At Risk (14 page)

“Who’s joining us?” Liz teased as a sixty-year-old waitress in tight jeans and a Ravens sweatshirt delivered their order.

“Bet you can’t get food like this in California,” he said.

“I’ll have you know that California is known for its fine food. They have wonderful seafood.”

He slathered tartar sauce on a sandwich and took a bite. “Better eat that while it’s hot.”

She bit into a crab sandwich and savored the taste. “Delicious,” she said. “I haven’t had soft crab in twenty years. But Pacific crab is good too.”

“I hear you.” He grinned and took a sip of his beer.

Talking with Jack had always come easily, and tonight was no exception. For more than an hour they laughed and chatted about old times. They finished the pitcher and most of the food before his expression grew serious.

“Now let’s talk about whoever’s trying to scare you. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“There’s a grad student who’s been pestering me to go out with him. Cameron Whitaker.”

“A grad student, hmm?” Jack raised a dark eyebrow. “Isn’t he a little young for you?”

“Not this one. Actually, I did go to dinner with him. Once.” She grimaced. “He’s a total jerk. Rude to the waitress.”

“So you think Cameron is stalking you?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it stalking.”

“Breaking into your house? Leaving dead animals and dead flowers on your porch? Threatening phone calls? That’s stalking in my book.”

“I have Caller ID. I had it turned on earlier in the week, but the kitchen phone is so old it doesn’t show the numbers.”

“So you have a second phone in the house.”

“Sure. In my bedroom. That . . .” She broke off.

“I’m an idiot. That should give the number of the crank call, shouldn’t it? Regardless of which phone I answered. I didn’t think—”

“We’ll check it when I take you home.”

“Certain that’s not a trick to get into my bedroom?”

“Maybe.” He caught her hand and squeezed it. “Want me to have a talk with your grad student? I could probably—”

“No, I don’t need your strong-arm tactics to deal with Cameron. He’s about as dangerous as a beached catfish. I could whip his butt with one hand tied behind my back.”

“I’ve missed you, Lizzy. And now that I’ve found you again, I don’t intend to let anything happen to you. If you need me, all you’ve got to do is shout.”

She looked away, unsure if she wanted to hear this. Things were happening too fast, and as much as she enjoyed his company, she wasn’t willing to trust him just yet.

“Hey, Jack!” a red-bearded man in a faded watch cap called from the bar. “Heard you got into a mess of trout today.” He lifted his beer in salute. “You Raffertys always did have more luck than good looks!”

Jack replied with a cheerful insult that brought laughter from Red-beard’s buddies.

Liz found herself shocked at how comfortable she felt here in the midst of these rednecks. Was she slipping back into the past she’d worked so long to escape? A few more hours and she’d pick up the accent she’d taken speech lessons to get rid of.

Her childhood had often been harsh; she’d endured things that she never wanted Katie to imagine. Yet she had to admit that there had been good times too. When he was sober, she couldn’t have asked for a more loving father than Donald Clarke. There was an innate sense of solidarity among the families of the watermen, with hospitality offered freely, no matter how strapped for cash the host might be.

Jack pulled her from her reverie by stroking her cheek. “Hey, are you listening to me?” His fingertips were rough, but his touch excited her and filled her with heady anticipation.

Jack was hot and more than a little dangerous. A bad boy, and one she’d never gotten over. And, hands down, a better lay than any other man she’d ever been with.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s too crowded in here.” He left two twenties on the table and pushed open a door that said
O EXIT
, leading to the narrow dock that ran around Rick’s Crab Shack.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to use this door,” she protested halfheartedly, suddenly wanting to be alone in the dark with Jack.

“It’s an emergency. I can’t keep my hands off you any longer.”

The weathered deck and unpainted cedar railing were lit by a dim string of Christmas lights. Jack led her only a few steps past the window before shoving her up against the cedar shakes and kissing her. “Lizzy, Lizzy,” he said as they came up for air. “Do you know what you do to me?”

His mouth covered hers, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to open for his kiss, to thrill to the taste of his hot, velvety tongue and the feel of his hands moving over her. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back so that he could kiss her neck and nuzzle the damp warmth at the vee of her sweater. She slid her fingers up his chest to caress his shoulders and tangle in his hair, and all the while, he kept kissing her until she was giddy with need for him.

