Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire Page 5

  Dear Esther,

  I’m leaving for Europe in a couple of minutes and don’t have time to call, but I want you to hear this as soon as possible, and I don’t want you to hear it from anyone but me.

  You know I have a strict policy of not releasing client addresses or phone numbers, but in this case I’m afraid it has happened. One of my new employees couldn’t see any harm in giving your father the information….

  Esther crumpled the paper in her hands, unable to read another word. Her father knew where she was. He knew!

  Her mouth was dry, her palms damp, and her heart was hammering rapidly. The night which had seemed so beautiful only moments before was suddenly filled with threat. Her father might even now be somewhere in Conard County, Wyoming.

  How long had he known?

  Quickly, with trembling hands, she spread out the crumpled letter and searched frantically for the information. Jo didn’t say when the address had been given out, but her letter was dated the tenth, three days ago. That meant Richard Jackson had known his daughter’s whereabouts for at least that long and probably longer.

  Panic washed over her in hot and cold waves. She had to close the windows and lock them. Now! He might be out there watching, waiting, planning…. Oh, God, he had always hurt her at night. Always. Stinking of alcohol and his own vomit, he had filled the night with terror and pain.

  She locked the study windows swiftly, sobbing for breath as her heart continued to beat like a jackhammer. Limping painfully now, she hurried toward the living room to close those windows.

  Her knee buckled suddenly, sending her sprawling facedown in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. Oh, God, oh, God… Broken prayers wandered through her frightened mind as she gasped for air and waited for the shattering pain to subside. She felt so helpless…she was so helpless…

  She had no idea how long she lay there. The night whispered about her, touching her with soft hands. Somewhere an owl hooted sadly. Crickets chirped undisturbed. There was nothing in the darkness except her own terrors.

  Nothing.

  A bubble of laughter rose from her stomach. There was an edge of hysteria to it, and she caught it, refusing to let it escape. Forcing herself to draw slow, deep breaths, she reached for sanity, and found it in an image of her own panic. She had been acting like a damn fool, driven by images out of the past that had little bearing on the reality of now. For God’s sake, she was a grown woman, no longer a helpless, frightened child. If Richard Jackson showed his face on her doorstep, she would blow his head off.

  All she needed to do was get a gun. Just that. She would be safe then.

  Her knee hurt when she stood up again, but she ignored it. Pain was nothing new or frightening to her. It was merely an obstacle to be surmounted. She did, however, take care not to put her weight down wrong again.

  She locked the windows and locked the doors, then climbed painfully up to her room. Richard knew better, she told herself. After all these years in prison, he had to know better. He wouldn’t dare show up out here.

  But she couldn’t sleep anyway, and lay awake into the wee hours trying to think of something, anything, except Richard Jackson and how he probably wanted to kill her.

  Chapter 3

  “Good afternoon, Miz Jackson.” Deputy Sheriff Micah Parish climbed out of his Blazer and walked between her flowerbeds to the porch. He was a big man, bigger even than Craig Nighthawk, with the same inky black hair and dark eyes. His face, too, spoke strongly of his Native American ancestry. “Just thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing.”

  Over the last three years, Esther had become fond of Micah Parish. He was the deputy who most often dropped by to check on her, claiming it was on his way home. Esther knew better. “I’m doing just fine, Deputy. Would you like something to drink?”

  He favored her with a smile. “I could do with some of that iced tea.”

  “I’ll be right back with it.”

  Guinevere wanted out. She stood impatiently at the door, chuffing eagerly. The dog was fond of Deputy Parish, who always had a minute or two to play fetch.

  When she returned a few minutes later with tea for the deputy, man and dog were sitting companionably together on the steps, Guinevere soaking up a good scratch behind her ears.

  “Thanks,” Parish said as he accepted the tea. “If Guin ever has pups, let me know. My kids would love one.”

  She knew Micah had three children. He’d mentioned them at one time or another, and she found herself wondering about them. “How old are they?”

  “Sally’s seven. Jacob and Jeremy are three.”

  “Twins? Your wife’s hands must be full.”

  “She seems to love it.” A smile settled deep in his dark eyes, and Esther felt a twinge of envy for the contentment she saw reflected in his face. “Faith swears her entire purpose in life is to look after me and the kids. I reckon that’ll change some when the kids get older, but for now we’re all loving it.”

  “I imagine.” For her own part, Esther couldn’t imagine spending her life looking after other people. She’d been forced to spend entirely too much of her childhood doing exactly that.

  “So, is everything all right with you?” he asked her.

  “Well, yes.”

  But he must have heard her hesitation. His fingers paused on the dog’s neck and he turned so he could look directly at her. “That sounded qualified.”

  “Well…” She hesitated, thinking of the letter that had kept her up most of the last two nights. “I guess it is.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “I don’t know.” Much as she wanted some reassurance, she didn’t know how much she wanted to explain. Micah Parish seemed like a nice man, but…did she want to bare so much of her soul to him?

  He scratched Guinevere’s ears again, then ran his palm down the dog’s back. “I don’t stop by here because I’m uninterested.”

  “No, I realize that.”

  He nodded, looking out over the prairie toward the mountains. “Sometimes it’s not good to be alone.”

