Still of the Night Read online

  "She was on the train." Nico shrugged, the action doing nothing to relieve the pounding in his temples. "But there wasn't an opportunity to accomplish anything. Too many people. Sammy followed her, but she must have made him, because she stayed on the train until the end of the line."

  "So what? She's at large in Poughkeepsie?"

  "Sammy says she gave him the slip."

  "Christ, Nico, can't you handle anything?"

  "Watch your mouth." Nico stood up, furious, his hand closing around the piece he carried. "You'd do well to remember who you're dealing with."

  "Daddy's little boy?" Andy spat. "Give me a break, Nico. Your father isn't going to back you up in any of this. Not considering the fact that you've been undercutting him for the past couple of years."

  "This isn't my fault. I wasn't the one who set fire to that warehouse."

  "Neither was I." Andy was standing now, too. He and Nico were almost nose-to-nose across the desk.

  "Well, someone was behind it," Nico barked, his anger deflating as quickly as it had come.

  "Maybe not. The investigation didn't turn up anything suspicious. I think Connor was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Which served us well. Assuming we find out what he had on us."

  Andy shrugged. "Have you considered the fact that maybe Connor was bluffing?"

  "The man didn't seem the bluffing type." Nico sank back into his chair, his head pounding so loudly he half expected Andy to comment on it. "You double-checked the apartment, right?"

  "Yeah," Andy said. "It was clean."

  "You think maybe the wife has it?"

  "No way" Andy shook his head. "She and Connor were on the outs. She's innocent in all of this."

  "No one is innocent, my friend." Nico forced a smile. "And even if she were, that doesn't reduce her as a liability. She can still talk. And believe me, the last thing we want right now is your colleagues asking questions."

  "So what do you want from me?" Andy asked, spreading his hands wide.

  "I want to know where she's going."

  Andy paused a moment, a flash of regret in his eyes.

  "You got feelings for this woman?" Nico's disgust mixed with annoyance. It was always something.

  "No." Andy's expression hardened. "I don't. I want her dead as much as you do. And despite her making Sammy, I still say she'll go to Cold Spring. That's where we agreed to meet. So she'll think it's safe."

  Nico studied the cop, then shook his head. "Fine. I'll send Sammy. What's the address?"

  Andy wrote it on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. "I promise you she'll be there."

  "Oh, I know she will." Nico smiled. "Because you're going to make sure of it." He picked up the phone and handed it over. "I never leave anything to chance."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The town was quiet, snow banked against curbs and drifted against houses. The moonlight danced against white mounds, bringing them to life with iridescent sparkles. Nature's jewelry. Normally Jenny would have taken her time, let the cold air fill her lungs, clearing her head and her heart. But not tonight.

  Tonight, she watched every shadow for signs of movement, sticking close to the other couple who had exited the train at Cold Spring. No one else was in sight, and the couple didn't appear to be in any hurry to get home. They stopped every block or so to kiss, laughing against the cold, filled obviously with more than just the spirit of the season.

  Despite herself, Jenny smiled.

  Main Street was illuminated with the glow of Christmas decorations and streetlamps, store windows decked with a variety of seasonal gaiety. It wasn't New York City, but it was home, and it embraced her just as it had for the last twenty-odd years.

  The couple turned onto Stone Street, leaving Jenny alone, and she shivered, pulling Andy's jacket closer around her. There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself; but she wasn't sure her legs had gotten the message. Her knees were threatening to turn to Jell-O. Just two more blocks and she'd be home, in light and familiarity.

  Also, Andy would be here soon. And until then, he'd arranged for someone to watch over her. There was comfort here, although at the moment it felt a bit hollow.

  Jenny turned onto Garden Street and was relieved to see the taillights of a patrol car up ahead. Andy had obviously kept his promise. A little more relaxed, Jenny made her way up the road and across her icy driveway.

  The yellow Victorian was over a hundred years old, and it had been in her family for three generations. Her mother had closed in the porch, which to Jenny's mind ruined the lines of the house, but it did offer a year-round enclosure instead of one that could be used only for the few months that summer descended.

