Closer Read online

  That was a really huge if. Just one more thing she didn’t have faith in.

  Could she live the rest of her life in terror? Did she even want to?

  She turned over, clutched her pillow and prayed for sleep.

  SHE HAD NO IDEA WHY SHE woke up. Only that Milo wasn’t there.

  Had she heard something? Her gaze went to the bedside clock. It was one-twenty in the morning, and as she strained to hear, there was only silence.

  He’d probably gone out the doggie door to the backyard. Or gone for a drink of water. There was nothing to be worried about, no reason for her heart to pound in her chest and her throat to close with fear. It wasn’t the first time she’d freaked out over nothing.

  She pushed back the bedcovers anyway, and reached into her bedside drawer to pull out her gun. The one she’d bought three months ago, after the first time the bastard had been in her house. It didn’t matter that she’d always been afraid of them. If he was here, he wasn’t getting out alive.

  The room was dark, but once she got into the hall, the night-light would give her strength. Tiptoeing, her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the hardwood floor to the door.

  She paused there, listening again. Nothing. No sound. Wait. It was Milo. His low whine.

  If the bastard hurt her dog, she’d shoot off his pecker.

  Taking another careful step, she reached the hall. The night-light illuminated the space slightly. It didn’t make her feel better. There was no one there, and she was tempted for a moment to go back to her bedroom and lock the door. But she’d never rest until she found out why Milo was whining.

  Her heart pounding, she entered the living room. The first thing she saw was her dog, and he was staring. Not at her. Behind her.

  She turned and her Glock was ripped from her hand. It banged on the floor, as another hand, his hand, pulled her to his body, her back to his front. As she tried to scream, his hand covered her mouth. Everything was tight and real and she knew this was it. She was going to die.

  Milo leapt at the man, but he sidestepped, taking her with him. She willed the dog to bite the bastard right in the balls. Instead, she kicked the man, connecting with his leg. She heard a grunt, and then a voice.

  “Stop it,” he whispered. “Christie, just stop.”

  She kicked him again. The bastard wasn’t going to take her down without a fight. All the frustration, all the rage she’d held in for so long went directly into the only parts she could still move. She banged back with her head, kicked him again and tried to reach him with her nails.

  “Shit, would you stop?” She could feel the muscles in his chest, the strength of his thighs. He was big, and in her stupid sleep-shirt, barefoot, she couldn’t hurt him. She also couldn’t breathe.

  It was the latter that made her still. Time slowed as she grew lightheaded. All she could think was Please, make it fast. I can’t stand pain. Don’t hurt me.

  Then darkness. Then nothing.

  2

  CHRISTIE WOKE. It was her bed, her room, and it was night. As the muddle in her head cleared, she felt her fear surge back full force. It hadn’t been a dream. The bastard was here, in her house. She reached over to her bedstand, but the drawer was open and empty. Instead, she grabbed the phone, but there was no dial tone. Tossing it to the bed, she got up, not willing to waste a second panicking. He was here. She had to get out.

  Going directly to the window, she tried to open it and couldn’t. Of course, she’d locked it. To keep him out. Her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the lock right, and when she finally did, there were the screws above the inside window to pull free. She’d never experienced terror like this, not with any of his phone calls or even the notes he’d left inside. If she didn’t get out, she knew she would die.

  “What are you doing?”

  She spun around at the voice. “Don’t come near me.”

  He stood in the doorway, but all she could see was his silhouette. He was so large. His shoulders nearly filled the space, his head just a few inches from the top. There was something in his hand. A mug. Her coffee mug. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke softly. Barely above a whisper.

  “You son of a bitch. I’ll scream. I’ll scream my head off.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I promise. I’m here to help. But please, keep your voice down.”

  She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

  “Christie,” he said, moving a bit closer. “Your brother sent me.”

  Her breath caught. “My brother’s dead.”

  “I know. But he gave you a phone number. You called that number this morning.”

  “What?” she asked, knowing it was a trick.

  “I served with Nate,” he said, his whisper deeper, as if it wasn’t quite real. “He saved my life.”

  “You could have tapped my phone.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t.”

  He took a step into the room and Christie backed up, banging her head against the window.

  “Hold on. I’ll show you.” He walked over to her bed and put the mug down on the side table. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  Christie watched him, knowing she should make a run for it. Break the window if she had to. Scream, like she’d threatened. But she felt immobilized. As if her feet were stuck to the floor.

  He approached, and every muscle in her body tightened. He handed her a snapshot.

  Her fingers shook so it was hard to focus. It helped when he turned on the light by her bed. In the photo, she found Nate instantly. He wore camouflage, complete with floppy hat. Next to him was a big guy. The one standing not a foot away. There were other people in the picture, two men and two women. The six of them were smiling. Happy. Their weapons held casually, the way she used to hold her stuffed bear.

  “That was in Kosovo. I’m sure Nate told you we were there.”

  She looked at his face, which she could see clearly for the first time. Like Nate, he was a good-looking man. Dark hair cut short, but not as short as in the picture. Vivid eyes with long, dark lashes. An angular jaw and a full lower lip. He wasn’t as tall as she’d thought. Maybe six-two. And while his shoulders were broad, his hips were slim, his legs long. There were small lines at the edges of his eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. “They said it was a pizza parlor.”

