“You’re not married, Marnie.”
“I told you, dick-wad, I’m not Marnie.” And I’m not married, either, Roxie thought desperately, hoping he’d buy into her bluff.
“You’re just embarrassed.”
“What?”
“Because you’ve let yourself go…but I’ll fix that. You’ll see.”
“What the hell are you talkin
g about? I don’t need any fixing—hey!” She had pushed herself into a sitting position when she saw the stun gun at his side and stopped moving. Her blood turned to ice water.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice just audible over the music. Her eyes were fixed on the ugly little weapon. “Now…relax.”
Like hell, she thought, and threw herself at him, clawing with her nails, determined to get a piece of him. He yelped as she scratched his cheek. The stun gun sizzled and she felt a jolt of pure electricity slam her to the floor.
Bam!
Her chin bounced on the cold concrete.
Pain exploded in her head. She nearly passed out.
“Stupid bitch,” he growled, touching his face, smearing the blood running from beneath his left eye. “That’s the problem with you, Marnie. I guess it’s time you learned a very valuable lesson.”
No, Roxie thought frantically, helpless for the first time in her life. Whatever it is, no! She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, but watched as he withdrew a gleaming hypodermic needle from his pocket. Holding the syringe aloft, he squirted clear liquid into the cold air. Her terrified gaze locked with his and he smiled again…the cold, calculating grin of a killer.
For the first time in fifteen years, Roxie Olmstead began to pray.
CHAPTER 29
Jake Turnquist was all Harrison Brennan had promised, and more. With the build of an athlete and blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing, he met with Jenna, struck a deal, and, after doing a perimeter check of the property, chose to live in the studio apartment over the garage. He claimed it had a bird’s-eye view of the house. He had agreed to spend his nights in the studio and drive the girls to and from school. Jenna was more concerned about their welfare than her own, and she agreed to carry her cell phone with a Global Positioning System chip, a walkie-talkie, and have a GPS system added to her Jeep. Each girl would have a cell phone that would be fitted with a chip as well and they, too, would carry walkie-talkies.
“This is gonna be weird,” Cassie predicted as she, through the kitchen window, watched Jake unload equipment from a camper attached to the bed of his pickup. A duffel bag slung over one shoulder, he carried two equipment cases up the exterior stairs. “It’s like Big Brother’s watching.”
“But it makes your mother feel so much safer.” Jenna slammed the dishwasher shut and her gaze followed Cassie’s.
“How long will he stay?”
“As long as it takes.”
His breath fogging in the cold air, Turnquist was hurrying down the exterior steps of the apartment. He jogged to the back of the truck and pulled out a sleeping bag, a laptop computer case as well as a rifle with a scope.
“Scary,” Cassie whispered.
Jenna placed her fingers around her daughter’s hand and squeezed. “Safer.”
“I don’t know how much safer I feel about a stranger living here with guns and night goggles and spy stuff,” Cassie muttered as Jenna released her hand. “It’s like he thinks he’s Rambo or something.”
Rambo would be good, Jenna thought, but said, “Let’s give the guy a chance, okay?” He’d personally handed her a three-page list of references the day before. Jenna had called nine of the names on the list, all of whom had lauded Turnquist with glowing recommendations.
“I’d trust him with my daughters. Or my granddaughters, for that matter,” one man had proclaimed.
“He helped us figure out who was terrorizing us,” another woman said. “Jake Turnquist found the hooligans who had burned a cross in our yard and slit the tires of our truck. Rounded ’em up and called the authorities. We could finally sleep easy again.”
No one had said so much as one word against the man.
Jenna had hired him on the spot.