Page 99 of Our Little Secret
The answer was yes.
Because she saw him then.
Through the pouring rain.
Standing at the end of the alley.
Dressed in black leathers.
His motorcycle parked near a neighbor’s garage.
Gideon stared at her for a long moment, then climbed onto his bike and with one searing look over his shoulder, kick-started the engine.
With a roar, he tore out.
“You bastard! You sick, sick son of a bitch!” She kicked at a rock in the driveway and sent it reeling into the hedge. Her hands clenched into fists and if she saw him now, she swore, she’d kill him. Why, for the love of God, was he tormenting her and terrorizing her family?
Thoughts of how he’d targeted, stalked, and taunted her spun through her mind, memories rotating sharply, cutting into her brain.
He’d been at the school posing as a security guard.
He’d been in her house riffling through her drawers, leaving the bracelet, stealing her underwear.
He knew the name of Marilee’s boyfriend.
That she would be at the dance.
ThatBrookewould be at the dance.
In fact, he knew more about her and the family than she’d ever divulged.
How?
Not by a tracking device on her car. Neal had claimed that awful little bug as his own and she’d seen the information about it on his computer. So how had Gideon known where she was? How did he know what was going on in the family?
And where the hell was Shep?
Angrily, she left the gate open on the off chance that the dog returned on his own, then crossed the yard, swept the rain from her face, and mounted the steps to the deck. Pausing at the birdhouse, she decided to destroy the remainder of her cigarettes—no smoking now that she was pregnant. She reached inside and crushed the pack out of frustration and then remembered the bracelet.
She’d left it in here earlier, but now, as her fingers explored the inside of the little house, she touched something else: not metal and stones but something wet and soft and squishy and—
She pulled out her hand as if she’d been burned.
Her fingertips were red.
Blood!
What?
Looking into the birdhouse, she saw the dead rat, its nasty little teeth visible and tinged red beneath scraggly whiskers, its eyes dull, its fur matted, its long, naked tail curved to fit into the recess.
“Oh.” She recoiled.
Bit back a scream.
“Oh . . . oh . . . no.” She backed up, sick to her stomach, horror curdling her insides. Bile climbed up her throat and it was all she could do not to retch.
“You fucking bastard,” she said, her skin crawling, her stomach convulsing as she clung to the deck rail and stared in horror at her bloodstained fingers.No, no no!What kind of a sicko would kill a rat and leave its carcass where she was certain to find it? She thought of her dog and closed her eyes at the thought of what Gideon might do to the retriever.
