Stalker in the Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Camy Tang

  She walked stiffly into the library and zeroed in on the large desk on the far side, in front of the window. But instead of picking up the receiver, she punched the speakerphone button. “Hello?” she said.

  A rasping breath sounded, and the skin on his arms crawled.

  Then a low voice uttered, “Monica.”

  It was the same voice as the stalker, Shaun realized.

  SEVEN

  The voice cut through her like wind in the dead of January. Monica began to shiver.

  “Monica,” he said again, and she realized his voice shook. “How dare you?” His voice was low and disguised, but his anger sounded through the room louder than a shout.

  Shaun fumbled for his cell phone, scrolling through a few screens, and then he set it down next to the phone. Monica looked closer and saw he had activated a voice recording application.

  “How dare you call me?” She tried to sound braver than she felt.

  “I told you to stop work on this clinic,” he said, his words clipped. “You haven’t listened to me.”

  “Yes, I have.” She wanted to see how he would respond.

  “Liar!” he shouted.

  He knew about Monica’s party. The invitations had clearly stated it was for her free children’s clinic project.

  Which meant he had been one of the forty people invited.

  Somehow, this knowledge only made her more afraid.

  The voice then spat insults at her, using language foul enough to make her cringe. She felt as if she were shriveling.

  But then a warm strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her close. Shaun’s musky scent covered her senses, leather with a hint of pine that blanketed her. The man flung arrows at her, but Shaun was her shield.

  “You cancel this party,” the man said, “or I will hurt you.” He hung up.

  In the silence that followed, Shaun’s arm tightened around her.

  “Was that him?” Her father’s outraged voice shot out from the doorway.

  He wheeled himself into the room, his expression livid. “He called the house? He knows our number?”

  Shaun turned off the voice recorder app on his phone and stowed it into his pocket. Monica watched him, rather than answering her father. She didn’t know what to say. The voice had struck at her, and she felt vulnerable.

  “You’ll stop work on this clinic right now,” her father roared. “It was a stupid idea from the beginning. I told you that, but you’re too pigheaded to see when something is doomed to fail.”

  Her father’s words were almost as horrible as the stalker’s. She felt herself shriveling again. He was being completely unreasonable, but she didn’t have the strength to fight him right now.

  “Mr. Grant,” Shaun said, his voice steely. “You need to back off.”

  No one had ever stood up to her father for her before. Her sisters tried, but she never let them fight her battles for her. She’d never before felt so vulnerable that she couldn’t hold her own against him.

  But now, in this moment when she’d been weak, Shaun was strong. For her.

  At first, her father looked as astonished as Monica felt. Then he snapped, “You’re out of line.” Her father’s temper had always been a match for her own, although he hid it better from other people. In a sense, he and Monica were too much alike. But Monica freely exercised her emotions and instincts in order to help people while her father channeled his emotions into his vision for his spa.

  “No, I think you’re out of line,” Shaun replied. “I realize you’re worried about Monica’s safety, but what you’re saying isn’t true.”

  Worried? He hadn’t sounded worried. He’d sounded disdainful.

  “I know what’s true and what’s not,” he shot back. “She’s my daughter.”

  “You’re seeing her as your daughter, not as a businesswoman, and she’s both.”

  “She’s not. She thinks she’s a businesswoman, but she hasn’t proven it to me.” His mouth formed a slash across his tight face.

  It was like it always was. He would never acknowledge anything she chose to do if it wasn’t in line with his plans for her.

  Well, she wasn’t going to give in—not to the stalker, and not to her father’s disapproval of her.

  Monica reached out and touched Shaun’s arm. He looked at her, then took a step away from her father.

  “We’re done, Dad.” She turned and walked out of the library.

  “You come back here,” he said.

  “You’ve said everything you need to say,” Shaun told him, then hurried after her. He closed the library door after him.

  She stumbled through the house, feeling like a blind woman, but finally she found a back door and tripped out into the rose garden.

  There weren’t many roses, only a few early ones that had just opened their buds. But the bright spots of color lining the walkway relaxed her. She didn’t remember much about her mother because she’d been only a child when her mother had been killed by a drunk driver, but Monica did have a hazy memory of walking through the rosebushes, holding her mom’s hand.

  She reached the center of the garden before she realized Shaun was only a few steps behind her, watching out for her. She turned into his arms and began to cry.

  Not delicate, beautiful tears, but heaving sobs tore out of her. She clung to Shaun, holding him tight, because he was a rock in the storm of her fear and pain.

  When she finally quieted, she stood there, her face pressed to his tear-soaked cotton shirt. “I’m sorry about your shirt,” she mumbled.

  “I needed to wash it, anyway,” he quipped. “I try to do it once a year.”

  She laughed at his dumb joke, and for a moment, she thought she’d start crying again. But she took a deep breath and felt his strength seep into her.