  Once inside the weatherproof door, she stopped to relock it, this time with the dead bolt. No sense in taking chances. From there it was only a few steps into the main hallway, the glow of the overhead light immediately dispelling some of her gloom.

  After taking off Andy's jacket and hanging it on the hall tree, she headed for the kitchen, dumping her purse on the counter. What she needed was a drink, but instead she'd settle for a nice cup of Earl Grey. And then maybe a book. Anything to keep her mind occupied.

  She filled the kettle, lit the ancient range, then walked over to check the answering machine. No messages. Whatever Andy was doing, he obviously didn't leave time to check in. With a sigh, she moved back to the counter and her purse, and extracted her cell phone. There most likely wouldn't be a message, since she'd had the thing with her the whole time, but she couldn't help checking.

  She flipped the little phone open, surprised and relieved to see that there was indeed a message. Pressing the proper code, she waited as her voice mail rang and an androgynous voice affirmed that she had one message.

  Andy.

  Just the sound of his voice made her feel better. According to the message, everything had been taken care of in New York. Sandy's parents had been notified, and CSU was hard at work on the apartment. The plan was to finish things up as soon as he could and then get to Cold Spring. In the meantime, the Cold Spring PD would be on the watch for anything unusual.

  Jenny checked her watch against the time of the voice mail. The call had come in about half an hour ago. She had obviously been too involved with trying to evade her shadower to hear the ring.

  She started to call him back, to tell him about the man on the train, then hesitated. He was busy, and she was safe. Maybe it would be best just to wait for him here. Surely there was no way the man on the train could find her now. She'd lost him. And, at least for the time being, that ought to leave her in the clear.

  Ought to being the operative words.

  With a sigh, she dialed the number.

  Andy answered on the second ring. "Proctor."

  "Andy." She breathed his name as if it were salvation. Then again, maybe it was. "It's Jenny."

  "Are you all right?" His deep voice vibrated with concern. "When you didn't answer, I was worried."

  "With good cause, actually. There was someone following me on the train."

  "Are you sure?" His tone sounded skeptical. All cop. It reminded Jenny of Connor.

  "Yes. At least, I think so. I changed cars several times and so did he. And when I was leaving the train at Poughkeepsie, he was right behind me."

  "How did you get away?" The concern was back.

  "An old trick of Connor's. Something we used to do when we were kids. I slipped onto another train before he could figure out what I was doing."

  "Any chance he followed you?"

  She shook her head, realized she was on the phone, and responded verbally. "No. There were only a few seconds—no way could he have made the train, too."

  "So you're at home now?"

  She felt a bit like she was being grilled, but under the circumstances she supposed it was called for. "Yeah. Just got here. Everything's fine. I even saw a police cruiser go by a few minutes ago. Thanks for that."

  There was a pause; then the phone crac
kled. "I'm glad you're safe."

  "Should I come back to the city?" It was the last thing she wanted to do, really, but the idea of having company appealed greatly.

  "Absolutely not. There's nothing you can do here anyway. Just sit tight and I'll get there as soon as I can. I've arranged for you to give your statement in the morning, there in Cold Spring. So basically you just need to hang on. Can you do that?"

  "I think so." She sighed, the events of the day suddenly crowding in on her, threatening her composure. "Do you ... do you think that someone is still trying to find me? I mean, is there any way he could find out where I live?"

  "I won't lie to you. It's certainly possible. But it will take time to track you down. And I expect to be there in an hour. It's going to be okay, Jenny. I'll take care of you. I promise."

  There was something in his tone that sent a shiver running through Jenny. It had been the same in the diner when he'd tried to hold her hand. Maybe it was just that he and Connor had been so close. Anything between her and Andy would be a betrayal of sorts. Truth was, anything with anyone would feel that way.

  There were some commitments that just couldn't be broken, and despite Connor's infidelity and the not insignificant fact that he was dead, she still felt tied to him. Maybe someday it would be different—or then again, maybe not.

