Allison Brennan - Stalked

“There won’t-”

He put his hand over her mouth. “There’s always a next time.”

Ten Years Ago

No one was happy with me that I’d lied about my parents being dead, especially not my parents. But in my defense, they were dead to me. Grams had been my legal guardian for five years, but I was fourteen when she died and the idiot judge thought that I had to live with someone. He picked my mom.

Mom and Dad had divorced after the trial and Mom tried to force me to live with her. Grams had been stronger then and stood up to my mom. Mom cried, but I just kept my thoughts focused on all the lies she’d told. Grams had been as hurt as I was, because Mom was her daughter. I might have only been nine during the trial, but I understood a lot more than people thought. I told Grams not to blame herself, that Mom made me live with the consequences of my bad choices, like when I thought the Jacuzzi would make a good bubble bath or when I went over to Jared’s house to play his war games after Mom said I couldn’t play any games rated M. I was grounded for a month.

Mom and Dad made bad choices-it was like that FBI agent said; some bad choices have unforeseen consequences. That doesn’t make it okay to lie.

Grams and I had a tacit agreement that day. We could talk about Mom or Dad or what happened to Rachel, but we’d remember only the fun things, like when Grandpa taught Rachel and me to fish or when Grams taught us to bake.

And then Grams was gone, just like Grandpa and just like Rachel, who I remembered more than I wanted.

It was my second week back living with my mom, the day I started high school, and Mom drove me to the campus. As if being a freshman who was shorter than everyone else as well as notorious wasn’t bad enough, Mom had to pick a fight.

“You need to forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For what happened to Rachel.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“You started it.”

I’d never have talked to Grams like I spoke to my mom, but I loved and respected Grams.

I looked at my mom. Pilar McMahon. Forty-five. Dyed her hair and wore too much makeup.

“Do you know how sorry I am? Do you know how much I have suffered these five years? Knowing what happened to Rachel, knowing that you never wanted to see me again.”

And if Grams was still alive, I wouldn’t be having this conversation now.

“Peter, please.”

Mom didn’t know what I knew. That in the last week I’d heard the front door close in the middle of the night. That even when she thought she was being quiet her bed hit the wall. I might not have known had I not been raised to the same sounds.

“Are you still a slut?”

She slapped me. I got out of the car and didn’t look back.

The first day of high school wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it was in the top ten.

It was the end of the day, when I went to my locker to get my things, that bad went to worse. I found a note.

I’M WATCHING YOU.

FBI Academy

During her first week on campus, Lucy had discovered the secluded, parklike area behind Hogan’s Alley while exploring the campus with Margo and Reva. She’d come here many times when she needed to be alone. Because of the trees and overhanging branches, the circle was ten degrees cooler in the heat of the day and, better, it afforded privacy.

She sat heavily on a fallen log early Friday morning, after running five miles on the track trying to work out the grief of Tony’s death. The run had left her drained instead of invigorated, her emotions on overdrive.

The sun was still low on the horizon, the air crisp and clean in the clear summer dawn. It would be a beautiful morning before the heat became unbearable. But she wouldn’t enjoy it. Too many feelings, too many questions.

A breaking twig caught her attention, and then a voice: “Lucy, it’s me.”

“Sean?” She jumped up, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you were close to Tony. I asked Kate to get me in.” He walked over and hugged her. “Your friend Margo told me you’d probably be here.”

“I needed to get away from everyone.”

He sat down and she leaned against him. It was good to have Sean here, even if it was just for a few minutes. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s a long drive.”

“Kate said I could stay for breakfast.” He smiled, then looked at her, worry in his eyes. “You okay?”

Tears blurred her vision and she buried her face in Sean’s shoulder and cried for the first time since she’d heard Tony had died. Sean held her, stroked her hair, didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, and Lucy was grateful that he had come to her. She hadn’t even thought to ask him to, but it made all the difference.

Several minutes later she sat up. She touched his damp shoulder. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Better?”

She nodded.

Sean kissed her lightly. “I was spoiled seeing you every day. I miss you. Talking on the phone just doesn’t cut it.”

“I know.”

“Are you all right?”

“I will be. I’ve known Tony for less than a month, but I’m still stunned.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.”

“I think I’m going to miss his stories more than anything,” Lucy said. “Tony put a personal twist on all the cases he worked. Listening to him recount his process and the different paths he explored was interesting and insightful. He was dedicated. He cared.”

“So do you. That’s why he brought you into his world.” Sean kissed her forehead. “You should have asked for today off.”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t think you would have, just that you should have.”

“We should head to the cafeteria. I have class at eight.”

“We have a few minutes.”

Sean was the type of guy who liked to fix problems, and death wasn’t something he could fix. But having him here, at her side, gave her peace and comfort she didn’t realize she needed.

“I spoke to Suzanne Madeaux.” Sean put his fingers under her chin and looked at her. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“Suzanne assured me that there was nothing personal about me in her files. Just my name in connection with the Cinderella Strangler investigation.” Lucy took his hands. “You can’t always protect me.”

“When I can, I will.”

“Tony knew Weber as far back as the Rachel McMahon kidnapping. He went to New York to help Suzanne with the profile. He thinks Weber’s murder has to do with the McMahon case. Her manuscript notes and interviews are missing.”

“I skimmed the book she wrote after you asked me to find Peter McMahon.”

“I read it as well. Tony wanted me to make a list of everyone she mentioned and rank them in the order of most likely to hold a grudge. But it’s been ten years since the book came out. Why wait so long?”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. Crime scenes, autopsies, police reports she could handle. They were matter-of-fact and to the point. Books sensationalizing the pain and suffering of others disturbed her. She supposed that was good for a writer, that Weber had a way of getting so deep into the investigation that she could make the reader think she was right there, but Lucy had enough tragedy and pain in her real life; she didn’t need to share in the pain of others.

But wasn’t that what she did now? Wasn’t that why she wanted to be a cop? To give peace to the survivors and obtain justice for the dead?

“Luce?” Sean pushed her hair back and held her cheek.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I will be. I was just thinking about Weber and how she approached her stories. I can handle it but the way she wrote-”