Книга - Stalker in the Shadows

Stalker in the Shadows
Camy Tang


“CONSIDER THIS A WARNING.”Lately, nurse Monica Grant feels she’s being watched. Followed. And then she receives a threatening letter—accompanied by a dead snake. If she doesn’t stop her plans to open a free children’s clinic, she’ll end up dead, too. Terrifi ed, Monica turns to former lawman Shaun O’Neill—who believes the same madman murdered his own sister fi ve years before.She understands how much it means to the handsome, heart-guarding man to save her—and her dream. Even if he has to lure a deadly stalker out of the shadows— straight toward himself.







“Consider this a warning.”

Lately, nurse Monica Grant feels she’s being watched. Followed. And then she receives a threatening letter—accompanied by a dead snake. If she doesn’t stop her plans to open a free children’s clinic, she’ll end up dead, too. Terrified, Monica turns to former lawman Shaun O’Neill—who believes the same madman murdered his own sister five years before. She understands how much it means to the handsome, heart-guarding man to save her—and her dream. Even if he has to lure a deadly stalker out of the shadows—straight toward himself.


“Creeps like stalkers enjoy watching. He wouldn’t have put that snake there and not stuck around to see your reaction.”

Shaun turned from the window and his eyes caught hers. “Monica, that snake definitely wasn’t there when we arrived a few minutes ago.”

A violent shiver passed over her entire body. She swallowed, trying to get hold of herself.

Shaun looked outside again. Monica’s stalker had been only a few feet away. The stalker had been watching them—had been watching Monica. This was the kind of man he hated—someone who thought he had the right to play with others’ lives. The frustration of dealing with men like this had made him quit the border patrol, had made him feel like a cop who couldn’t hack it.

Well, he’d catch this man. And maybe it would heal what was broken inside him so he could do his job again.


CAMY TANG

writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Originally from Hawaii, she worked as a biologist for nine years, but now she writes full-time. She is a staff worker for her San Jose church youth group and leads a worship team for Sunday service. She also runs the Story Sensei fiction critique service, which specializes in book doctoring. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every Monday and Thursday, and she ponders frivolous things like dumb dogs (namely hers), coffee-geek husbands (no resemblance to her own…), the writing journey, Asiana and anything else that comes to mind. Visit her website, www.camytang.com.


Stalker in the Shadows

Camy Tang














www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Love Inspired!

2012 is a very special year for us. It marks the fifteenth anniversary of Love Inspired Books. Hard to believe that fifteen years ago, we first began publishing our warm and wonderful inspirational romances.

Back in 1997, we offered readers three books a month. Since then we’ve expanded quite a bit! In addition to the heartwarming contemporary romances of Love Inspired, we have the exciting romantic suspenses of Love Inspired Suspense, and the adventurous historical romances of Love Inspired Historical. Whatever your reading preference, we’ve got fourteen books a month for you to choose from now!

Throughout the year we’ll be celebrating in several different ways. Look for books by bestselling authors who’ve been writing for us since the beginning, stories by brand-new authors you won’t want to miss, special miniseries in all three lines, reissues of top authors, and much, much more.

This is our way of thanking you for reading Love Inspired books. We know our uplifting stories of hope, faith and love touch your hearts as much as they touch ours.

Join us in celebrating fifteen amazing years of inspirational romance!

Blessings,

Melissa Endlich and Tina James

Senior Editors of Love Inspired Books


Much thanks to Danica Favorite for making my stalker creepier, to Lisa Buffaloe for your invaluable information on stalkers, and Cathy Richmond for help with physical therapy for stroke patients. You guys rock!

Thanks to my editor, Tina James, for simply being stellar. A big hug to my agent, Wendy Lawton, for praying for me.

This book is dedicated to my #1 Hawaii fan club, Mom and Dad’s friends.

* * *

But God is my King from long ago; he brings salvation on the earth.

—Psalms 74:12


Contents

Chapter One (#u32bd7f72-85c6-5d3f-b9ee-a9a82cc52340)

Chapter Two (#ud6e9f817-0d59-5048-acbd-70a28d800bc2)

Chapter Three (#u37661bab-263f-57aa-8f3c-846dfb3fcded)

Chapter Four (#u9fa8dd22-e58d-5dc4-bade-7733aa773423)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE

Someone was watching her.

Monica Grant glanced around the bustling central plaza in downtown Sonoma, California, and rubbed the back of her neck, but the ugly, prickly feeling wouldn’t go away. She remembered the well-worn phrase from her Nancy Drew books—“the hair stood up on the back of her neck”—but she’d never realized how true it was. Until now.

She couldn’t actually see anyone looking at her—there were tourists strolling around Sonoma City Hall and the fountain, cars driving slowly around the square, shoppers stepping in and out of the quaint shops. A few locals across the street noticed her looking at them and waved hello. She waved back with a smile, recognizing them as staff from a nearby restaurant. The Grant family’s successful day spa, Joy Luck Life, had helped bring even more activity to the small tourist town, and all of her family was acquainted with most of the local business owners and staff.

But as she continued walking along the line of shops and historical buildings, the creepy feeling crawled up her shoulder blades. She whirled around suddenly, but didn’t catch anyone in the act of staring at her, or ducking into a shop doorway to escape her notice.

It had been a silly thought, anyway. She wasn’t a spy. She was probably imagining things.

She turned to enter Lorianne’s Café, a popular new restaurant owned by one of her high school classmates, which served California fusion cuisine made exclusively with local produce. She thought the feeling of being watched would go away as soon as she entered the building, but an uncomfortable shaft of prickling shot down her spine. She turned to look out the restaurant’s glass front doors, toward the green park area around Sonoma City Hall, but couldn’t see anyone except a few tourists walking by.

“Monica Grant, are you stalking me?”

The voice, still betraying the slight Irish lilt of his homeland, made her turn. “Mr. O’Neill! I should say, you’re stalking me.”

Patrick O’Neill’s light blue eyes creased deeply at the corners. “Seeing you at the Zoe International charity banquet last week wasn’t enough. I had to get in more of your lovely company.” He enfolded her in a hug that made her cheek rasp against his usual Hawaiian-print, button-down shirt. Quite a contrast to the tuxedo he’d worn at the annual dinner that Zoe International, an anti-human-slavery organization, had hosted to thank its donors.

“Are you here in Sonoma just for the day?” Monica asked. “Or are you staying overnight before you head back down to Marin?”

“I’m here for a few days, spending time with my new grandson.”

“That’s right, I heard about the new baby yesterday from Aunt Becca.” At first Monica had been shocked because she’d thought the new baby was Shaun’s son, but quickly realized her mistake—it was Brady’s son, Shaun’s nephew. She hoped Aunt Becca hadn’t noticed her initial stunned reaction.

“What have you been up to in the seven whole days since I’ve seen you?” He tugged at a silver lock of hair on his wide forehead. It brought back an image of Shaun doing the same gesture.

She forced her mind away from his eldest son. “I’m still taking care of Dad since he had his stroke.”

“He’s doing better? Last week, we were interrupted before I could ask you about him.”

“He still needs a live-in nurse, but I’m also taking him to physical therapy several times a week, and he’s gaining mobility back. He doesn’t need me quite as much, which is good, because my sister Naomi announced her engagement six weeks ago. She’s planning her wedding, so sometimes when she has to take off work at the spa, I fill in as manager for her.”

“Will she still be manager when she marries?”

“No, she’s going to start her own private massage therapy business in the city, closer to her future husband’s office. We’re trying to hire someone to take over when she leaves, but until then…” She had to stifle a small sigh. Because she still took care of her dad, filling in for Naomi stole precious free time that she didn’t have. The spa needed to hire someone soon.

“From nurse to manager.” His blue eyes were more piercing than his son’s. “It doesn’t sit with you well?”

His insight startled her. “I loved being an Emergency Room nurse,” she said, “but I have to admit I don’t regret quitting my job at Good Samaritan Hospital when Dad needed me. What I’d really like to do is run a free children’s clinic for Sonoma and Napa counties.”

Unlike Monica’s father, Mr. O’Neill didn’t roll his eyes at her. Instead, he nodded gravely. “Then you should do it, my girl. You only have one life to love.”

His phrasing touched her on a deeper level, stirred up things she had left collecting on the bottom. She shifted uncomfortably, then changed gears, giving him a teasing look. “So who are you meeting for lunch? Yet another struggling hotel owner whose hotel you’re going to buy and then turn into a raging success?”