  "Jenny, you there?" Andy's tone was sharp, its urgency pulling her out of her thoughts.

  "Yeah. Sorry. I'm just exhausted."

  "Go see if you can get some rest, and I'll be there before you know it."

  "All right." She nodded to reinforce her statement, trying to convince herself that his words were true. "There's a key beneath the big rock behind the house. You can let yourself in. And, Andy..." She stared down at her hands, trying to hang on to her bravado. "Thanks for taking care of this."

  "It's what I do, Jen." His laughter was warm, but again she felt a tremble of unease. No one but Connor ever called her Jen.

  Andy disconnected, and she stood there holding the phone, staring out the window at nothing in particular. The moon had set, and the shrubbery looked dark and ominous as it shifted in the wind.

  Jenny put her phone back into her purse, and reached up to close the curtains. No sense setting herself up for a scare. After pulling a cup and saucer from the breakfront, she poured the tea and carried it back into the living room.

  She really ought to call Sandy's parents, but the idea held little appeal. She wasn't sure exactly what she would tell them. And they had her number. Besides, it was late. A glance at the clock confirmed the fact, and she sank gratefully into the oversize armchair by the fireplace. Tomorrow. She'd call tomorrow.

  She thought briefly about lighting a fire, but discarded the idea, as it would mean going outside for wood. Maybe when Andy came. The Christmas tree stared at her forlornly, lights dark, but she couldn't bring herself to turn them on. Holiday cheer seemed a mockery in light of all that had happened.

  She sipped her tea, almost scalding her tongue. Muffling a curse, she set it on the table, instead picking up the book she'd been reading. The Gabriel Hounds. That was just what she needed— big, bad dogs to watch over her. Unfortunately, all she had was a cat. An absent one, she realized. Putting the book down, she called Asa's name. But there was no answering meow.

  Asa was an indoor cat, which meant she had to be somewhere in the house. A fixture since Jenny was in college, the black feline was slow and old, but certainly not deaf. And usually the moment Jenny walked in the door, Asa was there clamoring for dinner or lunch or maybe just an in-between- meal snack. Which went a long way toward explaining her less than svelte appearance.

  "Asa," Jenny called, heading for the stairs. Usually, the cat, when not nose-deep in cat chow, could be found on Jenny's bed. The beast, it seemed, was the only one completely satisfied with Connor's defection. He hadn't allowed her on the bed, and once he was gone, she'd had full access—occasionally even sleeping on what had been his pillow.

  At the top of the landing, Jenny reached for the light switch, but nothing happened. The bulb in the hall light had obviously chosen a most inopportune time to burn out. A faint mewing sound came from somewhere in the dark, and Jenny called out again. "Asa? Where are you?"

  The cat meowed again, her voice muffled by something.

  Jenny smiled. Asa's second-favorite spot was the laundry hamper. In the apartment in New York, the hamper had been built into a cabinet— which had caused much consternation for both cat and owner the first time Asa had inadvertently been shut inside.

  Now the hamper was an open basket in the bathroom, but occasionally the door got closed, and Asa was obviously stuck.

  "I'm coming, sweetie," Jenny called, feeling her way along the passageway. When she reached her bedroom, she stopped to turn on the light, surprised again when nothing happened. Fear pushed its way to the forefront of her brain, for the moment killing rational thought.

  She backed up a step, already turning to run, when she heard the steady whisper of the ceiling fan. Biting back a bubble of hysteria, she reached for the switch again, this time hitting the right one. Soft lamplight filled the room, banishing the shadows to the corners.

  Her cat yowled again, and Jenny turned back to the hallway and the bathroom up ahead. The light from the bedroom made the passage navigable, and she quickly closed the distance, reaching out to open the door. Before she could pull it completely open, the cat screeched something awful, and launched herself at Jenny through the narrow opening, her weight sending them both crashing back against the far wall and to the ground.

  "Easy, Asa." Jenny gasped, holding the struggling cat, her heart pounding. "You're safe now."

