Game On Page 11

  Lisa didn’t look entirely convinced. “Don’t forget you’re not dealing with a normal person here. Your behavior could be taken as a challenge.”

  “I suppose.” Lisa did have a degree in psychology, she reminded herself. “But I still think my best defense is to ignore him. Carry on. Let him see his tactics aren’t working.”

  “Where is this event?” Mark asked.

  It was in a small ballroom at one of the big hotels. To her consternation he radioed their plans to somebody or other. She felt as if she was being watched from all sides. Even the good guys were spying on her!

  “If anyone asks, you’re a journalist writing a profile of me for a business magazine,” she told him on the way over. He drove carefully and she got the feeling he was checking constantly to see if they were being followed.

  “Which magazine?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “May I suggest a trade publication? I’ll say I’m a freelance writer working on contract.”

  “Good. Perfect.” They agreed on a large industrial magazine and that they wouldn’t mention the name of the publication unless pressed to do so.

  The ruse was perfectly acceptable. And she found herself relaxing as she made the rounds of the room, talking to people she liked, did business with or might do business with in the future. Mark was always nearby, but not following her around like a dog on a leash.

  “Who’s that nice piece of eye candy?” Janine Estevez asked Serena when they crossed paths. Janine was also a business coach, though not nearly as successful. It was obvious that she was envious of Serena’s career. Enough to sabotage her? Enough to send cruel messages?

  “He’s writing a profile about me for a business magazine,” she said, sticking to the story they’d made up earlier.

  “Lucky you.” The words weren’t sneered, exactly, but Serena could detect a certain bitterness.

  “And how are things going with you?”

  “Great,” Janine gushed. “I’m going to Hawaii in a few weeks with my new boyfriend. He’s a salesman I coached. He was struggling then. Now he’s the top guy in his firm.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Serena said. “Isn’t it fantastic when we truly make a difference in people’s lives?”

  Janine agreed that it was and they moved on. And Serena reminded herself that she had to stop suspecting every person she came into contact with of being a crazy stalker.

  * * *

  MARK HANDED HER over to Adam at the end of the day. Honestly, she was starting to feel like a piece of registered mail.

  As they were driving back to her place, he reached for her hand. “You all right?”

  “Yes.” Liar.

  “I’ve arranged for us to view the footage from the surveillance camera in your building.”

  “All right.” She could think of a million unpleasant things she’d rather do than play Spot the Stalker. Maybe he sensed that, because he held her hand the whole way home.

  The building superintendent was waiting for them in his office. He was a retired municipal employee and she felt his distress. He liked order and a smoothly run building—and he had the memos to prove it.

  “Ms. Long,” he said, “I’m sorry to hear you’ve had a security issue. I’m putting out a memo reminding everyone never to let strangers into the building.” He sighed. “But you know what people are like.”

  She nodded. She’d have protested except that she received that same memo at least once a year. Then there were the memos reminding people to always confirm that the parking gate had closed completely behind them before driving forward. Then there were the memos reminding residents not to leave patio doors open during the summer if they weren’t home. And the memos requesting that no one lend out their keys or fobs. She had thought her building was so secure.

  “I’ve got the footage ready to roll on this computer here,” he said, ushering her to a desk in a corner.

  The recording played like a video. She could push Stop and Play, slow it down or speed it up. They’d requested many hours of footage and she had to look at images from three cameras. They started with the front-door camera. She watched what looked like a grainy black-and-white movie of people coming and going. Her neighbors, friends dropping by, a guy with a cell phone and briefcase whom she recognized as a local realtor, food-delivery people. At Adam’s urging she took careful note of all the delivery personnel but there was no one she recognized. She felt as though she were watching the world’s most boring home movie. The film skipped slightly around 4:00 p.m. Adam reversed and watched the footage again. Frowning.

  He didn’t say anything. She continued watching. Yep, the woman who took the Pekingese for a stroll returned after a while. The people who’d left for work returned from work. She watched her neighbors head for their workouts and come back red-faced and glowing. She watched people struggling into her building lugging a week’s groceries. She watched and watched. No one appeared on-screen who shouldn’t have been there.

  Same deal for the other two tapes.

  “Okay,” Adam said, after her eyes felt as if they’d fall out of her head if she watched one more second of security footage. “Thanks for looking.”

  He turned to the building manager. “You’ll keep this. Right?”

  “Yes, of course. Let me know and I’ll make it available anytime.”

  “Thanks.”

  And they left.

  She felt tired, irritable, as though everyone involved in this foolishness—including her—was overreacting.

  Her front door was thankfully free of any decoration. She let out a breath and unlocked her suite. Adam walked right in without an invitation and quickly searched the apartment.

  “Everything look okay to you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He fiddled with his car keys.

  “Why did you go back and look at the skipped tape?”