“No, I’m just here having lunch with my son.” He gestured behind him.

Brady, his second eldest son, lived only a few miles from Sonoma in Geyserville. Monica’s gaze flickered over Mr. O’Neill’s shoulder, past the hostess waiting patiently behind the desk, toward the restaurant’s bar…and she froze.

Shaun O’Neill stared right back at her. Her breath stopped in her throat and seemed to hum there. She recognized the strange sensation, something she had only felt twice before in her life—at her first sight of a cherry red Lamborghini, and the very first time she’d met Shaun O’Neill, ten years ago at a Zoe International banquet.

Her heart started racing as he rose from his seat at the bar and walked toward them. His expression was unfathomable. Was he happy to see her? Indifferent? Something about the way he held his eyes made her think he felt the same rush of intensity she did.

No, she had to find a way to smother the electricity zinging through her veins. Shaun was a cop, and she would never, ever date anyone in law enforcement. In the E.R., she had seen what that profession did to the families left behind, had tried to heal the unhealable pain of losing a fine man to a criminal’s gunshot. She knew her heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

She also knew she wouldn’t be able to handle him.

As he approached, his scent wrapped around her—a thread of well-tooled leather, a hint of pine, a deep note of musk—a combination uniquely Shaun’s. “Hi, Shaun.” She gave a polite smile that hopefully masked the way he made her feel so…alive.

“Hi, Monica.” The deep voice had a slight gravelly edge to it, promising danger and excitement. “It’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t know you were back in Sonoma.”

“I quit the border patrol,” he said softly.

“What?” Surprised, she looked up at him and immediately drowned in the cerulean blue sea of his straightforward gaze. Shaun had always been aggressive with his stance, with his looks—and he was that way now, standing a little too close to her, staring a little too intently. “I…” She cleared her throat. “I thought you loved the border patrol. The last time we met, you were so enthusiastic about it.”

“I’m back to spend time with my family. I’m thinking of applying for the Sonoma Police Department.”

“Not as exciting as the border patrol,” she remarked, looking for his reaction.

He shrugged.

How strange. He still had that bad-boy air about him, but there was something that reminded her of a wounded dog. No, a wolf. A wounded wolf. She wanted to reach out to him, to help him if she could.

Wounded wolves still bite. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t her type. She had to stop now so she wouldn’t go any deeper. She wouldn’t submit herself to the kind of pain she’d seen in the Emergency Room. She shook off the memory of a cop’s widow’s shaking shoulders and forced her mind back to the present.

Then something invisible raking along her spine made her jerk. She turned to look out again through the glass of the restaurant doors but only saw the same view of Sonoma City Hall, made of local quarried stone that looked more flint-gray today under the overcast skies. Different tourists from the last time she’d looked walked around the grounds now.

She was being paranoid. She had to get a hold of herself.

She turned back to Mr. O’Neill. “The last time we talked, you mentioned how you were going to sell the Fontana Hotel in Marin and do consulting work rather than buy another hotel. Do you know when that’s going to happen?”

Mr. O’Neill smiled at her. “Does your question have anything to do with the rumors I heard that your father’s going to expand the spa and add a hotel?”

Monica grinned. “Guilty as charged. I have a lunch appointment in a few minutes, but do you have time today to talk about possibly consulting for him?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Have you talked to Augustus about this yet?”

Heat like a sunburn crept up her neck. “Uh…Dad mentioned yesterday how he needed help now that he’s actually decided to go forward with the hotel.”

Mr. O’Neill smiled. “I do have time this afternoon.” He turned to Shaun. “Did you want to come with me or pick me up later?”

“I’ll come with you.” His voice was light, but his blue eyes flickered to Monica.

She had to remind herself that she wanted to speak with his father, not with him. “Great. Thanks, Mr. O’Neill. Three o’clock at our house?”

“Sounds good. Who are you meeting for lunch, by the way?”

“It’s a potential investor for my free children’s clinic. Phillip Bromley.”

Shaun’s jaw suddenly tightened and his eyes became shards of ice. “The son of the CEO of Lowther Station Bank in San Francisco?”

She nodded. “His brother’s a medical missionary in Kenya. I’ve known Phillip for a few months, but last week at the Zoe banquet, he expressed interest in my clinic and mentioned that his brother might be willing to donate his time to the clinic when he returns to the States this summer.”

But Shaun was shaking his head. “You should stay away from Bromley.”

“Shaun…” Mr. O’Neill said gently.

“Why?” Monica said. “Phillip has always been perfectly civil to me.” Whereas Shaun’s wildness seemed to exude from him, only barely restrained by his conservative white cotton shirt and jeans.

There was also anger underlying that wildness as he answered, “It’s just a mask. It’s not the real him.”

A mask? Monica hadn’t seen that at all, and she prided herself on being able to read people rather well. She didn’t particularly like Phillip—there was something about his manner that seemed too self-focused and self-serving—but she hadn’t detected anything deceptive during the times they spoke to each other.

“He’s dangerous,” Shaun growled. “You need to stay away from him.”

Shaun’s commanding tone grated down her spine, and she lifted her chin to glare at his set face. “How is he dangerous?”

Shaun’s lips tightened briefly. “He just is. You don’t know him.”

“And you do?”

“Better than you do.”

“Children,” Mr. O’Neill said in a long-suffering voice, “play nice.”

Monica backed down. Mr. O’Neill was right, she was being childish. The same fiery temper that got her into arguments with her dad was now picking fights with a man who only wanted to…what? Warn her? Protect her? She wasn’t used to men like Shaun, whose life work was protecting people. Her ex-boyfriends had mostly been artists and playboys, who all seemed “soft” now compared with Shaun’s solid presence.

She had to admit that his presence made her feel less uneasy, less vulnerable to the eyes that might—or might not—be watching her. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing outside again, but saw no one lurking or looking at her.

At that moment, her cell phone rang, and the caller ID said it was Phillip.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Mr. O’Neill said quickly, giving her a peck on the cheek before letting the hovering hostess seat him and Shaun at a table.

She answered the call. “Hi, Phillip.” Were his ears burning because they’d been talking about him?

“Hi, Monica. I’m sorry, but there’s an overturned construction truck here on highway 121. I’ll be about twenty minutes late.”

“No problem. I’ll be waiting.”

She had the hostess seat her at a table, but stopped when she saw it was right in the center of the large windows at the front of the restaurant. She glanced out at the tourists and pedestrians on the street. No one was even looking in her direction, but she felt as if a cold hand gripped her around the throat.

“Could I get a table near the back?” she asked, and the hostess nodded and seated her at a small table at the back of the restaurant.

However, it was close to where Shaun and his father were seated. She didn’t want to request another change so she sat, but it was hard for her to keep her head averted with Shaun only a few feet away to her right.

At least the horrible feeling of being watched was gone. She spent a few minutes checking her email on her phone, but then the restaurant’s owner and chef, Lorianne, approached her table with a long white florist’s box and a huge grin on her face. “Hey, Monica. I happened to be up front just now when this was delivered for you.” Excitement radiated from her bright eyes as she sat down across from her. “Who’s it from? You didn’t mention a new boyfriend when I talked to you a couple weeks ago.”

“I still don’t have a boyfriend. Your guess is as good as mine.” Monica didn’t look at Shaun, but could sense him glancing at her at Lorianne’s words. Really, what business was it of his? She wished she weren’t so close to their table.

“Ooh, a secret admirer,” Lorianne said. “Well, as owner of this fine establishment, I am entitled to view any and all flowers delivered.” She winked at Monica.

A part of her was flattered by the gift. Who wouldn’t be? But another part of her was wary. Who gave flowers to a woman through a delivery and not personally? Then it occurred to her that maybe Phillip had them delivered in advance of their meeting. He had seemed a bit friendly last week at the Zoe banquet, but she’d been careful not to encourage anything more than a business relationship. She hoped he didn’t misinterpret her body language.

Well, she knew who it wasn’t from. She tried to angle her body away from Shaun as she lifted the lid. An odd cigarette smell made her eyes burn, and she blinked away sudden tears.

In the box, nestled among white tissue paper, lay a huge dead snake.

Monica gasped and dropped the box onto the table, making the silverware rattle.

“Oh, my gosh.” Lorianne’s eyes were huge.

