Cold Hearts. Sharon Sala

he began looking at his options, his stomach turned. There was a refrigerator full of food at his dad’s house, but he didn’t want any of that, either. He wound up eating a piece of leftover cake and emptying the entire pot of coffee he’d made.

      As time continued to pass, the urge to stay here was overwhelming, but the last thing he could do for his dad was stay strong and see this through. So he cleaned up the mess he’d made, locked up the house and headed back.

      It was past midnight when he drove into Mystic. The sky was overcast, and the moon that had been high in the sky hours earlier was hidden somewhere behind gathering clouds. He was wondering if Chief Jakes had been in contact yet with the people who serviced the lift down at the garage when he braked suddenly for a cop car. It went flying through an intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

      Someone was in trouble.

      He started to accelerate through the intersection when another police car appeared at the far end of the street and took a sharp left, obviously heading to the same location. He frowned. It wasn’t his practice to be a siren chaser, but since this was where he’d grown up and he knew almost everyone in town, he turned and followed the disappearing lights.

       Five

      Lissa was standing in her living room in the dark with her arms wrapped around her waist, still struggling with the urge to scream. Her bare feet were cold on the hardwood floors, her eyes wide and fixed on the front door. She had locked onto the faint sound of approaching sirens as if they were her lifeline, and when the lights from the first cop car appeared in the driveway and swept across the wall behind her, her knees buckled.

      They were here. Thank God, thank God. She was no longer alone. Without hesitation, she stumbled to the front door and then opened it wide.

      * * *

      The two police cruisers arrived at the house within seconds of each other just as Mack turned the corner at the far end of the block. He watched the officers emerge from the patrol cars and immediately recognized the Doyle brothers. Now he was even more curious as to what was going on.

      When it dawned on him that they were at the old Sherman house and he remembered Melissa was living there again, he tapped the brakes, slowing even more. Then he saw the front door open, and when he saw the blonde with a familiar tangle of curls appear in the doorway, he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He thought about driving away—letting her business be hers—but something held him here, so he stopped in the middle of the street to watch.

      The officers were all the way up on the porch by the time Mack noticed the porch light highlighting the terror on her face. He would never be able to drive away without finding out what was wrong, so he shifted the car into Park and headed for her house.

      * * *

      Lonnie Doyle arrived in his patrol car only seconds ahead of his brother Carl and was all the way up on the porch before he saw what was on her doorstep. He stopped, startled by the sight.

      “What the hell?”

      “What’s wrong?” Carl asked, as he came up the steps behind his brother. When he saw the rat beneath that overturned trap, the first thing he thought of was Paul Jackson beneath that lift. Some sick son of a bitch was messing with her big-time.

      “Someone was just here,” Lissa sobbed. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s been harassing me for weeks, and tonight he left this.”

      Mack was walking toward the house, pulled toward her presence like a moth to the flame, when he heard the words and the fear in her voice. He was shocked that a stalker was at work in Mystic. And then he reminded himself there was already an open murder investigation and the possibility that his father’s death might somehow be connected. A stalker only added to his disillusionment. He didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again, but the look of pure terror on her face wasn’t okay. He didn’t see the rat until he was on the steps, and then he almost stumbled. The reference was impossible to miss. Who the hell would do something this cold?

      Both officers heard the footsteps behind them, and their hands were on their weapons as they turned, but when they recognized who it was, they relaxed.

      Before they could ask what he was doing there, Mack walked between them and stopped just shy of the rat, his gaze fixed on Lissa’s face.

      “Melissa.”

      She stared, too stunned to answer.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      She was already in shock from what had just happened, but after his father’s death, she had known this moment was coming and dreaded it. She swayed on her feet as the world began to spin.

      Mack leaped over the bloody trap and caught her before she fell.

      Lissa grabbed hold of his forearms to steady herself, then hid her face against his chest, too rattled by his appearance to think.

      Lonnie glanced at his brother. “Carl, get a couple of pictures.”

      Carl arched an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about the rat or the lovebirds?”

      Lonnie glared.

      Carl grinned as he pulled out his cell phone and went to work.

      Mack looked down at the little pink pigs on her white flannel pajamas and sighed. Who knew that it would be an old girlfriend in pink-pig pajamas who would settle a tiny part of the ache in his heart?

      “Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” he asked.

      She came to her senses just as his hand cupped the side of her face, and she stepped back and away from him so fast she stumbled.

      “I’m not hurt,” she said, scrubbing the palm of her hand against the side of her face, trying to remove the sensation of him from her skin.

      Lonnie interrupted, anxious to get this dealt with. “Miss Sherman, I need to take your statement, but it’s a little chilly and your feet are bare. How about we go inside?”

      Lissa turned on the living room light and then led the way back into the house. Mack followed the sway of her hips all the way to the sofa, with Lonnie behind him, leaving Carl to bag the evidence and search the area for the perpetrator or any clues to his identity.

      Lissa sat down with her chin up and her eyes brimming with unshed tears, then pulled an afghan over her legs and absently tucked it beneath her feet.

      Mack sat down in a chair with a clear view of her face without being invited to stay. He’d already inserted himself into the ongoing drama without asking, and he wasn’t about to follow protocol now.

      Lonnie pulled out his phone, laying it on the coffee table near her as he settled at the other end of the sofa.

      “I’ll record and transcribe your statement, and you can sign it later,” he said.

      Lissa sighed. Hyperconscious of Mack’s presence and the lingering fear of the stalker in her life, all she could think was I can’t believe this is happening.

      Lonnie hit Record and then asked the first question.

      “I gather from what you said earlier that this isn’t the first time you’ve been harassed. Am I right?”

      She nodded, and then realized that wouldn’t translate to a recorder and answered, “Yes, that’s right.”

      “Do you know who’s doing it?”

      She clutched the afghan as if it was body armor, unaware she was crying.

      “No. I have no idea.”

      Lonnie kept firing questions. “How long has this been going on?”

      She shivered. “Almost a month.”

      “Can you elaborate