Stalker in the Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Camy Tang

  “Shaun, I found something you’ll be interested in.”

  Anticipation quickened in his gut. “Spill.”

  “I got my friend down in the Los Angeles Police Department to look up incident reports from Clare’s neighborhood around the time she died that night. A woman two doors down from your sister’s town house had called the police about an hour before Clare’s estimated time of death. She reported a man with a long black coat hanging around her house.

  “They also found out that a convenience-store clerk about a block away called the police because some kids were causing problems—making a mess, harassing the clerk. By the time the police got there, the kids were gone, but the clerk mentioned that a customer had tried to help the clerk get rid of the kids. A man had grabbed a kid and hauled him out of the store. The man hadn’t stuck around, so he wasn’t there when the police arrived, but the clerk mentioned that he was a ‘friendly guy wearing a Dresden Files coat.’”

  “Dresden Files?” The name sounded familiar—A TV show? A movie?

  “It was a television show, and the main character wore a short black leather jacket.”

  “Not a duster?”

  “Well, here’s the interesting part. Because Clare’s neighbor had mentioned a long coat, and because he knew about Phillip’s duster coat, my LAPD friend looked up Dresden Files on the internet, and he found that there was both a television show and a book series. In the show, the character wore a black leather jacket, but in the books, he wears a black leather duster.”

  The air was sucked out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath for a moment. “A duster, not just a long black coat?”

  Nathan’s voice became cautious. “Shaun, it doesn’t point directly at Phillip. The information is only circumstantial.”

  “Nathan, he’s the only one of Clare’s friends to wear one.”

  “Look, my LAPD friend is going to try to find the clerk and show him a picture of Phillip—”

  “The police never asked Phillip if he had an alibi for that night.” Bitterness had crept into Shaun’s voice. “There hasn’t been anything to indicate he might have been near her house.” Until now. He cast a look at Phillip’s relaxed face, and his fists bunched.

  “Shaun—”

  “Thanks, Nathan.” He disconnected the call and strode toward the table with a quick step. “Phillip, we need to talk,” he demanded.

  Monica’s mouth opened in shock. “Shaun.”

  Phillip gaped at him like a fish out of water.

  Dr. Uzaki, however, recovered more quickly than Monica or Phillip, and smiled politely as he stood. “It is obvious something important has occurred. Miss Grant, you have given me enough information about your clinic for me to be able to speak to my wife. I will call her now, if you’ll excuse me.” He walked toward the front of the café while pulling out his cell phone.

  Shaun refused to sit down again, and he hovered over Phillip’s nervous form. “Where were you the night my sister died?”

  A tremor went through Phillip at the mention of Clare, and his eyes widened, but his face was otherwise still. “Clare? Why do you ask about Clare? That seems kind of odd.” His hand reached up to cup his chin, with a finger covering the edge of his mouth.

  Phillip was hiding something, and Shaun didn’t know what, didn’t know how to make him talk.

  Monica seemed to pull herself together and took the situation in hand, probably to keep Shaun from embarrassing her further. She tugged on Shaun’s wrist and forced him to take a seat.

  Then she turned to Phillip. “You were friends with Clare, weren’t you?” she asked in a gentle tone. But her eyes were steady on Phillip’s face, and Shaun knew she was looking for any nuance, trying to read him.

  “We hung out with the same crowd of people every so often. I’d see her at the same parties I went to, or some of the same nightclubs.”

  Nightclubs? It reminded Shaun of something Clare’s roommate had said. “The night before Clare was found dead, she’d gone to a nightclub called The Chip. Were you there, too?”

  Phillip’s lips paled. “No. No, I’ve never gone there.”

  Monica’s eyes narrowed. “I met the owner of The Chip a few months ago at a charity ball down in L.A. He said that The Chip is unique because it has microchips that have a person’s information, like a credit card number. The chips can be put in a piece of jewelry. The bartender and the door bouncers have scanners they use to read the microchips so people can enter and buy drinks without needing to bring their IDs.” She leaned forward. “How about I call the owner and ask him if he’d look for your name in his records of chip holders?”

  The owner of the nightclub would never do that, but Phillip obviously hadn’t thought of that. He swallowed hard. “Oh, that place. I may have been there once or twice.”

