amused. That should probably have unnerved her as much as seeing him sitting outside her building had. It made her angry instead.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“Absolutely nothing, I assure you. Not one thing.”
“Then why are you out there?”
“Out where?”
He wasn’t going to admit what they both knew. He had parked across from her apartment so he could watch her.
“I’m sorry you thought I was sympathetic to him.” If placating the man would put an end to this nonsense, Jenna was more than willing to do that. “Nothing could be further from the truth. He’s vicious and sadistic, and believe me, I want him caught as much as anybody in this town.”
“It’s good to hear we’re in agreement.”
“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry for the way I came across. I don’t know what else you want me to say—”
“I told you. I don’t want a thing from you, Dr. Kincaid.”
“Then why are you outside my apartment? Why did you wait for me to come out of the office last night? What kind of game are you playing?”
“I’m not your concern, Dr. Kincaid. Believe me, I don’t intend you any harm.”
“Then stop stalking me.”
“Legally, what I’m doing—”
“Don’t talk to me about ‘legally.’ You followed me. You’re outside my apartment. You’re calling me. If that isn’t stalking—” She stopped the tirade because she knew she was giving him what he wanted. Control. “Just go away and leave me the hell alone.”
The catch in her voice on the last word made her furious. The day she let this bastard make her cry—
“Did you read those papers, Dr. Kincaid?”
He must have been parked out there when she’d arrived this afternoon, the newspapers under her arm. She had been so focused on getting inside and devouring them that she’d never thought to check out the parking lot. Of course, that wasn’t part of her normal homecoming routine. It would be from now on.
“I read them,” she answered.
“Then you know what I told you yesterday is true.”
About how well she fit the profile? “I don’t think—”
“Good,” he interrupted. “Don’t think. Just close your blinds, lock your doors and stay inside.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if I were a woman in this town who looked so much like the rest of them, that’s what I’d do. It’s what other women all over this town are doing right now. I’m suggesting you join them.”
Jenna tried to come up with a response, but she couldn’t find words to express how his advice made her feel. Angry, of course. Yet fearful, too. And furious with herself that with a few words he could make her feel that way.
“Leave me alone.” Her voice was soft, but she allowed the emotion she felt into her tone, something she rarely did.
“I know you won’t believe me, but that really would be your worst nightmare. You do exactly what I tell you, and I promise nothing is going to happen to you.”
Jenna opened her mouth to respond, but the click on the other end of the line told her it was too late. He’d had the last word, just as he’d intended.
Frozen in shock by what had just transpired, she realized she was standing with the phone still pressed against her ear and her mouth open. She closed it, swallowing her fury, and lowered the phone. She pushed the off button as she took a deep breath, trying to think.
She wasn’t going back through 911. And she for damn sure wasn’t going to talk to the Mountain Brook police again. She was going straight to the task force instead and demand that she be allowed to meet with one of the detectives working the case.
At the very least, Sean Murphy had some kind of fixation with the killer. And at the worst…
She’d get the restraining order the dispatcher had mentioned. Something that would keep him off the grounds of her apartment complex and away from her office as well.
Paul knew a lot of people in this town. He would help her figure out whom she should call. Then, if this bastard pulled this same stunt tomorrow night—
The police would deal with him, and she wouldn’t have to. Never again.
And right now, that’s really all she wanted.
Five
“I saw the segment you did for Channel 47 on holiday depression. I confess that it struck a little too close to home. Especially the part about feeling let down that things don’t live up to your expectations.”
Despite Paul’s undoubtedly kind intentions in insisting she take yesterday afternoon off, it had made today a scheduling nightmare. And when Sheila had asked her this morning, Jenna had reluctantly given the okay for a new patient to be added to the end of her already full appointment calendar.
After less than five minutes spent with John Nolan, she was wishing she’d put him off until another day. Nothing he’d told her so far seemed to warrant the urgency he’d expressed when he’d called the office.
He had asked for her by name, however, and more importantly, he’d specifically mentioned the television interview. That had set off a few alarms. Enough that she had decided to work him in, just to see what kind of read she got.
Even before he’d arrived, she had discarded as ridiculous the idea that a serial killer would be brazen enough to show up at her office. Calls like Nolan’s resulted from most of the interviews the staff gave. Add that to the increased demand for counseling brought on by the pressures of the season, and there was nothing unusual about the guy’s request for an immediate appointment.
She’d already been booked solid the rest of the week with the makeups from yesterday and her regular patients, many of whom also had trouble dealing with the holidays. If she hadn’t agreed to see him today, Nolan would have been forced to wait until after the New Year, which Sheila said he really didn’t want to do.
“That’s something that’s extremely common,” she said, trying to sound interested. “Not only with Christmas, but with any occasion we look forward to with a lot of anticipation. Is this something you experienced last year?”
“Last year. Every year I can remember. It seems that nothing I do is quite good enough.”
“For your family? Or for yourself?”
“Both, I suppose. It just doesn’t seem to matter how much I plan or how hard I work, things…unravel. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“And that makes you feel…?” She hesitated, allowing him an opportunity to fill in the blank she’d left.
His lips pursed slightly as he looked down at his hands. They were well shaped, the nails clean and neatly trimmed.
On the paperwork John Nolan had filled out, he’d written self-employed. He hadn’t put anything in the section on insurance or in the one that asked for his occupation. Which meant he could be anything, she supposed, from a writer to a day trader.
Nor had she been able to glean much about either his education or financial status from his appearance. The maroon V-necked sweater, which he wore over a white button-down collar dress shirt and the khaki trousers were too generic to offer much socioeconomic information.
His hair, light brown and slightly sun-glazed, appeared to have been freshly cut, although it was a little longer than she normally found attractive. And yet he was, she admitted. Very