Haunting Olivia Read online

  Olivia took Kayla’s hand and stepped back from the door, then said, “Good day, girls,” and closed the door in their faces.

  “What was that all about?” Olivia asked Kayla.

  “They were my friends until they turned losers,”

  Kayla said. “We were all smoking in the bathroom the day I was caught, but they threw their cigarettes in the toilet before that bitch gym teacher could see their lit butts. Only I got caught. That’s so unfair.”

  “Kayla, please don’t refer to someone as a bitch,”

  Olivia said.

  “Oh, so now you’re telling me what to do?” Kayla yelled and ran upstairs.

  Olivia stood in the center of the hallway, wondering what the heck had just happened to her perfect day. You’ve got yourself a new teenager, that’s what, she told herself, remembering all the drama of her life at thirteen. You can’t just have the daughter without the reality, she reminded herself.

  She had to hand it to Zach. Raising a daughter by himself all these years, no family, no relatives, had to be so difficult. Yet his relationship with 150

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  Kayla was wonderful, a testament to him as a person and as a father.

  She had a bad feeling about those girls. Add that to her bad feelings about Johanna and Marnie and whatshername from the general store who’d stared her down.

  Chapter 12

  As Olivia got into bed that night, she picked up the framed picture of Kayla that she’d placed on her bedside table earlier that evening. After her breakfast with Kayla, Olivia had bought a disposable camera and had taken shot after shot of Kayla, then someone had asked if she wanted a picture of the two of them, and thanks to the one-hour photo lab at the drugstore, Olivia had a photograph of herself and her daughter. She’d bought a beautiful pewter frame for it.

  She held the photograph close, mar veling at what was. Days ago, there was only Olivia. Now there was a daughter. A daughter with her hair, her nose. Her laugh, even. And definitely some of her stubbornness.

  Olivia had knocked her knuckles raw on Kayla’s door before the girl had unlocked it. Kayla had then thrown herself on her bed and sobbed, but she’d allowed Olivia to hold her, and when Olivia told her that mothers were supposed to say things 152

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  like “No calling someone a bitch,” Kayla sniffled and then laughed and said she guessed so.

  Later, when Zach had come home, Olivia filled him in during a brief walk around the property.

  He’d shaken his head at what had occurred; all the girls had once been so sweet, and now they threw around words like bitch and loser. He’d assured himself that once she got busy with the pageant, she’d stop reverting back to some of her old ways. At least he hoped so.

  Zach had looked exhausted. And so she’d gone home, wishing she were there with the two of them.

  Now, she drifted off to sleep, thoughts of Kayla and Zach floating through her mind, but then half awake, she realized she was dreaming of the dream girl, just the girl this time. And she looked exactly like Kayla.

  But the dream girl was angry. Very angry. She was shouting, or at least her mouth was moving frantically, her fists flying in the air, but no words came out.

  Something was scratching her neck. Her eyes opened wide. The dream had gone. In its place was darkness. She sat up and something dropped to her lap. Before she could see what it was, she heard a movement, then saw a shadow.

  Someone was in her bedroom. Running away.

  She reached out for the glass pitcher of water on her bedside table and threw it at what appeared to be the intruder’s head just as he or she turned. She heard a grunt—a female’s grunt, she was sure—

  and then the person continued running. Olivia turned on her bedside table lamp and saw what had fallen from her neck.

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  A noose. A note attached said: “Next time I’ll tighten it.”

  She flung the noose to the floor, her heart beating a mile a minute, then raced into the bathroom with her cell phone and locked the door.

  Her knees trembled and she slid down to a sitting position on the cold marble floor. Her hands shook so wildly that she dropped the phone. She snatched it back like the lifeline it was and pressed in Zach’s telephone number. It was just past midnight. In some fuzzy corner of her mind, she hoped that Kayla was in such a deep sleep that the phone wouldn’t wake her.

  Zach answered on the first ring.

  “Zach,” Olivia said and then couldn’t speak.

  “Olivia, what’s wrong?” he asked, the alarm in his voice matching her own. “Olivia?”

  “Someone . . .” The reality of what she was about to say was too much and Olivia broke down, the phone dropping onto the marble floor. She could hear Zach’s voice, calling her name. She reached for the phone. “Zach, someone was in my bedroom,” she said, her heart beating too fast, her breath rushing in and out in gasps. “Someone tried to . . . there was a noose lying across my neck and chest.” She took a breath, and then told him about the note.

  He sucked in a breath. “Did you call the police?”

  “No. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door and called you. Oh, God, Zach, I’m so scared.”

  “Don’t move, okay? You don’t know if they’re still in the house. It’ll take me two minutes to get to you. Stay on the line with me.”

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  “Okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “Hurry, please, Zach.”

  “I’m just going to leave a quick note for Kayla in case she wakes up that I went over to your house for a bit.” After a moment he said, “I’m out the door now. In the car.”

