FrenchQuarter.htm by Alexander Lacey (good fiction books to read TXT) 📗

is…making threats against me, and also against my new boyfriend.”

The woman on the other end took on a kinder, slower tone. “What kind of threats?”

“Well, he implied that he knew how to make a bomb and said if I moved in with my boyfriend, I’d regret it.”

“Is that all?”

All? Wasn’t that enough? “He’s sort of been stalking me, too, but…yeah, the part about the bomb is what’s really scaring me.”

The policewoman paused. “Does this ex-fiancé of yours have any kind of a record, a history of arrests or tangles with the law?”

Liz closed her eyes as a rush disappointment swept down through her chest. “No.”

“Look,” the woman said softly, “if it were up to me, I’d slap this whack job in handcuffs in a New York minute. But, honey, unless you have some proof that this guy’s dangerous, there’s not a lot we can do for you. At best, you might be able to get a restraining order against him.”

Liz had always heard restraining orders did no good. “What would that do exactly?”

The policewoman let out a sigh. “It would state that he couldn’t come within so many feet of you, and it should protect you.” Yet then she hesitated, lowered her voice, and spoke in a woman-to-woman tone. “But just between me and you, it’s only a piece of paper. It only counts for something if the jerk violates it, but by then it’s often too late, if you know what I mean.”

 Liz hung up the phone a few minutes later, totally dejected. Weren’t police supposed to keep you safe from bad people? Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. How many stories had she heard over the years on the news or in the papers about wives and girlfriends who weren’t protected from men who claimed to love them?

Settling back on the couch, she hugged a throw pillow to her chest and tried to devise her next move.

But what moves were left her, really? She’d tried to get help from the authorities and had failed.

And she’d ignored Todd’s lunacy too many times already. She had no idea if he could really make a bomb or if he even knew where Jack lived and worked, for that matter, but any way she looked at it, she couldn’t take the chance that Todd was for real, that he’d make good on the threat. She or Jack or both of them could die, for God’s sake, if Todd was telling the truth.

And Jack’s safety was simply something she couldn’t risk.

Which meant she couldn’t move in with him.

Of course, if she told Jack about Todd’s crazy threat, he’d be all the more determined to get her away from Lynda’s house and into his—to protect her.

And yet, how could anyone really protect anyone else in this world? Jack might be the strongest, surest man she’d ever known, but how could he really keep either one of them safe if Todd decided to do something crazy? You just couldn’t protect against crazy. She sat shaking her head at the hopelessness of the situation, and thinking how one little conversation with Todd had shattered all her hopes for happiness with Jack.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Liz had unpacked her CDs next to Lynda’s stereo, figuring she’d be staying put for at least a little while longer. Maybe even a lot longer. After all, if she moved out of Lynda’s to anyplace else, Todd would likely assume she’d gone to Jack’s. And she certainly couldn’t tell Todd wherever she was going. The whole situation seemed impossible, and while part of her just kept thinking she should ignore it and move in with Jack as planned, another very frightened part kept remembering how each and every time she’d met with Todd since their breakup, he’d seemed more and more out of his mind. No matter how she twisted it, she felt she was at his mercy now and for some time to come.

Letting out a deep sigh, she put the empty box back in the basement and walked back upstairs, feeling trapped.

She didn’t even know how she could face Jack, how she could tell him she wasn’t moving in with him, without being prodded into explaining why. And other than her little act in the beginning, she’d always been so honest with him—she wasn’t sure she could lie now.

Pouring herself a glass of iced tea, she sat down at Lynda’s kitchen table, trying to think through the problem.

She couldn’t see Jack tonight—that was that. If she did, she’d probably tell him everything and put him at risk. In fact, she couldn’t tell him she wasn’t moving in with him—not in person. She’d crack, she just knew it.

After draining her glass, she went upstairs to her room and got out her laptop. She and Jack hadn’t had much occasion to e-mail each other, usually opting for the phone when making plans, but she knew his e-mail address and she knew he checked it often, as much of his business communication was accomplished that way.

Opening the laptop on the dressing table in her room, she keyed in Jack’s e-mail address and began to type.

* * * * *

Jack used the remote to turn off the TV he used for scanning videos in his office. He still hadn’t gotten current on them, but he wanted to close up shop and help Liz move her things—and he wanted to leave time for some romance before the evening was through, too. He intended to show her exactly how happy he was to have her moving in with him.

One last check of e-mail and he’d be out the door.

He clicked on the appropriate button, surprised to see a message from Liz in his inbox. He double-clicked to open it, more than a little curious.

Jack,

I’ve decided I can’t move in with you, after all. It’s kind of you to be concerned for my safety, but I’m confident I can take care of myself. This morning you caught me off guard, and