by Dawn Atkins
As they turned the last corner, Boone slowed the truck down, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The street, typically suburban, mostly one- and two-story houses, with one apartment building on the corner, looked quiet. A lawn was being watered, and he could see the flicker of televisions through drawn blinds. The cars lining the street were ones he’d catalogued before, except for three on this side of Christie’s house. He drove past it and saw two other newcomers.
One of them could belong to the geek. With a parabolic mike, he could be waiting to hear them as they walked to the front door. Boone decided to act as if that were the case. He sighed, then turned to drive around the block. “Christie.”
“Yeah?”
“Just a reminder,” he said, his gaze moving rapidly from the road to the assorted vehicles on either side of the street, “he might be listening.”
She stiffened in her seat, and looked at him with wide eyes. “Now?” she whispered.
“No. But when we walk into the house. So we have to…”
“Act like we’re lovers.”
“That’s right. And I want you to say something about us making it legal.”
“As in getting married?”
He nodded.
After a deep breath, she asked, “What else?”
“That’s it. Only, don’t stop pouring it on when we get inside. I want to make sure.”
“Of?”
“I want to sweep the house. For all we know, he’s been there.”
He could see her start to tremble. Even after she clasped her hands together. There were too many shadows to say whether she’d lost her color, but he’d bet on it. “Get your gun out of the glove compartment,” he said, keeping his tone even and soft.
She did, and held it in her shaking grip.
“Load her up. Triple-check the safety, then put it in your waistband, with your T-shirt over it. Make sure you can get to it quickly.”
She bent to the task as he slowed the car even further. He didn’t want to turn onto her block before she was ready, physically and mentally.
He hoped, for both their sakes, that the geek would take the bait tonight. That he’d be so crazy with the turn of events that he’d let his emotions get the better of him. The angrier he was, the quicker things would end.
“Okay,” she said.
He glanced over and caught her T-shirt slipping down over her jeans. He averted his gaze even though he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of skin.
“There,” she said, pointing to a parking spot three houses from hers. Milo recognized home, and he got up in the back, whining to get out.
Boone parked and walked around to her side of the car to hold the door open. When she stepped out, he took her hand, and they walked together to the back to open the hatch for the dog.
Milo was quite excited and made a beeline for the front yard. Boone slipped his arm around Christie’s shoulder. Her trembling was even more pronounced, although she acted the lover with conviction.
As they got closer, she put her head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait to tell my mother we’re engaged,” she said, her voice giving nothing away. “She’ll flip out.”
“I look forward to meeting her. I’ll call the airline tonight and make our reservations. And then you won’t ever have to think of that creep again. Jesus, what a pervert. Clearly he can’t get it up. If he could, he’d go after someone who wanted him.”
“He’s probably got one of those pencil dicks,” she said. “Has to jack off with tweezers and a magnifying glass.”
Boone laughed, and bent his head to kiss her. It was meant to be light, a show for the camera, if not for the microphone. But Christie…
She kissed him back. Again. Her hand went to his neck, pressing him tight, holding him as she thrust her tongue past his lips with a desperation that made him forget the microphone, the job.
She moved, pushing her body into his so that he felt the gun between them. Which meant that she would feel his erection. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t will it down. The way she kissed him after all that touching had him as hard as the barrel.
Finally, she pulled back, but not away. She looked at him in the dark for a long while, their breaths mingling, her lips still moist. “I don’t give a shit about that pervert,” she whispered. “I just want you. Only you.”
It wasn’t until she stepped back, until she called for Milo, that he remembered the words meant nothing.
THEY WALKED INTO THE HOUSE and Christie immediately went to the kitchen. Boone was still shaken from the scene on the walkway, and as he watched her feed Milo, all he could think was, what the hell?
From her career, her looks, the way her house was so put together, he’d expected her to be…different. In fact, Nate had told him that she was high-maintenance, and that she had such high standards he wondered if she’d ever meet a man who would qualify. And yet he was absolutely sure she was coming on to him.
She put away the dog food, filled Milo’s water bowl, then turned to Boone. “I’m going to take a bath,” she said. “Care to join me?” Her voice was calm and collected, but she avoided his gaze.
Was she serious? Nah, couldn’t be. Was she just reacting to the fact that the geek might be listening?
Giving him a wide berth, she left the kitchen for the bath. All he could do was shake his head as he got his duffel. He had a few changes of clothes in there, along with his kit. A shower sounded like one hell of a great idea, but first he wanted to sweep the house, make sure no one had been inside.
He’d think about the kiss later, when they were safely settled down for the night. When they were in separate rooms. Maybe it was his problem, not hers. It had been too long, that’s all. Too long since he’d been this close to someone like Christie.
SHE GOT TO HER BEDROOM DOOR and fought the urge to look back at Boone. She’d embarrassed herself enough with him for one day. She wanted him with a hunger that was foreign to her, that made her feel like a first-class slut. Ironic that for most of her adult life, she’d been considered pretty cold. She wasn’t, of course. Just picky.