The ugliness of the gift seemed to stifle her, and Monica fought to breathe. Who would send her something so hateful, so horrible?

“I’m so sorry,” Lorianne said. “If I’d known…”

“Monica, are you all right?”

Shaun’s voice cut through the shocked fog of her brain, and she managed to swallow, her eyes still riveted to the hideous carcass. Then she felt his fingers grasp her chin and turn her head away from the sight into his concerned face. The blue of his eyes calmed her a little.

His finger caressed her cheek. “Breathe. Are you all right?”

She swallowed again. “I’m fine.” Her voice came out shaky.

“Who is this from?” Mr. O’Neill’s outraged voice filtered through her consciousness.

She steeled herself, then pulled away from Shaun’s hand and looked back at the box. A white envelope peeked out from behind a jagged fang in the open mouth. Shaun reached forward, but she moved faster to take it, not touching the snake. Her fingers trembled as she opened it and pulled out a thick, plain white notecard.



Monica,

Consider this a warning. Cease your efforts on your persistent plans. Your free children’s clinic will never see the light of day. I will kill you if I must. My course is set, my determination sure. If you do not abandon your clinic, my vengeance upon you will be “As the snake late coil’d, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength."



It was unsigned.

The menace and yet the poetry of the words frightened her. She began to shiver violently.

Who would do this? Why would anyone want to stop her free children’s clinic?

“‘The snake late coil’d.’” Shaun’s voice was hushed and yet harsh at the same time as he read the note over her shoulder.

At the quote, his father jerked in surprise, his brow furrowed.

Monica’s fear chilled as she took in Shaun’s burning eyes and pale face. “What is it?”

“Could I see it, please?”

Monica handed the notecard to him.

He studied it with a frown, which deepened as he read.

“Shaun?” Mr. O’Neill asked. There was an urgent gravity and also a slight quaver to his voice.

Monica could see the note in Shaun’s hands tremble slightly, and she realized his hands were shaking.

He glanced at his father, and some unspoken message passed between them. Mr. O’Neill turned whiter than the notepaper and swayed.

“Mr. O’Neill!” Lorianne rushed toward him and helped him to sit down in a chair.

“I’m fine.” He waved her away, but his hand gripped the table edge tightly.

Monica turned to Shaun. “What’s going on?”

His entire body had become taut like a bowstring. His eyes darted to hers, feral, fierce. Then he blinked, and a steely determination replaced the fleeting wildness.

“The man who wrote this letter killed my sister.”



He shouldn’t have said it in front of everyone that way, but the shock had ripped through him like a California breaker wave.

“Right this way…” The hostess’s voice died away as she approached the back of the restaurant with two lunch customers and saw them all around Monica’s table.

Lorianne immediately moved to block their view and spoke to her hostess in a low voice. The woman smiled at the couple and said, “If you’ll follow me, we’ll find you a different table.”

They walked away, but Shaun could see that the restaurant was filling up with people coming in to eat lunch. He reached over Monica’s shoulder and covered the box with the lid to hide the snake from view—hers as well as any of Lorianne’s customers.

“You have to call the police,” Mr. O’Neill told her.

Lorianne looked a little strained at the suggestion, but she nodded to Monica. “I remember what the delivery guy looked like—short, really thin, big nose. Brown hair. I’ll talk to the hostess to see if she remembers, too.” She moved away to intercept the woman as she was returning to the front desk after seating the couple at a different table by the window.

Shaun sat at a seat at the table while Monica pulled out her cell phone, but she dialed a different number than 9-1-1. He was about to ask who she was calling when she said, “Aunt Becca, I’m at Lorianne’s Café. I need you to call Detective Carter and have him meet me here.”

“Monica, what happened?” Shaun could hear her aunt’s voice through the cell phone, sharp with concern.

“I got a threatening note.” She opened her mouth as if she’d say more, but then rushed on without mentioning the snake. “He doesn’t need to bring an officer with him. I don’t want to make a fuss and chase away Lorianne’s customers.”

Her aunt said something briefly and then Monica hung up.

“So Becca’s still dating Detective Carter?” Shaun’s father said, trying to adopt a normal tone of voice, but Shaun could hear the reedy thread of stress behind his words.

Monica nodded. “She has his direct number so he’ll be here sooner than if I’d called 9-1-1.”

Her clear amber eyes found Shaun’s, and he could read the question in them about what he’d said about his sister. “I’ll tell you about it when the detective gets here,” he promised.

She also called Phillip and canceled the lunch appointment. Shaun’s jaw tightened as he faintly heard Bromley’s voice. Something about an overturned truck. He was probably lying.

Detective Carter must have been nearby because he arrived at the restaurant within minutes. He pulled off his sunglasses as he entered the dining room, and his gray eyes were filled with concern as he saw Monica. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice kind.

“I’m fine. You know Patrick and Shaun O’Neill, right?” She gestured to Shaun and his father, who were sitting at the table. Detective Carter seated himself in the remaining chair. Then she pushed the box toward him and handed him the notecard.

The detective’s expression grew hard as he read the note, but it grew fierce when he lifted the lid and saw the snake. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

Monica recited how someone had delivered the gift to the restaurant and Lorianne had carried it to her. “I’ll talk to her later,” he said. “You don’t know who sent this?”

She shook her head, but her eyes darted to Shaun. “But Shaun mentioned something about his sister,” she told the detective.

Shaun looked to his dad, whose lined face seemed to have aged a decade. “Tell them,” Patrick said, his voice weak.

Shaun paused, staring at that hated notecard, gathering his thoughts. Finally he said, “Five years ago, my younger sister, Clare, moved from Sonoma to Los Angeles to work at one of Dad’s hotels and to be closer to her boyfriend, Johnny. She had gotten her MBA the year before, and she was consulting for a free family planning clinic where Johnny was director, which was also down in L.A. But a couple months after moving, she was found dead in her apartment by her roommate.”

He had to pause, to let the ache in the base of his throat ease so that he could continue. “It looked like suicide—drug overdose. But I knew my sister. She didn’t use drugs. Her roommate said the same thing, and they hung out together a lot. Also, I had spoken to her on the phone the day before. We talked every week. She wasn’t depressed, and she wouldn’t have taken her life.”

His father nodded slowly. “I spoke to her once or twice a week, too.”

“When I was going through her things, I found postcards and letters that had been mailed to Clare during the two months before she moved to L.A. and also a few mailed to her L.A. apartment. They threatened her life if she didn’t stop consulting for the family planning clinic.”

He realized his hand had clenched into a fist, and he willed his fingers to relax. Breathe. You’re just telling the story. Except it hadn’t been just a story to him. It had been a surprising and hurtful discovery to make after burying his only sister. Clare had been the jewel of the family, especially after Mom had died. Losing his sister had shattered them all.

“Did she file incident reports?” Detective Carter asked.

“I don’t know if she did for the notes she received in Sonoma,” Shaun said. “I did find a report number in her notebook, but for an incident report she had filed in L.A.”

The detective scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll look into it.”

“I confronted her roommate, Angela, about the notes,” Shaun said. “Clare had confided in her about it all. Angela said that Clare had kept this secret from Dad and me and my brothers because we were all too protective of her and we wouldn’t have let her move to L.A. if we’d known.” Shaun fought back the wave of guilt. He had known how desperately Clare wanted to leave Sonoma, which at its heart was a small town despite the heavy tourist traffic. But Clare had been the only girl among four brothers, and their mom had died years ago, so they were naturally a bit overprotective of her. But maybe if they hadn’t been, she might have felt she could confide in her family and Shaun could have protected her.

“Did the L.A. police look into her death?” Detective Carter asked. “They should have, if she filed an incident report for the notes.”

“They couldn’t conclusively prove it wasn’t suicide,” Shaun said. “Her boyfriend and roommate had alibis. Also, Angela told me that Johnny had been receiving threatening notes and other death threats for over a year from anti-abortion activists who opposed the family planning clinic, so when Clare first got the notes in Sonoma, she thought they were along the same lines. She also thought the notes would stop once she moved, but the stalker found her in L.A. and kept sending her letters and gifts.”

At the word gifts, Monica shivered and her eyes slid to the white box resting in front of Detective Carter. Shaun wanted to comfort and protect her as he hadn’t been able to do for his sister.

As he hadn’t been able to do for any of the women in his life.

“Couldn’t the L.A. police find anything?” Monica asked him.