  “It is. But the man who owns it doesn’t just make pizza.”

  Her hands still shook as she returned the picture. “Why the hell did you break in?”

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d wake you. I didn’t want your stalker to know I was here.”

  “You know about the stalker?”

  He nodded. “I got on it as soon as I heard about your call.”

  “Got on it? What, you broke into the police department?”

  “No. I have someone at the FBI who helped.”

  “Jesus.” She pushed back her hair, wondering if this was the part where the men in the white coats entered. “So, what, you’re here to…?”

  “Help. To catch him. To make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “The police and the FBI haven’t been able to do squat. What makes you so sure you can do anything?”

  “Trust me. I can. I’ve already done a preliminary sweep in here. I found these.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a jumble of tiny electronic bits. “Why don’t we sit down. Talk this thing through.”

  She nodded, hardly believing her eyes. The bastard had put bugs in her bedroom? It creeped her out so much her knees nearly buckled. She barely made it to the bed, where she sat for a few minutes remembering how to breathe.

  When she was calm enough to talk, she looked up. “What’s your name?”

  “Boone. Boone Ferguson.”

  “There are only two possibilities here,” she said. “One, you’re him, and you’ve planned this whole thing, including the picture in your wallet. Two, you really did serve with Nate, and for some unknown reason, you want to help
. If it’s the first, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it. You win. If it’s the second…” The breath she’d fought for slipped away. “You win there, too. I have nothing left. I was going to leave first thing in the morning. But he got to the bank. Had the IRS seize my accounts. I’m broke. I’m tired. I give up.”

  Boone nodded. “Here’s what you’re going to do right now. Put on a robe and some slippers, take that mug of tea and come into the kitchen. Give me about ten minutes. I want to make sure we’re not overheard.”

  “Where’s Milo?”

  Boone almost smiled. “He’s in the kitchen. Ten minutes.”

  She watched him leave. He wore jeans and an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He could have been a businessman or an architect. In truth, she had no idea who he was. Only that if he were telling the truth, he’d known Nate.

  Instead of the robe, she changed into jeans and a shirt. She’d never go to bed in just a T-shirt again. As she dressed, she remembered some letters Nate had sent her from the Balkans. At the first opportunity, she’d get them out, check and see if there were any mention of Boone Ferguson. The name sure didn’t ring a bell.

  Once she’d dressed, she took the cooled mug into the kitchen where Milo was gnawing on a big rawhide bone. One she hadn’t given him.

  Boone was at the table, a large duffel bag by his chair and an array of electronic equipment spread before him. He looked up at her, then back at the meter in his hand.

  “More bugs?” Those, at least, had convinced her to keep her voice down. Way down.

  He nodded. “When was he in here?”

  She went to the microwave and stuck the mug in for a minute. As she waited, she turned to him. “The last time was three days ago. He ate cake.”

  “Ate cake?”

  She joined him at the other side of the table. “He also left me a note. It said ‘You can run, but you can’t hide.’ So it’s safe to talk now?”

  “Let’s keep it down, just in case, but I’m pretty sure the room is clean.” He looked down at the mess of electronic bits spread out in front of him. “This is some sophisticated shit.”

  “Not as sophisticated as his IRS trick.”

  “I’ve got someone who might be able to help with that.”

  “How?”

  “He’s got…interesting connections. We’ll see. Back to the stalker, do you have any idea who he is?”

  “No. None.”

  “He’s been after you for what, five months?”

  “Yes. He’s been relentless. I’ve gone to the police, the FBI. No one has been able to find out a thing.”

  “Has he indicated what he wants?”

  She stared at him. “Are you kidding?”

  “No. Some stalkers are very specific. They’re after a relationship, or they believe they’ve been wronged in some way. If his messages have had any kind of theme, that could be helpful.”

  “He wants me to be afraid. Hold on,” she said, rising. Milo watched her, his paws still guarding his bone, as she went to the living room and got her log book. “Tell me something,” she said, handing it to Boone. “What did you do to Milo?”

  “I gave him a bone.”

  “No. Before. He didn’t attack you. He just whined.” She sat down again. “Like you were the mailman or something. Not an intruder.”

  “Ah. Yeah, well. I have this spray.”

  “Pepper spray?” she said, ready to find her gun.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. He’s fine. Not harmed in any way.”

  “What kind of spray?”

  “It’s a gentle tranquilizer. It’s already gone from his system.”

  “You drugged my dog and broke into my house, and I’m having tea with you.”

  “I told you. I’m here because of Nate.”

  “Maybe you ought to tell me more about that. A whole lot more.”

  “I promise, I’ll tell you everything I can. But first, I have to finish my sweep. I don’t want you saying a word out there until I’m done.”

  “How long?”

  “A few hours. He’s clever and he’s got great toys. I have to make sure. Christie, not all of these are listening devices. Some are cameras. He had two outside, which I disabled, but I have no idea how many more there could be.”

