When a Stranger Calls

He leaned toward her and she held her breath, releasing it sharply when the tea kettle squealed.

Suddenly, reality scattered her idiotic thoughts as she shut off the burner. Matt Alessandro’s father was responsible for her mother’s murder, her father’s depression and death, and her shattered life. And here she stood, inches away from touching his son. Kissing his son. Or worse. What in the hell was wrong with her?

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Matt asked.

Did she? “No.” Lindsey stepped away then. “I’ll be fine.”

“What if you get another threatening call?”

“I’ll call you.” She caught herself. “Or I’ll call my uncle.”

Suddenly she needed Matt out of her house, before her resolve crumbled. “You know, I’m exhausted suddenly….”

“Okay, I’ll go. Remember to lock up.”

“Always,” Lindsey said, relieved when he stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

But just as Matt’s taillights disappeared, the phone rang….

When a Stranger Calls

Kathleen Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mom,

the most important heroine in my life.

I love you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After a career spent spinning words for clients ranging from corporate CEOs to talking fruits and vegetables, Kathleen Long now finds great joy spinning a world of fictional characters, places and plots. She shares her life with her husband and their neurotic Sheltie, dividing her time between suburban Philadelphia and the New Jersey seashore, where she can often be found—hands on keyboard, bare toes in the sand—spinning tales. After all, life doesn’t get much better than that.

Please visit www.kathleenlong.com for the latest contests, appearances and upcoming releases.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Lindsey Tarlington—Daughter of Camille Tarlington and partner in Polaris, an agency dedicated to uncovering facts. When her mother’s long lost identification appears, she begins an investigation into the past.

Matt Alessandro—Public defender and son of Tony Alessandro. He’s vowed to prove his father’s innocence and clear the family name. He convinces Lindsey to help him reopen her mother’s case.

Frank Bell—Mayor of Haddontowne and Lindsey’s uncle. He’s on the fast track for the governor’s mansion and doesn’t want Matt revisiting the case that made his career.

Priscilla Bell—Mentally unstable and a recluse, she’s Camille Tarlington’s surviving sister and Lindsey’s aunt. Does she know something about the night Camille vanished?

Doug Tarlington—Lindsey’s father. He died in a suspicious one-car accident several years after Camille’s disappearance. Was his death the result of a broken heart…or did he know the truth behind Camille’s murder?

Lorraine Mickle—A former employee at Tony Alessandro’s flower shop. She was the star witness for the prosecution of Matt’s father, but was she telling the truth then? How about now?

Jimmy Freeman—A local handyman. He appears in Lindsey’s neighborhood at the same time Camille’s personal belongings begin to appear. Does he have a connection to the case?

Camille Tarlington—Lindsey’s mother. She disappeared seventeen years earlier after an alleged lover’s quarrel with Matt’s father. Was her murder the result of an affair gone wrong? Or was the motive something altogether different?

Tony Alessandro—Matt’s father. Prosecuted for the murder of Camille Tarlington, he died in jail six months later. Did he die an innocent man? Or was he guilty all along?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Raindrops slapped the small glass panes of the bedroom’s French doors, and lightning illuminated the room, splashing against the plaster walls like an unexpected searchlight.

Lindsey Tarlington pulled the quilt up over her ears, her heart dancing against her ribs. The move was a futile attempt to block the inevitable thunder—the thunder she’d hated for the past seventeen years. Irrationally. Childlike.

The loud rumbling followed. A series of booming, rolling explosions that set her teeth on edge. The storm was moving closer. Too close for her liking.

She rolled over onto her back and tossed off the quilt, staring up at the lazy rotation of the rattan ceiling fan. The smell of damp, spring rain eased around the windows and doors, finding its way into the old house.

Another flash. Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut but then snapped them open. She was twenty-nine years old. It was long past time to get over her fear of storms.

Thunder crashed again, and she fisted the sheet tightly in both hands. Longer. The time between the flash and the boom had taken longer. Perhaps the core of the storm would miss her—miss the house she’d lived in all her life.

Another bang sounded and she narrowed her eyes at the ceiling. A car door?

Moments later, a familiar squeak filled her mind’s eye with the image of the screen door hinge she kept forgetting to oil. A sliver of fear shimmied down her spine, and her breath caught. Who could be at her front door in the middle of the night? In the middle of a raging storm?

Lindsey tossed off the covers and moved to the French doors, trying to peer over the balcony. Rain sheeted the old, thick glass, but even so, she could make out the silhouette of a car, its headlights slashing through the storm as it idled out front.

Flashes of another night seventeen years earlier played through her mind. It had been a storm just like this one. There had been a steady stream of people in and out of the same screen door that night. Family. Friends. Police.

The sounds of running footsteps jarred her from the unwanted memories, but the rain had intensified, obscuring her view. A door slammed and the headlights eased away from the curb.