“They focused on the anti-abortion activists angle, but I thought that the notes Johnny got were different from hers. His were violent death threats, but one of her notes quoted from Don Juan by Lord Byron—the same quote as that.” He pointed to Monica’s note.

Her eyes became wide and dark in her pale face. “So that’s why it caught your attention.”

When he’d read it, he’d felt a burning in his chest like red hot barbecue briquettes. “I recognized the quote because I had looked it up when I saw it in Clare’s note. It was the only time he ever quoted from a poem. The LAPD even searched the database for any quote from Byron’s poetry being used in any other stalker or murder cases, but they never found anything that tied to Clare’s stalker.” Until now.

Shaun shouldn’t have let Clare go to L.A. He should have argued more with her. He should have been there for her rather than down south on the border patrol. She might have confided in him. He might have been able to do something about the stalker.

He happened to look up and he saw Monica’s eyes on him. She seemed to see through the expression on his face, past the words he said to the words he didn’t say, reading his thoughts. Her eyes and her face were filled with compassion, reaching out to him. It was as if she were trying to tell him that it hadn’t been his fault.

Except she was wrong. It had been his fault. He was supposed to have protected Clare.

“How did the stalker know she was consulting for the family planning clinic?” Detective Carter asked.

Shaun shrugged. “Everyone knew. She didn’t keep it a secret.”

“But how would the stalker have known if she was still consulting for them or if she had stopped?” Monica asked.

He hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know,” Shaun said. The notes had become more and more threatening, but he hadn’t considered how the stalker knew she hadn’t stopped working on the clinic.

Detective Carter made notes in his notebook. “I’ll look into that.”

“What happened to the family planning clinic?”

“It never opened, but not because of the death threats or Clare’s death. Funding eventually fell through.”

“And I’m working on funding for my free children’s clinic right now,” Monica said. “What does this guy have against free clinics?”

“Maybe that’s the connection,” Shaun said. Clare’s stalking had seemed so random, but maybe they’d found a clue that would lead them to the stalker. “We need to check all the other stalking cases involving women working for free clinics.”

“I’ll look into it,” Detective Carter promised. He then turned to Monica. “Stalkers are rarely rational, and they can also be unpredictable. Be careful. Keep an eye out for suspicious cars, try to make sure you’re not followed when you go home from work. Call me at the first sign of anything unusual.”

Monica nodded, but they were interrupted by a bustling at the front of the restaurant as her aunt, Becca Itoh, hurried into the dining room. Several of the other customers looked up at the disturbance she created in her panic, but Detective Carter rose to his feet and gave Becca a hard, meaningful look and a subtle gesture with his hand. Becca’s gaze flitted around the dining room, then she walked calmly to join them at their table.

“Are you all right?” She gave Monica a hug.

Monica’s hand grasping her aunt’s shoulder clenched once, then relaxed. “I’m fine.”

While Monica explained what had happened, it gave Shaun an opportunity to study her. She tucked her long, wavy hair behind her ear when she concentrated on something, and her clear eyes seemed to glitter like golden gemstones, framed by her dark lashes.

When their gazes had met earlier, his attraction for her had hit him like a train wreck. It was still the same today as it was when they’d first met years ago. Then, there had been an ardent fire in her eyes, which she hid behind a cool demeanor. Holding him at arm’s length, like he had Ebola or something.

Today, she’d again tried to be cool when he first came up to her, but for a moment during their brief conversation, before he’d angered her, he’d seen a flash of warmth in her amber eyes, a softening of her mouth. It somehow soothed him in a deep place inside.

He had been confused, so of course he ruined everything by getting into an argument with her about Phillip Bromley.

It was for the best. He would be stupid to get involved with a woman like Monica Grant. Any woman, actually. All the women in his life ended up dead.

He hadn’t taken care of Clare well enough. He hadn’t been able to save those illegal immigrants who had been killed at the border by the “coyote,” a smuggler those people had hired to help them cross into the U.S.

He felt like he’d failed all the people in his life he was supposed to protect, and he wasn’t about to let another one in.

She might end up dead, too.

But sitting here, looking at her, it was hard for him to remind himself that she was better off without him. As he studied the curves of her face, the color of her lips, he had to admit that she was even more magnetic than when he’d last seen her.

“Clare never found out who the stalker was?” Becca asked Shaun, drawing his attention from the glossy dark waves of Monica’s hair.

“He never met her face-to-face. She kept trying to find out who he was so she could issue a restraining order against him. She tried backtracking the packages he sent her, but couldn’t come up with any proof of who it was.”

He glanced at Monica and resolved to speak privately to the detective about his suspicions. No need to alarm her, but he had to give the police everything he knew so this madman wouldn’t slip away between their fingers. That frustration nagged and ate at him like an ulcer.

Although Clare was already gone, he had been driven to find her killer. If this were the same man, here was a chance for Shaun to catch him.

He hadn’t yet turned in his application for the Sonoma Police Department. He hadn’t quite understood why he’d been dragging his heels, but now he was glad because it gave him time to investigate Monica’s letter-writer—assuming the stalker followed the same pattern as he did before.

The man had already taken his sister’s life, and maybe others in the years since her death. He had to stop him from terrorizing any more young women.

He would find out who the man was. And this time, he wouldn’t let him get away with harming Monica.


TWO

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Monica’s dad said. “I think you should just lay aside the plans for this clinic for now.”

Her father was regaining mobility and strength in his legs daily, but he still required her strength to help him out of the car. She steered him into his wheelchair because the physical therapy he had been doing would have tired his legs too much for him to use the walker comfortably.

“Dad, I’m almost fully funded.” She set in place the temporary wooden ramp up the front steps of the house to the front door, grateful that she’d parked in the circular driveway right in front of the door so it was only a short trip from the car into the house. “The investors I have are committed to the project. I’ve already got a hospital director helping me write the business proposal. I’ve hired an accountant to help with the financials.” She unlocked the front door and disabled the house alarm.

As she wheeled her father inside, he argued, “But no one has actually given money to the project yet except what you’ve put in yourself. There won’t be any harm in dropping the project for now and picking it up again when the police catch this stalker.”

“There’s no guarantee the police will catch this man,” Monica said. She wheeled him into the library. “When I do start up the project again, I’d have to start all over from the ground up, including drumming up investors. It’s taken me three years to get to this point.”

“Monica.” Her father gripped her arm, and she stopped to look at him. His faded green eyes were earnest and calm, rather than sparking with temper like they usually were when they argued. “I know this sounds like I’m trying again to get you to drop this project and work as resident nurse at the spa instead. This isn’t about that. You’re in danger, and I don’t want you hurt.”

It was strange to see him like this, concerned and calm rather than fiery and argumentative. The two of them were too much alike, which was why they’d been arguing about this for the past year.

And the truth was, she was angry. She had always gotten along well with people, and men in particular, but she never let them control her. She thought back to the bickering with Shaun at the restaurant and how her independent spirit seemed to always clash with his stalwart opinions.

But this stalker was trying to control her in a darker way than Shaun’s forcefulness or her father’s arguments. In general, she didn’t like anyone telling her what to do, but this wasn’t a situation where she could go her own way and thumb her nose at whoever was trying to dominate her.

“I know, Dad,” she said. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.”

The sound of a car in the front driveway sent her to the window, and she saw her sister Rachel and her boyfriend, Edward, climb out of his truck. Last week, Edward, who owned a greenhouse business and often hired day laborers, had brought to Monica an injured boy whose parents hadn’t been able to afford to send him to the Emergency Room. Taking care of him had reminded her of how much this area needed affordable care for children.

“What are you two doing here?” Monica asked as Edward and Rachel entered the house. Rachel held a beat-up metal pot, and from it came the smell of something scrumptious that filled the house.

Rachel held the pot out to Monica. “This is from Julio’s mother, as a thanks for patching her boy up last week. Tamales.”

“I love tamales.” Just the smell was making her mouth water. “Did you want some?”

Before they could answer, the sound of another car in the driveway made her remember that Mr. O’Neill was supposed to arrive to talk to Dad about his hotel plans. Before they even rang the doorbell, she opened the door with a welcoming smile to Shaun and his father. “Come on in. Dad’s in the library, but I’m going to wheel him into the kitchen so we can enjoy some of these.” She held out the pot of tamales. “Won’t you join us?”

