Too Close to Home Read online

  “Whew.” Andrew scrubbed a hand down a smooth-shaven cheek. “That could be dangerous.”

  “Yeah. I know. But it might be our only hope of stopping this guy. We’d have to wear vests practically 24/7 and even that’s no guarantee.”

  “Have you run it by the captain?”

  “No, I wanted to see what you thought first. If we make this guy mad enough, he might come after us. If you don’t want to take that chance, then we’ll figure something else out.”

  Andrew stood, walked to the watercooler, and drew a draft in the paper cup. He drank it, tossed the cup in the trash can beside the cooler. “You know, Angie and I eventually want to have kids. But with guys like this running around killing, all the evil in the world that we deal with every day, it’s hard to think about bringing a child into this world.”

  “Thought you would trust God with that.”

  Surprise flickered in Andrew’s green eyes. “Yes, of course, but as you know, it’s an imperfect world. Just because I love the Lord doesn’t mean he puts a bulletproof wall around me. Or around those I love. Bad stuff still happens.”

  “I know. I’m terrified every day for Jenna.” Connor was a little shocked he’d admitted that out loud. But it was true.

  Andrew sighed. “I worry about that girl myself. She needs you, Connor, more than ever now. I’d hate to be a teenager in this day and age. And Jenna . . .”

  “What about her?”

  “It’s not just you she needs, my friend. She needs your guidance, she needs to see you going to church, to see you making the decision to spend time with her, to—”

  “Right, look, Andrew, I appreciate your concern, but . . .” Connor sighed and punched a fist into an open palm. “Back to this. You game?”

  “Yeah.” Andrew let the topic slide. He’d made his point. “We can’t let fear stop us from doing what’s right.” He nodded.

  “Let me run it by the chief and pull Tim in on exactly what we need to say in the press conference.” He changed the subject. “Now, want to go through the timeline again?”

  “Sure, why not. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  The timeline, simply a whiteboard depicting the dates the teens went missing, the dates they were found, and the ones still missing, hung on the opposite wall, beginning with a date that started a little over a year ago. Connor pointed to the first one. “She disappeared May of last year, which means we’re sixteen months into this case.” He stopped, pursed his lips, and eyed the wall.

  “What?” Andrew stared at him, confusion glittering in his green eyes.

  “I think Samantha should be here for this.”

  Understanding replaced the confusion, along with a little smug smirk curling one corner of his mouth.

  Connor held up a hand. “Don’t even go there. I’m just thinking that she’s helping us out on this case, so we should maybe wait for her to come on over and go through this with us.”

  “She’s not done with the computers, is she?”

  Connor shook his head. “No, and I promised her I’d keep her updated. She wants to stay involved. She should be here in a little bit, but I think I’ll call her and tell her to get a move on.” He picked up his cell phone and dialed her number, ignoring the excitement curling in his belly at the thought of seeing her again.

  Glass rained down around her, nicking her arms and other exposed flesh. Samantha kicked over the coffee table and curled into a fetal position behind it. All she could think was that if the guy had another shot ready to fly, the wooden table wouldn’t even slow it down.

  She had to get to the hallway, her bedroom, and grab her gun. But did she dare move? Did she dare stay put?

  Heart pounding, breath whistling through her nose, she shoved her left hand into her back pocket and pulled out her ringing Blackberry.

  A shaking finger fumbled for the right button. “Connor! Get units to my apartment now. Someone’s shooting it up!”

  “What!” His shout nearly deafened her. “On the way. Stay on the phone with me!”

  She looked over the edge of the coffee table at the disaster that was now her living room.

  The silent stillness screamed in the aftermath.

  Shaking, staring in disbelief, she finally realized Connor was shouting her name. “What? What? I’m here, yeah. I . . . I’m here. I’m okay.”

  She looked across to the opposite wall and gasped. “Oh my . . .”

  “What is it? Come on, Sam, talk to me.”

  “Uh . . . I think you’re going to have to see this to believe it.”

  A crossbow bolt was embedded in her wall above her kitchen table. And there was something on the shaft. A piece of paper?