  His hands reached up to cup her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears. She saw his face dimly through her swollen eyes, but then his head blocked out the sun, and he bent down to kiss her.

  His kiss was tentative at first, as if he wanted to give her something precious but wasn’t sure how to do it. But when she leaned into him, he deepened the kiss. His fingers caressed her skin in a comforting touch, soothing away the harshness of her argument with her father, of the stalker’s ugly phone call.

  He was someone she could so easily depend on.

  The thought made her gently pull away. She didn’t want to depend on him, she didn’t want to get involved with someone like him. Ultimately, it would only cause her worry and pain. She forced herself to remember why she’d quit the Emergency Room, of the heartbreaking times she’d witnessed the pain of women who had lost their brave husbands. She had vowed she’d never be one of them.

  Shaun could never be anything other than who he was, a protector. She wouldn’t want him to change. But it also meant he could never be hers. She wouldn’t let that happen.

  She wiped her eyes, wishing for a handkerchief and settling for the cuffs of her shirt. She turned away from him and continued walking slowly through the rose garden.

  He fell into step beside her. Neither of them spoke, maybe because they didn’t want to have to acknowledge what had just happened.

  “It’s not too late to stop work on this clinic,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.” She wasn’t as long as he was with her. “Everything the stalker does brings us a step closer to him.”

  “I don’t see how a threatening phone call brought us any closer.”

  “It was the number he dialed,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When Evita told me someone had called the home telephone number and asked for me, I knew something was wrong. The home phone number is unlisted, and I never give it out to anyone—not to banks, not to my credit card company, not even for my library card. I always use either my cell phone number or the number of my apartment in San Francisco.”

  “That’s why you immediately put the call on speakerphone,”
he said.

  “I wasn’t sure if it would be the stalker, but I knew there could be something important. So now the question is—How did he discover my home phone number?”

  They needed this next clue to be one more step closer to finding the stalker, but it was like trying to dig a needle out of a haystack.

  Shaun rubbed his tired eyes. After looking through Monica’s credit card statements and bills and other paper files for the past couple hours, the numbers and letters were starting to swim in his vision. They’d checked everything—frequent flyer memberships, rental cars, library card, grocery store mailing lists and dozens of online retailers, anything that would have required information for an account. Anyone devious enough could call up a store or business and get a clerk or customer service rep to recite the phone number listed on Monica’s account.

  She sat back in her chair and sighed. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing,” he said. They’d called all the places she’d done business, according to all her records, but they all had either her cell phone number or her San Francisco apartment number in their records, not the home telephone number.

  She flung her hands up. “How in the world did he get my home phone number?”

  Something about her phrasing made him pause. “We’re looking at this the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said, your home phone number. But you’re not the only one who lives here.”

  She straightened in her chair. “Of course! My sisters or father or aunt could have given out this number to some business, and the stalker could have found a way to get that business to give him the phone number.”

  “Can you get to your family’s papers?”

  “Dad’s might be hard, but definitely my sisters’ and my aunt’s personal papers. I’ll call them first to ask.” She took out her cell phone.

  An hour later, he was sifting through Becca’s credit card statement from a few months ago and saw a charge for International Theater. “What’s this?” He showed it to Monica.

  She frowned at it for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “It’s a video rental place downtown. They specialize in international movies. Aunt Becca likes to rent Korean soap operas on DVD.”

  “Do you need to be a member to rent DVDs?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s find out.” He pulled out the Yellow Pages book, found the DVD rental place, and called them using the phone on Monica’s desk, putting it on speakerphone.

  “Hi, Ms. Itoh,” said a young woman when she answered the phone. “What can I help you with today?”

  Monica’s expression was bewildered.

  Shaun gestured for her to respond. He had a feeling he knew what had happened.

  “Hi, there. Uh…how’d you know it was me?” Monica said.

  “Oh, well, the other day, after your brother-in-law came by to update your account telephone number, I inputed the home phone and your cell phone numbers into the computer, and when you called, it showed your name on the Caller ID. I see you’re calling from your home phone.”

  Bingo. A man had gone to the store posing as Augustus Grant and managed to get the clerk to give him Becca Itoh’s home phone number. He’d probably given some story about wanting to make sure the number was correct, and if the clerk could please tell him what the number on file was.

  Shaun spoke up. “Hi there, we’re on speakerphone. I have a question for you. Do you have videotape surveillance at your store?”

  “Oh, yes. We’re very conscious of security because of the many hard-to-find videos at our store. We have a closed-circuit system and we keep the videotapes for up to a month.”

  “That’s great,” Shaun said. “We’re going to need to come by to look at those.”

  “You will?” The girl’s voice rose. “Why?”

  “Because you gave this telephone number to a man posing as Augustus Grant.”

  The girl was silent a long moment, then began sputtering. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.…”

  “It’s fine,” Monica rushed in to assure her. “But if you could show us the video so we can see who got the telephone number, that would be very helpful to us.”