  He talked to her through the drive and when he said he was at the front door, she bolted up and raced downstairs.

  She flung herself into his arms, and he held her.

  “Let’s get inside and close the door,” he said.

  “You must be freezing in that nightgown.”

  She vaguely realized she was wearing nothing but a short ivory slip. She’d been so tired when she’d gotten home that she’d taken off her clothes, but hadn’t put on real pajamas.

  “I’m so cold,” she said, her body shaking. “And so scared.”

  Zach bolted the door, then scooped her up and carried her to the sofa, where he sat her up against the cushions. He grabbed the chenille throw from the armchair and draped it around her shoulders.

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  She nodded. She then opened her mouth to speak but just shook her head.

  “It’s okay, Olivia,” he said. “Just catch your breath.

  You don’t have to speak right now.”

  She took a deep breath. “They have to catch this psycho. Stupid pranks are one thing, but tonight, someone was in my room. They could have gotten that thing around my neck before I woke up.”

  He came close and sat down beside her. “Let me see your neck.”

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  She arched her neck up and he tenderly ran his fingers over her neck.

  “I’m just grateful they didn’t get the chance,” he said. He let out a breath, then an expletive. He held her hand as he called the police and tersely explained the situation. He placed the cell phone in his back pocket. “The police will be right over.”

  “Who could possibly want to kill me?” she asked, her shoulders trembling. “And why? What did I ever do to anyone in Blueberry? I don’t get it. Yeah, I was ready to point the finger at Johanna or even Marnie over the nasty notes or slashed tires, but attempted murder? Would my father have dated someone nuts enough to kill someone? Would you? ”

  “Olivia, I hate to say this, but you just never know about people. What makes them snap. What’s lurk-ing, festering inside them. What your father did to both of us was unforgivable. Would you ever have thought your own father capable of such a thing?”

  “Even with the way he treated me and m
y sisters—

  no,” she said. “So I guess you’re right, that you never know. But that’s damned scary, Zach.”

  The doorbell rang, and the police did their work, dusting for prints, asking questions, checking the entrances, hunting for clues.

  “This time we have a footprint,” one of the officer’s said as he came in through the living room from the back door. “Appears to be a woman’s size eight.”

  “The grunt I heard—it did sound like a woman’s voice,” Olivia said. “Size eight—that’s a very common size. I wear a size eight.”

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  mean anything, either. The footprint could have been left by anyone, not necessarily the assailant.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” the officer asked. “Did you smell anything? Perfume? Soap? A strange smell?”

  Olivia shook her head. “I’d been barely able to breathe.”

  “What about the rope?” Zach asked the officer.

  “Special kind?”

  “Well, I’ll have it sent through the lab,” the officer said. “But it looks like standard-issue rope you can buy at any hardware store. Oh, and we found the point of entry. There’s an unlocked window in the basement. The assailant probably just lifted it and entered. Outside the window is where we found the footprint. Anyway, I locked it for you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Olivia said. “I’ll double-check all the windows.”

  “I would do that if I were you,” the officer said, and then after a few more questions, the police left.

  “You can’t stay here tonight,” Zach said. “Come stay at my house.”

  “I’ll forfeit the cottage and the inheritance,”

  Olivia said. “My mother is depending on me to clean up the mess she made of her finances.”

  “The will says you have to spend every night here?” Zach asked.

  Olivia tried to think. “Let me get the letter.” She rooted through her tote bag and found the envelope from her father’s lawyer. “You must live in Blueberry for at least one month etcetera.” She breathed a huge sigh of relief. “It only says I have to stay in Blueberry for thirty days—not necessarily HAUNTING OLIV IA

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  this house. So I can stay at your place. As long as I’m back here to give Johanna my receipts at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ll be back. So will I. And then we’re going to see what your father’s supposed fiancée does with her time.”

  “What about Marnie?” Olivia asked. “How did things go when you went after her this morning?”

  “Terribly,” he said. “She was more than angry.”

  “Angry enough to threaten to kill me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think so—I don’t want to think so, but I can’t say for sure. She said some stupid things, like that I’d be sorry. And she hurled a vase out the window at my truck. She was aiming for the windshield.”

  Olivia shook her head. “Then perhaps we’ve got two women to pay very close attention to.”

  He nodded. “I’m an architect, not a detective, but hopefully we’ll find something that’ll point us to the right person.”

  “Thank you for being here, Zach,” she said.

  He nodded. “I want to make sure every door and window is locked tight. And then we’re out of here.

  I can’t stand the thought of you being here alone tomorrow morning—and opening the door to a psychopath.”

  Because maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance you could care about me again, Olivia thought.

  “I’ll be fine here,” Olivia said as Zach pulled the comforter over her in the guest room of his house.

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  leaving you alone,” he said. “After what you’ve been through. I hate leaving you, period.”

  He could have kicked himself. Why had he gone and said that?

  She glanced up at him, clearly surprised too, and took his hand. “I feel the same way.”

