He never did, but he knew he existed. He knew he was corporeal and not just an inhabitant of nightmares and premonitions. He was real and on Jasper’s trail with the unflagging purpose of a bloodhound and the fervor of a pilgrim, undeterred by time or distance or failure.
But how did one combat someone unseen? It would be like fencing in absolute blackout. He couldn’t strike out without giving away his position. He couldn’t beat him at his own game because he didn’t know who he was, what he looked like, or his name.
Until now.
Chapte
r 20
Talia had been home for no longer than fifteen minutes before she was curled up in an oversize upholstered chair and sipping a glass of wine. The compact, first-floor room tucked under the staircase had a desk where she conducted her business, but she’d also furnished it with comfortable pieces, making it as much her retreat as her workplace.
She was enjoying the peacefulness it afforded when the doorbell rang.
Disgruntled by the interruption and mystified as to who would be on her doorstep this late on a Saturday night, she set aside her glass of wine, made her way to the front door, and looked through the peephole.
The two men looking back at her were strangers. With misgiving, she called through the door, “Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Ford?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dave Locke, this is Ed Menundez. We’re detectives with the Charleston Police Department.” Each held up a badge where she could see it. “Can we please speak with you?”
“The police department?”
“We’d like to speak with you, please.”
She hesitated for a moment then disengaged the alarm, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door. Dividing a look of perplexity between the two, she asked, “Speak with me about what?”
“May we come in?”
“What’s happened?”
“May we?”
She gave Locke a vague nod of assent and stepped aside. She realized then that she’d left her shoes in front of her easy chair. The marble floor of the entry was cold against her bare feet. She shut the door and turned to the men, repeating, “What’s happened?”
“Are you here alone?” Locke, evidently the spokesman of the duo, was tall and thin, with a pleasant bearing and eyes that drooped at the outer corners.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Ford?”
“He’s in Atlanta.” The first panicked thought that entered her mind was that there had been a plane crash. “His flight…?”
“No, this isn’t about a flight.”
“Then please tell me why you’re here.”
“Are you acquainted with Elaine Conner?”
She swallowed, nodded, and replied, “Very well. She’s a good friend of mine.”
“We gathered that, because your name showed up numerous times in her recent calls log.”
“You have Elaine’s phone?”
“We discovered it on her yacht.”