  She shivered as she thought about her options. It was hellish being at Boone’s mercy, but she’d been at the bastard’s mercy for months. Just the fact that he’d been listening…Watching…Christ. In her bedroom.

  A wave of nausea made her clutch her stomach. Not that she’d had any action for a billion years, but she wasn’t one to shy away from taking care of herself. “What can I do?”

  “Get some sleep.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. That’s gonna happen.”

  He looked at her hard, that furrow between his eyes deep and serious. Green. She hadn’t seen that in the bedroom, but his eyes were a dramatic green. They weren’t like emeralds, or the grass outside her house. Maybe like the ocean by the pier in Santa Monica. “Sleep is the thing that will help the most,” he said. “It won’t be easy, and if you can’t fall asleep, you should at least lie down and close your eyes. You’re going to need everything in the next few days. All your brains and all your reflexes. If you’re too tired, you become a liability instead of an asset. From what I’ve heard, you’re not going to want to sit back and watch. So do us both a favor and go to bed.”

  Christie felt as though she should be insulted. But that was probably just his tone, not his message. And it wasn’t really his tone, because he’d talked in that whisper of his. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. Will you wake me when you’re finished?”

  “I’d rather wait until morning, if you’re willing. You could use the rest.”

  “If I’m still sleeping, then let me sleep,” she said. “But whenever I wake up, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am. Right.” She turned to Milo, who was still having his way with the rawhide bone. She wanted him to come to bed with her, but his chewing would keep her awake, and she didn’t have the heart to take the treat away. Instead, she stood up, thought once again that she was quite insane for letting Boone stay in her house, and doubly so for going to sleep while he had the full run of the place. But she was so damn tired, it didn’t matter. “There’s fruit in the fridge. And stuff to make a sandwich.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I threw out the rest of the cake.”

  He nodded slightly, then went back to examining the stuff. By the time she reached her bed and turned off the light, she was halfway out. Hitting the pillow was just dumb luck.

  BOONE HAD SEEN THIS EQUIPMENT many times. It was top-of-the-line, and mostly unavailable to the public. John Q. Public couldn’t get it from the neighborhood spy store, but it could be found. Whoever the stalker was, he knew what he was doing. He’d placed the bugs perfectly—in the smoke detector, in a loose tile by the refrigerator. If Boone hadn’t known the ropes he’d have missed at least one.

  He got up, stretched and dismissed the idea of getting a sandwich. There was too much to do before Christie woke up. He grabbed his bag, slipped on his night-vision goggles, and headed for her office.

  It took over two hours to do the bug sweep. The stalker was inventive, that’s for sure. Boone was certain he was someone in security, maybe even a spook, and that made Boone damned uncomfortable. The stalker’s obsession most likely had nothing to do with his profession, but it did make him far more dangerous.

  Stalkers weren’t all the same, but they all had things in common. They were socially immature loners, unable to establish or sustain close relationships. They tended to pick unattainable victims, and create intimate fantasies that could turn deadly in the blink of an eye. Intelligence was a factor, too. Many delusional stalkers were smart as hell, which made catching them more difficult.

  Boone had never gone after a stalker before, but he’d had a lot of experience going after people who
didn’t want to be found.

  He sat down at her computer, took off the goggles, then booted up. He’d already found a bug at her desk, but now he was looking for software. Particularly key-logging software. If this guy was a security geek, he would have used his time inside the house to get more access. If he had key-logging technology, he’d be able to read her every keystroke, and see every message she wrote. The more personal the better.

  He wouldn’t be obvious about it, either. It wouldn’t be under the software name. Boone would have to look for hidden files, for specific code. Luckily, he had his own program that did just that. He inserted the disk and let it run. It would take a while, and in the meantime, he could continue with his sweep.

  He stood, and his gaze caught on a picture of Nate and Christie, barely illuminated by the light near the computer.

  Nate had told him a lot about his sister, but not how beautiful she was. The picture, taken in better times, showed him how much this ordeal had taken out of her. She’d lost weight, which was understandable. But the bones were there. Big brown eyes, dark hair that swept her shoulders. Everything was right about her face, especially her smile. Warm, inviting. He wondered how long it had been since she’d laughed. Since she’d known any peace at all.

  He remembered one night, several years ago, when he and Nate were stuck together doing some surveillance in a damp, cold building in the middle of a burned-out Serbian village. There was nothing going on, and nothing to do. They couldn’t sleep, so they talked. Nate got on to the subject of Christie. He never talked much about his family, so Boone had paid attention. It was clear Nate loved her, and felt protective of her, but it was equally evident that he was proud of his baby sister. How she’d gotten through college on a scholarship, how she’d become a designer to the stars. The way he described her, as funny and sarcastic, had stuck in Boone’s mind long after the conversation and the mission ended.

  He’d thought a lot about her after that. He had no one close, except for the men in his unit, so she’d become a comfort to him when things got rough, much as she had for Nate. He’d imagine her at Christmas, when he was stuck in a jungle or a town where he didn’t know the language. It wasn’t anything sexual, just comforting. But now that he’d seen her, he’d never think of her as a little sister again.