Riverbend by Tess Thompson Page A

it's been over ten years.”
    “And these articles always name your location?”
    “Right.”
    “Crap,” he said, gazing out the window, a look on his face she couldn't decipher. “And he's been in jail all this time?”
    “Yes. But apparently he's been released. What I can't figure out is how he got my cell phone number. But he said he's coming for me. And for Alder. He called first last week and then last night he called me at the restaurant. He said he's here, in town.” She began to cry. Saying it out loud to someone made it all that more real. “And I don't know what to do.”
    “Have you talked to the police?”
    “No.”
    “You need to.”
    “What will I say?”
    “Tell them everything you know. Do you have his number on your phone?”
    “No. It just says ‘private number.’” She stared out the window, feeling helpless, tears spilling down her cheeks. The sky was bright blue. Birds twittered in the pines. There was a rose garden at the edge of the yard, pink and yellow and red buds peeping just above the fence that kept them shielded from deer. Everything beautiful this world had to offer, here before her. Yet, she shivered, knowing that out there somewhere was the man who wanted her dead. Was he making his way towards her now, as she sat gazing at the splendor of this day?
    “Please don't cry.” He moved suddenly, almost lurching at her. She flinched, her hand coming up to shield her face. But he didn't mean to harm her. Of course not , she told herself. He was just reaching out to comfort me. Don't be such an idiot.
    “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” And in his eyes she sawhe understood. She was afraid of men she didn't know, afraid he might try and hurt her, despite all the years between now and Marco.
    “I know.”
    “Just an instinct. Right?”
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    He gestured towards the other room, his expression dark. “I'll go look up the number for the police department in my office. Give a shout when lunch is ready.” He stopped at the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I could take you, if you want.”
    “But I thought you didn't want to come off the mountain?”
    He pulled on his ear, gazing at the floor, as if thinking it through, before looking back at her. “Just this once. I don't think you should go alone.”
    “It won't just be the police station. We'll have to drop Alder at Ellen's. I can go alone.”
    “I don't think that's a good idea.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he's out there. Waiting.”

    Twenty minutes later, she carried a steaming plate of spaghetti, along with silverware and a napkin, into the dining room. Alder lifted his face from the book and took in a deep breath. “Mom, that smells awesome.”
    “Go in the kitchen for yours, Baby. I went light on the garlic.”
    “Thanks, Mom.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But could you not call me Baby in front of Mr. Webber? It makes me sound, well, like a baby.”
    “Sorry, honey.”
    “Mom!”
    “I mean, Alder.”
    Drake appeared then, freshly showered and dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. Why did he have to be this good looking? “Smells great,” he said, sitting at the table. He looked over at Alder. “You want to eat with me?”
    “Me?”
    “Yeah, you. We can talk about your favorite books.”
    He jumped up from the couch, reminding Annie of Goldie when she saw Alder in the mornings. “Cool.”
    “I'll fetch your bowl from the kitchen,” said Annie.
    “Thanks, Mom.” Alder pulled out a chair and plopped into it, grinning.
    She quickly gathered Alder's plate and silverware from the kitchen and set it in front of her son at the dining room table. Alder grabbed the fork and dug it deep into the plate of pasta.
    “Alder, Mr. Webber might like to pray before eating.” Maybe he wasn't a complete heathen like her son obviously was.
    “No, it's fine,” said Drake. “I don't pray.” Again, something crossed over his face that looked like a physical pain.