Stalker in the Shadows

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.