  She hesitated, not certain if he was speaking obliquely to her or about himself. She waited to see what he might add.

  “I spent a good part of my life alone, psychologically and emotionally. That’s the worst kind of aloneness, feeling like you have nobody to turn to or depend on. If you need someone, there’s more than one person you can turn to. Me. Nate Tate. Janet and Abel Pierce. You’re not alone, Miz Jackson.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Nothing to thank me for. I’m just stating a fact. So whatever’s troubling you, when you get ready to talk about it, give one of us a call.”

  “Actually…” She needed someone to tell her she had nothing to fear. She needed to hear that almost as much as she needed to breathe. Not that she would believe it, but she needed to hear it anyway. “My father…got out of prison a while back. Last year sometime. I don’t want him to find me.”

  “Can he?”

  “Someone in my agent’s office gave him my address recently. I just found out about it.”

  He looked at her. “Are you hiding from him?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Why?”

  “He was…he was in prison for killing my mother.”

  He nodded. “I see. But maybe he learned a little something.”

  “Maybe.” But she didn’t believe it. She remembered his temper all too well. “Is there any way I could get a restraining order so he has to stay away from me?”

  “Well, you’d really have to talk to a lawyer about it, but I don’t think so. Not unless he does something.”

  “Oh.” Not that she could imagine how a restraining order would stop Richard Jackson. It never had in the past. Feeling cold despite the warmth of the day, she suppressed a shiver. For the last fifteen years she had lived with the cold comfort of knowing that man was in prison. Now she had to live in a world where there was no comfort at all. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her, as she had desperately ho
ped. But he wouldn’t. He had a big grudge to bear.

  “Thanks,” she said dismally.

  “On the other hand,” Micah said slowly, “if you think there’s a possibility there might be trouble, we can sure keep an eye out. What’s his name?”

  “Richard Jackson.”

  “What was he convicted of? And where?”

  Her lips suddenly felt stiff, and she realized how very much she didn’t want to speak these words. “Second degree murder. We were in Portland at the time.”

  “Oregon or Maine?” He pulled a pad out of his pocket and began writing rapidly.

  “Oregon.” Where it never stopped raining. Her memory of her childhood was one unending blur of pain, fear and wet, dismal days.

  “What does he look like?”

  Esther shook her head, feeling her heart give an anxious skip. “I can’t remember. I honestly can’t remember.” And that terrified her. Would she remember him if she saw him face-to-face? And if not, how could she possibly protect herself?

  Micah stayed a while longer, talking about events of general interest in the county. Esther listened with only half an ear, involved as she was in her own worries. Vaguely she was aware that he pressed her gently for more information but the simple fact was, telling anyone what had been done to her and her mother meant remembering, and she was willing to go to almost any lengths not to do that. She’d spent too many years burying the past to want to exhume it now.

  When Micah Parish at last rose to leave, she was truly sorry to see him go. Night was drawing closer, and with night came terror.

  Without Guinevere, she would go nuts. That was the first coherent thought in Esther’s mind the following morning. The dog kept her sane. Not only did Guin provide companionship, she also provided a sense of safety. If any stranger came up to the house, Guinevere would alert her. The fact that the Saint Bernard would probably love an intruder to death was irrelevant. At least Esther would have a chance to protect herself because of the warning.

  Guinevere’s presence beside her bed was the only thing that had made it possible for her to get to sleep last night. Today she was going to go to town and buy a gun. Period.

  Before the coffee finished brewing, the phone rang. Sheriff Nate Tate’s warm voice poured into her ear. “How’s my favorite artist this morning?”

  “Let me guess. You’ve been talking to Micah Parish.”

  He chuckled. “The man put a little bug in my ear first thing. What can I say? So, how are you doing?”

  “I’m sleep deprived and probably hallucinatory as a result,” she admitted dryly. “I’m convinced my dog is my only lifeline to sanity.”

  “Not a little stressed, are you?”

  “Just a teeny-weeny bit. I’ll be in town later today to get a gun. Maybe then I can sleep.”

  “Can I talk you out of this? Not coming to town, of course. By all means come to town and I’ll buy you a cup of that stuff they call coffee in the front office. But can I talk you out of the gun?”

  Esther closed her eyes, suddenly and shockingly wishing Nate Tate had been her father. Or that she could have had a father even a little bit like the sheriff. “Nate, I need to sleep. And even though Guinevere will bark her head off if some stranger shows up, she’s a friendly dog. She’s not protection.”

  “You might be surprised what she’ll be if she feels you’re threatened. But be that as it may, how about the fact that a gun kept for protection is more likely to be used by the criminal against the owner than the other way around?”

  Esther felt her stomach sink. “Did you have to tell me that?”

  “Yes,” Nate said gently. “I did. Because it’s true. If you want to buy a gun, you have to be sure you will use it to kill, you have to learn how to use it, and then you have to lock it up somewhere so the criminal can’t find it before you can get to it. As for Guinevere giving you the time to do so…well, if she’s so friendly, she might succumb to a juicy treat.”

  “Gee, thanks! You’re making me feel great.”

