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.”