LITMIR.BIZ

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ever that easy. No one knows why one man crosses the line and another doesn’t.” He stepped into his office and grabbed a set of keys from his desktop. “Are you ready?”

      “You don’t have to follow me home. Like I told you, I’ve only noticed him on Tuesdays.” The idea that the man who’d attacked her sister had placed following her on his regular schedule spooked her.

      Tuesday: pick up milk, call the plumber, follow Theresa Wade.

      An icy chill slid down her spine and she shuddered.

      Archer turned out the lights in his office, then placed a guiding hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go.”

      Resa opened her mouth to protest again, but Archer’s warm protective touch at the small of her back made her feel safer than she’d felt in months, maybe ever.

      On the other hand, his certainty that she needed protection increased the cold fear that had haunted her ever since her sister’s attack.

      The Lock Rapist thought she could recognize him. He considered her a threat. And when he caught her, he’d kill her.

      Chapter Three

      The following Tuesday Earl Slattery got out of the shower and grabbed two towels. Mary Nell didn’t like for him to use two—wasteful, she said.

      But tonight was special. He scrubbed his wet hair with one and wrapped the other around his waist. Then he grinned at himself in the mirror.

      He’d suggested to his boss that having one night a week set aside for evening installations and repair of security equipment would increase business. His boss had gone for it, so Earl had volunteered for late shift on Tuesdays.

      It was perfect. Especially now that he’d picked up the scent of the woman he’d seen that night. If he busted his butt to finish by nine o’clock on Tuesday nights, he had plenty of time to follow Theresa home.

      After her initial suspicion, Mary Nell had gotten used to his late hours on Tuesdays. That sure made it easier on him. As long as he was careful and got his installations done in plenty of time, he could do anything he wanted.

      It bothered him that Theresa Wade was going to Detective Archer’s gun range. He’d considered going in there himself, to see if she was shooting or if she and Archer had a thing going.

      But that was high risk, and Earl avoided as many high-risk behaviors as he could.

      Last Tuesday night, he’d discovered a way to slip inside the fence that surrounded Theresa’s gated community, so earlier tonight he’d sneaked in, bypassed the security system in a matter of seconds, and entered her apartment. He’d slipped a note under the edge of her windowsill, as if it had been slid under from outside. Then he’d driven out to Detective Archer’s house, waited until he and Theresa left, and stuck the second note in Archer’s mailbox.

      That had been exciting. Much more exciting than following Theresa’s car. More danger. More adrenaline. But not really more risk.

      He liked that. All this sneaking around gave him a nearly fail-safe way to experience the excitement without risking so much.

      Slinging the towel around his neck, Earl closed his eyes. Tonight’s excitement had almost dulled the burning for a little while.

      And tomorrow… He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to get here. The kids had been out of school for a week, but Mary Nell had delayed her trip because the car needed a tune-up. Tomorrow morning she and the kids were heading up to Knoxville, to her mother’s.

      It was time. Earl shuddered in anticipation. Soon he could feed the hungry monster that lurked inside him and the burning would ease—for a while. He smacked his lips, then picked up his comb.

      “Earl!”

      Grimacing, he quickly ran the comb through his thinning hair.

      “Earl! Are you listening to me? What are you doing in there? If you want any of this, you’d better come on. I’m about ready to go to sleep.”

      “Go ahead, you old bag,” Earl muttered under his breath. “You dole it out like it was gold anyhow. And I can testify that it ain’t gold.” He chuckled quietly.

      Then for a few seconds, he closed his eyes and gave in to the need that never really left him. It was almost to fever pitch, but that was okay.

      Tomorrow he could begin his quest to quench it.

      ARCHER SAW the scrap of paper as soon as he turned into his driveway after following Resa to her apartment gates. It was fluttering precariously at the edge of his mailbox.

      He slowed to a stop, eyeing the road and the surrounding area. Nothing.

      He’d followed Resa home every night for a week. Tonight, Tuesday night, he’d anticipated seeing the dark sedan she’d noticed the two previous Tuesdays, but it hadn’t showed.

      If Resa was right, and he only followed her on Tuesdays, he must have seen Archer and aborted.

      “So you left a note instead,” Archer muttered. “Coward.”

      He pulled a small, high-powered flashlight out of his glove compartment and shone it on the scrap of paper. It was caught at the edge of the mailbox door, and he could see writing on it.

      He wrinkled his brow. He didn’t have an exam glove—not even a handkerchief. He’d have to grab the paper with his bare fingers and take a chance of contaminating it.

      He glanced around the interior of his car for anything that would preserve the fingerprints and possible trace evidence on the note. On the floor on the passenger side, he spotted an empty envelope. He’d tossed it there the other day while glancing through his mail before he got out of his car.

      Carefully, he used the tips of his thumb and index finger to grasp the edge of the note while he loosened the closure of the mailbox enough to slide it out. The breeze picked up just as the note came free and he almost lost it, but his damaged fingers managed to hold on.

      With the note and his arms back inside his car window, he dropped the note into the envelope, and stuck the envelope in his inside coat pocket. He could barely resist pulling it out and reading it, but his detective’s caution told him to wait until he was safely inside his house, with good lighting and a place to set the note so he wouldn’t have to handle it.

      It burned a hole in his jacket as he drove the fifty yards up the driveway to his Victorian house. He parked in the circular drive.

      Just as he was getting out of his car, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and his heart slammed into his chest wall. It was Resa.

      “Resa? What is it?”

      “Archer?” Her voice was small and trembly. “You told me to call you first.”

      “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

      “I don’t know. There’s—a note.”

      “Where? In your apartment?” Archer’s heart rate tripled.

      “Get out of there, Resa. Now!”

      “It’s not in my apartment—not exactly—” Her voice caught. He heard her take a shaky breath. “It’s inside my windowsill. I think it was slipped underneath from the outside.”

      “Resa, listen to me. Have you checked your apartment?”

      “Yes. Nothing’s out of place. I don’t think anybody’s been inside.”

      “Good. Leave the note where it is. Call 911, and stay there with all the doors locked. Don’t open the door to anyone until the police get there. I’m on my way.”

      “Archer? Hurry.”

      “Stay put, Resa.”

      He pocketed his phone, patted his jacket pocket to assure himself that the envelope was still there, and climbed back into his car.

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