Rising Heat (67 page)

My keys in hand, I threw on a sweater, opened my front door and locked it behind me, even though I felt a little silly doing so. I forced myself to stroll, not hurry, to my mailbox at the end of the gravel driveway. I heard the birds chirping, so that made me feel a little better. If anyone was lurking nearby, I’m sure the birds would have been silent.

Anyway, I made it to my mailbox okay, opened it, and sighed. Two bills and a couple of local advertisements for car services. Big whoop. I shoved the envelopes into the back pocket of my jeans, folded my arms across my chest and looked up and down the road. Maybe a little walk would do me some good. Stretch my legs and get some fresh air. I wouldn’t go far, maybe fifty yards, down to the edge of my neighbor’s dormant corn field.

I had my cell phone in my other back pocket, but realized I should have brought along a hiking stick or a pocket knife, something to defend myself just in case I had to. I would need to visit the local sporting goods store. I refused to stay cooped up in my house all the time. Having something to defend myself with when I was out for short walks was a good idea.

I began to walk along the highway. A couple of cars passed me, giving me a wide berth. The drivers waved and I lifted my hand in greeting. Nothing unusual. People did that out here. Whether they knew you or not, they tended to wave as they passed you on the highway. It was a nice, old-fashioned gesture.

I walked to the corn field and then turned around, heading back to my house. As I walked, I tried to come up with some rough ideas of what I could do with Hawk’s website. I loved being creative, thinking of different and unique ways to capture my client’s personality, their business needs, and their character. Colors, font, backgrounds, sidebars. When I was feeling creative, I felt such joy.

My step quickened as I reached my driveway. I was in a hurry to get back to my office, jot down a few notes. I was good at my job, and I hoped that Hawk would be pleased with the results of my creativity.

As I rounded my driveway and walked toward my porch, I found myself smiling. It was a beautiful afternoon. The air was fresh and crisp. I smelled the pine trees, the leaves, and in the distance, maybe even a hint of rain in the air. Clouds were building over the hills to the north now as well.

I had experienced several late summer and early fall thunderstorms up here as a child, and though they scared me at first, I had come to love them. Of course, I didn’t venture outside or stand too close to windows if I saw lightning bolts coming too close. But standing outside, listening to the rain and the rumbles and cracks of thunder gave me a thrill. The air would be filled with electricity, the thunder and lightning as ancient as time itself. Mother Nature making her presence known.

The birds were still chirping, the breeze gusting a bit when I stepped up onto my porch. I pulled my keys out of my pocket, fingering the house key as I paused on the doormat to wipe my feet. I glanced down.

And saw it.

Just a little corner of paper sticking out from underneath the doormat. My good mood evaporated instantly.

My mouth grew dry. My heart began to pound dully in my chest.

But the birds… the birds were still chirping. Had that piece of paper been sticking out from under my doormat when I left the house? I was sure I would’ve noticed it, but then again, I had been focused on going to the mailbox. Glancing over my shoulder, I searched the woods on each side of the house. I didn’t sense anything or the presence of anyone nearby. The hair on the back of my neck didn’t rise like it had the other day in the woods.

The birds continued to chirp. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Not wanting to but feeling compelled at the same time, I crouched down and reached for the corner of the paper. I only touched the very edge, having learned my lesson about fingerprints. As I gently lifted the edge of the doormat and pulled what looked to be a blank postcard out from beneath the mat, I saw the writing.

Black marker. Something with an angled tip that made the writing on the card look like calligraphy. The message was clear.

I saw what you did with him. You belong to me. You will pay.

At the bottom of the card was another crude drawing of a rose with a skull and crossbones in the middle of it. It was all I could do to choke back a cry of alarm. Holding the card by the edges with my left hand, I lifted my shaking right hand and finally managed to insert the key into the lock. I quickly stepped inside, locked the door and dead-bolted it, and then leaned my back against the cool wood.

Oh God, what had I done to attract the attention of a lunatic?

Heaving a shaky sigh, I refused to cry or succumb to my panic. I quickly moved into the kitchen, removed a freezer bag from the box stuffed in one of my kitchen drawers, and slid the postcard inside. I placed the note on the kitchen table and glanced out the windows above the curtains. It looked so bright, peaceful, and idyllic out there. None of those emotions or feelings filled my heart at this moment.

I pulled the mail out of my back pocket, tossed it on the table, and then reached to pull the cell phone out of my other pocket. My hands still shaking, I found Hawk’s number in my contact list and called him.

Three rings later, he answered.

“Hawk. What’s up, Tracy?”

“I got another one.”

He said nothing for a moment. “Another note?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

“What does it say?”

Taking a deep breath, I stared down at the note and the bold, black words.

The threat.

“It says, ‘I saw what you did with him. You belong to me. You will pay.’”

H
awk didn’t say anything for several moments. On my end, I tried to breathe slowly, to prevent myself from succumbing to my fear. It had been such a nice day too. Now it was ruined.

“I’m coming over. Your doors locked?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Can you have some coffee ready?”

I nodded and then realized that he couldn’t see my gesture. “Sure.”

He hung up the phone. I stood dumbly for several moments, staring out the window and then stepped to the counter where my small coffee machine stood. I realized that he was just giving me busy work until he arrived, but I appreciated it anyway.

I went through the motions, discarding the used filter and this morning’s coffee grounds into the trash can. Grabbed a new filter. Reached into the refrigerator for the can of cheap coffee. Four tablespoons into the filter. Added water to the reservoir and turned on the machine. I pulled two mugs from a cupboard and placed them on the counter next to the coffee maker.

