She dreamt of him that night.
Not of Brian, but of her late husband. The dream was so real, so frightening she could feel herself breaking out into a cold sweat. It was only after a few moments had passed that she realised there was no one standing over her, that the heavy breathing she heard was her own.
Still, she couldnât shake the feeling that someone had been in the room with her.
Turning on the lamp beside her bed didnât reveal anyone standing in the shadows, or taking shelter behind her drapes.
She was alone.
And maybe going a little crazy.
Lila took a long breath, trying to steady her nerves. She was about to turn off the light again when the phone rang. Lila yanked the receiver. âLook, you sick, perverted scum, you keep this up and Iâm going to track you down and trust me, you really donât want me to do that.â
âOh, I donât know, it sounds promising,â the deep male voice on the other end said.
Lila was stunned. And relieved. He was the man she wanted to hear from. âBrianâ¦â
The abrupt ring of the telephone didnât wake her.
Despite the fact that sheâd gone to bed more than an hour ago, she was still awake. Tense.
Waiting.
Waiting to have the last fragments of serenity wrenched from her. Again. It had been happening more and more frequently. The middle-of-the-night phone calls shattering her peace of mind.
She supposed that she could have closed off the landline, muting the ringer so that when the call came, it wouldnât register, wouldnât cause her heart to race.
But she couldnât shut the phone. She didnât have that luxury because if one of her children called, if she shut off the phone, she wouldnât be able to take the call. She didnât want to worry them, making them wonder why she wasnât home at this hour or wasnât answering her phone.
Or they could need her. All four of them, Zack, Taylor, Riley and even Frank, were on the force as she had been.
As their late father had been.
She would never be able to forgive herself if she missed a life-and-death call just because some phantom nutcase seemed bent on spooking her.
Sitting up, Lila McIntyre turned on the lamp and squinted at the lightâs harsh intrusion. Over in the corner, Duchess, her ten-year-old German shepherd, picked up her head as if to ask, âWhatâs wrong?â
âGo back to sleep,â she told the dog, but Duchess kept on eyeing the ringing phone. And wouldnât stop until she answered it.
Edgy, Lila felt like throwing the phone across the room instead of picking up the receiver. With effort, she made herself calm down. Whoever was on the other end of the line wanted her to lose control. If she gave in to a fit of temper, sheâd be playing into his hands, doing exactly what he wanted her to do.
Lila looked at the phoneâs LCD screen. All it told her was that the incoming call was âout-of-area.â No number, no hint.
Whoever it was was playing mind games, she thought. But why? Nothing came to her.
Maybe it was just a nut job, pure and simple. It was the most plausible explanation, but her intuition told her no.
Drawing in a long breath, Lila snatched up the receiver and pressed it to her ear. The very act made her shiver.
âHello?â she snapped. It wasnât a greeting, but a demand. A demand for a reply.
There was no answer on the other end of the line. Only the faint sound of someone breathing. Someone listening to the sound of her voice while keeping his own a secret.
What do you want from me? she asked silently.
Out loud, she did her best to sound bored. âYou know, this isnât funny anymore. I can have this traced and when I find out who you are, there are going to be consequences. Consequences youâre not going to like.â Lila looked down and saw that she had dug her nails into the comforter, gathering it into a wad. She released itâbut wasnât able to do the same with the tension that rode roughshod over her. âSo why donât you do yourself a favor and stop acting like an eight-year-old?â
There was no response, just another soft breath drawn in and exhaled. And then came a âclickâ in her ear. The caller was gone.
Lila sat there, holding the receiver, annoyed with herself. Annoyed because she was allowing this jerk to get to her.
âIf youâd like to place a callâ¦â
Lila jumped as the metallic female voice instructed her to dial again. With a muffled curse, she threw the receiver into the cradle. The recording was abruptly silenced.
Her hand shook as she dragged it through tousled honey-blond hair.
It was the twenty-first call.
By definition, a peace officer should like peace. Despite the fact that he had risen up through the ranks and was now the chief of detectives, a position he had held for quite some time, Brian Cavanaugh still considered himself a peace officer.