The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks
"What happened to her?" Mike asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
"Jessica's been missing since 1998," Jennifer said. "She was living with her parents, and the last time anyone saw her was at the supermarket. A witness remembered seeing Robert Bonham's car in the parking lot that night, but no one saw what happened to her. He vanished the same night she did."
"You mean he killed her," Mike said.
"That's what her family and the police in Boston believe," Jennifer said.
Mike and Julie leaned back in their seats, both of them pale with shock. The air seemed thick and stifling.
"I talked to Jessica's sister," Jennifer went on slowly, "and that's part of the reason we're here. She told me that Jessica tried to run away once. She went halfway across the country, but somehow Robert tracked her down. Actually she used the word hunted."
She paused, letting the word sink in. "I don't know if you're aware of it, but Robert Bonham-Richard-quit his job a month ago. In his house, we found pictures of you. Hundreds of pictures. From what we can tell, he's been watching you pretty much around the clock since you first started dating. And he's also been checking up on your past."
"What do you mean?" Julie asked raggedly.
"The week he said he was with his dying mother, he went to Daytona. He went there to learn more about you. A private investigator was checking into your history-we talked to your mother about it. It seems pretty clear that he's been stalking you all along."
Like a hunter, Julie thought, her throat constricting.
"Why me?" she finally asked. "Why did he choose me?" The words came out plaintively, like those of a child on the verge of tears.
"I don't know with any certainty," Jennifer said. "But let me show you what else we found."
More? What now?
From the file, Jennifer slid a photo across the table, the one she'd found on the bedstand. Mike and Julie looked at it, then slowly raised their eyes again.
"Uncanny, isn't it? This is Jessica. Here-I wanted you to see this, too."
Though it made her feel as if bugs were crawling over her skin, Julie glanced at the photo again, and this time she saw what Jennifer was pointing to.
Hanging from the young woman's neck was the locket that Richard . . . Robert, whoever . . . had given Julie. She heard herself whisper her name.
"Jessica Bonham," she said, "J.B."
Behind her, Julie heard Mike inhale sharply.
"I know this is hard," Jennifer went on, "but there's another reason we wanted to talk to you. Because of Andrea and what we believe happened with Jessica-as well as the real Richard Franklin-we'd like to have Officer Gandy stay with you two for a few days."
"Here at the house?" Mike asked.
"If that's okay."
Julie's eyes were almost glassy as Mike glanced toward Pete. "Yeah," he said, "I think that's a good idea."
Pete went out to the car and was retrieving the suitcase he'd packed when he saw Jennifer scanning the homes along the beach.
"Is it always so quiet down here?"
"I guess so," Pete answered.
She studied the homes again. Only a few had cars parked in the driveways, the usual SUVs and Camrys and a Trans Am as well, something a teenager might drive, the car she herself had wanted in high school. Six cars altogether, but that still meant that less than a quarter of the homes were occupied. She wasn't quite comfortable with that, but no doubt it was better than staying in town.
"And you'll stay awake all night?" she asked Pete.
"Yeah," he said, slamming the trunk. "I'll catch a few hours of sleep in the mornings. You'll keep me up to speed on what's going on, right?"
"As soon as I find out anything, I'll give you a call."
He nodded. Then, after a pause, he said, "Listen, I know this is something we have to do, but do you really think he's still around? Or do you think he's on the run again?"
"Honestly? Yeah, I think he's around."
Pete's eyes followed hers up and down the street. "So do I."
That night, Julie couldn't sleep.
Outside, she could hear the sound of the waves as they lapped along the shore in steady rhythm. Mike was in bed beside her and had opened the window slightly; as soon as he'd fallen asleep, Julie had risen from the bed and closed it, making sure the latch was engaged.
From beneath the door, she could see a light glowing from the kitchen. Pete had been pacing the house earlier, but he seemed to have settled down in the past couple of hours.
Despite his earlier actions, she was glad he was here. Not only was he strong, more important, he carried a gun.
From the dune, Richard watched the yellow light glowing in the window of the beach house.
He was annoyed that Officer Gandy had decided to stay with them, but he knew the police couldn't stop him. Nor could Mike, or Singer. He and Julie were meant for each other, and he would simply overcome any obstacles to their ultimate happiness. Everything else was an inconvenience, no more challenging than changing his appearance or stealing a car. Or having to start over again.
He wondered where they would end up after leaving North Carolina. He could imagine Julie enjoying San Francisco, with its sidewalk bistros and views of the Pacific. Or New York City, where they could enjoy new theater productions every season. Or even Chicago, with its spirit and vibrancy.
It would be wonderful, he thought. Magical.
Sleep well, he thought with a smile. Sleep and dream of a new future, because tomorrow night it begins.
Forty
There was a languid feel to the night air the following evening. The breeze was steady, and the blackness of the sky was softened by cloud cover. The ocean was calm, swells rising gently. The smell of brine hung in the air like mist.