She went straight to the closet and turned the dimmer light on because, frankly, she didn’t want to see herself in the mirror in the corner. She just stripped off the workout clothes and pulled on her bathrobe. Never so grateful for her incredible Whirlpool bathtub, she couldn’t wait to get in and soak for a week or two. Anything that would make her feel like herself again. Did she even remember what that was like?
She sighed as she went to her big dresser. She got out her old pair of flannel pajamas, the ones with little cowgirls on them. They’d been a gift from her best girlfriend, Stacey, who lived, unfortunately, in Colorado. Four years ago, they’d had a slumber party, and while Christie had provided the munchies and the chick flicks, Stacey had brought matching pj’s. It had been such a great night.
Christie thought about her old friend a lot, especially lately. A year ago, she’d have turned to Stacey for help, but her friend had enough on her plate. She’d married the love of her life, and they’d had a child. But the baby, a sweet little girl, was born with spina bifida. Stacey knew nothing about the stalker, nothing about the deterioration of Christie’s life, and that’s how it would remain. The pajamas weren’t the perfect substitute for the sympathetic shoulder of a best buddy, but they’d have to do.
She slipped on her fluffy slippers, and went into the bedroom, stopping right by the bed to see if she could hear Boone. He wasn’t in the shower, because she would have heard the plumbing. No, he was still going over the house for bugs. He’d probably wait until she was in the bath to do this room, which meant there was no way she was turning on the light.
She shivered as she thought about the bastard watching her, and immediately tried to think of something else. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the bedside-table drawer. Shoving her vibrator to the very back, she pulled out one of her favorite books, something she’d read at least a dozen times, but Pride and Prejudice always made her f
eel good.
She held the book in her hand, thankful for small delights. A bath, Jane Austen, scented candles and a good night’s sleep. And no thinking about Boone. Not even for a second.
Yeah, right. Clearly, she’d lost her mind, which was understandable, considering. She’d never attacked a man before, never been so brazen, so nuts. Maybe if she got a few more good nights of sleep, he wouldn’t seem so attractive.
She should get up now. Go pour her bath. Maybe she’d put that lilac-scented oil in the water, along with the Epsom salts. Thinking of the bubbles that would swirl in the tub, she stood, ready to be immersed in heat, when she brushed the back of her robe over her butt. Her hand came away damp, which was weird because Milo hadn’t had an accident in a really long time, and only once on her bed when he was a puppy. She looked at her palm, but it was too dark to see. Her gaze moved to the bed. Something was wrong. Off.
She stepped back and reached over to the bedside lamp. The light spilled over the bedspread, which was stained a deep, dark, bloodred.
6
BOONE DROPPED THE SCANNER and had his weapon out before her scream died. He saw her in the room, her hands splayed to her sides, her posture rigid, her mouth open in horror. What he didn’t see was the geek.
Instead of just slamming into the room, he came in soft, checking the right, the left, the windows, the closet door. Nothing. Nothing but a terrified woman standing over a blood-stained bed.
“Shit,” he said, looking Christie over, even though he knew it couldn’t be her blood. “Are you hurt?” He kept his voice low, although after that scream, it made no difference.
She shook her head.
“Did you see him? Was he here?”
“No.”
“Go into the kitchen,” he said, “and stay there.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere alone.”
Boone knew it wouldn’t do him any good to argue with her. He moved closer to the bed. There was an extraordinary amount of blood. It had drenched the comforter, splattered the pillows and the wall behind it. Too much blood, and it didn’t smell right. There was none of that copper odor he knew too well. He touched the comforter, dipping his finger in the wet, and brought it to his nose. He smelled sugar. “This is fake. It’s stage blood.”
“That’s not as big a comfort as you’d think.”
“I know,” he said. “It still means he was in here, and he’s probably listening, if not watching us right now.”
Christie clutched her robe, but she kept her composure.
He walked to her, touched her arm. “Go into the kitchen. Take your weapon. I’ll be right there.”
She went into her closet and came out holding the Glock. She looked once more at the bed, at him. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Okay. You stay here. Don’t say anything.”
She nodded. Boone doubted the camera would catch the trembles that ran through her body.
He reached for his scanner and remembered he’d left it in the other room. He looked to Christie. “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t object.
It took him a minute to retrieve the gadget, and another to get Milo from the kitchen. The dog followed him to the bedroom and immediately went to the bed to sniff the syrup. Christie called him over. Milo looked regretfully at the treat, but he obeyed and the two of them went to the corner of the room where there were no windows and hunkered down together on the carpet.
Boone’s first instinct was to go over to her. She still looked incredibly scared, and her palm was smeared with the sticky red goop. He’d seen the back of her robe, which looked ruined. Just like everything else in her life. But the way he could help the most was to catch this sick freak. So he got to work.
The first camera he looked for was the one he’d placed in a hinge on the door. He didn’t touch it, or even look at it, in case there were other cameras, but his meter showed him it was there and functioning. He’d look at the tape later, after Christie was asleep. The camera would have caught any activity in the room, and with luck, would identify the geek. He could then get a still, and use his buddy at the FBI to run facial-recognition software. It would be a simple matter of tracking the stalker down once they knew who he was. Boone couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. He wouldn’t be stalking anyone else. Not in this lifetime.
