Lone Witness Page 8

  “I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone. I want to get inside and get to work. It’s going to take me longer than usual to get things ready for opening,” she replied, climbing out of the SUV and closing the door. She ran to the diner and unlocked it, darting inside and shutting the door before she could change her mind, go back to the SUV and tell Henry that she would be happy if they never had to say goodbye. Not for any length of time.

  She watched through a window as he drove away.

  It was what she wanted. She should have been happy.

  All she felt was tired.

  Her cell phone rang as she trudged into the kitchen, and she thought it might be him. No one else called at odd hours of the day.

  “Hello?” she said, holding the phone between her ear and her uninjured shoulder, expecting to hear Henry’s voice.

  “I know what you did,” someone said, the tone raspy and harsh. Maybe male. Maybe female. It was impossible to distinguish.

  “Who is this?” she demanded, and she was surprised that her voice wasn’t shaking. That she sounded confident rather than terrified.

  “I know what you did,” the person repeated.

  The hair on her arms stood up, her stomach clenching with fear. “I haven’t done anything.”

  The person chuckled. “You’ve done plenty. Eventually, you’ll have to pay for it.”

  “Whoever you are, you’ve obviously got the wrong number.” She hung up.

  The phone rang again.

  She answered, because she felt almost compelled to.

  “Sometimes, it’s good to mind your own business. Sometimes, doing anything else can get a woman in trouble,” the person said.

  “You have the wrong number,” she said and hung up again.

  The next time the phone rang, she ignored it, turning off the ringer so she wouldn’t hear it as she set the dining-room tables.

  Outside, the sun had just begun to rise and the street beyond the diner was dark. She could see shadows moving as the cold winter wind blew through pine-tree boughs.

  Anyone could be hiding out there, watching her.

  Her skin crawled, and she had the absurd urge to call Henry and tell her what had happened.

  But what would she say? That someone had made a prank call? That it had scared her because the caller had said he knew what she had done, and she had, in fact, done something. She’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of antique jewelry from her abusive ex, and she was terrified he was coming to seek revenge.

  “It wasn’t Patrick,” she said, her words echoing hollowly in the empty dining room.

  Someone knocked on the back door, and she jumped, her heart in her throat, her pulse racing.

  It was locked.

  Or, it should be.

  She hadn’t been to work in nearly a month. It was possible the night crew was getting lackadaisical. She doubted Ernie would allow it, but just in case, she grabbed a knife from the butcherblock on the counter as she walked across the dark kitchen and checked.

  The doorknob wiggled as she approached.

  She saw it clearly despite the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  No one answered, and the terror she’d been trying to hold at bay surged up. She hurried into the office—the only windowless space in the diner—and called 911.

  * * *

  Henry didn’t have a problem taking no for an answer, and he certainly had no desire to push for a relationship that wasn’t wanted by both parties.

  In the years since Diane’s death, he’d dated a few times. He’d found the experiences to be, for the most part, awkward and uncomfortable. If Tessa had been any of the women he’d gone out with, he’d have driven away and not given the relationship a second thought.

  He didn’t need to add people to his life.

  It was filled by the twins and his work.

  But somehow, Tessa had woven herself into the fabric of his family. He was never surprised when he arrived at his in-laws’ for the weekend and found her there. Often, she’d be sitting at the kitchen table, snapping peas for Brett or singing 1950s tunes with Rachelle. Twice, he and the girls had arrived, and Tessa had been rubbing the wood banister with beeswax and listening to Rachelle tell stories about Diane.

  Seeing her with his family had become the norm, and he didn’t want that to change. He doubted she did, either. He’d watched her with the girls. He’d heard the laughter in her voice when she’d asked questions about their friends in Montessori school and heard stories about their mortal enemies. He’d seen it in her eyes as she’d listened to Everly describe the horrors of ballet class.

  It was her gentleness with Aria that touched him most. On two different Saturday evenings, Tessa had sat next to Aria and listened as she’d described her favorite books.

  Her attention had never wavered.

  She hadn’t pulled out her phone or glanced at the clock.

  She’d treated Aria as if she was the most important person she had ever met. She did the same with his in-laws and with Everly, giving each of them every bit of her attention when they were conversing. She never seemed to get tired of Everly’s chatter or Rachelle’s stories, or of Brett’s description of his years working as the top neurosurgeon in Massachusetts.

  He liked that about her.

  He liked her.

  The more time he spent with her, the deeper his admiration grew.

  But she was hiding something.

  He was as certain of that as he was that Everly would not be dancing in Swan Lake one day.

