if she didn’t open the program, she wouldn’t see the email, and if she didn’t see the email, it didn’t exist. He didn’t exist.
But he did, and all the pretending in the world couldn’t change that.
She had the usual spam in her inbox, a funny message from her sister, Stacia, and a sweet how-did-it-go note from Archer. He was the gruffer, blunter of the two Harper men, but he had a soft spot for her, and she for him.
And yes, there was also an email from him.
RememberMe.
The sight of his screen name made her skin crawl and her hand tremble when she tapped on it. Her cell phone had been blissfully silent today, but Monday he’d texted her multiple times.
You’re late for work, Nat. Why?
Your office said you didn’t call in. Are you sick? I should call Stacia to find out.
Where are you, Nat?
On Tuesday, he’d opened with...
There’s no family emergency or Stacia would be gone, too. Where are you? What are you doing? Why are you making me worry?
Are you too sick to answer your phone? Should I ask the dispatcher for a welfare check?
Is this about Kyle’s accident?
Answer me, damn it.
His final text that night had made her shiver and hunker deeper into the covers of a cheap motel somewhere in Texas, along Interstate 40.
I went by your apartment tonight, and your car was gone. What are you up to, Nat? Why are you doing this to me?
What he was doing to her apparently counted for nothing, and what he’d done to Kyle...
Goose bumps everywhere, she finally focused on the tablet screen.
You shouldn’t have done this, Nat. But it’s okay. I’m not mad. I was, but I’m not anymore because I know I’ll find you. The connection between us is so deep and strong that I’ll always find you, and when I do—after all, Cedar Creek’s not that big—you’ll never want to leave me again.
Damn it, he knew where she was. Deep inside, though, she wasn’t surprised. Coming here had been on the spur of the moment; on Sunday night she’d called Archer and gotten Daniel’s information, told Stacia she was leaving, packed her bags and slipped out of the apartment before dawn Monday morning. But she’d known RememberMe would figure it out. He knew everything she did.
Swallowing hard, she pressed her hands together to stop their trembling. He made her feel so damn vulnerable. There had been times when his messages were almost sporadic, a few weeks when she hadn’t heard from him at all. She’d readjusted to life quickly, neglecting to be wary when she was out, to look over her shoulder or to search for familiar faces in unfamiliar places. Then, when she’d thought he’d moved on, that some other woman had caught his fancy, another email had found its way into her inbox, or a text to her cell phone, or a card to her mailbox.
RememberMe. When the first emails had come, she’d thought the name was cute, a friendly question without the question remark. Hey, remember me? After what had happened to Kyle, she knew there was nothing cute or friendly about him.
And she didn’t have a clue in hell who he was or what he wanted besides frightening her. She didn’t know why he was fixated on her, how he’d gotten her email address or her cell number or her home address. She didn’t know how he tracked her down every time she changed jobs, where he watched her from, what he wanted from her.
What was the point of his sick game?
Right now it didn’t matter. All she had to do was warn Daniel. Have that conversation he so clearly didn’t want to have. Give him one more reason to hate her. She would do the same with her other two exes—she was still searching for them—and then she would find herself a hiding place so far away that RememberMe would never find her.
She closed her email and stared at the screen a long time before opening the browser. Cedar Creek was a pretty little town, but she needed to put it in the rearview mirror as soon as possible. Vulnerable wasn’t a pleasant way to feel, and she wanted it done.
It wasn’t likely that a town the size of this one had more than one bowling alley, and a search showed that was true. She’d discarded her wet shoes when she came in from the diner and hadn’t brought another pair that went so well with the dress, so she changed into jeans and a button-down, put on chunky-soled boots that should keep out the worst of the water, grabbed a raspberry-colored slicker and her bag, and left the room.
Claire Baylor, proprietor, manager and housekeeper of the Prairie Sun, was sitting behind the grand oak counter, a book propped open on the desk. When she closed it, Natasha caught a view of the cover. The Unlucky Ones.
“I’ve heard that book will give you nightmares,” she commented.
Claire came to stand in front of her. “It makes me unbearably sad.”
“I haven’t read it. These days, if it doesn’t make me laugh or give me the thrill of adventure, I don’t read it.”
“It’s disturbing but hopeful. She survived horrible things and went on to live a good life.” Claire glanced past her to the wet street outside. “Are you heading out?”
“Yeah. I was wondering where to find Highway 97.”
“Main Street, a couple blocks west, becomes 97 when it leaves town. Anyplace in particular?”
“The bowling alley.”
The woman winced. “I had to take a physical education class in college, and I chose bowling because...well, let’s face it. I’m not a physical sort.” She patted her rounded hips. “Luckily, the instructor graded on effort, because I don’t think I threw a single ball all semester that didn’t go into someone else’s lane.”
“I’ve never tried the game. I just can’t see the point of heaving a twelve-pound ball at a bunch of pins that far away. Of course, I never got the point of golf or tennis, either. Hockey—that makes sense to me. Pounding people who get in your way.”
Claire’s laugh was hearty and easy, as if it was second nature. “I’m with you, sister. Anyway, just go up to Main, turn right and it’s a couple miles north on the right side of the road. Have fun.”
Claire left the desk and walked with Natasha to the rear door, where the hour and the weather kept the lot dimly lit. “Feel free to park on the street out front when you come back. Your key unlocks both front and back doors, and after talking about that book, the front’s just less creepy.”
“Thanks.” Natasha jogged to her car and locked the doors as soon as she was inside. There’d been a time when that had instantly made her feel safer. Not any longer. Even a thorough look around the vehicle didn’t inspire confidence. She didn’t know what skills RememberMe possessed. He’d found her new email address every time she’d changed it; within twenty-four hours of her changing her cell number, he was calling again. She’d moved from an apartment in her own name to one in her cousin’s name, and flowers had arrived at her doorstep the next morning. Was tampering with her car beyond him? Was anything beyond him?
The tears that had put a quaver into Kyle’s mother’s voice last weekend answered that question effectively.
But the car started fine, and when she turned on the heat to dispel the chill, nothing noxious poured from vents. This was one of the problems of a stalker: he frequently made her lose sight between reason and paranoia. At the moment, she wasn’t convinced there was a difference.
The gutters along First Street were overflowing, spreading into the street and sometimes bubbling onto the sidewalks. With no oncoming traffic, she drove, straddling the dividing line to stay out of the deepest water. It wasn’t seven thirty yet, but it seemed hours past her bedtime. The clouds, the constant flow and splash, the damp and the chill all combined to convince her winter