  He chuckled. “I thought I’d perk up your day.” He paused a moment, then added, “I’m not opposed to you having a gun, but you’re going to need to learn to use it. You’re going to have to be very careful not to panic and shoot some innocent person, and you’d damn well better be able to prove self-defense if you do shoot someone, or you’re going to spend the rest of your days in jail. That’s the reality of gun ownership.”

  “Forget the gun.” Her stomach had sunk again, that roller-coaster feeling of taking a sudden drop. “You’re right, it’s not a good idea. I’m not sure I could shoot anyone. Even him.”

  “It’s not an easy thing to do,” Nate agreed. “And do you really think he wants to hurt you? After all this time?”

  Esther closed her eyes, her hand tightening around the receiver until her fingers ached. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” But he had plenty of reason to want to.

  “We’ll keep an eye out, Esther. If he shows up in this county, he won’t be here long before we find out about it. I’ll have a word with him, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  A few moments later she hung up, feeling as if she’d just hit a dead end.

  Guinevere had come downstairs and was sitting at her feet, as if she understood her mistress’s distress.

  “I’m just being a big baby, aren’t I?” Esther asked the dog. Guin thumped her tail in agreement. “Just because he wanted my address doesn’t mean he’ll show up here. He might just write a letter, right?”

  Guin woofed.

  “I thought you’d agree. Well, let me get my coffee, and then we’ll make a list for the grocery store.”

  When she sat at the table with her coffee and English muffin, she noticed a small smear of blood on the floor where Guin had been sitting. The dog was in heat. Wonderful. She looked down at the Saint Bernard, who looked up at her with sad doggy eyes.

  “I guess you’re not coming to town with me today, girl,” Esther said. “We’d wind up being chased by every testosterone-laden mutt in town. And you’d spend the whole time trying to get away from me so you could have a roll in the hay, wouldn’t you?”

  Guinevere yawned.

  “That’s what I thought. You have this unfortunate tendency to turn into a…well, you know. You don’t behave like a lady.”

  The dog whined softly.

  “Sorry, but I don’t approve. I’ll find a gentleman for you one of these days, I promise.” And would have done long ago if they had still been living in Seattle. Registered short-haired Saint Bernards weren’t common around here, unfortunately. Maybe she should just give up all hope of breeding Guinevere.

  And then it struck her that she might very well have to move soon. If Richard Jackson showed up here, she was going to have to sell this property and move somewhere he couldn’t find her. God, would it never end?

  Before she went to the supermarket, she stopped in the sheriff’s office which was on a corner across from the Courthouse Square. Old men were in their usual seats on the park benches, and a couple of them had brought folding chairs and a table so that they could play chess in the shade of a big tree. The afternoon breeze was dry and pleasant.

  Inside the sheriff’s office things were moving at a slow, quiet pace.

  “Not much going on today,” Velma Jansen told her from the dispatcher’s desk. “Verna says you’re working on a big painting of a mountain.”

  “I hope it turns out. I’ve never done anything so big before.”

  Velma paused in the act of lighting another one of her endless cigarettes. “Of course it will! Don’t even think about anything else. If you do, you’ll choke. Go on back. Nate’s up to his ears in paper and he’ll be glad for any distraction you can give him.”

  When she entered the sheriff’s office, he rose, greeting her with a big smile. At fifty he was still a handsome man and his smile was one of the warmest she’d ever seen.

  “Rescue!” he said with pleasure, pointing at the stacks of
paper on his desk. “You couldn’t have timed it any better. Coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve already had my quota today.”

  Gage Dalton, the department’s special investigator, stuck his head in the door for a minute, and greeted Esther. They had worked together a couple of times when she had made drawings for the department. “Here’s the rap sheet you wanted, Nate. It just came in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gage closed the door behind him as he left, and Nate’s brow furrowed as he read the papers he’d been given. Esther looked past him out the window at the square. It was such a beautiful day that it was impossible to believe any threat could lurk out there. If Richard intended to come after her, why hadn’t he shown up already? Maybe he’d just been curious about what had happened to her. She clung to the possibility like a straw in the wind.

  “Well,” Nate said finally, looking up, “Richard Jackson was one hell of a sumbitch.”

  Esther’s heart lurched at the mention of her father.

  Nate waved the papers he’d just read. “His rap sheet. I figured since you were nervous I’d find out what you were nervous about. Now I know, judging by this stack of restraining orders to keep him away from you and your mother. They didn’t work.”

  Her mouth felt as dry as sand. “No.”

  “Eighteen arrests for battery against your mother. Charges dropped every time.”

  “She was afraid he would kill her.”

  Nate nodded, looking as if he’d tasted something very unpleasant. “I know the routine. One very big charge of battery against a child. You.” His gaze drifted to her lame leg. “Did he do that to you?”

  She managed a nod before she looked away, ashamed.

  “He did finally kill your mother, I see.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now he’s out. Since…last May.”

  She nodded, compressing her lips and trying to leash a whole bunch of suddenly overwhelming emotions. She wanted to cry, to scream, to smash something. If life were at all fair, Richard Jackson would have died in prison. But life wasn’t fair. Not even remotely. Hadn’t she learned that almost from birth?