  Sirens sounded in the distance. “Is that you I hear?”

  “That’s me. I’m about thirty seconds away.”

  “Check the woods first. The bolt came from the trees across from my sliding glass door.”

  “Bolt?” he demanded.

  Then she heard him speaking to someone in the car about a crime scene investigator, but her focus centered on the bolt protruding from her wall. Then she slid her gaze to the shattered door. Was he still out there?

  Surely whoever had shot the bolt had heard the sirens and gotten away while he could.

  A hard pounding on her door had her wading through the debris. She twisted the knob and Connor swept in, followed by four uniformed officers.

  At the sight of her living area, they all pulled to a stop and stared.

  Connor sucked in a deep breath. “Are you all right? You’re cut.”

  The stinging of numerous cuts kicked in, burning the right side of her face, the back of her hands and arms. “Ow. Guess I’ve got a few nicks.” Without thought, she reached up to comb her hair with her fingers, scattering pieces of the glass onto her floor—and adding a cut to the palm of her hand. “But other than that . . . yes, I think I’m okay.”

  He stepped toward her and she waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of that later.”

  His gaze landed on her wall and he gaped. “Whoa. Is that a . . . ?”

  “Uh-huh, a crossbow bolt.”

  He walked toward it reaching for his radio. “Hey, Andrew, you see anything? You’re looking for anything related to a crossbow.”

  Andrew’s voice squawked back, “Nobody’s here now. We’re right across from her apartment. Ground’s messed up, like someone was here for a good little while, though. Didn’t leave anything obvious or helpful like cigarette butts with some DNA, but we’ll get the crime scene guys working on it and see if they come up with anything.”

  “Good deal. You stay on that end, I’ll cover this one.”

  Samantha watched him study the arrow. “There’s a piece of paper wrapped around there.”

  “Yeah, I see it. As soon as we get the all clear, I’ll let the crime scene guys do their stuff in here. They should be here soon.”

  No sooner had he spoken than his radio crackled again and Andrew came on. “We’re good out here, Connor. Whoever this guy is, he’s gone. I’ve already got a crime scene team going over the ground, but don’t expect much.”

  A knock sounded. Samantha moved to get it. She opened the door to more uniforms. Connor turned to the two men entering. “Hey, Skip. Jake, glad you two caught this one.”

  Jake asked, “Where’s the body?”

  Samantha gave a choked laugh. “Alive and kicking, thank goodness. He missed and got the wall.” She pointed.

  Connor said, “Yeah, I want to know what’s on that paper.”

  “Right.” Jake stepped toward it, snapping his gloves in place as he tilted his head. With precise movements, he extracted the paper from the bolt and unfurled it. Connor peered over Jake’s shoulder. Sam frowned, gave Connor a not-so-gentle nudge, and leaned in close to read it for herself.

  He moved over a tad, but she couldn’t help noticing the tangy scent of his aftershave, the warmth emanating from his body so close to hers. His hand came up to rest on her lower back.
/>   Whoa! She shifted, moved away before she could see what was on the paper and headed toward the kitchen where she kept her first aid kit. “I’m going to take care of some of these cuts. Read it aloud, will you?”

  Jake obliged. “BACK OFF OR NEXT TIME I WON’T MISS.”

  Adrenalin fired once again, then ebbed. The shakes set in. Weakness hit her knees and she gripped the edge of the sink to keep from falling. Warm male hands cupped her elbows, led her to the nearest chair.

  She slumped into it and put her head between her knees and waited for her world to stop spinning.

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

  Sam pulled her head up and looked into his blue eyes. Concern, caring, stared back at her.

  He cleared his throat. “Let me help you with those cuts.”

  Turning, he reached for the first aid kit she’d set on the counter. Swiveling back in front of her, he pulled out the ointment and gauze. Gentle fingers went to work on her face. He said, “I don’t think you have any glass embedded. They’re all small and look pretty superficial.”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. I really am. Just . . . a little shock settling in, I guess.”

  “Understandable. Someone must be really nervous that you’ve been called in on this.”

  “But how would anyone know?”