“I never turn down homemade tamales,” Patrick O’Neill said.

“I’m afraid we just came to drop them by,” Edward said. “Rachel and I need to get to the greenhouses to check up on the plants for her scar-reduction cream.”

“Is yours the truck?” Shaun asked. “Our car is behind you on the circular driveway.”

“I’ll move my car,” Monica said. It was easier for her to move forward on the circular driveway and clear the path for Edward’s truck than force Shaun to maneuver backward around the curve of the driveway. She handed the tamales to Rachel. “Can you put these on the kitchen table and get Dad? He’s in the library.”

Monica headed out the front door. She nearly tripped over the wooden ramp, which she’d left over the front steps. She nudged it to the side with her foot.

She slowed as she dug in her jeans pocket for her car keys. She had a hard time grabbing them, and when she did, she was already at the car. She reached for the door handle.

There was another dead snake dangling down over the driver’s side window.



Shaun had been about to join his father and Augustus Grant in the kitchen when Monica’s strangled shriek startled him. He raced out the front door.

She had dropped her car keys as she recoiled backward from her car, her face white. He followed her gaze and saw the snake, seemingly tossed carelessly onto the roof of her car, with the head arranged to rest against the closed driver’s side window.

He reacted swiftly, racing to her and grabbing her none too gently by the shoulders. He propelled her toward the front door, his arm around her as he hustled her inside. She stumbled over the threshold, but he tightened his hold on her so she wouldn’t fall.

He shoved her to one side of the door and slammed it shut. He peered out through the long, narrow diamond pane windows on either side of the front door, but couldn’t see anything through the fuzzy glass. “I can’t see anything,” he muttered. “Do you have any other windows with a clear view of your car?”

Edward and Rachel, both standing at the foot of the stairs, turned toward them with shocked expressions. “What’s going on?”

Monica sagged against the wall, her breath coming in gasps. She pointed to her right through the open doorway. “Dining room windows. You think he’s out there now?”

Shaun hurried into the dining room and moved aside the drapes. The large window gave a clear view of the entire front lawn of the house, including the orange tree grove on the other side of the neatly trimmed grass. No movement.

“Your stalker is outside?” Rachel asked. She and Monica had moved warily into the dining room also, while Edward moved to the other side of the window and peered outside.

“Creeps like stalkers enjoy watching. He wouldn’t have put that there and not stuck around to see your reaction.” Shaun turned from the window and his eyes caught hers. “Monica, that snake wasn’t there when we arrived a few minutes ago.”

A violent shiver passed over her entire body. She swallowed, trying to get hold of herself.

“What’s going on?” Augustus Grant’s voice called from the kitchen. There was another open doorway into the kitchen from the dining room, and Augustus had a clear view of where they stood on either side of the window.

“Rachel.” Monica motioned to their father, and Rachel hurried to Augustus and Patrick, speaking in a low voice.

Shaun looked outside again. Her stalker had been only a few feet away. He’d been close enough to be able to place the snake on the car in the short minutes between the time Shaun had entered the house and when she went outside to move the car.

Shaun scanned the front lawn. There weren’t many places the stalker could hide. There was a small group of trees to one side of the property, but the rest of the front lawn had open, serene landscaping with artfully placed black rocks and a few low shrubs that wouldn’t hide more than a rabbit. On the far end of the lawn was a grove of orange trees. Had he been able to run from the orange grove to the driveway and back in only a few minutes, with no one seeing him from the house?

Then it occurred to Shaun that maybe the stalker had been crouched behind Monica’s or Edward’s car when Shaun drove up with his father. The man might have been only a few feet away. Shaun might have even heard him breathing if he’d been paying attention.

If he’d been that close when Shaun drove up, the man would have had time to plant the snake and then get to the orange grove in the few minutes before Monica exited the house to move the car.

“Do you have binoculars?” he asked.

Rachel ran to her father’s library and returned with a pair. Shaun searched the orange trees on the far side of the front lawn.

The tiny figure of a man came into focus. Peering through binoculars directly at Shaun.

The man bolted away.

No. He wouldn’t let him get away.

Shaun sprinted to the front door.

“Shaun!” Monica shouted. “It’s too dangerous!”

His hand was on the doorknob. She was right. He didn’t know if the stalker had a gun or not. He had to protect Monica, not run after the stalker.

His hand dropped from the doorknob, but the frustration sizzled in his brain, making buzzing appear on the edges of his vision.

The stalker had been watching them—had been watching Monica. This was the kind of man he hated—the ones who thought they had the right to play with others’ lives. The ones who acted like God. The frustration of dealing with men like this had made him quit the border patrol, had made him feel like a cop who couldn’t hack it.

Well, he’d catch this man. And maybe it would heal what was broken inside him so he could do his job again.



“Are you all right?” Rachel asked Monica.

Monica looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table. Dad and Mr. O’Neill were in the library, finally having their discussion about the spa’s expansion into a hotel, and Shaun was outside talking to Detective Carter about what he’d seen through the binoculars. Edward had left because of an emergency at the greenhouses, but Rachel had stayed with her sister.

“I think so.” Her gaze fell on the pot of tamales, forgotten on the table. “Be sure to tell Julio’s mother thanks.”

“I will. Julio’s doing great.”

“He should have gone to the E.R., Rach. He’s lucky that gash to his leg hadn’t been worse.”

“I know, but it was his father’s call. And at least you looked at him rather than no one at all.”

What kind of world was it when a man couldn’t take his son to the hospital because he couldn’t afford it? The frustration welled up in her, buzzing in her ears. “It’s not right.”

Rachel looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“This area needs adequate medical facilities especially for the migrant workers and the farmhands. If my free children’s clinic had been up and running, Julio’s father could have taken him there and not had to pay anything.” How could she abandon her plans for the clinic?

Monica wasn’t the headstrong, gutsy one—that was her sister Naomi. But she also wasn’t the logical, gentle sister like Rachel. She was the emotional one, the one who always thought with her heart and relied on her instincts. Were her emotions only getting her in trouble now?

And it wasn’t just her desire to help children like Julio that drove her. She knew that, deep in her heart of hearts, she wanted this clinic because it would make her feel like she had accomplished something, that she was more than just an E.R. nurse. She wanted to help more people. Dad’s insistence that she become a resident nurse at the spa would be her agreeing to fade away to insignificance, and she couldn’t willingly do that when she had a chance to really make a difference in someone’s life. In lots of children’s lives.

“I don’t like hiding,” Monica told her sister. “I don’t like waiting around and giving this man permission to keep leaving dead snakes everywhere I turn. I don’t like putting my life on hold while I wait for someone to capture him. Even though I know it’s dangerous, I’d rather fight him off than let him win.”

“Is this clinic more important than your safety?”

“If I did stop work on this clinic, would you feel easy knowing this stalker was still out there, maybe still watching me?” Monica demanded. “Would you be okay knowing he would be out there terrorizing some other woman? At least while he’s after me, there’s a better chance he’ll be caught by the police.” Or by Shaun, she realized. She could already predict what he was going to do, and it wasn’t apply to the Sonoma PD. Not yet.

“But this man might have killed Shaun’s sister.”

“But I’m not Shaun’s sister, and since I already know what he’s done before, I can be prepared.”

“Prepared? How? He’s leaving gruesome gifts, he was watching you…”

“I can’t stop him from watching me.” Monica couldn’t suppress a shiver that raced through her. It made her feel slimy. “But I can be smart about all this. I can hire protection.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“I’d rather have a bodyguard than be afraid of what some lunatic is going to do to me. And I know just the person to ask.”


THREE

The O’Neills stayed for dinner, although the conversation and atmosphere were a bit subdued after the events of the afternoon. Evita, the Grants’ housekeeper and cook, whipped up a cheese soufflé which was apparently the Grant sisters’ favorite dish, but it left Shaun feeling a bit unfulfilled. He didn’t say anything since his father enjoyed the airy concoction.

After dinner, Patrick O’Neill and Augustus Grant headed into the library for further discussions about the spa hotel, and Monica caught Shaun’s eye. She motioned toward the kitchen with her head.

Evita had gone home right after serving the dessert, a rich chocolate cake. Monica went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of tortillas. “Chicken quesadilla?” she asked him.

“Are you still hungry?”

“No, but I know you are.”

Shaun’s cheeks burned. “Uh… Thanks.”