What if someone had left information on one of her cases?

Lindsey plucked her robe from the back of the rocker and shrugged it on as she headed for the hallway, the wide pine planks cool and reassuring beneath her feet.

She stopped a few steps from the bottom of the staircase. No light glowed through the leaded windows on either side of the front door and her pulse kicked up a notch. Hadn’t she just changed that bulb?

A low, anxious trembling hummed to life in her belly, and she concentrated for a moment. Concentrated on controlling the irrational fear—the quickening breaths.

She drew air in through her nose, holding her breath for several beats then releasing it slowly through tense lips.

“Get a grip, Tarlington.”

Lightning flashed again as she reached for the doorknob. Thunder crashed at the precise moment she snapped open the inner door. She started, adrenaline zinging through her body.

Lord, she hated storms.

A second flash of lightning caught the small, white envelope tucked inside the storm door. She knelt quickly, pulling it free before it got soaking wet.

She slipped a finger beneath the flap as she turned, pushing the wooden door closed with her backside, glad to have its heavy thickness between her and the elements.

A single sheet of paper lay folded inside. Lindsey reached for the hall light switch, flipping it on with one hand as she shook open the sheet of paper with the other.

Her focus dropped instantly to the face centered on the paper. A face she hadn’t seen in seventeen years and thought she’d never see again.

Sudden panic filled her. She sank to her knees, her gaze riveted to the photocopy.

The police had never found a purse—had never found personal effects. No clothing. No jewelry. No identification. Yet here Lindsey sat, staring into the face on a photocopied driver’s license. The driver’s license that had gone missing seventeen years before on a stormy night just like this one.

Tears welled in her eyes as the pain, the shock, the unfairness of it all came rushing back. The familiar crush of grief wrapped its fingers around her heart and squeezed.

She stared into the photocopy of her mother’s face and let the tears fall. Blood evidence found in her mother’s abandoned car and at the floral shop where she’d worked had been enough to prove her death and convict her killer. Unfortunately, the clues hadn’t been enough to locate her mother’s body, still missing after all these years.

She’d never doubted her mother had been murdered, but she’d always feared the horror of her mother’s final moments might resurface someday.

Lindsey dropped the paper and hugged herself.

It appeared someday had just arrived.

MATT ALESSANDRO STARED AT the sign anchored to the cinder block wall. Polaris Group. He remembered reading a newspaper article that had spelled out the history behind the organization. The group of friends had all experienced some sort of loss in their lives. Each had vowed to help others in similar situations find the truth—whatever that might be.

He’d read news of Lindsey Tarlington’s work countless times, but the thought of seeing her in person had kicked his state of alert to a frenzy. He usually experienced this sort of hyperawareness during the first day of court, not at the mere thought of meeting someone.

Of course, it wasn’t every day you met the daughter of the woman your father had been convicted of murdering. Falsely convicted—but convicted just the same.

Old bitterness welled from deep inside Matt’s gut. He swallowed it down, straightening as he jerked open the entry door.

A petite blonde sat just inside, her desk facing the door. “Can I help you?”

Matt’s lips curved into a warm smile, the move belying the cold determination he felt inside. “Lindsey Tarlington, please.” He forced his voice past the sudden tightness in his throat. He had to handle this visit carefully. Lindsey Tarlington might very well be the key to what had really happened all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to turn up any additional information, hadn’t uncovered a single new clue, not until her late night delivery.

The blonde frowned, obviously picking up on his hesitation. “Is she expecting you?”

Matt shook his head. “No. This will only take a minute.” Truth was, he hoped it would take far longer. He hoped what he’d come to say would pique Lindsey Tarlington’s interest enough to talk. Perhaps enough to share information.

Word of the photocopied license had buzzed quickly from the local police precinct to the public defender’s office. After all, everyone knew he’d vowed to clear his dad’s name—even after his old man had been killed on the inside.

His father might never have the chance to be set free, but his name did. Matt had dreamed of little else since his sixteenth birthday. The day they’d buried his father.

“May I tell her what it’s about? She’s on the phone.” The blonde’s pale brows arched, her green eyes widening.

Matt flashed his ID so fast she’d never be able to catch his name. “I’m with the Public Defender’s office. It’s in reference to a client of mine.” A half-truth…sort of. “I thought she might be interested in the case.”

Her expression morphed from suspicious to interested in the blink of an eye.

“Why don’t you have a seat over there.” She jerked her thumb toward the corner cubicle and a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs. “You can wait outside her door.”

Matt glanced in the direction she’d indicated. The space consisted of three cubicles bordering a small central area. Pale grays and pinks adorned the walls and carpeting, no doubt chosen to soothe agency clients searching for answers, loved ones, closure. Simplistic artwork graced the outside of each cubicle.

