Christmas Stalking. Jo Leigh

wrist. Nothing budged.

      She sighed and relaxed against the pillow. She looked at the stack of papers Max had left. She poked through the pile, noting everything was dated sequentially. She picked up a handful and began looking at them.

      Hmm. Receipts, stapled to regular paper with notes. Phone records. Geotech office memos. Her interest piqued, she began to read.

      DESPITE THE E-MAIL Max was still worried about Jade. Leaving her there had been a tough choice, but in the end, it was the only thing he could do. He’d briefly considered not cuffing her, but she’d try to escape and that could only end badly. In her high heels, she wouldn’t get far, and far was where she’d have to go for help. The cabin’s nearest neighbor was about fifteen miles away.

      No, his best bet now was to proceed as carefully as he could with his plan and get back safely. At least he wasn’t trying to do the drive to D.C. and back, as he’d been doing for the last couple of weeks.

      As he approached the outskirts of Ashwood, he decided he’d do the shopping first, the phone calls after. If Agent Bilick traced the call, Max would be back at the cabin before there could be a response.

      He hit the small department store first, picking up a couple of pairs of denims, wool lumberjack shirts, warm socks and hiking shoes for Jade. He found a down jacket in her size, then headed into the women’s department for underwear. As he eyed the bras and panties, feeling more out of his depth by the second, an elderly woman approached him.

      “Not sure we carry anything in your size,” she said.

      “Oh.” Max reddened. “It’s not for me.”

      “That’s a joke, son. You look a bit bewildered.”

      “Oh. Well, I’m picking up a few things for a lady, and I thought she might like some—delicates—to go with them.”

      “Do you know her sizes?” The woman, in her fifties, peered at him over thick bifocals.

      “Here.” Max thrust the paper with Jade’s sizes into her gnarled hand.

      “Hmm. Well, the panties should be okay, but the shirt size makes picking out a bra a little tough.”

      Max reached for the paper. “Maybe I should just get the stuff later.” He could feel the heat in his face.

      The woman pulled the paper out of his reach. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. We’re talking bras here, not your deepest sins. The shirt size tells us how big around she is. We just need to figure out the cup size.”

      “Cup size?”

      “For the bra.”