As he went inch by inch over every surface, he thought about the significance of the blood spatter. For one thing, the geek had managed to get into the house. Boone had checked every lock, and they were damn good. He’d even jimmied a couple of them to make them stronger, but that hadn’t stopped him. The fake blood was a message, but what kind? That the geek had access to her bedroom. That he wanted her dead. Or that he wanted her even more vulnerable, more frightened, now that she had someone in her corner.
He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make that quantity of goo. And he’d had to transport it here, get it inside, spread it around, all without having any idea when Christie would return home. At least, theoretically.
He couldn’t have tailed them and done this at the same time. He could have an accomplice, although Boone had never heard of any stalkers who didn’t work alone. Killers, yes, but not stalkers.
What mattered was that the geek had made it into the house. That was bad. He’d scared Christie just when she was starting to get a little confidence back. That was also bad. The question now was how to make the geek do it again, only on Boone’s terms.
Christie was another problem. Could he get her out, without the geek knowing? The chances of that were minimal. So they’d fight it out here, if they couldn’t ID the prick. But Boone was no fool. This was a lot more complex than he’d first imagined, and he wasn’t above getting help. He’d call Seth tonight, get him to take a look around.
Boone stopped. The red light was beeping, and the gadget was pointed at the edge of her blinds. He reached up and found the tiny camera, debated holding it for Seth, but decided it was too risky. He put it under his boot heel and squished it into mush.
Of course the geek knew that Boone wasn’t Joe Ordinary by now. He’d known that when the first bug was smashed. It hadn’t scared him off. It had spurred him on.
The geek had to be a spook. CIA, most likely, with cash to spend and incredible access, who was focusing all his energy on one woman. Why? Why her? What did he want? Was sexual obsession the whole story?
He finished the room fifteen minutes later, still with no strong theories as to how to obtain his objective. All he knew for sure was that he’d need help, and that he couldn’t leave Christie alone.
He put away his scanner, and went to the corner, where Milo was taking care of Christie. Boone crouched down so he was eye level with her. “It’s all clear in here now. You’re okay. What do you say we get you into a bath.”
She looked at Milo, rubbed him behind the ears. “I don’t need a bath.”
“Yeah, you do. You might need to move tomorrow. Without wincing.”
She continued to pet Milo, staring at his big, brown eyes.
Boone was gonna have to shift position soon, as his leg was gonna cramp, but he didn’t want to push. Tonight had given her one hell of a shock, on top of a whole lot of other shocks.
She leaned toward him slightly without lifting her gaze. “What if he can see me?”
“There are no cameras in the bathroom. I checked.”
“You checked the locks. You checked the windows.”
He was the one wincing, and not from his leg. “I know. I’m sorry. I underestimated him. I won’t do that again.”
Finally, she looked at him. “Will you come with me?”
“Oh, yeah. We’ll get the bath ready together. And then I’ll stand right outside the door. No one, nothing, is going to get through me, you got that?”
She sniffed, leaned over and kissed Milo on the top of the head, then she stood. It wasn’t the smoothest of moves. He knew her legs, her back, her whole body had to be hurting.
He stood, his knee popping loudly, and followed her into the bathroom. It was like something out of a magazine. Not that he hadn’t seen fancy baths before, but this wasn’t just for show. Everything in the room was designed to pamper. The multiple showerheads, the Whirlpool tub complete with neck pillow and a wide variety of bath salts and oils. She had candles, a boom box, a dimmer switch. The towels were thick and huge, with a matching rug.
He turned on the water, made sure it wasn’t going to scald her, then he looked under her sink for the Epsom salts. He found a box, and dumped a large amount into the tub.
When he stood, Christie was still standing by the door, holding the top of her robe closed with a tight fist. He got close and reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched away. Dropping his hand, he stepped back, made himself look as harmless as possible. “Soak as long as you want. I’ll be right outside. I won’t move, I won’t need to get a glass of water. I won’t make a phone call. I’ll be there.”
“Okay,” she said, “but…”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have any clothes. For after.”
“What do you want? I’ll go get them.”
“I’ll go.” She stepped to the door and opened it, but she didn’t walk into the hall. “Come with,” she said.
He walked next to her, not touching, and kept it up until they were back in her bedroom, inside her closet. She got underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, a bra. Socks and sneakers. Then she headed for the door.
“What about pajamas?”
She shivered. “I can sleep in these.”
He didn’t say a word. It was smart to be prepared for anything.
They got back to the bathroom, which was warm and steamy as the tub was almost full. He’d already made sure there were no new bugs in here, so she could soak in peace, although he doubted that would happen. “I’m going to be right outside,” he said. “No one’s getting past me. So don’t worry about it. Take as long as you want.”
She put her clothes down on the counter by the sink. For a long minute, she simply stood there, staring at her T-shirt, her back to Boone. Her hands quivered by her side.
