The Complete Mackenzie Collection Read online

  Joe had changed overnight; it was a subtle change, but one that made Mary ache inside. In repose, his young face held a grimness that saddened her, as if the last faint vestiges of boyhood had been driven from his soul. He’d always looked older than his age, but now, despite the smoothness of hiss kin, he no longer looked young.

  She was a grown woman, almost thirty years old, and the attack had left scars she hadn’t been able to handle alone. Cathy and Pam were just kids, and Cathy had to handle a nightmare that was far worse than what Mary and Pam had undergone. Joe had lost his youth. No matter what, that man had to be stopped before he damaged anyone else.

  When Wolf and Joe left the house, Mary gave them plenty of time to get far enough away so they wouldn’t hear her car start, then hurried out of the house. She didn’t know what she was going to do, other than parade through Ruth on the off chance that her presence might trigger another attack. And then what? She didn’t know. Somehow she had to be prepared; she had to get someone to keep watch so the man could be caught. It should have been easy to catch him; he’d been so careless, attacking out in the open and in broad daylight, making stupid moves, as if he attacked on impulse and without a plan. He hadn’t even taken the simplest precautions against getting caught. The whole thing was strange. It didn’t make sense.

  Her hands were shaking as she drove into town; she was acutely aware that this was the first time since the day she’d been attacked that she was without protection. She felt exposed, as if her clothing had been stripped away.

  She had to get someone to watch her, someone she trusted. Who? Sharon? The young teacher was her friend, but Sharon wasn’t aggressive, and she thought the situation called for aggressiveness. Francie Beecham was too old; Cicely Karr would be too cautious. She discounted the men, because they would get all protective and refuse to help. Men were such victims to their own hormones. Machismo had killed a lot more people than PMS.

  Pam Hearst sprang to mind. Pam would be extremely interested in catching the man, and she’d been aggressive enough to kick him in the mouth, to fight him off. She was young, but she had courage. She’d had the courage to go against her father and date a half-breed.

  Conversation ceased when she walked into Hearst’s store; it was the first time she’d been seen since the end of school. She ignored the thick silence, for she had what she suspected was a highly accurate guess as to the subject of the conversation she’d interrupted, and approached the checkout counter where Mr. Hearst stood.

  “Is Pam at home?” she asked quietly, not wanting her question to be heard by the entire store.

  He looked as if he’d aged ten years overnight, but there was no animosity in his face.

  He nodded. The same thing had happened to Miss Potter, he thought. If she could talk to Pam, maybe she could take that haunted look out of his baby girl’s eyes. Miss Potter had a lot of backbone for such a little thing; maybe he didn’t always agree with her, but he’d damn sure learned to respect her. And Pam thought the world of her.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to her,” he said.

  There was an odd, almost militant expression in her soft bluish eyes. “I’ll do that,” she promised, and turned to leave. She almost bumped into Dottie and was startled into a gasp; the woman had been right behind her.

  “Good morning,” Mary said pleasantly. Aunt Ardith had drilled the importance of good manners into her.

  Strangely, Dottie seemed to have aged, too. Her face was haggard. “How are you doing, Mary?”

  Mary hesitated, but she could detect none of the hostility she was accustomed to from Dottie. Had the entire town changed? Had this nightmare brought them to their senses about the Mackenzies? “I’m fine. Are you enjoying the vacation?”

  Dottie smiled, but it was merely a movement of her facial muscles, not a response of pleasure. “It’s been a relief.”

  She certainly didn’t look relieved; she looked worried to a frazzle. Of course, everyone should be worried.

  “How is your son?” Mary couldn’t remember the boy’s name, and she felt faintly embarrassed. It wasn’t like her to forget names.

  To her surprise, Dottie went white. Even her lips were bloodless. “W—why do you ask?” she stammered.

  “He seemed upset the last time I saw him,” Mary replied. She could hardly say that only good manners had prompted the question. Southerners always asked after family.

  “Oh. He—he’s all right. He hardly ever leaves the house. He doesn’t like going out.” Dottie looked around, then blurted “Excuse me,” and left the store before Mary could say anything else.

  She looked at Mr. Hearst, and he shrugged. He thought Dottie had acted a bit strange, too.

  “I’ll go see Pam now,” she said.

  She started to walk to the Hearst house, but the memory of what had happened the last time she’d walked through town made chills run up her spine, and she went to her car. She checked the back seat and floorboard before opening the door. As she started the engine, she saw Dottie walking swiftly up the street, her head down as if she didn’t want anyone to speak to her. She hadn’t bought anything, Mary realized. Why had she been in Hearst’s store, if not to make a purchase? It couldn’t be browsing, because everyone knew what every store in town carried. Why had she left so suddenly?

  Dottie turned left down the small street where she lived, and abruptly Mary wondered what Dottie was doing walking around alone. Every woman in town should know better. Surely she had enough sense to be cautious.

  Mary drove slowly up the street. She craned her neck when she reached the street where Dottie had turned and saw the woman hurrying up the steps of her house. Her eyes fell on the faded sign: Bay Road.

  Bay Road was where Wolf thought the rapist had dodged into a house. It made sense that he wouldn’t have entered a house that wasn’t his home, unless he was a close friend who came and went just like a family member. That was possible, but even a very close friend would give a yell before just walking into someone else’s house, and Wolf would have heard that.

  Dottie was certainly acting odd. She’d looked as if she’d been stung by a bee when Mary had asked about her son…. Bobby, that was his name. Mary was pleased that she’d remembered.

  Bobby. Bobby wasn’t “right.” He did things in a skewed way. He was unable to apply logic to the simplest of chores, unable to plan a practical course of action.

  Mary broke out in a sweat and had to stop the car. She’d only seen him once, but she could picture him in her mind: big, a little soft-looking, with sandy hair and a fair complexion. A fair, freckled complexion.

  Was it Bobby? The one person in town who wasn’t totally responsible for himself? The one person no one would ever suspect?

  Except his mother.

  She had to tell Wolf.

  As soon as the thought formed, she dismissed it. She couldn’t tell Wolf, not yet, because she didn’t want to put that burden on him. His instincts would tell him to go after Bobby; his conscience would argue that Bobby wasn’t a responsible person. Mary knew him well enough to know that, no matter which decision he made, he would always have regrets. Better for the responsibility to be hers than to push Wolf into such a position.

  She’d call Clay. It was his job, after all. He’d be better able to deal with the situation.

  Only a few seconds passed as her thoughts rushed through her mind. She was still sitting there staring at Dottie’s house when Bobby came out on the porch. It took him a moment, but suddenly he noticed her car and looked straight at her. A distance of less than seventy-five yards separated them, still too far for her to read his expression, but she didn’t need a close-up for sheer terror to spurt through her. She stomped on the gas pedal and the car shot forward, slinging gravel, the tires squealing.

  It was only a short distance to the Hearst house. Mary ran to the front door and banged her fist on it. Her heart felt as if it would explode. That brief moment when she had been face-to-face with him was almost more than sh