Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (19 page)

She reached for the white terrycloth, stepped to the rug below, and heard a knock.

Wrapping the towel around her, she called, “Decent.”

Ben stepped in, managed a small smile. “I was hoping you weren’t.”

She frowned teasingly, began rubbing herself dry.

“Talked to Cooley. Gave him the details. He’s checking on tracing the call, finding out where it came from hopefully. He’ll be by sometime tonight to get the photo, or we can run it to the station. Once they see it, they might be able to get something out of it. Fingerprints, possibly even where the film came from, was printed at . . . if, of course, it wasn’t yours to begin with.” At that, she shuddered slightly and he unconsciously stepped forward. “Other than that, case is at a standstill. They got nothing from the vandalism, and we just now let him know about the car. He says there’s no lead to go on there, though he'll add it to his info. He’s getting back to you if anything comes in on the call. Meantime, more of the same. Watch your back and such.”

“Hmm. Very helpful.” She shook her head, tried a laugh. “Thanks for doing that. I don’t think I could’ve handled more questions and grilling. Not today.”

He watched as she walked to her rustic wood vanity, took a smaller towel and rubbed it through her damp hair. “I’m sorry.”

She eyed him in the reflection, crinkled her brow. “For what?”

“Today. Any stress I caused. Keith caused. The jerk persecuting you caused.”

She shrugged, the mention of it all fatiguing her again, wearing off the last of the healing water. “It’s okay, none of that is your fault. You have nothing to do with any of it.”

He turned to go, looked back as she began to run a comb through her hair. “I’m not him.”

“I know.” She watched him in the reflection, stared into the calm, steady green.

“Then don’t treat me like I’ll do what he’s done. Don’t punish me for his sins.” Though his voice was soft, it was strong, certain. “I won't hurt you. Or the kids. You have to learn to lean on someone other than yourself. You’ve gotten by fine, but someday, you’ll need someone. I can be that for you."

Her heart beat a mile a minute, raced with words unsaid, love unspoken, but her face belied it, her exhaustion reverting her to the familiar and well-rehearsed. “I know that, too. And I appreciate you for it.”

He dropped his head, blew out a breath. “Before you can ever love me, you have to trust me.”

And with that, he left her alone.

FOURTEEN

Jenna detoured from classroom to Molly’s desk before trying to fit in a short lunch. Her schedule was jam-packed today.

She’d seen newlywed, new parents, sleep deprived and sanity deprived with a baby who wouldn’t breastfeed, or feed at all really (at least easily); a divorced mom of two, remarried to husband number two and trying to conceive for eleven months; and she'd just finished up a packed Pregnancy & Nutrition class.

After lunch she’d scheduled to teach a private infant CPR course to a couple she’d been counseling for months. They thought if they had known resuscitation skills they could’ve brought their first child back from a tragic SIDS death—in all likelihood, they couldn’t have—but the knowledge and reassurance would be needed and good since the woman was expecting again.

Phone to shoulder, Molly wiggled a wave as Jenna dropped off a stack of paperwork, grabbed a post-it and jotted instructions before sticking it to the pile.

Already on her way back out of Molly’s cubby, Molly called, “Jenna, for you.” She held out the thick black receiver. "Wanna take it?”

Jenna shook her head. “Send them to voicemail. Wait,” she pivoted, poked her head back in. “Is it Doctor Vick? I'm hoping to hear from him today.”

While Jenna would’ve liked to clue Molly in on the possibility of a new staff member joining the Perinatal group—growing was a positive, vital step for the success of the wing and excited everyone on staff—there was no final approval yet, so she’d wait to spill the beans until it was official.

“No, it’s Taryn Tate.”

Jenna frowned. She knew that look. The one Molly sent for pleading, for pity. It was also twinged with just enough authority and disappointment to make Jenna feel guilty.

“Molly, Taryn is not my patient anymore. Transfer her to Doctor Vick’s secretary.”

Molly frowned, pulled the phone back to her slowly.

“I know, I know,” Jenna resigned. “You’ve got a soft spot for her and I’m awful.”

“No,” Molly waved the notion away, “it’s not that. She just seems so sad, so broken when she’s here. It’s her eyes, something in them makes me feel sad too.”

“Which is exactly why she needs a new doctor. I can’t give her the help she deserves.”

“I thought you were good for her though. Didn’t Vick tell you he felt like you helped because of your history with her? She respects you, listens to you, asks to see you specifically.”

“Be that as it may, he agrees with me now and has referred her to a wonderful doctor that specializes in maternal psychiatry.”

Molly took her dark eyes from Jenna’s, tucked her short hair behind an ear. “Does she know this? So I don’t say the wrong things," she explained, tapping the phone’s wide board of buttons.

“Yes. I personally contacted her and explained the situation.” Jenna stepped back through the wide doorframe, put a hand to Molly’s shoulder. "She’ll be fine, Molly. She has a referral and can make the choice to see someone that can truly make a difference. Tell her the truth about me—I’m busy, I’m with patients. And she’s welcome to talk to Doctor Vick.”

“Will do.” Molly nodded and picked up the receiver as Jenna finally left for her now, even shorter, lunch.

****

Ushering the Youngs to the door, Jenna said her goodbyes with a quick, gentle pat to Mrs. Young’s swollen belly. The couple offered their gratitude, and Jenna smiled as they strolled down the hall, arms around each other, to retrieve their infant CPR completion certificate Molly would have printed and waiting.

They were getting better. Jenna could see it. While this new life would not take away the pain of the first loss, it almost always made it more bearable.

As she repositioned chairs, cleared the desk of a day’s worth of papers, she let herself breathe and feel accomplished at a full day well done. Her heart warmed at the thought of the Youngs, knowing in some small way, she’d been a part of their progression. It was humbling to be allowed into the intimacy of healing.

