Killer's Prey. Rachel Lee

Then he shook his head. “I spent a long time getting to sleep at night by tossing down a couple of whiskeys. I doubt that young woman is drinking anything stronger than lemonade.”

      “Not in that house.”

      “I don’t know how to figure Loftis in this. Does he care for his daughter? If so, how much?”

      “Nora seemed to think that he’s going to blame her for the attack, claiming she sinned by finding a normal life for herself.”

      Gage swore quietly. “Somebody tell me why men like that never meet an untimely end.”

      That almost surprised a laugh from Jake. He wasn’t used to hearing Gage talk that way.

      Suddenly Gage leaned forward. “Okay. I’m going to talk to my wife, Emma. I bet she can offer Nora a job at the library, doing something that won’t wear her out too much. Give her a little income. Maybe she can get out of that house then and she won’t be alone, at least at work. In the meantime, we get everyone to put eyes and ears on for strangers. Quietly. And hope to God we’re wasting our time.”

      Jake was far from a happy camper when he left a few minutes later, but he was glad that Gage was taking this so seriously. He sat outside in his car for a few minutes, trying to decide just how much of a threat there really was to Nora. This was damn near the back of beyond, hardly a blip on the map. Truckers came through here only because the state highway provided a shortcut to the interstate.

      But it was not totally off the radar. Who could guess how many people Nora might have mentioned her hometown to? Or what sort of information about her Cranston Langdon might be able to access?

      Nobody. The guy was clearly crazy. He had to have known that attacking his own wife was only going to deepen his troubles. Apparently he either didn’t care, or wasn’t capable of caring. Hell, if people feared consequences, there’d never be a murder.

      Sorely troubled, he sat a while longer, watching pedestrians stride along the sidewalks, everything looking so damn normal he couldn’t believe how much had changed by the insertion of one wounded woman into his life.

      Nothing looked the same anymore. Nothing. All because of Nora.

      And dammit, he had to do something more to keep an eye on her than rely on the loose cordon Gage was instituting. A whole lot more. But just what? How could he insert himself further into her life? She’d warmed to him a bit over the past twenty-four hours, but he doubted she wanted him camped on her doorstep.

      And then there was Fred Loftis. He’d have to find a way around that man or be forbidden to set foot on his property.

      He paused in midthought, as it struck him that he seemed like an odd choice for Fred to have sent after Nora. They weren’t friends. Far from it. Fred could have asked anyone from his church.

      So why the hell send the chief of police? The more Jake thought about it, the more disturbed he was by what had initially seemed to be nothing but a neighbor’s request.

      What the hell was Fred Loftis up to? Did he know something about that long-ago night and what Nora had done? What he had done? Had asking Jake been intended to cause more pain?

      Or was it Fred’s way of reminding his daughter that she was a sinner?

      Damn! He wanted to pound the steering wheel. He wished like hell he could read minds.

      But he couldn’t. And he was beginning to have a horrifying feeling that Nora might be tangled in more than one spider’s web.

      He had to figure out something. Anything. And soon.

      * * *

      Nora sent a few text messages to friends back in Minneapolis, assuring them she was okay but was careful to avoid telling them where she had gone. Denver was the closest she had come to telling them her plans when she left, but she imagined none of them suspected she was here. After all, she’d made no secret of where she had come from, and no secret of her problems with her father. She doubted any of them would think she had come home.

      She could hardly believe it herself. What was she doing here in this house, a house that still echoed with angry words spoken so long ago, when her father had insisted her mother had killed herself because Nora had gone away to college to live a sinful life? Him shouting those damning words, and her shouting back that if anything had made her mother suicidal, it had been life with a harsh, judgmental man who wouldn’t even allow her a single thought or act of her own.

      A man, she thought bitterly now, who had gotten a dishwasher when he no longer had a woman to clean up after him. A dishwasher! Her mother had asked for one once, when she often had tons of dishes to do after contributing to a church supper, when her hands had become arthritic and the job had begun to pain her, and the answer had been, “Idle hands...”

      Yeah, idle hands. Her mother’s hands had never been idle, even when they got so bad she could no longer do her crewelwork or her knitting. Nora had stepped in as much as possible with the chores, but the desire to escape that house had overwhelmed her, too. College had been her way out. There had been none for her mother.

      Maybe her father was right. Maybe her leaving had taken away her mother’s last support. Maybe she had left Gretchen Loftis feeling hopeless. Certainly, her mom had been left without anyone to buffer her against her dad.

      Nora, at least, had often provided him another object for his endless sermons and criticisms. With Nora gone, Gretchen must have born the full brunt.

      God! She couldn’t afford to think that way. She had to remind herself that when she announced she was leaving, her mother hadn’t offered a word of protest. Not one sound, unlike Fred, who had told her she was on the path to hell.

      No, Gretchen had helped her daughter pack. Had taken her to the bus station. What wrath that must have brought down on her head.

      Nora felt tears seeping out of her eyes but she didn’t wipe them away. Gretchen had wanted her daughter to escape. Of that she was certain. But whether that had anything to do with her mother’s final act of despair, there was no way to know.

      So maybe she was responsible, at least in part. But not fully. Never fully. Not with Fred Loftis in the picture.

      God, what was she doing here? Had she sunk so low she had to come back here? Couldn’t she find enough strength to stand on her own two feet?

      Escaping Minneapolis made sense, at least until that man was in prison. And yes, she was still very weak from her injuries and needed time yet to regain her strength. But surely she could have gone somewhere else.

      Agitated, she rose and walked through the house. No pictures of her or her mother remained. They had been erased as if they had never been. Even the wedding photo showing a young Gretchen and Fred had vanished.

      Why the hell had her father told her to come back here? Some vestige of genuine caring? Or just the sense that he had to do something that would look good to the people whose opinions he really cared about?

      She would never understand that man. Never understand how he could care so much about some things and so little about others. How he had become so hard and implacable.

      How had he become so righteous and wrathful and so lacking in compassion? Had he been raised that way? She would never know, as she knew nothing about him except what he showed her in any passing moment. If he had a past he never mentioned it. He might have sprung out of the ground as a fully formed adult for all she knew.

      She had to get out of here. A glance at the clock told her he would probably be coming home soon. He generally took an afternoon break then returned to the pharmacy as the evening business picked up and remained until closing.

      But where would she go?

      Anywhere. Anywhere at all.

      Once again grabbing her jacket and the key, she left the house. Walk slowly, she reminded herself. One easy step at a time or she wouldn’t get anywhere at all. There was the library, if she wanted relative quiet, or Maude’s if she wanted coffee.

      But