On the far side of the thin restaurant wall, a Southern voice on the radio sang about broken hearts and lonely nights, but all Liz could think of was getting closer to Jack. She could feel the heat of his arousal through his worn jeans. She made no protest when he unzipped her pants and tugged them down over her hips.

“No panties,” he whispered in her ear.

“Complaining?” Her breath was coming in short, quick gulps.

“No, ma’am.”

“Have you got a—”

“Yep.”

She heard the faint rip of a foil packet and smelled the unmistakable odor of a new condom. “Always prepared?”

“Hell, yes.”

She was wet and ready for him. She trembled as he lifted her to slide inside, stifling her cries of pleasure with a searing kiss. Her reward came fast and intense. Rocked by waves of sensual pleasure, she clung to Jack as he reached his climax.

He groaned. “Better than drugs.”

“You do drugs?”

“A little weed. And that was a long time ago. I gave it up when I found something better.”

“Not crack?”

He chuckled and nibbled her throat below her ear. “Sex.”

For long minutes they remained as one, while aftershocks of sensation washed over her. Then Jack lowered her feet to the deck and produced a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Laughing and whispering furtively, they managed to perform basic hygiene and get their clothing in order.

Liz ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make herself presentable. “I’m not going back through the restaurant,” she warned. “They’ll all know what we were doing out here.”

He chuckled. “They might guess, Professor, but they won’t know. My lips are sealed.”

Unease spilled down her spine. “What did you call me?”

“Professor.” He grinned. “Or would you prefer Dr. Clarke? It’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . . It’s just . . .” She looked away at the black water. The tide rushed out, exposing the muddy banks and filling the air with the scent of decaying vegetation. Suddenly she felt chilled. “We’d better get back. I’d like to check on that number on my upstairs phone.”

Professor.
Jack hadn’t called her that before. And the message on her computer monitor—the one with the image of the oyster knife—had called her “professor.” It was a coincidence, nothing more, but it spoiled the mood of the evening for her, and she wanted to be alone where she could reason this out.

If Jack was the one trying to frighten her, she was in a lot more trouble than she’d realized . . .

Still holding her hand, he led the way around the deck to the front of the restaurant and the unlighted gravel lot where they’d left the motorcycle. About a dozen cars and trucks were parked there, but Liz saw no one walking to or from the Crab Shack. Jack’s bike was about halfway down the first row, front tire a foot from the chain-link fence that kept inebriated patrons from driving off into the marsh. Behind the Harley, a pickup idled, lights off. In the moonlight, Liz could make out two men in the front seat. A third figure leaned against the driver’s door, the tip of a cigarette glowing red in the darkness.

Jack stopped and stared at the truck. “Go back inside,” he said.

Puzzled, she glanced up at him. “Why?”

“Don’t argue, just go!”

Abruptly the truck lights came on, temporarily blinding her. The pickup engine revved, and the vehicle shot toward them. Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her aside as the truck screeched past and braked to a halt, blocking her escape route to the restaurant. The doors flew open and the men piled out. One carried a baseball bat.

“Fine e-evening, J-Jack.” The smoker threw his cigarette on the gravel and ground it out with the toe of his boot.

“Wasn’t bad until you showed up.” Jack stepped in front of her. “What do you want, Sonny?”

Liz recognized the name and the stutter, although she hadn’t heard it since she was a child. Sonny Shahan. His close-cropped head was nearly bald and shiny in the moonlight, and he had a beer belly on him, but his aggressive stance and attitude hadn’t changed a bit. Once a bully, always a bully.

“We want to t-talk to you.”

“Yeah,” the man with the bat said, his voice slurred with drink.

“Got nothing to say to you, Randy. You either, Daryll.”

“What d-did you d-do to Wayne?” Sonny asked.

“Nothing. Liked to. Looked everywhere for him, but I couldn’t find him.”

“You’re a damned liar,” the third man said. He was close enough that Liz could smell whiskey on his breath. “Wayne’s our buddy, and if you killed him, you got us to—”

“Walk away, Lizzy,” Jack said. “She’s no part of this. Let her go inside.”

