Holding the directional microphone of his tape re corder as close as possible to the open window, he shifted from his uncomfortable position and eased another couple of inches through the scratchy but concealing foliage. After years of detective work, Travis had developed an almost photographic memory for conversations, but it never hurt to have a backup recording, especially of something as important as this dialogue.
“Katie, I’m sorry,” the would—be husband said. “I was all ready to go when I got the new schedule. My bags are packed and in the car. I tried every way I could to get out of it, but I’m just an intern. I don’t have much say in scheduling.”
“Didn’t you tell them how important this is?”
She sounded devastated. If Travis hadn’t known better, he could almost feel sorry for her. But he did know better. He knew Katie’s type.
“What was I going to tell them? That I had to have the next couple of days off so I could pretend to be your husband? That’d look real good on my record.”
Travis smiled grimly into the darkness. This would be just the evidence his clients needed to insure that Katie didn’t get custody of her eight-year-old nephew. He hadn’t been overly impressed with the Logans when he’d talked to them on the phone, but thank goodness he’d taken the job anyway. Thank goodness he’d kept after Katie until he uncovered the truth. He knew he shouldn’t get personally involved in his work, but in this instance, it was impossible not to.
Katie Logan had no business raising her nephew…no more than his own equally irresponsible mother had raising him. From the age of six, when his parents were divorced, he had gone through five stepfa thers and probably twenty schools across the country. If he could stop that from happening to another child, then his own experience would have been worth it.
Travis realized he was gritting his teeth…and not listening closely to the conversation inside the house. He consciously loosened his jaw and focused on what Katie’s friend was saying.
“It’ll be all right. Just show them the marriage license. It looks like the real thing. How can they doubt you? Besides, you’ve shown your stability with this house and your job, and the caseworker told you her report would be favorable. You have nothing to worry about. You’re a terrific person. I can’t imagine why your parents are trying to do this.”
As Travis scanned the scene inside the house, he realized he could no longer see Katie. She must be there, however, since her friend continued to talk and gesticulate—nervously and nonstop—and Travis was getting every word of it on the tape recorder in his hand as well as the one in his head.
Though the late May night was warm, especially since he was wearing a leather jacket for protection against the bushes, an inexplicable chill darted down his spine, a warning that all wasn’t right. He shook off the sensation. Things couldn’t possibly be any more right.
Before this night was over, he’d have all the evidence the Logans would need to get custody of their grandson. Maybe they weren’t bubbling and effusive, but they’d give the boy a good, stable home. Tomorrow he’d file his report and make plans to testify at the hearing, if necessary. Katie Logan would never be able to ruin her nephew’s childhood the way his mother had ruined his.
While John kept talking as though she were still in the room, Katie took her iron skillet from the top of the stove and crept stealthily out the back door. During the year she’d spent assisting a study group in the Amazon rain forest, she’d learned to listen and ob serve. For the past couple of weeks she’d had the ee rie feeling she was being followed, though until tonight she’d never seen any hard evidence. But now she was pretty sure some pervert was hiding in the shrubbery outside her living room window.
Moving as quietly as possible, she circled around behind the bushes. Her heart rate went up dramatically as she saw the crouching figure. Knowing somebody was out there was one thing; actually seeing that somebody was quite another.
She stood paralyzed, rooted to the spot by shock, not daring to breathe lest the person turn and see her. The cool handle of the skillet suddenly burned her fingers, and she could feel the perspiration making it slippery. This time her impetuosity had gotten her into a real jam. Whatever had possessed her to come outside alone in the first place?
Then she noticed a hand extending from the shrubbery toward the window, a hand holding a gun pointed at John. Adrenaline surged through her, fear and anger releasing her from shock, sending her forward in
a mad rush, her iron skillet swinging wildly.
The prowler turned toward her, eyes widening in surprise, just as her weapon connected with the side of his head. His eyes closed, and with a groan, he crumpled to the ground.
Katie dropped her skillet in horror and sank to the ground beside the prowler.
“Katie!” John called from the window. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No! Oh, John, I just killed a man! Call an ambulance! Come do CPR!”
She lifted the man’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but all she could feel was her own heart pounding.
The front door slammed, and John ran up beside her.
“He had a gun,” she said. “He was going to shoot you.” Then she groaned more loudly and more painfully than the man had when she’d whacked him. “This isn’t going to look so good at the custody hearing, is it? Being a murderer probably won’t help establish my stability.”
Nathan needed her to look stable. Her nephew was counting on her. If she let him down, he’d have to live with her father. She shivered. No, that was unthinkable. She wouldn’t let him down in spite of this sudden catastrophe. Somehow she’d save him.
John knelt beside the man and pressed his fingers to his neck.. “You didn’t kill him. He’s still very much alive. A good strong heartbeat. Probably works out regularly. Where’d you hit him?”
“On the left side, kind of in front, I think. I don’t know. It happened so fast. I was aiming for the back of his head, and he turned around.”
John pushed the man’s hair off his face, then ran his fingers over the scalp. “I can’t tell for sure in the dark, but I don’t think you did much damage. I can’t feel any bleeding. He should be coming around any minute. You go call the police while I stay here and watch him.”
Katie closed her eyes for a second, daring to take a deep breath of relief. When she’d left home ten years ago, her stated goal in life had been to experience everything at least once, but that everything hadn’t included murder. She started to get up and follow John’s directions, then stopped and knelt back down.
“What’s this?” A small tape recorder lay beside the man. “The pervert was going to record your murder!” She snatched up the machine and stood. A wire with a small cylindrical object on the end dangled from it.
John looked up at her uncertainly. “A murderer with a tape recorder? Katie, I don’t see a gun. Are you sure he had one? Are you sure you didn’t maybe see that microphone?”
Katie reeled up the microphone and studied it closely. “No,” she said quietly, “I guess I’m not sure. In the dark, I could’ve been mistaken. He could’ve been holding this thing. Even so, he had no business prowling around my house and recording our conversation. I’m going to call the police.”
But she didn’t move. The temperature seemed to rise ten degrees. The air pressed heavily against her chest, making it hard to breathe. In the quiet night—far, far away, it seemed, in a world where normal people lived—a dog barked.
“Prowlers don’t usually have tape recorders, do they?” she said after a long moment.
“How would I know? I haven’t had much experience with prowlers. I once took a bullet out of one in ER, but that’s about the extent of