  “So were you there the night Clare was?” Shaun asked.

  “Uh…” His gaze moved to follow a waitress who happened to be walking between them and the table next to them. “I don’t really remember.”

  Shaun felt his teeth grind against each other. “Tell me the truth, you lying little snake.”

  “I’m not lying. I was…I was…” Phillip’s lips opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  Shaun snapped at him. “Stop trying to make something up.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Phillip said in a high, tight voice.

  “People saw a man who looked exactly like you, wearing a black leather duster,” Shaun shouted. He dimly registered that the sounds of conversation around them quieted at his words.

  “A…a black duster? There’s…there’s got to be a mistake.” Phillip’s face looked like the white flesh of a hard-boiled egg.

  “Just admit it. You were there at my sister’s apartment,” Shaun persisted.

  Phillip flinched. “It wasn’t me,” he cried. “It was…”

  Silence fell between them. Phillip was breathing hard, his mouth tight and his eyes screwed shut. He pressed the flats of his palms against his forehead. “He’s trying to set me up,” he moaned.

  Shaun could only stare at him, the anger pitching in his stomach. “Who’s trying to set you up?”

  “I don’t know…some guy.”

  “Set you up for what?” Monica said.

  Phillip rubbed his thumb into his palm and sat hunched at the table, his eyes on his lap. Finally, as if each word pained him, he said, “I know Clare didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”

  ELEVEN

  The words hung in the air between them, and Shaun began to shake. His gut boiled and frothed. “You killed her.”

  “No!” Phillip’s eyes were wild. “He tried to set me up.”

  “Who?” Monica said.

  “I don’t know who. I know…” A moan gusted out of him. “I gave Clare a ride home from The Chip that night. All I did was stop in front of her townhouse, walk her to the door, and then get back in my car to drive away. I drove maybe a block,” Phillip said. “Then I realized I’d forgotten to ask her something. I don’t even remember what, now. I stopped, and rather than making a three-point turn, I looked in the rearview mirror to see if I could just back the car down the road to her townhouse. But I saw a guy…” His mouth pulled back, as if he was in pain. “I saw a guy in a black leather duster, just like mine, just like the one I’d been wearing that night. He crossed the street to Clare’s townhouse, rang the doorbell, and she opened the door for him.”

  “You’re saying Clare let another man into her townhouse that night?” Monica’s mouth was open in surprise.

  “And he happened to be wearing the same type of leather coat as you,” Shaun sneered. “Nice story, Bromley.”

  “You’ve got to believe me, it’s true,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Monica asked.

  “Tell someone? After Clare was found dead the next morning? Are you crazy? If I went forward and cast doubt that it hadn’t been suicide, the police would investigate and all the evidence was going to point to me, not
to some other guy who happens to wear the same eccentric coat as me. I was seen wearing that coat in all the same clubs that Clare went to.”

  Phillip covered his face with his hands, and his voice was muffled as he said, “No one else came forward to say they’d seen a guy in a duster being let into Clare’s house that night. I knew I was the only one who’d seen him. I stayed quiet because any of the evidence would have gotten me in trouble.”

  “What evidence?” Monica said.

  “Her roommate told me she had overdosed on heroin.” Phillip’s hands fell from his face. “I used heroin five years ago.”

  “And you still say you didn’t kill her?” Shaun said. “You’re sitting there and telling me you didn’t stalk her and kill her?”

  “Stalk her?” Phillip’s mouth dropped open. “Stalk her? What are you talking about?”

  Monica reached out a hand and touched his forearm. “You didn’t know about the stalker?”

  “She had a stalker?” Phillip fell back against his seat. “Oh, my goodness. That explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Monica said.

  Phillip turned to her. “I swear, until this moment, I didn’t know Clare had had a stalker. But whenever I hung out with her and her boyfriend wasn’t around, she always seemed on edge. I even asked her about it, and she told me she was just stressed about work.”

  “How could you not know about the stalker?” Monica asked. “She confronted you about the snake venom.”

  “But she didn’t say it was from a stalker. I thought it might have been from someone threatening her about the family planning clinic. Her boyfriend got threats and nasty gifts all the time.”