  He stood, gently pulling his hand away. “I’ll sleep on the sofa in the living room. If you get scared, I’ll be right there.”

  “I’d rather have you right here,” she said. “At least until I fall asleep.”

  More than anything he wanted to get out of his clothes and tear off hers. She still wore that incredibly sexy little ivory slip. She’d pulled on clothes over it for the police, then they’d driven back to his house, and now she lay in bed in that scrap of lace.

  He could rip it off her with one hand.

  But he wouldn’t.

  “Olivia, I need to be honest. After what happened today with Marnie, I don’t want more omis-sions of the truth.”

  “Be honest,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

  He glanced away, then back at her. “I don’t know how I feel about any of this. You. You coming back to Blueberry. It’s more than clear that our old chemistry is still there. But thirteen years is a long time. I want you like crazy, Olivia. But beyond sex, I can’t say.”

  “That was honest,” she said. “Zach, it’s okay. I don’t know how I feel about anything either. We were taken from each other thirteen years ago, and there’s so much water under the bridge. So I understand.”

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  He nodded and turned to go, but she stopped him by reaching for his hand.

  “Don’t leave, Zach.”

  He’d been planning on sitting guard on the sofa right outside the guest room door. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

  She nodded and placed her hand on the empty side of the bed next to her.

  He held her gaze. “You’re so vulnerable right now, Olivia. I won’t take advantage of that.”

  “For God’s sake, Zach, I’m only asking you to keep me company. I’m a little afraid of the boogey-man right now. I wouldn’t mind someone bigger and stronger next to me while I’m sleeping. If I can sleep at all.”

  “You’ve got it,” he said, sitting down next to her.

  He stretched out, his hands behind his head.

  “Remember how we used to do this on the beach?” she asked. “Just stare up at the night sky, our hands behind our heads?”

  “I remember.”

  They both turned on their sides to face each other. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if my father hadn’t inter vened?” Olivia asked. “If we had run away together?”

  “I’m sure we’d be right here, right now. Except for the part about the rope earlier.”

  “So you think we’d still be together?” she asked.

  “I’m not much of a what-iffer,” he said. “But I know how I felt back then.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  He reached to touch her neck. “Does your neck or chest hurt?”

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  She covered his hand with her own. “No.”

  He held her gaze and then kissed her. She was so close, so right there, in her beautiful ivory nightgown, that he couldn’t resist. She kissed him back.

  “Maybe we should stare up at the ceiling some more,” he said. “To keep things straight.”

  “I’d rather stare up at you,” she whispered.

  That was all he needed. He moved on top of her, one hand in her silky blond hair, the other moving down the soft length of her.

  “Are you sure, Olivia?” he breathed against her ear. “If you’re not, I can try very hard to stop.”

  “Make me forget what happened tonight,” she whispered.

  He rolled off of her so that he could slip off her nightgown. God, she was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

  He could barely take his eyes off the swells of her breasts, her nipples just visible through the thin material of her nightgown. He felt his erection strain against his jeans and he took them off, then his shirt. She watched him, her eyes following his hands, and her apprecia
tion of his body made him want her all the more.

  He lay next to her on the bed, and already she was breathing hard, her eyes asking him, begging him, to make love to her. But he waited. He lifted up her nightgown to see what she wore underneath. Tiny white cotton panties. He groaned at the sight of them and then yanked them down hard, explored inside her with his fingers, then his tongue. She moaned and writhed, her hands clawing at his back, grabbing at his hair.

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  lying on top of her. He wasn’t willing to take off the nightie. It was too sexy on. He pushed aside the silky material from one breast and suckled her nipple, hard, gently biting, licking, while using his hand to ravage her other breast. And then Olivia moved on top of him, unwilling to wait.

  Neither could he. He grabbed her hips and lifted her until he could thrust up inside her, then slid his hand up to her breasts and massaged their weight against his palms.

  Olivia teased by sliding up off him and then down again, then stretching his arms over his head and lying down on top of him, all the while grinding against him, her breathy moans against his neck, his ear, his hair. He turned her over onto her back and thrust into her, his mouth on her breasts, her nipples, her mouth, her neck, back to her nipples.

  “Oh, Zach,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open and closed.

  He thrust harder, harder, harder, and she opened her eyes. Too hard, he realized. Too rough. But he needed it this way. Hard. Unromantic. Sex.

  He turned her over and lifted her hips until she was on her hands and knees, then thrust into her from behind, fisting her hair. He jammed into her, hard, harder, his own breath ragged.

  “Zach, I don’t like—” she whispered, inching up a bit, trying to move away.

  But he edged her down onto her stomach and slid his hands underneath her breasts and ravaged them with his fingers, while grinding into her so hard he thought the bed might collapse.

  “Zach, stop,” she said.

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  But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop ramming into her. He snaked his hand around her thigh and teased her clitoris, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

  She tried to move, but she was pinned beneath him.