Page 49 of I'm Watching You

‘I know, but …’

‘Have you called my friend at Legal Aid about the divorce and custody?’

‘Not yet.’

Lindsay pressed fingertips to her temple. ‘We’ve been through this before. Call the woman at Legal Aid whom I told you about. She’s very nice. She’ll tell you about your rights.’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you going to call?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. You’re doing a good job, Aisha. I’m proud of you.’

A sob escaped Aisha. ‘Are you really?’

‘I really am.’

‘Thanks.’

They talked a few more minutes about the legalities of divorce and custody before Lindsay hung up. The Guardian switched off the phone speaker.

Lindsay turned back toward the television and rubbed her temple. She scooped a handful of popcorn and took a bite. But she no longer seemed to enjoy her snack. Frowning, she tossed what remained in her hand back in the bowl.

Absentmindedly, she pushed away the bowl. She had a tendency not to eat when she was upset. And at the rate she was going, she was going to make herself sick.

Lindsay rose, then began to pace. She moved around her town house like a caged animal.

The Guardian touched the television screen and traced the profile of her face.

Harold’s death, the hand, even the note hadn’t been enough to assure her that she wasn’t alone in her Holy Cause. She needed to know she had an ally. She wasn’t alone.

But words didn’t matter to Lindsay. Only deeds mattered to her.

The real way to prove to Lindsay that she had a true friend now was to ferret out more Evil Ones. The more men who died now meant that many fewer battered wives whom Lindsay would have to care for.

As the bodies would begin to stack up, she would see the pattern. She would see that she had a true Guardian.

Chapter Eleven

Tuesday, July 8, 12:00A.M.

Kendall Shaw was pissed. She stopped the recording of her eleven o’clock news report and climbed down off the elliptical trainer she kept on the sun porch of her mother’s house.

The story she’d filed had been nothing short of lame. Murder in the city’s west end. Identity of victim. A brief recap of his career and murder stats in the metro area. Domestic violence.Ya, ya, ya.

It was all very bland, very ordinary, and not the kind of story that was going to get her to a bigger television market like L.A. or New York.

But her boss had given in to pressure from Dana Miller, the shelter’s board chair, and had ordered her not to mention Sanctuary or its location. For now, all stations were protecting the shelter’s identity. And unless something broke soon, Dana would see to it that the story faded away.

As Kendall had stood outside Sanctuary today, she had sensed she’d stumbled upon a big story. She’d wanted to linger and remain on hand with her cameraman, Mike. Something was going to break – she could feel it in her bones.

But the evening news producer had felt otherwise. He’dwanted film of a warehouse fire. She’d argued. He’d denied her request to stay and had pulled her cameraman.

Minutes after Mike had left and Kendall was packing up, Lindsay had run screaming out of the shelter. Her terrified screams had the cop in the patrol car scrambling toward her. Within minutes, the place was swarming with more cops.

Somethingbighad happened in the shelter.

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