  “My guess is that our computer-savvy cyber stalker managed to disable the cameras.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes. He’d need a device to deliver an electromagnetic pulse. Max’s people could figure out how it was done, but it won’t help us find out who.”

  “So that little movie date was a total waste of time,” she said.

  “No. If I’m right, we know when your friend visited. Around 4:00 p.m.”

  “So what?”

  “So it’s one more piece of the puzzle. Slowly, we will make a picture and then we will get our guy and make him stop.”

  “I really hope that happens soon.”

  “Look. I’ve got hockey practice tonight. Do you want to come with?”

  “No. It’s about the last thing I want to do. No offense.”

  He grinned at her. “None taken. Will you be all right if I go?”

  “Yes. You should go.” She was delighted to find that his idea of security still left her some privacy. “You love your hockey and it would be a sad thing if your performance coach was the reason you couldn’t go to practice.”

  “Promise me you won’t go out and you don’t let anyone in. Nobody. I don’t care how well you know them.”

  “Except you?” she had to ask.

  “Except me, smart-ass. I’ll skip the beers with the boys afterward and come straight here. Should get back around ten.”

  “Yes. That’s fine. I’ll be up then, or do you want the key?”

  “No. I’ll buzz up.”

  “Okay. Have fun.”

  “Thanks. You try and get some rest. Relax.”

  He looked as though he might say more. His gaze drifted to her lips and he pulled her to him for a long hard kiss.

  * * *

  SERENA COULDN’T SETTLE. She’d been dying for some time alone after an entire day of pe
ople checking up on her. Escorting her—guarding her. Now that she was alone, she suddenly felt vulnerable.

  “No.” She actually said the word aloud.

  No. Fear was not going to get her. Adam was going to sleep at her place. She lived in a mostly secure building and was inside her suite with the door locked. She’d be fine until ten o’clock. Absolutely fine.

  What did she always tell her clients? What did she preach in her books, on her blog, in her lectures? Fear itself was the enemy. If she let herself give in and panic, she’d be lost. So she changed out of her dress clothes, put on some comfy sweats.

  She decided to start work on next week’s blog. She’d write about turning challenges into successes. Hopefully she’d believe her own prose.

  As she turned on her computer, she was conscious of a feeling of dread lodging in her belly. Whatever she wrote, she knew he’d read it.

  But if she didn’t post anything on her scheduled day, he’d know that too. And exult in his success.

  Okay. She sat down. Resolutely put any thought of fear out of her mind. What would she write about?

  She cast about for a topic, thought about her networking afternoon. She liked the topic as it was positive but neutral enough that a creepy stalker wouldn’t think it was about him.

  Damn, there she was thinking about him again.

  She pulled in a breath. Did some positive-thinking calisthenics. Repeated the mantra “I am safe and happy. I am in charge of my own life.”

  Not exactly the most original self-talk in the world but it helped. She typed.

  “The Importance of a Good Network.” Wow, that was a lame title. However, she knew it was the best she could do right now, and she’d learned long ago that perfect is the enemy of good. She wrote a shorter-than-usual post, but she wrote it. When she thought about the power of networking, it occurred to her that she’d recently discovered a network she hadn’t realized she had. There were people in her life who truly cared about her. Max, Lisa, now Adam. She knew there were plenty more people out there—friends, colleagues, clients—who would happily lend a hand if she asked. As she’d help them. She didn’t often think about life that way, but surprisingly, it was true. She had a business network, obviously. But she also had a personal network.

  She forgot about Smiley Face reading her words. She imagined a net and all the ways we connect to people, each one a string that ties on to another string, and they weave together and then one day you realize the strength of that net when you fall and it catches you.

  Maybe the post was a bit out there, but she’d managed to highlight the importance of connections in business and in one’s personal life. Good enough, she decided. She proofed her work and published the post.

  It was barely 9:00 p.m. but her eyes were dragging with fatigue. She decided to crawl into bed early with a book. It was an indulgence that she always enjoyed. As soon as Adam arrived, she’d put out the light and sleep.

  She washed, brushed her teeth, slipped into her night gear and sorted through the books waiting to be read. She wanted something light, positive, upbeat. A colleague had asked her to write a review for his upcoming book on happiness. That, she decided, was a perfect fit. She would do something useful while reading about happiness.

  She snapped on her bedside reading light. Flipped back her bed cover.

  And screamed.

  13

  ADAM SKATED HARD. His lungs were burning; his legs were burning. Before he slammed the puck, he pictured a freakin’ happy face painted on it and the adrenaline rush sent the puck flying past the startled goalie and into the net so hard it got pushed out of position.

  “Good. Do it again,” the coach yelled.

  They set up the breakout drill again, transitioning from defense to offense. Dylan and Max set him up and once more he nailed the puck.

  “Hey, Shawnigan,” Dylan yelled, “you keep that up and the cup’s ours this year.”