They'd finished dinner an hour earlier, and Singer was standing near the back door, his tail wagging slightly. Julie crossed the room and opened the door for him, watching as he descended the steps and vanished into the shadows a moment later.
She didn't like letting him out-despite Mike's and Pete's presence, she felt safer when Singer was beside her-but he needed to roam, and night was the best time. She didn't mind letting him out early in the morning when no one was out, but during the day, there were too many people around to let him wander without a leash.
She'd thought about going outside as well-with Pete and Mike, of course-thinking a bit of fresh air would do her good, but then she'd decided against it. No doubt Mike and Pete would have said no, even if she'd insisted. Still, it would have been nice. In theory, anyway.
Both Emma and Mabel had called her; Henry had called back later to talk to Mike. None of the phone calls had lasted more than a few minutes. None of them, it seemed, had anything much to say, except for Mabel, who'd called after speaking with Andrea's parents. Late last night, Andrea had emerged from her coma, and though she was still disoriented, it appeared she was going to be okay. Jennifer was planning to talk to her in a couple of days.
Jennifer Romanello had also called twice with updates; she'd finally been able to find the private investigator who had been snooping into Julie's past, and after the usual grousing that he couldn't ethically divulge who'd hired him, he'd knuckled under. He also offered a phone bill that confirmed a couple of calls to Richard's residence.
Unfortunately, they still hadn't found any trace of Richard. Robert. Whoever.
Julie turned from the door and walked through the living room into the kitchen, where Mike was slipping dishes into the sink. Pete was still at the table, playing solitaire. He'd played about a hundred games since noon, killing time and for the most part staying out of the way, except when he went outside to check on things.
"Perimeter is secure" had become his new favorite catchphrase.
Julie slipped her arms around Mike, and he turned his head at her touch.
"Almost done," he said. "Just a few more to wash. Where's Singer?"
Julie grabbed a towel and started to dry the plate
"Again?"
"He's not used to being cooped up like this."
"You still thinking about what Jennifer told us?"
"Thinking about that, thinking about everything. What he did in the past. What he did to Andrea. Where he is now. Why me. Whenever I heard about stalkers, there always seemed to be some twisted sort of logic to it. Like people who chase movie stars. Or ex-husbands or boyfriends. But we only went out a couple of times, and we barely knew each other. So I keep thinking back and trying to figure out if it was something that I did that caused all this."
"He's just crazy," Mike said. "I don't know that we'll ever understand it."
From his vantage point near the dune, Richard watched Julie open the door and let Singer out. With the light glowing from behind her, she appeared like a descending angel. Richard found himself growing aroused by the thought of what was going to happen next.
Yesterday, after he'd located them, he'd pulled his car into the driveway of a home that was plastered with realty signs. Though many of the homes along the beach were still vacant this time of year, this one looked as if it had been unoccupied for a while. A quick check revealed an alarm system for the house but not for the garage, and he'd worked his way through the simple lock with a screwdriver he'd found in the glove compartment of the Trans Am. From the trunk, he'd removed the tire iron.
He'd slept on a dusty air mattress he'd found on the shelves, and in the storage area he'd found a small cooler. Though it had grown moldy, it suited his purpose, and he'd spent an hour that afternoon purchasing what he needed.
Now, all he had to do was wait until Singer wandered down the beach. He knew Julie would let him out, as she'd done last night and most probably the night before. People under stress always fell back into habits and routines, as if hoping to maintain some semblance of order in their world.
In the distance, he could no longer see Singer.
Beside him were the four hamburgers he'd picked up from Island Deli, a place he'd found near the hardware store he'd visited that afternoon.
They were still wrapped in foil, but he'd already unwrapped them once and crumbled the patties into pieces.
Taking the hamburger with him, he began crawling through the grass toward the back steps of the home.
"I hate this damn game," Pete said. "It's impossible to win."
As Julie slipped the plates into the cupboard, she glanced toward the table. "Put the red seven on the black eight."
Pete Gandy blinked, still trying to see it. "Where?"
"The final column."
"Oh yeah. There it is."
Lost in the game again, Pete kept his eyes focused downward.
Mike washed the last dish and pulled the plug from the drain, then looked up at the window.
With the kitchen light playing against the glass, all he could see was his own reflection.
Outside, Richard unwrapped the foil and scattered the crumbled beef onto the steps that led over the dune and back to the house. He knew Singer would get there before Julie and Mike, so he wasn't worried about them spotting it.
He wasn't sure how much Singer weighed, so he had mixed in as much of the bitter powder as he thought he could, while preserving the aroma of beef. He didn't want Singer to sniff it a couple of times, sense that it wasn't what it appeared to be, then ignore it.
No, that wouldn't be any good at all. Singer had already bitten him once, and he didn't want to face those teeth again. Julie had stopped Singer the first time, but he was under no illusions that she would stop him again. More than that, there was something about the dog that bothered him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something not . . . doglike, for lack of a better word. All he knew was that as long as the dog was around, Julie would remain confused and resistant.