Apparently the tenants were more focused on their work than on presenting a stylish image. He had to give them credit for that. He crossed the open area in four strides, stopping short when his gaze landed on the woman inside the corner office.

A lot had changed in seventeen years.

Her father may have kept her out of the courtroom, but Matt remembered the newspaper articles and the photos. Back then, Lindsey Tarlington had been a striking child.

She’d become a breathtaking woman.

Long, black hair draped loosely around her slender shoulders, falling like a waterfall of night sky. Her profile hinted at strong features, an aristocratic nose and full lips.

She sat perpendicular to him, her gaze focused on an open folder and a stack of photos. She fingered one as she talked. When she crossed her legs, several inches of creamy, smooth thigh peeked from beneath the hem of her black skirt.

Matt swallowed, more than enjoying the view. Heat warmed his neck, and he reached to loosen his tie, but caught himself, lowering his hand to his side. When Lindsey’s slender fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, he lifted his gaze to hers.

Ice-blue daggers made it clear his appreciation hadn’t been welcomed. She hung up the phone and stood. Tall. Slender. Mesmerizing.

“Was there something I could help you with?”

Her palpable annoyance snapped Matt’s attention from his inappropriate focus on Lindsey Tarlington, the woman, to Lindsey Tarlington, the daughter.

“I’m Matt Alessandro. Tony’s son.”

With just those few words, all color drained from her cheeks. She sank back onto her chair. “Did you send me the copy?”

“No.” Matt entered the cubicle, stepping so close he could feel her body heat as she stared up at him, wide-eyed. “But I’d like to help you find out who did.”

THE MAN MAY AS WELL have sucked the air out of Lindsey’s lungs.

He bore a shocking resemblance to his father—the unkempt mahogany hair, the clean-shaven, angular jaw, the hazel eyes more brown than green.

She blinked, willing him to disappear like an unwanted apparition, but he remained. In the flesh. In her office.

“You have no business here.” Anxious trembling built inside her. She fought to remain still, to hide the raw emotion that had threatened to smother her since her discovery the night before.

“My father didn’t kill your mother.”

His words reignited the familiar, aching loss. Memories assailed her. News vans covering every inch of the curb in front of her home. Reporters stalking her at school. Her father shoving her onto a plane to stay with family far away.

Her mother. Missing. Vanished as if she’d never existed at all.

Emotion welled in Lindsey’s throat. She had to get Alessandro’s son out of her office—out of her sight. “Please leave. I’ve turned the matter over to the police.”

He stood his ground, unflinching. Determination flashed in his piercing glare, as if he saw right through her brave facade. “Don’t you make a living helping people discover the truth?”

Lindsey’s gaze locked with his. Two could play this game. “I do. But my services aren’t needed in a case like this. We already know the truth.”

A shadow passed across Matt Alessandro’s face. A flicker of sympathy teased at her heart, but she shoved it away. He might have lost his father, but murderers deserved whatever they got—and his father had been a cold-blooded killer.

He stepped closer, now seriously invading her personal space. She pushed the chair back with her knees and stood, surprised to discover he stood a full half head taller than her five feet eight inches.

“I find it difficult to believe someone with your reputation for sniffing out the facts would believe your late-night delivery means nothing.”

Lindsey shrugged, hoping the move belied the doubt simmering in her gut. “Maybe it’s someone’s sick idea of a joke. Maybe someone who knew your father in jail decided to drop off one of his souvenirs.”

Matt winced, but quickly recovered, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

She continued. “The police are all the help I need in the matter, Mr. Alessandro. Thanks for stopping by.”

She turned her back, concentrating on shuffling the folders on her credenza.

“Then I’d like to hire your firm.”

Lindsey breathed in sharply. The man could not take a hint. She turned on her heel, leveling a look that had chased off many unwanted clients—and men—before him. “I’m not interested in your business. Thank you.”

Her clipped tone wavered, and she mentally berated herself. She had no desire to let the man see he’d rattled her.

Alessandro pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his tweed sport coat. He pressed the card to her desk, not allowing her the option of refusing.

“When you’re ready to talk, give me a call. I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to question who sent you that copy. I’m also sure deep down you question the convenience of my father’s stabbing.”

His intense stare bore through every defensive wall she’d erected. Lindsey flattened one hand against the back of her chair to steady herself.

“The real killer’s still out there, Ms. Tarlington. I’d think you’d be more than a little concerned about that.”

She stood her ground as he spun on his heel, crossed the small office, and pushed open the exit door. When he had safely gone, she conceded to the trembling in her knees, sinking onto the worn leather seat of her chair.

Lindsey tentatively touched the edge of his card, dragging it to the center of her desk.

Matt Alessandro.