  He nodded. Wiped sweat off his face. Skated a few times around the rink for the hell of it and finally clomped off the ice as they changed lines. He chugged water. His cell phone shrilled.

  Call display told him it was Serena. Gut instinct told him there was trouble.

  “Where are you?” he barked into the phone, anxious to get to her.

  “I’m at home.” Her voice sounded as if she was barely holding on to control. He could hear a tremor. “Adam, he got into my apartment.”

  He jumped to his feet, forgot his skates were still on his feet and almost toppled. “He there now?”

  “No. He—he left me another message. It was—it was in my bed.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

  “I—I don’t think I can move,” she said.

  “Hang on. Just hang on.”

  He dragged off his skates, shoved them in his bag, jammed his feet into sneakers and ran. How could he have been so stupid? He never should have left her alone, not when some maniac was out to get her. Never.

  “What’s up?” Vaguely he was aware of Dylan running behind him.

  He didn’t turn. “Serena. I’ll call when I can.”

  He broke every speed limit, tore through red lights, screamed to a halt in front of her building and jumped out. Ran to her front door. Buzzed her code.

  “Yes?” Her voice sounded tentative.

  “Serena, it’s me. Adam.”

  “Come up.”

  Never had an elevator taken so long to rise. He reached her floor, sprinted down the hall. Banged on her door. Ducked a little to make sure his face was level with her peephole.

  The door opened. She stood there, pale but holding it together.

  He pulled her to his chest and hugged her long and hard.

  “What happened?” he asked at last, reluctantly letting go of her.

  “I didn’t touch it.” She led the way to her bedroom and he followed.

  He could see where she’d flipped back the coverlet of her bed. On the pillow was another hand-drawn smiley face. This one had a detail added that hadn’t been on the face on the door earlier.

  In this drawing the smiley-face mouth dripped red droplets of blood made by a red crayon.

  Seeing her reaction to the thing, he once more pulled her to his chest and held tight.

  “You still have all your padding on,” she protested, but she clung to him anyway.

  “All I had time to take off was my skates.”

  “I can’t believe he was here. Inside my home. I feel so violated.”

  “How did he get in?”

  “I don’t know. I checked all the windows and the balcony door but they’re locked from the inside.”

  First he bagged the evidence. The horrible smiley face with the fake blood dripping from its mouth. He hid the thing away in his briefcase.

  Then he double-checked that she was right. There was no sign of forced entry. He checked the front-door locks. Again, everything looked normal.

  “Who else has keys? Apart from you?”

  “The cleaners. But they’ve worked for me for two years. I trust them.”

  “I’ll need their names and contact information. Anybody else?”

  “The building superintendent has access, obviously.”

  “Former lovers? People who’ve stayed here? Anybody forget to return the key?”

  She shook her head.

  “You lose your keys recently?”

  She glanced at him with impatience. “I’d have told you.”

  “You have a spare set?”

  She nodded. Walked to the kitchen. A rack of keys hung on one wall. She paused. He watched her spine go stiff. Shit.

  She turned, her eyes wide. “They’re gone.” She turned back. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I always keep the spare on this h
ook right here.” She pointed to an empty spot. “They’re the keys I was going to give you! Here are my spare car keys, spare office keys, key to my bike locker and storage locker.” Her voice was tight, high. “But no spare to the front door.”

  “When’s the last time you remember using them or lending them out?”

  She put a hand to her temple and rubbed as though a headache was forming. “I don’t know.” He gave her a moment, resisting the urge to comfort her. She needed to think.

  “Wait. It was in the summer. I was out of town and asked Lisa to bring up my mail and water the plants on my balcony.”

  “She give the keys back?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She glared at him. “And I trust Lisa completely. She’s got nothing to do with this fear campaign.”

  He let that go, knowing there was no point in arguing about whether Lisa could be trusted or not. “Then my best guess is that somebody swiped your keys out of your purse, let themselves into your apartment, got hold of your spare.”

  “My purse hasn’t gone missing. I’d have noticed.”

  “What about at the gym? Do you lock your purse up?”

  “Sure. I have a locker. You bring your own combination lock. But sometimes I forget the lock.” She frowned. “I’ve been known to leave my purse in an unlocked locker. I figure it’s a nice club and I feel like I know most of the people who go there in the mornings. So maybe a few times I’ve been sloppy.”

  “And at work? Where do you keep your purse when you’re at work?”

  “In my desk drawer.”

  “Do you always take it with you wherever you go?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s not impossible that someone could have taken your keys, got into your place and returned them without you noticing.”

  Her forehead creased. “But why leave that stupid picture on my pillow? He must know I’ll get the locks changed. He could have waited until I was home.” She gulped. “Walked in on me.”

  “For some reason he doesn’t want that. Max was right. He’s playing with you. What did those messages say? He wants to teach you about fear. If you didn’t know he was tracking you, you wouldn’t be afraid. So he’s toying with you, playing cat and mouse.”