  “Beats me, but this tells us one thing for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whoever sent this has done his homework. He knows who you are, what you do, and he’s scared about what you might find on those computers.”

  Andrew stood in the doorway.

  Connor looked at him. “Looks like we might not need that press conference after all.”

  “Too late. Chief’s going on the news tonight at six.”

  8

  At 5:25 that evening, Samantha pulled into her sister’s driveway and cut the engine. Time to find out what was going on with Jamie, to focus on someone other than herself. The desire to get back to the computers tugged at her, but she had to prioritize. Right now, Jamie came first—and she’d brought her laptop with her.

  Grabbing the bag of Krispy Kreme donuts and a small suitcase, she climbed out and walked up to the front door.

  She knocked twice, paused, then rapped three more times. Her signal for Jamie that it was Samantha on her porch.

  The door opened and Samantha gaped.

  Jamie gave a little self-conscious laugh and touched her hair, then frowned, scrutinizing Samantha’s face. “What happened to you? You look like you had a fight with Daddy’s razor and lost.”

  “Thanks. Just a little incident with my sliding glass door. I’ll explain later. Let’s talk about you. Your hair, it’s . . .”

  “It’s what? What do you think?”

  “It looks . . . awesome.” And it did. Rather than the rat’s nest in the ponytail she usually sported, Jamie’s naturally curly blonde hair had been stylishly cut into long and short layers that looked beautiful. “Wow, when did someone come do that?”

  “I . . . walked down to the salon near the little café up the street.”

  Samantha could only stare at the transformation the haircut had rendered in her sister.

  Jamie laughed and gestured for Samantha to come inside. “Oh come on, it’s not that big of a difference, is it?”

  “Uh, well, it’s not so much the haircut, although that looks great. I guess it’s the fact that you went and had it done. You’ve left here twice”—she narrowed her eyes, drilling her sister with her gaze—“that I know of. What’s going on?”

  Jamie blushed, ducking her head, then she stood with clenched fists and the most beautiful expression Samantha had ever seen on her sister’s face.

  Determination.

  Samantha sat on the couch and studied the woman before her. “Wow, I’m so impressed.”

  “Thanks. You brought your overnight bag.”

  “You should be a detective with those powers of observation.” Samantha tried to ease a little humor into her situation. It fell flat. “I’m here to stay for a while if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, of course. You know you’re welcome here anytime.”

  “I do know and I appreciate it. Now tell me about you. Twice, Jamie?”

  Jamie sat next to Sam. “I’ve left more than twice. A lot more, actually, if you count the times I’ve gone somewhere with someone. I’m going to get better. I’m going to have a life again. For ten years I’ve let him win. But I’ve been doing an online Bible study. The topic of this one was fear. I’ve learned so much about God now that I’ve stopped being mad at him.”

  Amazement set in. Ever since her sister had been rescued from her kidnapper, Samantha had thought of her as helpless, a poor, beaten victim who never seemed to recover from the trauma she’d endured.

  Although she’d encouraged Jamie to seek professional help, to trust in God, to believe that she could get better, it stunned Samantha to realize that while she’d wanted Jamie to heal, after all this time, she hadn’t really believed she would. Ouch. Something to think—and pray—about later. “So, why haven’t you shared all this with me?”

  Jamie gave a small shrug. “Because, for a long time, I had a lot of anger. I was so full of anger.” She crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head.

  Samantha winced. She deserved Jamie’s anger. A sibling tiff had ended in tragedy. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Jamie, I don’t know what—”

  Jamie held up a hand. “One thing I did come to understand is that you never meant for any of . . . what happened to happen. I don’t blame you.”

  “I shouldn’t have driven off. I’m ten years older, I should have been more mature, not reacted and been so . . . judgmental.”

  “Enough. I don’t want to talk about that.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Like I said, I don’t blame you anymore—or God. I blame . . . him.” She reached out a hand and grabbed Samantha’s, looking deep into her sister’s eyes. “One day, I hope you can forgive yourself. I’ve forgiven you for driving off, I really have. I don’t hold anyone responsible for what happened except the man who did this to me.” She sucked in a deep breath and let go of Samantha’s fingers.

