It would often take her hours to remind herself that Jaymi hadn’t been taken while inside her home.
Still, the paranoia was there and strong enough that as the chill swept through her, Cami immediately retreated into the house and began locking up.
Windows and doors were checked, curtains were securely pulled closed. As she closed the last of the curtains, she stood in her bedroom for a moment and gazed around the room. It had been her mother’s room. Not her parents’ room, just her mother’s.
The master suite with its small sitting area and inviting, king-sized bed she so loved. The cream-colored walls and ceiling were a perfect backdrop for the dark oak floors and furnishings, which the bedclothes, dripping with lace from the sheets to the comforter, lightened and feminized the room just enough to keep it from being ostentatiously girly.
The old-fashioned vanity table and lace-draped chair took care of that on its own.
It was hers, and the thought of losing it out of fear rather than choice just pissed her off. She hated fear. She was learning just how much she hated being frightened.
As she was coming back downstairs, the sound of the doorbell, unexpected and overly loud in the quiet house, had her jerking back so hard she nearly stumbled on the stairs.
“Ridiculous,” she murmured as she took a deep breath, her eyes rolling at the sense of melodrama she realized she might be displaying.
She was letting those phone calls get to her way too much. And she wasn’t even certain, she had only suspicions to go by that the phone calls had anything to do with Jaymi’s death. After all, none of the other women who had died that summer had told anyone about any phone calls. And to the best of anyone’s knowledge, the other women hadn’t been one of the Callahan cousins’ lovers.
Moving quickly down the stairs, she lifted herself to look through the peephole, then draw back with a frown.
That sense of unreality once again began to close in on her. It was rather hard to believe that particular person was actually standing on the other side of the door.
Lifting up, she checked again, and once again she saw the same, expensively dressed, arrogant-eyed individual she had seen the first time she had checked.
“Ms. Flannigan, I’m aware you’re on the other side.” Bored and heavy with impatience, the voice drifted through the heavy door. “I’ll only take a moment of your time, if you don’t mind?”
Only a moment of her time, huh?
She had a feeling he was about to take up a hell of a lot more than a moment of her time. This particular person could cause her life to go to hell in a handbasket, which would take up a hell of a lot more than a moment of her time.
Moving back, she quickly opened the door, stepped back, and allowed him in.
Considering who her visitor was, there wasn’t a chance in hell he could kill her without at least someone telling someone who had been there. And once that happened, Rafe would learn who it was that had been at the house.
Then, blood would spill.
Hell, maybe she should have just pretended she wasn’t home.
Pushing the door closed, he didn’t even flinch as it smacked against the frame a little harder than needed.
She wanted to at least give the hint that she wasn’t pleased to see him there.
Flipping the locks back in place, she prepared herself before turning back to him and crossing her arms over her breasts as she confronted him.
“And what can I do for you, Mr. Roberts?”
Rafer’s grandfather.
She’d always thought Rafer looked more like his Callahan father than the Roberts’ side of the family. Staring back at Rafer’s grandfather, though, she realized there was no denying they were definitely related. Closely related.
Marshal Roberts had the same, intense blue eyes Rafer possessed. She’d heard his mother had had the same rich, mesmerizing color of eyes. The arch of the brow was the same, and that same arrogant line of the jaw.
Marshal Roberts’s hair was now a shade of dark silver where it had once been a dark, dark brown. Rafer had that deep raven’s black that all Callahan men had been known for, but he also had that same heavy wave at the front where the rest were ribbon-straight.
He wasn’t as tall as his grandson either. He stood only six feet while Rafer stood a towering six two. But his shoulders were just as broad, and even nearing seventy, he was still an imposing figure of a man.
Marshal looked around, curiosity flickering in his gaze as he seemed to linger on the mantel of pictures over the fireplace.
“Your family?” He gestured to the pictures as he moved to them, reached out and picked up a frame that held an eight by ten of her father, mother, and Jaymi.
“Yes.” As though he didn’t already know.
“Strange,” he murmured, glancing back at her. “I see very few of you here.”
He indicated one or two of her and Jaymi alone. There were no pictures of her with her mother, and definitely none of her with her father.
“Rub the salt in the wound,” she offered mockingly. “Then please be kind enough to tell me why you’re here.”
He turned back and replaced the picture before appearing to peruse the rest.
He was a member of the school board, which meant he held her job in the palm of his hand. He was a member of the city council, once again, a very heavy influence on her job. He was the president this year of the business leaders’ association as well as the cattle ranchers’ association. Okay, so that didn’t have a lot of bearing, just a lot of influence over the other two.
He was a very busy man.
So what was he doing here wasting his time with her?
She could pretty much guess at this point. It was just so out of character for him to really care that she could only stare at him in bemusement.
And where was his driver? Because everyone knew Marshal Roberts didn’t drive himself anywhere. But she hadn’t seen anyone else in the unassuming pick-up truck sitting at her curb and no one was at the door with him before he came in.
Though she honestly couldn’t say she had ever heard of Marshal Roberts visiting any of Rafer’s past girlfriends, lovers, friends, or various associates. He’d always pretended his grandson didn’t exist in any capacity or area of his consciousness. If one mentioned Rafer, she heard he turned away or stared back at them as though they hadn’t spoken. He had his tricks and maneuvers that didn’t quite match his presence here tonight.
“I hear you spent a few days at the Triple R ranch?” His head jerked around, his gaze piercing as he asked the question almost casually.
As though he would catch her doing something, or an expression on her face that would give him an answer of some sort.
She was tempted to simply roll her eyes again, just to show him she wasn’t in the least intimidated. Though, actually, she might have been, just a little bit intimidated.
“I did,” she admitted.
There was no denying it after all. Martin Eisner had seen her kissing Rafer before she left. That spurt of reckless challenge that Rafer always awakened in her had ensured she didn’t walk away from him without throwing caution to the winds. Caution and his belief that she could ever be ashamed of having a man like Rafer Callahan in her bed.
It wasn’t shame that held her back. It was that debilitating fear. That overriding knowledge of the risk he could bring to her soul and her survival.
It wasn’t one of her brightest moments, though, she admitted, but definitely one of her most honest.
He turned back to her, his hands pushing the edges of his silk business jacket back as he shoved them into the pockets of his nicely pressed blue jeans.