A mosquito buzzed around Liz’s head. The breeze carried a rank smell off the marsh, as though something big had died out there. Her knees felt suddenly weak. She took a step backward.

“And h-have her c-call the c-cops?” Sonny took another stride closer. “You m-must think we’re s-stupid.” A knife gleamed in his hand.

“You boys have had too much to drink and you’ve been watching too much television. I told you, I didn’t lay a hand on Wayne. I’m not looking for trouble. What passed between us is just that. In the past.”

Randy laughed. “Talking a different story now, ain’t you?”

“Not so tough without your gun, are you, Jack?” Daryll taunted.

“Leave us alone,” Liz said. “I’ll scream for help.”

Daryll raised the bat. “Try it, bitch, and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

Jack lunged at Daryll. With a curse, the redneck swung the bat, a blow that would have taken Jack’s head off if it had connected. Jack spun on one foot and delivered a karate kick to Daryll’s groin and followed it up with a quick chop to the back of the neck. Daryll fell, curled, gagging and whimpering, into a fetal position.

Before Liz could utter a sound, both Sonny and Randy charged Jack. She heard the dull smack of a fist smacking flesh, and Randy collapsed on top of his now sobbing and vomiting brother. Sonny and Jack circled each other.

“He’s got a knife!” Liz cried. She snatched up a rock and hurled it like a baseball at Sonny. The rock struck him hard in the shoulder, and he let out a yelp. Sonny turned his head to glance in her direction, and Jack brought the side of his hand down against the bully’s wrist. Bone snapped. The knife dropped from Sonny’s fingers, and he clutched his injured hand to his chest.

Jack stepped back just as the first shotgun blast struck the right headlight of the pickup. Glass shattered. Ears ringing, Liz whirled to see Rick standing at the edge of the road, a twelve-gauge in his hands.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay the hell away from my restaurant, Shahan? Now get your drunk ass out of here before I call the state troopers to lock you up!”

“You s-shot m-my truck! I’ll s-sue you, you b-bastard!”

Jack grabbed Liz and pulled her out of the line of fire.

“Sue away,” Rick answered, “but if the cops come, you’ll get your third DUI, and I’ll press charges for assault and attempted robbery!”

“R-Robbery? Wh-What did I s-steal?”

“I’ll think of something,” Rick said, breaking open the shotgun and shoving in another shell.

“You s-son of a—”

The twelve-gauge roared again, destroying the truck’s left headlight and blowing a hole in one tire. “Get your trashy ass out of here,” Rick warned. “I got plenty more shells.”

Speechless, Liz watched as the three bullies piled into the cab, Randy started the engine, and the truck wobbled onto the main road with the left front tire rim grating on the blacktop.

“H-How the h-hell we s-supposed to see to d-drive?” Sonny shouted out the window.

“Beats me,” Rick replied. “Come back here again, and I’ll take out the rear tires.” He looked at Jack. “You all right? Need the E.M.T.’s?”

“We’re good,” Jack answered. “Thanks for the help.”

Liz’s hands were trembling so badly that she couldn’t fasten the straps on her helmet.

“Let me do that,” Jack said.

“You’re hurt.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Nothing a little ice won’t fix. I’m sorry about this, Lizzy. I never meant—”

“You never do,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t your fault. You did your best to talk your way out of it.”

“I never meant to put you in danger.”

“Maybe it was a mistake for me to come back to Delaware. Things like this never happened in California.”

“No?”

She realized how foolish that sounded. “Well, it never happened to me. Not in my world, Jack. No fistfights. No crazy vigilante bartenders with shotguns.”

“Just college girls getting their throats cut?”

“That’s not fair,” she protested.

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “But shit happens. And when it does, you’ve either got to be strong enough and smart enough to save yourself, or you end up like Tracy. Which are you, Lizzy?”

It was a little after two a.m. when they arrived back at Clarke’s Purchase. Despite her insistence that no intruders could be in the house because of the guard dog, Jack stood firm on personally inspecting every room, checking every door and window, before leaving. He’d made sure that the interior door that led to the basement, and the closed stairway to the attic, were locked securely.

Caller ID on the upstairs bedroom phone had registered two calls, the one she’d received just after nine from her stalker, listed as a blocked number, plus a second that Liz recognized as Amelia’s.