  “Anyway, I didn’t want to say anything and wind up failing. I couldn’t rely on you anymore. I can’t depend on Mom and Dad or Tom or Casey.” Casey was Jamie’s best friend from childhood and had stood by her for the last ten years. “This was totally between God and me. Don’t get me wrong, Sam, you’ve been incredible. Finding me that wonderful Christian counselor, talking me into getting my online college degree, getting me a part-time job with the FBI that allowed me to do all kinds of things from my home. But it’s time for me to get out of my comfort zone.”

  “Can you really do it?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I’ve been doing it.” She gave a small laugh. “Now, I won’t say I like it, exactly, but it’s . . . freeing.” Rubbing her hands together, she drew in a deep breath. “I finished all the classes I could take online and I’ve done all the labs. I’ll be graduating soon.”

  “I’m stunned.”

  “I know. I am too. I can’t believe I’ve actually done it. I didn’t tell anyone because I was so afraid I’d fail. But I’m only twenty-eight years old, Sam. I want to meet someone, fall in love, have a family, go to the movies with friends. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  Samantha wondered where she’d been while all this was going on. She’d been a regular in her sister’s life, visiting, calling. Sure she’d seen that Jamie had seemed to be improving, but this . . .

  “How long has all this been going on? I mean, I knew you were staying busy, taking classes, working part-time, but . . .”

  “I’ve been really working toward my PhD for about five years now. I told you when I got my degree in biology.”

  “Yeah, and you wouldn’t even let us throw a party to celebrate,” Samantha reminded her.

  “Ha. Yes, well, I wasn’t quite as mentally stable then as I am now. But, all
those classes I kept taking, they kept my mind occupied. I studied day and night, falling asleep over my textbooks, only to wake up and start all over. You know I’ve always been fascinated with science. And after the . . . attack, I learned more about the human body than I ever thought I’d need. It was a natural thing to go into anthropology. And I chose forensics because . . .”

  At the word “attack,” Samantha had looked at the carpet. Attack wasn’t near a strong enough word for what Jamie went through. “Because you still want to catch this guy.”

  “Yeah,” Jamie whispered. “He’s still out there, Sam. I want to work in a crime lab—or at least in some capacity that helps find the bad guys. I want to find him . . . somehow, someway because I have this awful feeling that he hasn’t stopped doing—” She choked off the words.

  “Aw, Jamie . . .”

  “Anyway,” Jamie ignored Samantha’s teary sympathy, “all those classes eventually added up. I realized it wouldn’t take much more than labs and rounds to get my PhD.” She got up, paced to the window, and looked out. “But in order to do that, I had to be able to the leave the house. Maya’s been a wonderful counselor. Either she or Casey made themselves available to go to the lab classes with me.”

  “Oh, wow. Jamie, I would have helped, I would have gone to classes with you . . .” She trailed off at Jamie’s upraised hand.

  “Sam, I . . .” She looked away, then back. “I didn’t you want to. Don’t get me wrong. I knew you’d arrange your life to do whatever I needed, but I needed to do this. On my own. Well, on my own with God and the people I asked to help me. You know? I just had to . . . figure it all out and just . . . do it. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” And it did. She didn’t know why she understood, but she did. She should have felt hurt, left out. Maybe even offended. But she didn’t. Jamie had done what she’d needed to do.

  Her sister gave a little laugh. “I even had one professor who came here to do an independent study with me. The university has made some special allowances for me.” She shrugged. “I can’t really explain how I worked through it after so many years of . . . incapacitating fear.” Swallowing hard, she turned back to Samantha. “I have to give God the total credit for it. And I guess knowing Maya had been through some of what I experienced helped me talk about stuff I couldn’t even think about before. It’s definitely been one step at a time. Gathering the courage to just open the door. Then taking one step outside. Then another. Before I knew it, I was at the end of the driveway. Then a little farther each day with Maya at my side. Then venturing out alone. And I carry my Bible with me. I know it may seem silly, but it gives me comfort so I do it.”