Though some parts of her life seemed to be falling around her like the walls of Jericho, she could count on the stability of work.

Her phone vibrated from inside her coat pocket, reminding her she had a full night yet.

She needed to pick up the kids from school, head home to get everyone a change of clothes, then to Ben’s for the dinner she was still not so sure about. Her kids, his parents, equaled ‘serious’ to her mind. While she’d thrown the single, celibate vow out the window long ago (that had lasted what, a day?), she still wasn’t sure she was ready to jump in quite as deep as Ben seemed willing to go . . . or had already gone.

Time would tell, she guessed. In most things, it usually did.

As she pulled out her phone, checked the clock, time told her to get moving. She was late.

****

Driving from the clinic to the school, Jenna grabbed her ringing phone from the cup holder.

“Ms. Gregor, Officer Cooley.”

“Yes, hi, Officer.”

“Have a moment?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We traced the call placed to your phone yesterday to a pay phone at a gas station near Spring Hill. Sorry to say though, we didn’t get much more except the location. We went out, had a look around, but didn't find anything useful. Pay phone’s too littered with prints of hundreds or thousands to do us any good. The employees didn’t see anything and security cameras are only positioned inside the store and directly outside at the entrance. Phone’s over on the other side of the lot by the car vacuum and air tank.”

Jenna physically felt her shoulders sink, and couldn’t seem to hide the frustration in her voice. “So we’re back to square one?"

“Not necessarily,” Cooley said quickly. “We’re very inclined now to call the attack on your home deliberate, and all the incidents you’ve experienced recently do seem to be connected. That’s something. A starting point. We’ve also got the photo and we’re looking at some angles there.”

“So what do I do now?”

“You go on like usual. Be careful, be vigilant, but there’s no need to panic until we know more and understand what we’re dealing with. I'll, of course, contact you with any information.”

“Of course.”

“You take care now, Ms. Gregor. I’ll be in touch.”

Well, that was a disappointment, a frustrating end to an otherwise productive day.

She’d like to run it past Ben, see if he thought she was over-reacting, but she felt like taking the kids to Robin’s for a week or so, letting them have an extended slumber party or some other fun excuse to get them out of the house.

The vandalism plus the defaced picture meant the person who was harassing her knew where she lived, meant to hurt her in the place she held most dear and felt most safe.

Though she didn’t have any reason to think they wanted to harm her physically—wouldn’t they have done that already?——she didn’t like the idea of her kids being in a home that now felt violated and exposed.

Their safety and security was her main concern.

Maybe she’d set it up with Robin, see if she could get them transferred over by week’s end.

It might even give her time to do some detective work of her own. She’d been intending to compile some notes of everything that had happened. Log anything even remotely suspicious, any event, person, situation that made her uncomfortable. She’d already flipped back through the weeks, mentally noted what she felt, saw, who and what surrounded her in the time leading up to and following any of the incidents. But she needed to write it down, get it on paper and look at it as one big puzzle.

That’d be easier if the kids were away. She could focus, clear her mind.

Jenna snapped on her blinker and turned into the circular drive of the elementary building where she could pick-up Jacy, then wind around behind the building and get Dawson from pre-school.

Glancing at the clock on the rental car (she knew they wouldn’t have her Jeep back in three weeks), she breathed a sigh of relief. 3:39 meant she was still within the thirty minute pick-up window to catch Jacy waiting outside. Beyond that, any remaining students were moved indoors and the check-out process became longer, ensuring they'd be late for tonight’s dinner at Ben’s.

Deciding to forgo the line of cars, Jenna parked in the lot, made her way to the covered porch outside the school doors.

Children grouped by grade, stood in rows, alphabetized sequences stationed on a sign in front of each line.

Her eyes scanned the littlest guys—kindergarten—moved to the slightly taller first graders, then landed on her girl’s second grade group.

She progressed down the line as she neared, ticked off kids in the A thru E groups. But there was no one in line G. No Gregor waiting.

Steps quickening, Jenna looked to the front of the line, made sure Jacy’s teacher, Miss Emily, was at the helm. Yes, this was the right class.

Her eyes darted back to the string of children. Of course she had the right class; here were all of Jacy’s classmates, lined like ducks in a row. But Jacy wasn’t there.

Certain she was miscounting or misjudging names, she scrambled down the line, now right upon the children, looking at each face as she raced by.

Nothing. No sign of the sweet, brown-haired, blue-eyed child. Not in this line—her eyes whizzed to the other clusters of children—or any other.

Sick, Jenna already knew what her mind would not let her comprehend.

Jacy was gone.

FIFTEEN

Knees weak, palms sweating, stomach swimming with nausea, Jenna stumbled to Emily.

Vaguely, in the fuzziness of her mind, she heard the tiny voices of Jacy’s friends calling for her attention.

She had no attention to give. Her mind wouldn’t stop swirling, her eyes couldn’t focus. Where normally there was clarity, clearness, she only saw haze, a dark cloud of confusion.

Where was her baby!

Jenna grabbed the distracted teacher’s arm, desperate for answers, whirled her around. “Emily.”

The young woman immediately spotted Jenna’s desperation. She spoke swiftly, concern covering her smooth face. “Ms. Gregor, are you all right?”

Mouth dry, head spinning, Jenna swayed slightly. With her free hand, Emily took hold of Jenna’s other arm, steadying them, so they stood locked together, face to face.

“Where is Jacy?” she said sluggishly, her speech slowed by a heavy tongue that felt thick and dry, like she was heavily sedated.

Emily creased her sunny brows. “Jenna, she’s gone. She was picked up about fifteen minutes ago . . . right on time actually. Is everything okay?”