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed a hand across her weary face. As if the copy of her mother’s identification hadn’t been enough, now the killer’s son had reached out.

She gathered the case files from the desktop and shoved them into her briefcase. She plucked Alessandro’s card from where it lay then dropped it into her trash can.

Snapping off her desk lamp, she steeled herself, wanting nothing to do with the man’s soapy scent still lingering in her small cubicle.

“Patty.” Lindsey paused at the office manager’s desk as she headed toward the door. “I’m going out. You can reach me on my cell if anyone needs me.”

Lindsey cast a glance toward her two partners, heads bent low over their own case files, working the phones. She should be doing the same, but right now she needed to put space between herself, Matt Alessandro’s visit and her memories. The more space, the better.

She pushed out into the fresh, spring air, shoving the lingering guilt from her mind.

Ten minutes later she turned her car onto the tree-lined street, sighing with relief as her family home eased into view. The cherry blossoms displayed their full blooms, and the heavy buds on her favorite, old dogwood hinted at additional flowering beauty to come.

Lindsey breathed deeply of the sweet air filtering through her lowered car window. Spring in South Jersey. This had been her favorite time of year as a child, but on that April night years before, her world had tilted on its axis and never quite righted itself. In time, she’d learned to welcome the warmer days, but she never got over the irrational dread that accompanied the change of season each year.

A lone figure walked down her center sidewalk and away from the house as she eased her Volkswagen into the drive. Lindsey’s stomach tightened. She slammed the car into Park and scrambled from her driver’s seat. “Can I help you?”

Her voice rang out surely, in direct opposition to the rapid beating of her heart. What was he doing? Could it be the man who’d left the envelope?

The figure tensed then waved, keeping his head low as he turned away from her. Close-cropped silver hair hugged the lower half of his skull, as if his baldness hadn’t quite yet won the battle. His shoulders remained hunched, the result of either years of poor posture or the ravages of time.

Loose papers fluttered in his hand as he continued down the block, turning up the next-door neighbor’s front walk.

A harmless, elderly man passing out flyers.

Embarrassment and relief flooded through Lindsey. She couldn’t take any more excitement today. Thank goodness her case count was low right now. The agency had been hired to find a few birth parents and one long-lost heir. Nothing more. Surely she could clear her head enough to manage that.

She plucked her briefcase from the floor behind her seat then slammed the car door. A sheet of paper sat tucked in the screen door handle, catching her eye as she crossed the front yard. She yanked it free, letting her gaze drop to the simple wording touting affordable lawn care. Glancing around at her overgrown garden and shrubs, she could understand why he’d picked her house.

She folded the flyer in half and slipped it into her briefcase. Professional help wasn’t such a bad idea, actually. Her mother had always loved working in the garden. Somehow, Lindsey could never quite muster the same enthusiasm.

She jammed the key in the lock, twisting the doorknob open. A small white envelope sat wedged against the door frame. She pushed the inner door open, yet her feet remained glued in place, her eyes locked on the mysterious object. Her pulse kicked up a notch.

Maybe it was from someone else—someone other than whoever had left the copy last night. She squatted, reaching for the envelope. Heavier than last night’s, it appeared to be similar, a plain number ten, this one unsealed.

Lindsey stood, easing the flap of the envelope open by the edge, doing her best not to leave her own prints. Gold glimmered inside the envelope. A ring, delicate and old, small gems set in the shape of a heart. She flashed on an image of a family picnic, sitting holding hands with her mother, lovingly touching the heirloom ruby ring.

This ring.

Lindsey’s heart squeezed. Someone knew. Somewhere out there, someone knew exactly what had happened to her mother and was reaching out. Perhaps that same someone knew where her body had been dumped.

Matt Alessandro had been correct. Lindsey had spent her entire adult life wondering why her mother had been murdered. The trial had yielded nothing but professions of innocence from Matt’s father, even though the jury had found him guilty.

Lindsey needed more. She yearned to find out exactly what had happened, and why. To do that, she had to find out who had left this ring and the photocopied license last night.

She stepped through the door, determined to find a suitable plastic bag to protect the ring and any prints. Focused on the envelope in her hand and the glimmer of gold inside, she thought her mind was playing tricks when a shadow fell across her own on the threshold.

A pair of hands shoved her forward before she could react, before the reality of what was happening could register. She toppled over, striking the side of her skull against the marble top of a table. Pain exploded as she fell to the cool floor. Everything faded—sound, light, thought.

Lindsey’s world turned to black.

Chapter Two

Matt had always had a bit of a temper. He could admit it. Hell, he came by it honestly, yet not from his dad. From his mother. The woman was a hothead the likes of which South Philly would probably never see again.

Be that as it may, right now every deep breathing trick he knew did nothing to calm the frustration ignited by his visit to Lindsey Tarlington.