’d only read to the part about the boathouse before reporting to Parker and going on his trespassing frenzy. If Monique’s story hadn’t ended there…would Kenzie’s?

Kenzie opened her eyes to an empty chair and a dark room. Strange shadows shifted, and her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. Where was Cole Leighton and his calming presence? Had he really left her alone?

Then again, why should that surprise her?

She drew in rapid breaths as the darkness seemed to loom closer. Get a grip. There was no storm, no danger, surely no gunmen lurking in the hallways. She was safe.

A shadow moved. Her breath halted altogether as the door creaked open.

“You’re awake.” The brightness from the hall illuminated her mother’s face. “Mind if I turn the light on?”

“Please,” Kenzie forced out, choking back tears of relief as light flooded the room once again.

Her mother set a vase of carnations next to the roses and settled into the vacant chair. “You’ve had a steady stream of visitors this afternoon. I came back from lunch and met that young man—I guess the one who found you? Anyway, I know how you like your privacy—”

Yeah, well, if her mother knew so much about her, why had she shut off the light? Kenzie had been terrified of the dark since she was nine years old. Ever since the night of the tornado that took her brother.

“So I sent him on his way.”

Cole Leighton hadn’t left her alone after all. Not that it should matter either way—she was indebted to him, not the other way around. But somehow, it did.

“Your principal stopped by. He left these.” Her mother indicated the bouquet she’d brought in.

Kenzie reached for the card and slowly exhaled as she read it. She’d been granted sick leave for as long as she needed if she wasn’t ready to go back to teaching first grade after spring break.

Detective Parker entered the room and her mother excused herself. Had they found the gunmen? Kenzie forced back the rush of hope, not wanting to feel the crush of it if she was disappointed.

Once more, the police officer sat beside her bed, recorder in hand. “I’m sorry to disturb you again, Miss Jacobs, but I do have just a couple more questions for you.” His heavy eyebrows lifted as if awaiting a go-ahead.

She nodded, wondering what else he could have to ask. They’d already been over everything from a dozen different directions, as far as she could tell: Who she’d had contact with before the bus ride. Why she hadn’t taken her car. Who her enemies were. Why someone would have targeted her. If the gunmen seemed to have planned the kidnapping…

“Had you ever met Cole Leighton before yesterday? Ever seen him around the school, at church…anything?”

They hadn’t covered that. Something inside her tightened, constricting her breath. “No.” She would have remembered those eyes, that wistful smile. “I only know that if it weren’t for him—” Kenzie blinked, remembering how numb her hands had been, how unresponsive her legs had become by the time help had reached her. “I owe him my life.”

Detective Parker made a note to himself, then looked at her again. “And when he visited earlier…”

His eyebrows raised again, and her insides coiled tighter. “He just came to make sure I was going to be okay.” She wished she’d gotten to say good-bye, wished her mother hadn’t kicked him out. Would she ever see him again?

“Did he bring you anything?”

Her eyes strayed to the roses. “Just a card.”

His gaze must have followed hers. “No flowers?”

“I don’t think so.” Although she could always hope. “What’s going on?” She met the detective’s keen stare.

“Just covering all the angles.” He waited a moment, then stood when she didn’t speak again. “Miss Jacobs, we’re doing everything we can, following every lead. But I want you to be careful. Any odd phone call or visitor—you let me know about it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

After he left, Kenzie pushed the principal’s bouquet to the side and caressed the vase holding her first get-well flowers. Seven red roses. She studied the crimson petals, gingerly touched one, and searched again for a card. None.

Had Cole sent them? Maybe he’d forgotten to attach a card and had hand-delivered one instead; he had set it beside the roses, after all. Kenzie tapped a stem, then pulled her hand back to her side. Her arms still ached, her eyelids still drooped. But she’d seen the man who had saved her life, and somehow that made things better. Not just because he was, well, really attractive, with his shaggy hair, piercing blue-green eyes and gentle smile. She’d remembered his eyes from before boarding the bus, his voice from when he’d shined a light in her darkness. His quiet strength made her feel safe, but not smothered. He made her feel beautiful, even with chapped lips and hideous wrists and frazzled hair, leaving her with a longing to be loved for who she was.

Except that could never happen—she’d never allow it. Because whenever she truly loved someone, whenever they truly loved her…

They ended up dead.

EIGHT

Cole picked up the bookstore’s last copy of Obsession and found an empty chair. The overstuffed furniture was comfortable—the reading was anything but. Monique hadn’t been rescued as soon as Kenzie had. Her hypothermia had been so severe that her rescuer hadn’t found a heartbeat. The medical crew had had to wait until Monique’s body was rewarmed before they would decide whether or not to pronounce her dead.

Cole’s stomach clenched at the thought that he could have pulled Kenzie’s pasty-blue, lifeless body from the water. His phone vibrated, and he reached for it without looking away from the book.

“Cole, have you eaten?” John said.

“No.” He glanced at the time. Quarter till seven. “What’s up?”

“I’m craving a burger from The Varsity. Been there yet?”

“Nope.” The hunger pangs hit then. A juicy hamburger. Fries doused in ketchup. A cold Coke with lots of ice. An hour of food and carefree conversation to help him forget that he’d escaped death. While a passenger from the same bus lay in a hospital bed, eating hospital food, reliving the same nightmare but a hundred times worse.

“It sounds great, but I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m going to run an errand and grab something on the go.” Book still in hand, Cole headed for the checkout line.

“Be careful, Cole.”

His determined stride faltered slightly at the sober note in his cousin’s voice. “Why?”

“Are you going to check on the pretty lady again?”

“Yes.”

“Then just…be careful.”

The call ended, and Cole stared at the phone for a moment before returning it to its clip. Was John’s warning because of the book, because of his past or because of the good detective who was undoubtedly keeping an eye on him for suspicious behavior?

“Awesome book, let me tell you,” the cashier said, interrupting his thoughts. She rang up the total, then tapped her long, red nails against the countertop while waiting for Cole’s credit card to go through. “By the way!” Her red hair nearly bounced with her enthusiasm as she bagged the novel and shook it in the air. “If you bring this back this coming Thursday, you can have the author autograph it for you!”

Cole followed the ridiculous length of fingernail to where she pointed at a poster for a book signing. Warren Flint. Coming to Atlanta a week after the first scene of his best-selling novel had been played out in real life.

Cole figured his idea of comfort food—steak and eggs with a Texas-size Coke—would differ slightly from a woman’s. Especially one who’d nearly frozen to death the day before. Something hot and something chocolate should do the trick. It wouldn’t wipe away the traces of her ordeal, of course. Nor would it erase his feelings of guilt. But…if nothing else, it had to be better than hospital Jell-O.

He strode down the hospital corridor and stopped at Kenzie’s door. No one stood outside. No voices came from the interior. Fighting down a sudden urgency, Cole forced himself to knock gently.

No answer.

He twisted the knob, and the door glided open on silent hinges. He paused, almost expecting Parker to step into his line of vision and pierce him with a suspicious glare.

No one.

Cole stood in the doorway, watching Kenzie sleep, until he realized his fingers were digging into the bag of food. Her sandwich would have thumb-size gouges in it if he didn’t rein in his feelings.

Why had they left her alone?

He moved to the bed, cautiously setting down the food on her tray table. Though the paper bags crinkled and the chair creaked when he settled into it, Kenzie’s eyes remained closed. For one blood-chilling moment, he thought she was dead. Her pale face, her dark-shadowed eyelids—but the blanket rose and fell with each breath. Her hands appeared warm and freshly slathered with ointment. Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, then lifted until her disoriented gaze met his.

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