She turned on the heat under a cast-iron skillet on the stove. “So are you still going to apply to the Sonoma Police Department?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, then decided to be honest. “Not yet.” Then he fired back at her, “Are you going to abandon your plans for the clinic?”

She hesitated before dropping a thin stream of oil on the cast-iron skillet, and her chin firmed. “No.”

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it was safer for her if she stopped her plans so that the stalker wouldn’t hurt her. On the other hand, her continuing her plans for the clinic would keep the stalker in Sonoma, would keep him near her. Would enable Shaun to catch the psycho.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’ve thought it over.” She lay a tortilla on the hot skillet. “I won’t back down and be a victim. I won’t let him think he can make some threats and people will obey him. This clinic is important.”

“How does your family feel about that?”

“They’re not happy. Dad’s still trying to get me to stop.” She shredded some cooked chicken breast onto the tortilla, then topped it with cheese and another tortilla.

“It’s dangerous.” He didn’t want her putting herself in danger and he couldn’t get himself to encourage her to make herself a target just so he could catch the stalker.

She gave him a significant glance. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Since you haven’t applied to the Sonoma PD yet, how about working for me as a bodyguard?”

Shaun stared hard at her. “You want me?”

“You can’t do it?”

“Of course I can do it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He hesitated, then finally said, “Following you day after day will take me away from my investigation into the stalker.”

“I figured you’d be doing your own investigation,” she said.

Shaun didn’t admit that another problem would be being near Monica day after day. She made him feel both comfortable to be around her, bantering like this, and yet on edge because he was so attracted to her. He didn’t want that attraction distracting him. He didn’t want any romance in his life, he didn’t want any women in his life.

Monica flipped the quesadilla with a spatula, and it sizzled on the skillet. “Did you consider that since I’m the target, you being with me would draw the stalker out?”

“You being a target isn’t something to take lightly.”

“I’m not, but I also trust you to be able to protect me.”

Her words kicked him in the gut, and he turned away from her to look out the kitchen window at the side yard.

Why did she trust him when he didn’t even trust himself? He had failed to protect his sister. He’d failed the people who died at the coyote’s hands in that accident down at the border—no, he couldn’t think about it. If he thought about it, the guilt would burn in his stomach and he’d see their faces in front of his eyes. “I can’t protect you,” he said.

Her brow wrinkled. “Why not? You’re a cop.”

“I’m—I was border patrol. I’m not anything right now.” He couldn’t take on a job of protecting someone.

Monica’s shoulders settled, but then she straightened. “Well, I guess I’ll find someone else to help me catch him.”

“What do you mean, catch him?” Shaun took a step closer.

“I don’t intend to sit around and wait for him to hurt me.” She slid the crispy quesadilla onto a plate. “I’m the perfect bait. If not you, then I’ll just find someone else to keep me safe.”

“How do you know you can trust me? What if I was a terrible cop?”

She smiled at him. “A terrible cop? You? You’re a born protector—it practically oozes out of you. It’s in the way you stand, the way you walk, the things you say. It probably runs in your family, since you were all so overprotective of Clare.”

He felt like she’d ripped away a shield. She had sharper insight into him than anyone else he’d known.

She continued, “I think you and I could find this stalker a lot faster than the overworked Sonoma PD could. We’ve both got a lot at stake—my clinic, your sister’s murder.” She paused, then added, “I’m not going to be a victim.”

There was that word again. He’d quit the border patrol because he’d seen too many victims he couldn’t save.

But Shaun couldn’t stand by and let Monica be bait. He understood how she didn’t want to be a doormat and give in to this creep, and if she was going to try to stop the stalker, he wanted to help her. “Okay, I’ll be your bodyguard.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “Great.”

He shook her hand, but the point of contact between their palms made a strange sort of energized languor move up his arm, then his shoulder, then through his torso. He felt relaxed and yet tense at the same time. He abruptly dropped her hand when he realized he’d held it for too long.

Monica blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a dream, then handed him the quesadilla. “You should eat this before it gets too cold.”

She cut herself another small slice of chocolate cake before joining him at the kitchen breakfast table under the window.

“Let’s talk about what we’re going to do,” she said. “My business proposal is almost completed and my accountant is finalizing the clinic’s financial plan.” She glanced out the window into the dark and then suddenly froze.

His skin prickled. “What is it?”

Her face had become pasty. “I…I don’t know. I thought I saw something move.”

He whipped his hand out and yanked the cord to drop the blinds. He twisted the plastic rod to lever the slats closed, then shot out of his chair and snapped the lights off.

Her face looked ghostly in the dark. He stood close behind her and peered out through the slit where the blinds didn’t quite cover the edge of the window.

He had to wait for his eyes to adjust. He saw low azalea bushes. Was one bush a bit oddly shaped or was it just his imagination?

And then the bush moved.

He hesitated a split second that seemed like forever. He hadn’t chased the stalker earlier because he hadn’t been sure if the man had a gun or not. He still didn’t know.

But the frustration of not being able to capture his sister’s killer burned in Shaun’s gut. The stalker was so close—Shaun wasn’t going to let this person get away again.

“Stay here,” he ordered Monica, and he raced for the sliding glass door at the other end of the kitchen that opened into the backyard.

He didn’t bother being quiet—he flicked the latch open and hauled the door open, leaping out onto the dark back porch and jumping down the steps before turning and heading for the side of the house.

He caught a flicker of movement to the left of his head and he flinched. Something hard and heavy struck him in the cheekbone and jaw.

He didn’t remember falling to the ground. Pain spidered out from his cheekbone, aching and throbbing through his jaw while lights flashed in and out of his vision.

Then a voice, low and male, whispered, “You’ll never catch me.”

He heard a rustle like a leather jacket, and then a shadow passed before his eyes. He tried to make his hands grope for the man as he walked away, but his limbs weren’t responding. The side gate creaked on its hinges as the stalker calmly walked away.

“Shaun!” Monica’s voice was worried.

He rolled to the side, but it made the pain in his head pool to his right side and throb behind his eyes. His hands gripped the earth under him, his nails digging into the dirt. His arms were shaking but he managed to push and sit up. The world tilted and then he saw Monica’s anxious face, blurry and beautiful.

“I told you to stay in the house,” he growled.

“The house alarm is on,” she said. “When you opened the door, I had to turn off the alarm before it started blaring. Then I heard something thud. Looks like it was your face.”

“He could have still been here,” Shaun said.

“I heard the gate close, so I knew he wasn’t here,” Monica said impatiently, trying to get a closer look at Shaun’s face. “Can you see okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.” He tried to haul himself to his feet, but the pain in his head jumped a magnitude and he had to pause a moment on his knees, breathing hard, before the throbbing slowly lessened.

“Let’s get you inside.” Monica took his arm and helped him stagger into the kitchen.

He sat heavily in a chair at the table and let the room spin around him. When Monica turned on the lights, he squinted and covered his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I need light to look at your face.” She pulled his hand away and he felt her soft, cool fingers gently stroking his brow, his cheek.

“You’ll have a giant bruise,” she said, “but I think you’ll be okay. No stitches, anyway.”

Just a giant headache.

Her amber eyes clouded to mahogany. “Did you see anything?”

“Nothing. I ran out and he hit me.”

“I saw a shovel lying near you.”

“He stopped to speak to me.” The words came out hard through his teeth as he said, “‘You’ll never catch me.’ That’s what he said.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s arrogant of him.”

“It means he’s more likely to make a mistake. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”

“This is the third time he’s come after me in two days.” Monica got a towel and wet it with cold water. “How often did your sister get letters from him?”

“Every day or every other day.”

“I don’t see a guy like this waiting too long to start harassing me, do you?”

“No.”

“So that means I can pinpoint when I might have met him.”

“What do you mean?” Shaun winced as she pressed the towel to his throbbing cheek.

“The only people I’ve talked to about my free children’s clinic are my family, whom I’ve told not to say anything, the potential investors, my hospital director friend who’s helping me draft the business plan and the accountant I’ve hired. I’m thinking the stalker is one of the potential investors I talked to in the past few weeks.”

“Do you remember who you’ve talked to?”

“I attended three large parties in the past two weeks to meet people and talk about the clinic. Before those parties, the last investor I talked to was over two months ago. So I think the stalker could be someone I spoke to at any of those three parties.”

“What parties?”

