Abandon - Carla Neggers [57]
With a hiss of frustration, Mackenzie shook off that line of thinking, and said aloud, “Rook knows what he’s doing.”
That was what she should keep in mind.
She turned her attention back to the sketch. The drawing didn’t capture the strangeness of her attacker’s eyes. She tried to understand why she’d focused on them. Did they truly hold the key to why he seemed familiar to her?
Why had he attacked her and not Carine? Was it, at least in part, because he’d known Carine wouldn’t recognize him? But he hadn’t seemed concerned that Mackenzie would. He’d even taunted her, using her name.
Why?
The telephone rang—the house’s hard line. Since she was there only temporarily, Mackenzie hadn’t bothered getting a line in her name, relying instead on her cell phone for personal calls. She picked up.
“Burning the midnight oil tonight, are you?”
It was a male voice, hoarse and unrecognizable. “Who is this?”
Click.
Did he know she was up late, or had he just dialed her number at random? But she remembered the wrong number she’d received at Bernadette’s lake house over the weekend. Another coincidence she didn’t like.
She grabbed her gun and ran out to the porch. Was her caller watching her, stalking her? The air smelled of rain and wet grass, and the cloud cover made for a dark night. She walked down the steps, slick from rain, and out to the driveway, listening for the sound of a car—or a man hiding in the shrubs. She wouldn’t be thinking about squirrels and wild turkeys tonight.
She walked to the end of the long driveway. Streetlights cast eerie shadows, and nearby houses had living-room lights on, their residents, no doubt, enjoying a normal evening at home. The only cars visible were parked in driveways.
Was this man watching her from a hidden, darkened car?
She returned to the house, her slip-on sneakers soaked by the time she sat at the table in the kitchen. She kicked them off and reached for her cell phone, dialing Nate Winter’s number.
“Did you and Sarah ever get crank calls here?” she asked when he picked up.
“No. What’s going on?”
She told him about the call, skipping any mention of Rook’s visit. Nate didn’t interrupt. When she finished, she decided she didn’t want to sound paranoid, and added, “It could have been anyone. I’m not suggesting it was the man who attacked me.”
Nate was silent a moment. “Do you want me to come over?”
“And do what? There’s nothing to be done tonight. The caller didn’t use my name. On most occasions I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.”
“Mackenzie…”
“It’s okay. Sorry to disturb you.”
“Anytime,” he said softly. “You know that. But you’ve had a rough week. You need to give yourself time—”
“I just want to figure out where I’ve seen the man who attacked me. We need to find him before he hurts someone else. Because he will, Nate. I know he will.”
“If he does, it won’t be your fault. It’ll be his doing and his alone.”
“I had him. I had him, and he got away.”
“Then you didn’t have him, did you?”
She sat back, stung. And yet, she thought, she appreciated Nate’s clarity—his blunt honesty. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You’re not in this thing alone. Understood?”
“Yes, understood.” Still, she knew—as did Nate—that raising the alarm over as dubious and amorphous a call as the one she’d just received wouldn’t inspire confidence. “Say hi to Sarah for me. She’s doing well?”
“She’s heading over there tomorrow to mark out a new dig.”
“Alone?”
Nate didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said finally. “She won’t be alone.”
When Mackenzie hung up, she realized her wet feet were cold—surprising, given the relentless heat. She headed to her bedroom, wondering if she’d overreacted to the call. She’d been in the middle of studying the sketch, reliving the events of last Friday, and, admittedly, was a little off balance.
Not just a little.
Maybe it was the ghosts, she thought, pulling back the covers on her bed, and