stressed the word “—in a law enforcement role anymore, I think in this case he’s correct. It would be better for you to leave. Oscar isn’t going anywhere until he gets what he wants here in Rockvale, so it would be safer for you to go elsewhere.”
Heather squirmed on the chair. “I’ll need to think about it.”
Rudley nodded. “Fair enough.” He stood, Crow rising along with him. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make, but I’ll step outside and give you some breathing room.”
She nodded, still not looking at Bill. He wanted to take her arm, pull her away and make her promise to get on thenext plane out. The last thing he needed was for something to happen to her.
Rudley handed Heather a small photo as he exited. “Here’s the most current picture we have of Oscar Birch.” He continued out into the brilliant sunshine, Crow just behind him. Bill was about to leave as well when he heard a strange cry.
He turned to find Heather openmouthed, a look of horror on her face, picture clasped between her trembling fingers.
He went to her. “What? What is it?”
“This man …” she whispered, the photo slipping from her fingers to the floor.
“Oscar?” He could hear her breath coming in little gasps. “Tell me, Heather.”
“This man,” she started again. “He’s the mailman.”
SIX
S he finished packing the next morning. One of the advantages to living below the poverty line for months was she didn’t have many belongings. The horror still coursed around her body. Oscar Birch. She’d stood face-to-face with the pleasant, round-cheeked man who happened to be a cold-blooded killer.
The police surmised Birch had staged Choo Choo’s escape and subsequent return, wearing a postal uniform he’d lifted from somewhere. But why? Why go to the trouble? Just to terrorize her?
No, she thought grimly. To terrorize Bill.
To hurt him.
To send the message that Oscar could get to the people Bill cared about.
She zipped the suitcase closed. Oscar had made a mistake there. She and Bill might as well be strangers to each other. Bill was not acting out of love, merely protectiveness and the all-consuming need to defeat Oscar, the man who killed Johnny.
The feel of Oscar’s calloused fingers as he’d returned the dog remained on her skin. She’d actually invited the man in for a drink of water. He could have killed Choo Choo, or her, for that matter. Or he could have put a letter bomb in the mailthat the police had confiscated; the man was an explosives expert, after all.
His words came back to her.
Nothing will stop this guy from doing his duty.
She sighed. Her departure came at a bad time—she knew she might never get another chance at a story about the DUSEL. Plus she really had nowhere to go, no job waiting. She hadn’t resigned from the
Blaze
yet, figuring she could at least finish out her stories long-distance until the month’s end. Then there was the matter of her insufficient means to rent an apartment. She could ask her father for money, but she’d rather go hungry than take any more of his hard-earned paychecks.
When the tingle of panic started up again, she said a string of silent prayers until it died away. God would help her survive. He would never forsake her. He’d proven that when she’d been at her lowest moment, afraid to trust herself or anyone else.
She looked out the window and saw Bill slouched in the front seat of his truck. He’d been there all night and she suspected he’d remain fastened to her like a shadow until she left South Dakota for good.
She felt a pang at leaving him, just as she had when she’d run with her tail between her legs months ago. Deep down, it was a relief to leave, to be forced away from any more possible encounters. A relief … and cowardice.
It was running away.
And she felt ashamed at her own eagerness to do so.
Bill’s presence in the truck spurred her on. There was no choice but to leave the crazy Oscar Birch behind and pray that
Heather squirmed on the chair. “I’ll need to think about it.”
Rudley nodded. “Fair enough.” He stood, Crow rising along with him. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make, but I’ll step outside and give you some breathing room.”
She nodded, still not looking at Bill. He wanted to take her arm, pull her away and make her promise to get on thenext plane out. The last thing he needed was for something to happen to her.
Rudley handed Heather a small photo as he exited. “Here’s the most current picture we have of Oscar Birch.” He continued out into the brilliant sunshine, Crow just behind him. Bill was about to leave as well when he heard a strange cry.
He turned to find Heather openmouthed, a look of horror on her face, picture clasped between her trembling fingers.
He went to her. “What? What is it?”
“This man …” she whispered, the photo slipping from her fingers to the floor.
“Oscar?” He could hear her breath coming in little gasps. “Tell me, Heather.”
“This man,” she started again. “He’s the mailman.”
SIX
S he finished packing the next morning. One of the advantages to living below the poverty line for months was she didn’t have many belongings. The horror still coursed around her body. Oscar Birch. She’d stood face-to-face with the pleasant, round-cheeked man who happened to be a cold-blooded killer.
The police surmised Birch had staged Choo Choo’s escape and subsequent return, wearing a postal uniform he’d lifted from somewhere. But why? Why go to the trouble? Just to terrorize her?
No, she thought grimly. To terrorize Bill.
To hurt him.
To send the message that Oscar could get to the people Bill cared about.
She zipped the suitcase closed. Oscar had made a mistake there. She and Bill might as well be strangers to each other. Bill was not acting out of love, merely protectiveness and the all-consuming need to defeat Oscar, the man who killed Johnny.
The feel of Oscar’s calloused fingers as he’d returned the dog remained on her skin. She’d actually invited the man in for a drink of water. He could have killed Choo Choo, or her, for that matter. Or he could have put a letter bomb in the mailthat the police had confiscated; the man was an explosives expert, after all.
His words came back to her.
Nothing will stop this guy from doing his duty.
She sighed. Her departure came at a bad time—she knew she might never get another chance at a story about the DUSEL. Plus she really had nowhere to go, no job waiting. She hadn’t resigned from the
Blaze
yet, figuring she could at least finish out her stories long-distance until the month’s end. Then there was the matter of her insufficient means to rent an apartment. She could ask her father for money, but she’d rather go hungry than take any more of his hard-earned paychecks.
When the tingle of panic started up again, she said a string of silent prayers until it died away. God would help her survive. He would never forsake her. He’d proven that when she’d been at her lowest moment, afraid to trust herself or anyone else.
She looked out the window and saw Bill slouched in the front seat of his truck. He’d been there all night and she suspected he’d remain fastened to her like a shadow until she left South Dakota for good.
She felt a pang at leaving him, just as she had when she’d run with her tail between her legs months ago. Deep down, it was a relief to leave, to be forced away from any more possible encounters. A relief … and cowardice.
It was running away.
And she felt ashamed at her own eagerness to do so.
Bill’s presence in the truck spurred her on. There was no choice but to leave the crazy Oscar Birch behind and pray that
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