“The Zoe International charity banquet last week—your dad was there. The annual Tosca bottle unveiling banquet a few days before that, and then two weeks ago, the Sonoma Businessmen’s Association dinner.”

“You went to all those?”

“I went in Dad’s place. He doesn’t like going to those things, but I use them as opportunities to keep up relationships with other businesses and the Joy Luck Life Spa, and recently I’ve been sending out feelers for investors for my clinic.”

“So your stalker might be someone you met at one of those events,” Shaun said. He reached up to grab her hand and stop her ministrations to his face. Her skin felt silky under his rough fingers, and he didn’t immediately let go, instead rubbing his thumb over a smooth knuckle.

What was he doing? He didn’t need complications in his life. He dropped her hand and cleared his throat. “Do you think you can come up with a list of people you spoke to about the clinic?”

She was staring at her hand. She dropped the towel onto the kitchen table. “I think so.”

“You can leave off anyone who already knew about your clinic before two weeks ago. I don’t think this guy would have waited longer than two weeks to start following you.”

“Did you ever investigate how he might have met your sister?”

“I tried, but none of us knew when she’d started receiving the letters, and since I’d been down in San Diego at the time, it was hard to find out where she’d gone and where she could have met her stalker.”

“There’s a chance he’d try to meet me face-to-face again, without me knowing he’s my stalker. Do you think that’s something he’d enjoy doing?”

“Definitely.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, which had a calculating look. “What are you planning?”

“For the past several weeks, I’d been planning to give a party for about forty people. Some of them are already investors for the clinic, but some need a little more information before they commit.”

“So you’re thinking you’ll go through with planning the party? And you can invite some of the people you might have met in the past two weeks.”

“I can’t invite everyone I talked to, but I can certainly invite many of them.”

“If the stalker keeps coming after you, we can figure out more clues about him and narrow down who he might be. I remember he wore a leather jacket or leather coat tonight. I could hear the leather rustling.”

“That’s a start.”

“Where do you need to go this next week?” He may as well figure out a plan for protecting her even with her schedule.

“I have—” she began, but they were interrupted when his father entered the kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Shaun…” His voice trailed away at the sight of him. “What happened to your face?”

“The stalker was here tonight,” Monica said quickly. “He attacked Shaun.”

“What?” Augustus Grant wheeled into the kitchen. His face was drawn with both worry and anger.

“We were just about to call Detective Carter,” Monica said, giving Shaun a meaningful look.

He interpreted it easily—Let’s talk later.

Yes, and in the meantime, he’d plan what he needed to do to keep her safe. Maybe he’d find this stalker and somehow find redemption for how he’d failed his only sister.



“Is this absolutely necessary?” Monica followed Shaun into the gym at the Rubart Towers Hotel in Sonoma, a hotel that used to belong to Shaun’s father before he sold it to the Rubart hotel conglomerate.

“I would think you’d want to learn some self-defense moves.” Shaun led her into a general purpose room at the back of the workout room, a large area with mirrors all around and soft mats on the floor.

“I took a self-defense class.” She removed her sweatshirt, leaving her only in a T-shirt and workout capris that made her shiver in the air-conditioning.

“I’m going to teach you some jiujitsu moves that will help you in close quarters.”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep me from getting into that situation in the first place?”

She meant it as a joke, but to her surprise, he turned away from her. In the reflection from the mirrors, his expression was almost anguished.

Then he turned back to her and he was back to normal, his face serious and intense. “Let’s get started.”

He taught her a few types of arm bars, which she felt comfortable with since they didn’t require extraordinary strength or quickness on her part. Then he moved to a guillotine hold, and she felt guilty causing him pain as she practiced the move over and over.

But more than the moves themselves, Shaun showed her that she wasn’t a weakling. He gave her confidence in her ability to fight someone rather than just giving in. If the stalker attacked her, she wouldn’t feel quite so vulnerable.

“This last move is a triangle choke hold,” Shaun said. He explained the jiujitsu move, which involved her performing a choke hold with a triangle formed with her legs. “Now lay on your back and visualize to yourself that I’m the stalker, I’m trying to hurt you.”

When she did, he angled himself on his hands and knees on top of her, and a rush of feeling passed through her to see his blue eyes so close, staring down at her.

A long moment passed where he simply looked at her. She couldn’t look away, she was drowning in that cerulean sea.

She couldn’t get herself to visualize the stalker, because this was so obviously Shaun. His strength and capability made her feel protected and secure, even in this vulnerable position on the ground. He gave off the aura of protectiveness that made her believe he would never hurt her, he would never abandon her, he’d do anything to keep her safe.

Something about his blue gaze became less businesslike and more intense. Her breathing quickened, and she could smell his musk, the scent of a pine forest after the rain. His eyes flickered to her mouth, staring for a long moment, and then he lowered his head and kissed her.

His lips were softer than she would have expected from such a tough, masculine guy. His hand stroked the hair wisping out from her temple, his touch gentle. He kissed her with a kind of wonder and carefulness, as if he were holding a butterfly in his cupped hands. She felt cherished and honored.

Reason filtered through her mind slowly, but when it made itself known, she remembered that she couldn’t be doing this. Shaun was a lawman. He’d always be in careers where he could protect people, putting himself in harm’s way to save them, like he was doing with her.

She couldn’t bear loving a man and sending him out to danger every single day, wondering if today was the day he wouldn’t come home. She’d seen those women in the Emergency Room, she’d comforted them and been devastated by just the thought of their pain. She had vowed she wouldn’t be one of them.

She planted her feet and thrust up hard with her entire torso, bucking him off her so she could roll away and jump to her feet. He had tumbled to his side with a look of surprise on his face, but now he took his time standing up, and he didn’t look at her.

She had a hard time looking at him, too, although she tried to adopt a businesslike demeanor. “Not a triangle choke hold, but it’ll get me away from the stalker so I can run for help.”

“That’s good,” he said gruffly. He turned his back to her and walked to the corner of the room, where a basket of clean towels stood. He tossed one to her.

“Thanks.” She dabbed at the sweat on her neck.

When he turned back to her, he was again stalwart and confident, but not as aggressive in his stance as he usually was. A haunted look floated in the back of his eyes, something that went deep. What was it? Did it have to do with his sister? No, he’d had that look even before finding out about the stalker and telling her about his sister. He hadn’t had that look when she’d met him ten years ago, but it had been clouding his eyes ever since he had returned to Sonoma after quitting the border patrol. Did that have something to do with it? It made her want to help him heal from whatever had gripped his heart.

No. She couldn’t get involved with him.

She gave him a false smile. “We’re good, right?”

“What?”

“The k-kiss—” she had a hard time saying the word “—wasn’t a big deal. Just the heat of the moment.”

He seemed startled at first, then a look like relief relaxed his brow line. “Yeah. We’re good.”

The relief should have comforted her, but perversely, it created a buzz of irritation in her head. “Good.” She turned away from him and headed out of the room.

As she picked up her purse from the gym locker, her cell phone rang. She answered it as she exited the women’s locker room to meet Shaun near the gym entrance. “Hello?”

“Hi, Monica, it’s Phillip Bromley. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’m at the gym at the Rubart Hotel.”

“One of Patrick O’Neill’s hotels, right? Before he sold it to the Rubart hotel conglomerate?”

“Yes, have you been here?”

“Last year. It’s fantastic. Anyway, I’m calling to ask if we can reschedule our meeting.”

“Sure.” They decided on lunch the next day at Lorianne’s Café again.

As they were talking, she reached the gym entrance, and when Shaun saw she was on the phone, he moved a short distance away so she could finish her conversation. When she hung up, he asked, “You have a lunch appointment tomorrow?”

“At Lorianne’s Café. You’ll come with me?”

“Yes. Who are you meeting?”

She hesitated before admitting, “Phillip Bromley.”

His brow flattened. “I warned you to stay away from him.”

“Why? What do you have against him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So you want me to offend a potential investor for the clinic, and the only reason you’re giving is, ‘because I say so?’ That’s not going to cut it.”

He glanced around. The main area of the hotel gym housed the treadmills and elliptical exercise machines, and they were almost all filled with people exercising since it was close to noon. He pulled her a little to the side.

He stared at the floor for a moment, his expression fierce. Then he said, “I think Phillip Bromley is the stalker.”


FOUR

Monica couldn’t believe it. She’d talked to Phillip numerous times. Although she had a feeling he had another agenda, she’d never gotten any hint that he was dangerous, or that he was lying about his interest in the clinic. She had always prided herself on how well she could read people. Had she been grossly wrong about him? “You need to explain.”