  He pulled into the drive-thru of an all-night coffee shop and ordered two coffees. One with cream and sugar. One black and as strong as the barista could make it. It had been a week of twelve-hour days spent poring over the case files related to the serial kidnapper. Yesterday, he’d visited one of the two men who’d staged the altercation that had drawn Kayla away from Tessa’s hospital room. Unlike his buddies, he’d given a few indications that he might be willing to talk. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to know much. Just that his buddy Ezra Standard had been hitchhiking off the Cape and been picked up by a man who had offered him ten thousand dollars to off a lady at the hospital. The guy hadn’t said why, and Ezra hadn’t cared. He had an addiction that needed to be fed, and it took money to do that.

  Yesterday’s interview hadn’t revealed anything, and Henry had returned to the field office exhausted and frustrated. He’d filed a report, done some overdue paperwork and finally arrived at the Cape four hours after the twins’ bedtime. He hadn’t missed the fatigue in Rachelle’s eyes when he’d walked into the kitchen and seen her reading a magazine and sipping a cup of tea. She wasn’t getting any younger, and he couldn’t keep asking her to step in when he couldn’t be there for the girls.

  Returning to the diner, he frowned as he pulled up and parked in the alley beside it. A police car was parked at the curb. The place wouldn’t open for another hour and the only reason he could think of for the cruiser to be there was if it had been called out.

  He got out of the SUV and walked to the front door. He could see Tessa setting wrapped silverware on tables. Officer Kayla Delphina was sitting in a chair nearby, a small notebook in her hand and a frown on her face.

  Whatever had happened, she wasn’t happy about it.

  He knocked on the door, and Tessa jumped, dropping the silverware she’d been placing and whirling to face the door.

  When she saw him, she sagged in relief.

  “It’s unlocked,” she called. “Come on in.”

  He stepped into the diner, a coffee cup in each hand. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing serious,” she replied.

  “How about you let us be the judge of that?” Kayla responded.

  “Good idea,” Henry agreed. “What happened?”

  “It was a prank
phone call,” Tessa said hurriedly. “I got spooked. That’s all. Like I said, it was nothing.”

  “You said someone knocked on the back door,” Kayla reminded her.

  “Well, yes, but that could have been anyone.”

  “How often do people knock on the back door this time of morning?” Henry asked, handing her the coffee with cream and sugar and offering the other cup to Kayla.

  “No, thanks. Chief has me on graveyard since I messed up at the hospital, and I’m so filled with caffeine, I may never sleep again. Henry’s question is a legitimate one, Tess. Do you often get early morning visitors?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Have you ever had an early morning visit right after receiving a prank call?” Kayla persisted, and Tessa frowned.

  “This is the first time I’ve received a prank call,” Tessa admitted.

  “What did the caller say?” Henry asked, lifting the cell phone that was lying on a table nearby. It was hers. He recognized the case.

  “Nothing that made any sense.” She took a sip of coffee, her gaze on the phone.

  “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “He said he knew what I had done,” she replied, the word rushing out, her gaze on the phone, the table, the floor, the wall. Anywhere but Henry.

  “You’re sure it was a man?” Kayla asked.

  “No. It could have been a woman.”

  “But you said he,” Henry pointed out.

  “Unintentionally.”

  “Because there’s someone you were thinking of? Someone who might want to scare you?”

  “The kidnapper pops to mind,” Kayla offered before Tessa could respond.

  Too bad.

  Henry would have liked to hear her answer.

  He had a feeling the kidnapper hadn’t been the first person to pop into her mind. He’d noticed the scar on her face. He’d seen another on the inside of her forearm. Just a jagged pale line that looked like it had come from a broken glass. She’d told him very little about her past, but he knew she’d come from a tough neighborhood, that her mother had been a drug addict, that she’d made enough of her own mistakes as a teen and young adult to have a little more sympathy for the woman who’d raised her. She’d mentioned a relationship but hadn’t gone into specifics.

  That seemed to be Tessa’s MO: very little information and very few details.

  Which wasn’t going to help her if she was hiding from something or someone from her past.

  “Was that what you were thinking?” he asked. “That the kidnapper might have contacted you?”

  “Not really, but it makes more sense than...”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She set her coffee on the hostess station and grabbed more silverware.

  “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth,” he said, exasperated, frustrated, worried.

  He wanted to protect her.

  She wasn’t making it easy.

  He was about to tell her that when something crashed through the window a few feet away, smashing the pane of glass and shattering it into millions of tiny shards.

  “Get down!” he shouted, diving toward Tessa and tackling her to the ground as light flashed and a ball of fire shot across the room.

  SIX

  The fire alarm screamed and smoke filled the air, but the fire seemed to be contained to a small area near the shattered window. Tessa noticed that at the same time she noticed a dark figure standing in the street. Tall and lean. A hat pulled over his eyes. She couldn’t make out the details through the haze of smoke, but she was certain Henry and Kayla saw him, too. Kayla was calling into her radio, asking for backup. Henry was lying still, pressing her into the floor with his weight.

  “I need to get a fire extinguisher,” she gasped, shoving against his firm chest. “There’s one behind the hostess station.”

  He didn’t move, and she couldn’t move him. He was at least five inches taller and probably sixty pounds heavier.