  Calmed by her owner's voice, Asa stepped out of Jenny's lap and began nonchalantly cleaning her fur. The cat was clearly determined to put the incident behind her. Jenny pushed to her feet, and started for the stairs again, and the feline preceded her, her entire attention now centered on the probability of a midnight snack.

  As she passed her bedroom, a flicker of something in the mirror made Jenny stop, her gaze searching the room for anything amiss. Everything seemed in order, the whoosh of the ceiling fan and the soft whistle of the wind outside the only sounds. Jenny shook her head and turned to leave, wondering how long she was going to jump at shadows.

  Forever, a voice whispered.

  But her common sense told her that this too would pass.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Asa waited impatiently, her plumed tail waving in agitation.

  "Hold your horses, kitty. I'm coming." Jenny descended the stairs and turned the corner into the living room, surprised when Asa didn't follow. Instead, the cat stayed at the foot of the stairs, tail whipping back and forth.

  Jenny sucked in a breath and turned to survey the room. It was exactly as she'd left it, the Mary Stewart book and her now-tepid tea still laid out on the table.

  "What's with you tonight?" she hissed at her cat, her anger more of a reaction than anything. "This is not the night for you to go ballistic on me."

  Ignoring the animal, she walked over to the chair and picked up her teacup. Maybe a refresher would be a good thing. Something to calm her nerves. She glanced at her watch. Only thirty-five minutes after when she'd last looked. Which meant Andy wasn't due for another twenty minutes at least.

  She headed for the kitchen, stopping when the cat spat ferociously, the skin along Jenny's neck and arms prickling in response. "What?" She turned to face Asa, her anger this time defensive. "What is it?"

  The cat, of course, remained silent, a flicking tail the only sign of her unhappiness. Something was clearly bothering her, though, and for once, Jenny was not inclined to ignore that.

  Still, there was nothing in the living room, and the rest of the house was silent.

  As if to refute the thought, a floorboard creaked. Jenny whirled to face the front door, her brain registering the direction of the sound only after the fact. The noise had come from the kitchen.

  She swung back ar
ound, noting that the cat had conveniently disappeared. No support from that quarter. Jenny waited, staring at the little hallway that linked the kitchen to the living room, her heart beating in a staccato rhythm against her ribs.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Not given to outbursts, internally or externally, Jenny squared her shoulders, then inched forward until her back was to the wall. At least there was a sense of security in the action. She wasn't sure what exactly she should do next, but her mind was singing out that the phone was only a few paces away.

  Unfortunately, it was in the direction of the creaking floorboard.

  But the truth was that this was an old house, and it creaked a lot. And there hadn't been a second creak. Maybe she'd just let the cat scare her again.

  Or maybe there was a stranger in the house.

  Jenny bit her lip, screwing up her courage. There was another phone upstairs, but at the moment it seemed miles away. All she had to do was inch forward, grab the cordless receiver, and run like hell.

  She sucked in a breath, counted to three, and made the dash, the cold, hard plastic of the phone signaling success. There was another squeak of a floorboard, this one accompanied by the soft tread of a shoe. Jenny sprinted toward the stairs, clutching the phone, but before she could reach the bottom rung, a hand closed around her arm, jerking her back, forcing her to turn around.

  "I'm afraid it's too late for that." It was the man from the train, his face blank, the gun in his hand dark and deadly.

  "Who are you?" she breathed, praying for time. Praying for some inspiration for escape.

  "Doesn't matter," the man said, his voice as lifeless as his eyes. He shrugged. "That was a nice move you pulled at the train station."

  "Five-second slip," she whispered as if he cared, as if it mattered, knowing decidedly that it did not. In a few more seconds, nothing was going to matter.

  Magazine man nodded, evidently intent on pretending that they were having a casual conversation. Maybe that was the way he dealt with murder. It was an odd thought, but strangely apropos.

  "Did you kill Sandy?" Again, she wasn't sure why she asked, except perhaps as another desperate ploy for time.