He looked away, staring at some people exercising a few yards away. “I grew up with Phillip. We were classmates in a private school in San Francisco from first through twelfth grade. You get to know someone pretty well when you spend seven hours a day with him.”

“Did Phillip know Clare, too?”

“Not in school. She went to a private girls’ school in San Francisco, and his family lives in Sonoma, but they didn’t become friends until after Clare got her MBA.”

“So if they were friends up here in Sonoma, what happened when she moved to L.A.?”

“He followed her to L.A. only a few weeks later.”

“That doesn’t make him her stalker.”

“I’ve never trusted him. He always seems to be hiding something.”

Yes, she’d gotten that feeling, too, but that didn’t make him a stalker hiding his secret, did it?

Shaun continued, “Clare didn’t consider him a close friend, but they hung out in the same crowd of friends down in L.A., went to parties with the same group of people, that kind of thing.”

“Why would he pose as an anonymous stalker if he was friends with your sister? He had access to her almost any time.”

“She also had a boyfriend and a roommate. And the initial letters threatened to hurt her if she didn’t stop work on the family planning clinic, but he didn’t do anything physically against her—no attacks, just malicious letters. Clare’s roommate said that sometimes Clare thought the guy was only full of hot air.”

“So he only wanted to manipulate her, he didn’t intend to hurt her?”

“Eventually he did intend to hurt her. The stalker’s later letters were more threatening, when she continued to ignore him.”

“But what made you think it was Phillip?”

“Clare’s roommate said that my sister investigated a nasty gift the stalker sent her, a bottle of snake venom. She traced it to a shop on Haight-Ashbury where the stalker had bought it illegally for five thousand dollars. The person who sold it said the man buying the venom matched Phillip’s height, weight, coloring, and he wore a black leather duster coat like one that Phillip owns.”

“Did she ask him about it?”

“Her roommate said she confronted Phillip, who denied it. Clare believed him, but her roommate didn’t. Neither do I.”

“Did you see a photo? Video surveillance?”

Shaun’s eyes slid away from her.

“So you don’t have proof that it was Phillip who bought the snake venom.”

“The salesperson positively identified—”

“Phillip isn’t unusual-looking. Light brown hair, light brown eyes, medium height. And it’s Haight-Ashbury—a black duster isn’t even going to turn heads among the people who shop on that street. There are people there in wild costumes every day.”

“I’m telling you, Phillip is the stalker. Every time I’ve talked to him, he acts like he’s hiding something.”

“Everyone is hiding something, but it doesn’t mean they’re hiding a double life as a stalker. I don’t think what Phillip is hiding is very sinister. I think it’s somehow more self-serving.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’m good at reading people.”

But now she wondered if she could really be entirely wrong. Was he more dangerous a person than she’d given him credit for? She had detected some attraction on Phillip’s side, but that had happened with other men, and she never encouraged any unprofessional interest. It seemed Phillip wanted to get close to her for some reason of his own, perhaps because of her wealthy family and her father’s lucrative business connections. “Do you have any solid proof about Phillip?”

He pressed his lips together.

“Don’t you wonder if your bias about him from your school years might be clouding your judgment?”

Shaun shook his head. “He’s a…he’s slimy.”

She could admit Phillip seemed a bit slimy, but she didn’t think he would send dead snakes to her.

Still, he’d known she’d be at Lorianne’s Café. But anyone watching her could have followed her to the restaurant, too. She wondered if Detective Carter had discovered who had delivered the gruesome florist’s box.

She gave Shaun a hard look. “Phillip Bromley is an investor, and I can’t simply cancel our appointment. It’s unprofessional, which would reflect badly not just on me, but also on the clinic and my father.”

His face sobered at the mention of her father.

“I’ve hired you to protect me, so you’ll just have to protect me when I meet with Phillip. And who knows, maybe he’ll reveal something to prove he’s the stalker.” She was sure Shaun would appreciate that if it happened.

He didn’t answer at first. She could almost read his mind. His protective instinct was warring with his desire for answers.

“Fine,” he said shortly. Then he leaned closer to her. “But you need to do exactly what I tell you. Otherwise you might as well fire me right now, because I won’t be able to protect you.”

He was too close to her. The memory of the kiss came back in a rush. She blinked to clear her thoughts and sidled away from him.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him.

How ironic that Shaun thought Phillip was a threat when it was Shaun who seemed more dangerous.



Shaun watched the door to Lorianne’s Café from where he stood next to Monica. So far, no Phillip, only a tourist taking photos of the square and a woman with a baby carriage.

Her scent wrapped around him, something exotic, which made him want to move closer to her. She was distracting him just when he couldn’t be distracted.

He remembered the same scent during that moment at their teaching session in the hotel gym. He didn’t know why he’d kissed her. There was something about her that made him want to be closer to her, to let her soothe something inside him. But he couldn’t let anyone touch that pain and bitterness, he had to keep it to himself.

He was glad she’d laughed it off. It was better for both of them that she did. He wasn’t good for any woman, although protecting her and finding the stalker might help him find some peace.

Movement by the door drew him out of his thoughts. He should have been paying attention.

Phillip Bromley entered in an expensive business suit, holding a bouquet of red roses. The sight of the flowers and their vivid color made Shaun’s shoulders hunch and tighten like a bull pawing at the ground. Phillip had on a wide smile, and his eyes were fixed on Monica.

She met him with a polite smile. “Thank you, Phillip. You shouldn’t have.” Shaun thought she should have chucked the flowers at Phillip’s head, but she did hold the bouquet in front of her like a thorny shield, preventing Phillip when he tried to move in to give her a hug in greeting.

Phillip then turned to Shaun, who stood closer to Monica’s elbow than he knew he should. “Hi, Shaun. I saw your father last week at the Zoe banquet.”

“Hi, Phillip.”

“Are you meeting someone for lunch, too?” Phillip asked.

Shaun wanted to say no, to say that he’d been thinking of joining Phillip and Monica, but they had decided beforehand not to make it obvious he was watching over her.

“No, I’m not meeting anyone,” Shaun said. “I’m just here to take a leisurely lunch.”

Phillip gave a bland smile. “My mom went to the baby shower for your brother’s wife. She mentioned that your sister-in-law was worried about you. Something tragic happened down near the border, she said.”

His anger at Phillip for putting Shaun at a disadvantage warred with a flash of images of the drowning van.

“Every job has its stresses,” Monica interjected. “Businessmen have their own types of stresses, while law enforcement has an entirely different set. More physical, those requiring strength of body and mind.” She gave Phillip a bright smile, then shot Shaun a look that said, Don’t let him antagonize you.

Phillip’s neck had reddened at the mention of the “physical and mental strength.” Shaun wondered if Monica had said that deliberately, to contrast Shaun’s larger, more muscular frame to Phillip’s rather pasty, thin body.

The thought made him not mind her stern look at him.

“Well, we should get on with our lunch appointment,” Monica said. “It was nice chatting with you, Shaun.” She led Phillip to a table near the back of the restaurant.

Monica had already spoken to the restaurant owner, her friend Lorianne, about Shaun being her secret bodyguard, so Lorianne had given him a small table next to Monica and Phillip where he could keep an eye on them and eavesdrop on their conversation.

Phillip pulled out the chair to Monica’s right, about to sit down, but she placed the roses on the chair, preventing him. Her purse was on the seat to the left, so he awkwardly moved to the seat across from her.

“I hope you like roses,” Phillip said.

“Oh. Certainly,” she said carelessly.

A part of Shaun felt relief that she seemed to be making an effort not to encourage Phillip’s Casanova moves. She hadn’t mentioned that Phillip had a more than professional interest in her. Sitting only a few feet away, listening to their conversation, was harder than Shaun had expected it to be.

“I bought the roses because they remind me of the dress you wore to the Zoe banquet,” Phillip said. “You looked amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“It was the first time I’d gone to the banquet. Do you go every year?”

“Yes. Dad has contributed regularly to Zoe International, and they hold the banquet every year to thank their largest donors.”

“Speaking of your father…” Phillip leaned in with a smile. “I heard a rumor that he was going to expand the Joy Luck Life Spa into a hotel. Is it true?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him, since I don’t usually work at the spa,” Monica said with a neutral expression.





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