  “Henry! I can’t let this place go up in flames. It’s all Ernie and Betty have!” she nearly shouted.

  He finally shifted his weight, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the hostess station, his focus on the street. The man was gone, but he’d looked a lot like the kidnapper. The same build and height, anyway. She knew that. Would have said it, but Henry dragged the extinguisher and sprayed it at the fire.

  “Wait here,” he ordered as he strode toward the foam-covered debris that was in the middle of the shattered glass.

  She followed, because she wasn’t about to let him face danger while she cowered near the wall.

  He toed the mess, glanced at Kayla. “It’s out, but the fire department should still respond. I’m not sure if any damage has been done to the floor.”

  “The place is built on a cement slab. No one is going to fall through if it has,” Tessa replied, her stomach churning as she stared at the gray-black foam and broken glass.

  “We still have to have the fire marshal clear it,” Kayla explained, the screaming fire alarm nearly drowning her words. Like Henry, she was staring into the street, eyeing the area where the man had been standing.

  “He was the same height and build as the kidnapper,” Tessa offered, and Henry tensed.

  “Stay with Tessa,” he shouted above the racket and stepped toward the shattered window.

  “Maybe you should wait for backup to arrive before you go out there,” Tessa cautioned, grabbing the back of his coat and trying to stop his momentum.

  “Tess,” he said, meeting her eyes as he gently extracted her hands. “I do this for a living. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, kissing her forehead like she’d seen him do dozens of times with the twins. Only she wasn’t one of the twins, and the kiss didn’t feel at all paternal. It felt like a promise that things would be okay and like a glimpse of things to come.

  Things she’d once dreamed of but had given up on long ago. Love. Commitment. Happily-ever-after. The cute house. The white picket fence. The kids and dogs and forever.

  She didn’t dare let herself dream again.

  She’d told herself that dozens of times in the past few weeks, but her fickle heart still seemed determined to do it.

  Henry was gone before she could tell him any of those things.

  Not that she would have.

  She’d have stood mute. Just like she was now. The alarm screaming, smoke swirling, the wreckage of the diner sprawled in front of her.

  “Can you cut the alarm?” Kayla yelled.

  She nodded, rushing to the kitchen and the panel that controlled the system. She shut it off, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

  “That’s better,” Kayla murmured, crouching next to the broken glass. “Now I can think, and what I’m thinking is that things have gotten interesting.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call this mess interesting.”

  “I’m talking about you and Henry.”

  “There is no me and Henry.”

  “Right. Because you’re off relationships for the rest of your life.”

  “I think we have more important things to think about,” Tessa replied, sidestepping the conversation. Because Henry had been right. She was good at it.

  “I’m not thinking about it. I’m commenting on it. What I’m thinking about is the fact that someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window. A brick was attached to the bottle.” She gestured to a red brick nearly covered with foam. “I guess he wanted to make certain it went through the glass.”

  “I guess so,” Tessa responded, staring out the window, watching the alley Henry had disappeared into. Sure, he did this for a living, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. It didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong.

  “There’s no guessing i
nvolved in police work. It’s about facts and evidence. The fact is, he tossed the bottle attached to the brick. I can see the duct tape here.” She pointed.

  Tessa glanced at the mess. “I can see it, too.”

  “What I can’t see is a motive. It certainly wasn’t attempted murder. It would take a lot more power than that makeshift bomb has to bring this place down,” Kayla continued.

  “I’m assuming someone wanted to scare me.”

  “Who and why?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “There seem to be a lot of things you don’t have any idea about,” Kayla said.

  Tessa met her eyes. “If you’re implying something, just come out and say it instead.”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating another fact. Someone was here this morning. Trying to scare you. Trying to accomplish something else. I don’t know, and you don’t seem willing to provide any information.”

  “I’ve provided as much as I have.” That wasn’t the truth. Not all of it. She wanted to say more. She wanted to admit to her secrets, clear the air, stop hiding things that might hurt her, but silence was a hard thing to break. And she’d been silent for a long time.

  Nine years with Patrick.

  Three years without.

  The words wouldn’t come. No matter how much she knew they probably should.

  A police car pulled into view and parked at the curb in front of the building. Chief Simpson stepped out. He strode toward the building, his expression grim and hard in the grayish morning light.

  “Is the fire contained?” he asked as he stepped through the shattered window.

  “Yes,” Kayla responded.

  “Good.” He took out a camera and started taking photos of the brick, the broken glass and several charred rags that were visible beneath the foam. “Was anyone else here when this happened?”

  “Special Agent Miller. He’s gone after a man we think is the perpetrator.”

  “You should have called that in, Officer. He may need backup.” He spoke into his radio, issuing commands.

  The diner was a mess, the air heavy with smoke, the ceiling near the window stained with soot. The five-foot-tall window that looked out onto Commercial Street had been demolished.