He crept toward his hiding place again and settled in to wait.
Mike and Julie were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching as Pete Gandy continued to lose one game after the next.
"Did I ever tell you about the letter that I got from Jim?" Julie asked. "The one on Christmas Eve, after he died?"
She sounded as if she were making a confession. A shadow crossed her face, and Mike could tell she wasn't sure about what she wanted to say.
"You've mentioned it, but I don't know what it said."
Julie nodded before leaning against him, feeling his arm slip over her shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me about it if you'd rather not," Mike offered.
"I think you should know," she said. "In a way, I think it was about you and me."
Mike remained silent, waiting for her to go on. For a moment, she stared into the kitchen, then her eyes met his. Her voice was soft.
"The letter was mainly about Singer. Why he got me a Great Dane, that he didn't want me to be alone, and how since he knew I didn't have any family, he thought that a dog would help me. He was right about all that, but at the end of his letter, he said that he wanted me to be happy again. He told me to find someone who makes me happy."
She paused, a wistful smile on her face, her first in what seemed like forever.
"That's why I think it was about you and me. I know you love me, and I love you, too, and you make me happy, Mike. Even with all this horrible stuff going on, you've still made me happy. I just wanted you to know that."
The words sounded strangely out of place; he didn't know why she'd felt the urge to bring it up now. It almost seemed as if she were trying to find a nice way to say good-bye. Mike pulled her closer to him.
"You've made me happy, too, Julie," he said. "And you're right, I do love you."
Julie put a hand on his leg. "I'm not saying all this because I want to end things with you. Not at all. I'm saying it because I don't know how I would have handled the last few weeks without you. And because I'm sorry that I dragged you into all this."
"There's nothing to be sorry for. . . ."
"Sure there is. You were always the one who was right for me, and somehow, I think that Jim was trying to tell me that in his letter. But for a long time, I was too blind to see it. If I had listened to him, there never would have been a Richard. And I want you to know that I'm thankful not only that you put up with all that, but that you're here for me now."
"I didn't have a choice," he murmured.
Richard lay in the sawgrass, watching the steps. Minutes passed before he saw movement in the shadows near the dunes.
Singer moved into the moonlight and swung his head from side to side. The shadowed colors of his coat and his size gave him an almost ghostly appearance.
Richard watched as Singer turned again and began trotting toward the steps.
Almost there.
Singer slowed from a trot to a walk before stopping. His nose rose slightly as he seemed to study the steps, but he made no move toward them.
C'mon, Richard thought, what are you waiting for? But still Singer didn't move. Richard could feel himself beginning to tense. Eat it, he urged.
He didn't realize he was holding his breath. Along the shore, he could hear the waves rolling and turning. Sawgrass swayed in the wind. Overhead, a shooting star left a momentary streak of white.
Finally, Singer moved forward.
It was a hesitant step, but a step nonetheless, and his head began to stretch forward, as if he'd finally smelled it. He took another step, then a third, until he was hovering over the hamburger.
He lowered his head and sniffed, then raised his head again as if wondering whether he should.
From the distance came the faint sound of a trawler, carried by the wind.
With that, Singer lowered his head and began to eat.
In Swansboro, Officer Jennifer Romanello spent the evening learning what she could about the elusive Robert Bonham.
Earlier, the captain had called her into his office. She wasn't sure what to expect, but to her surprise, after closing the door, he'd commended her for all her work.
"We can't train ins
Jennifer had known enough not to speak as the captain looked her over. "You knew this guy was bad from the start, and you've done a heckuva job tracking down all the information, and especially in figuring out who he was. That was all your doing."
"Thank you," she'd said.
Then, lest she think he'd suddenly gone soft, he had dismissed her: His face had taken on an expression of impatience, as if wondering why she was still sitting in the office, and he'd motioned toward the door.
"Now get back to work," he'd barked. "I still want to know what makes this guy tick. Maybe that'll help us catch him."
"Yes, sir," she'd repeated, and when she'd left the office with the eyes of the other officers on her, it had taken everything she had not to break into a smile.
Now, while following the captain's orders-she was still poring over the documents from Boston and calling people who'd known Robert Bonham-she heard Burris growing animated as he was speaking on the phone, and she looked up. He was nodding furiously and jotting down information, then finally he hung up the phone. Standing up, he grabbed for the piece of paper and made his way toward her.
"We just got a call," he said. "His car has been located in the parking lot at Onslow Hospital in Jacksonville."
"Is he still around there?"
"Probably not. The guard is pretty sure the car has been there for a couple of days. He goes through the lot every evening, jotting down license plates, and it's been in his book since the day you and Gandy went to talk to him at his house. But because he was working, he didn't see the information on the news until yesterday, and didn't put two and two together until now."
That explained why no one had found the car.
"But no one has seen him?"
"Not that we know of. The Jacksonville police showed the guard Robert Bonham's photograph, but he didn't recognize him. I'm heading out there now, though, to ask around. Maybe someone saw where he went. You want to come along?"