I sat down at the kitchen table, trying to avoid looking at the postcard, listening to the coffee maker as it gurgled softly, filling the kitchen with the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Try as I might to ignore it, my gaze kept returning to the postcard. I tried to remember. Had it been there when I left the house? I’m sure that if I had looked down, I would’ve noticed it. It could’ve been there since early this morning. Or had it been placed there some time during the night?

Every minute seemed like an hour, but within fifteen minutes I heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. I glanced out the window and recognized Hawk’s Jeep. I got up from the kitchen table and went to the front door, waiting until he stepped up onto the porch before I unlocked and opened the door. As soon as he entered, I shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Show me.”

I led him into the kitchen and then pointed to the note encased in the plastic freezer bag on the kitchen table. He stared down at it for several moments and then turned to look at me. I found his expression inscrutable.

“How about you pour us each a cup of coffee and then we’ll go into the living room. I have a few things I want to talk to you about.”

I nodded. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” I said, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll be there in just a minute.” He left the kitchen and I poured the coffee, only spilling a little bit on the kitchen counter. I didn’t bother wiping it up before I followed him, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

“You take anything in your coffee?” I asked. Subconsciously, I suppose I was stalling. Did I want to hear what he had to say? He hadn’t mentioned anything about last night, but the comment written on the card made me wonder. I handed him a mug, and he sank down onto the sofa, placing the mug on the coffee table without taking a sip. I did the same.

Despite my embarrassment, I asked him the question that had bothered me since I read the note. “Hawk, how could he have seen anything last night? The curtains were drawn most of the way closed. The lights in here were off.”

He nodded. Glanced around. Still didn’t touch is coffee. I tried to wait him out, but it was difficult. My heart continued to pound in my chest. Who was doing this to me? Why? Would Hawk be able to catch him? I looked at him.

“Should I call the police?”

“Not right now,” he said.

He was looking at everything in the room except me. “What? What is it?”

He looked directly at me as he answered my question with another. “Would you mind if I poked around your house a little bit?”

The question gave me pause. What was going through his mind? I gestured. “Go ahead. But why?”

He didn’t answer, but stood and began to make his way around the perimeter of the living room. He peered at everything closely; the lamp, the bookshelf, the mantle, the television, and then back toward me. He nodded once and then returned to the mantle. He seemed interested in looking at the photographs of my family. He picked up one of the frames. I couldn’t see what he was doing.

When he turned around, my eyes widened in alarm.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, staring at the tiny round device he held up between his fingers. It was no bigger than a dime, metallic silver in color.

“A wireless camera with a built-in transmitter. It was painted to blend into the background with the pewter frame of your grandmother’s photo… or least I gather that’s your grandmother?”

I felt sick to my stomach. A camera? He’d been watching me all this time? Watching me watch TV, eat my food… sucking on Hawk’s—

“I’m going to take a quick look around.”

I said nothing, but nodded in stunned dismay, my stomach turning somersaults. I began to tremble.

Oh my God.

A camera in my living room? How many other cameras would Hawk find? I tried to hold it together, really I did, but it was hard. I glanced at everything in my living room, even got up from the couch and began inspecting everything myself even though Hawk had just done so.

In addition to my fear, I felt a growing anger. What the hell was going on? How in the world had I managed to attract the attention of an obvious nut job? A nut job who had the skill to utilize wireless transmitters and receivers. Someone who was apparently intent on harassing and scaring me. What was next? Would I have to—?

Hawk emerged from down the hallway and quickly headed upstairs before I had a chance to ask him if he had found any other cameras. I continued to inspect every piece of furniture and object in my living room, but didn’t find any other mysterious objects. I was just heading into my office when I heard Hawk coming downstairs.

“Tracy.”

He moved into the living room and gestured for me to sit down on the couch. I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to go through my house with a fine tooth comb. My eyes widened when he placed four of the dime-sized objects onto my coffee table. I swallowed, nearly choking because my mouth was so dry.

“Where?” I asked, my voice trembling as I stared at the cameras.

“I’ve disabled them—”

“Where?” I repeated.

“One here in the living room. From the angle, it looks like he could see most of the movement in here and part of the kitchen. One in your office. One in your bedroom.”

“And the last one?”

“Bathroom.”

I gasped. Oh my God. He had watched me in the bathroom? Taking a shower? Brushing my teeth? Using the toilet? Hawk could tell I was upset. Who wouldn’t be? I was practically hyperventilating.

Hawk moved to the kitchen. “Plastic bags?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Drawer under the countertop beside the fridge,” I said. I watched as Hawk opened the drawer, found the box, and pulled out another gallon-sized plastic bag. I was going to need a bigger box of those if this continued. He placed the cameras in the bag and then sealed it shut as he re-entered the living room. He set the bag onto the knick-knack shelf hanging on the wall beside the door.

He sat down and then patted the couch cushion next to him. “Come sit down,” he said.

I stood frozen for a moment before his quiet demand reached my brain. I moved stiffly to the couch and sat down on the cushion next to him, staring wide-eyed at the devices on the coffee table.

“Tracy,” he began. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m going to be honest with you. Okay?”

I looked up at him, blinking back the tears that blurred my vision. Shit. No, I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to fall apart in front of Hawk. I needed to be strong. I needed to find the courage to fight back. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and then clenching my jaw, nodded.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t think you’re the target of a secret admirer or a stalker per se.”

I frowned. What did he mean by that?

He reached for my hand. Oh God. This was going to be worse than I thought. Despite my efforts to hold it together, I began to tremble. He squeezed my hand and then blurted it out.

“Tracy, stalkers generally take some time to warm up to their task. It can take months or even years of watching somebody before they attempt to communicate with the focus of their attention.”

I listened. He spoke slowly, his eyes boring into mine. I understood. Nodded for him to continue.

“In most cases, a victim of stalking has usually crossed paths with their stalker—”

“Do you think it’s Jeremy?” I interrupted.