  “Certainly. Of course. I’m so sorry.…”

  “Thank you. We’ll be by shortly.” Monica hung up and then glared at Shaun. “Did you have to phrase it like that? The poor girl is traumatized.”

  “She shouldn’t have given out your home phone number without even asking to see a driver’s license,” Shaun said. “Besides, since she now realizes she did something wrong, she’ll be likely to let us look at the video surveillance without questioning us.”

  Monica again insisted on driving and they went to the DVD rental store in downtown Sonoma. The day was overcast today, but no rain, and a cold wind blew them into the store.

  A young nervous woman stood behind the register, pale and slender. She bit her lip as they approached. “Er…Can I help you?”

  “My name is Monica Grant, and this is my…associate, Shaun O’Neill. We spoke on the phone.”

  “You’re not Ms. Itoh.” The girl’s brown eyes were wide like a deer.

  “Becca Itoh is my aunt.”

  Shaun nudged Monica even as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Show her your driver’s license and those bills I told you to bring.”

  Monica pulled everything out of her purse. “My driver’s license still has my San Francisco apartment number, but I’ve been living at home for the past year and a half.” She produced bills with her name and the home address on them. “Check this address with the one you have on file for Becca Itoh. I also have a credit card with the same number my aunt used, but my card has my name on it, so you can check the credit card number you have on file with my card.”

  It took almost fifteen minutes before the girl had verified they were who they said they were. Shaun supposed it was his fault for scaring her with the telephone call.

  “Now,” he said, leaning against the counter. “We want to know who you gave the Grants’ home phone number to.”

  Her gaze darted between him and Monica. “Uh…shouldn’t I tell this to the police?”

  “You can tell them, too, but first you’re going to show us the surveillance video so we can see what he looks like.”

  “It’s very important,” Monica said gently. “The man used that telephone number to call and threaten me.”

  The girl swallowed hard. “It’s in back. I’ll get my boss to show you.” She led them through a door in the wall, which opened into a small staff room with another door on the other side.

  She knocked tentatively until a gruff voice said, “What is it, Natalie?”

  “Uncle Randy, I have a couple of customers here who need to talk to you.”

  The door opened to a tall, very slender man with wispy gray-brown hair. He peered at them through his silver-framed glasses. “How can I help you?”

  “A man posed as my father,” Monica said, “and manipulated Natalie into giving him our home telephone number.”

  The way she’d phrased it made it not sound like Natalie had so blithely given away their information. Natalie’s head was down, though, obviously embarrassed and anxious about her mistake.

  Randy frowned at his niece. “You did?”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Randy. He knew a lot about Ms. Itoh, making it seem that he was who he said he was.”

  “It might actually turn out to be a good thing,” Monica said quickly, “because Natalie said that you have video surveillance in the store. We’ve been trying to get a picture of this man.”

  “Yes, the videos are here.” Randy stepped aside so they could enter his office. It was a large room, with his desk on one side and on the other side a wall unit with two televisions and the recording equipment. Randy sat at a chair in front of the wall unit and brought up the video archive feed. “When did this happen?”

  “Five days ago,” Natalie said.

  The video feed appeared in one of
the TV screens, and he fast-forwarded it until Natalie said, “There.”

  He played the video at normal speed, and it showed a tall man with a very large protruding stomach and even less hair than Randy.

  Definitely not Phillip.

  “Who is that?” Monica asked.

  “You don’t know?” he asked.

  “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  Was this the stalker? But people had described an average man, average height. The man in the video was very tall and balding. He could have worn a wig, perhaps, but he couldn’t have disguised his height.

  “He said he was Augustus Grant,” Natalie said, “and that Ms. Itoh was his sister-in-law. Ms. Itoh is one of our best customers, and he knew her address, and where she worked. He said that she’d sent him to make sure we had the right telephone number on file for the house. I had a home phone and a cell phone. He told me the home phone number was correct but the cell phone number was wrong, and he gave me a new one.”

  Shaun reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “What number did he give you?”

  Natalie went out to the computer behind the register to get the phone number, and when she gave it to Shaun, he dialed it.

  It went to a disconnected number.

  “Did you read off Becca’s cell phone number to him, too?” Shaun asked.

  Natalie shook her head quickly. “I only gave the first few digits and he said that it was wrong, and gave me the new one.”

  “But you read off the entire number for the home phone.”

  Natalie’s eyes fell to the floor as she nodded.

  It would make the man seem a bit more legitimate, Shaun supposed, if he didn’t ask her to read off both numbers to him entirely. His interrupting her seemed more natural.

  Whoever this guy was, he was good.

  “Could we take this video to the police?” Monica asked. “They might be able to find out who this man is.”

  “Sure,” Randy said. “Anything to help.” He popped the DVD out of the player and gave it to them. “I’m sorry again, folks. It won’t happen again.”