  Phillip then suddenly sat up straight, regarding Monica with understanding dawning in his eyes. “Clare’s clinic. And your clinic. That’s why you’re asking me about Clare. He’s stalking you, too.”

  Phillip’s entire face seemed to lengthen as he stared at her with wide eyes and wide mouth.

  For a moment, Shaun believed his surprise. But then that same familiar feeling of helplessness washed over him, making him feel like he was drowning. Phillip couldn’t be innocent. He had to be lying. He had to be Clare’s killer. Shaun had to have finally found Clare’s killer.

  “I’m not stalking you, Monica,” Phillip said, his words coming out fast and babbling. “I’m not. I promise. I know I’ve wanted to talk to you and get close to you, but it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

  “Why were you at the Zoe banquet?” Monica asked. “You deliberately bought a ticket.”

  Phillip’s eyes darted to Shaun, then back to Monica. Then his eyes and mouth drooped as he said in a small voice, “I wanted to speak to Patrick O’Neill.”

  “My father? He and your dad don’t even get along. Why would you want to talk to him?”

  “I know, that’s why I went to the Zoe banquet. I knew he’d be there. I want to partner with him in one of his hotels.”

  “What?” Shaun said. “You’re a banker.”

  “With your dad’s track record with hotels, it’s sure to be a good investment. I’ve always wanted to go in on a hotel with him. That’s one of the reasons I started hanging out with Clare all those years ago, to try to get close to him. But then Clare and I became real friends and I wasn’t interested in her only to get to her father.”

  Shaun didn’t realize his hands were in fists until he looked down and saw his white knuckles. He forced them to open but he couldn’t get them to relax.

  Phillip turned to Monica. “I went to the Zoe banquet and overheard Patrick talking to you about your dad’s hotel. I didn’t even know your father was Patrick’s next hotel project until that moment. That’s why I went to talk to you, and talk about the clinic, and maybe try to get involved in the new hotel.”

  Monica had stretched her shoulders and eased back in her seat, away from Phillip.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that it’s been something I’ve wanted for a long time, to work with Patrick O’Neill on one of his hotels. I don’t want to be a VP at my dad’s bank for the rest of my life.”

  She regarded him for a long time, her eyes assessing and observant. Then she pushed back her half-eaten sandwich. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not hungry anymore. I think it’s best we cut this lunch short. Please give our excuses to Dr. Uzaki when he returns.”

  “I’m still interested in your clinic,” Phillip said earnestly.

  Sure, he was. Shaun knew what Phillip was thinking. If he contributed to her clinic, she might still enable him to invest in her father’s hotel. He didn’t know that Augustus Grant would never allow an outside investor.

  Monica’s face was carefully neutral as she replied, “Thank you, Phillip. I’ll contact you later about it.” She stood up.

  Shaun got to his feet and found that his entire body was trembling. He clenched his hands and walked out of the restaurant after Monica, but a part of his mind was shouting at him not to leave Phillip Bromley sitting there not paying for the consequences of his actions.

  They had parked at the Union Square parking garage, but instead of steering them back to their car, Monica pulled Shaun up the concrete steps to the park in the middle of Union Square. “Let’s walk and clear our heads first.”

  He didn’t need to clear his head. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to either prove Phillip Bromley was lying or find Clare’s killer.

  But Monica threaded her arm through his and pulled him along. They walked in silence for several minutes, passing other people in the park, circling the monument in the center of it. Monica looked up at the figure of a woman at the top of the tall column, called “Victory.”

  He didn’t feel very victorious. He felt tied down. He was so close and yet nowhere nearer to finding out who killed Clare.

  Finally Monica said, “Why are you so angry at him?”

  “Because he’s lying,” Shaun snapped.

  She stopped and turned to face him. “You remind me of Jason Mars.”

  “What? I’m nothing like Jason Mars.”

  “Do you remember when I told you about the first time I talked to him? I thought he had some kind of anger simmering under the surface, but I knew it had nothing to do with me or what we were talking about. We found out later he was angry because he thought Brett Marshall had seduced his wife.”

  Shaun didn’t like where this conversation was going. “For all we know, Brett Marshall did seduce his wife.”

  Monica wasn’t to be distracted. “Well, you’re angry, too. And while you think you’re angry at Phillip Bromley, you’re really angry at yourself.”

  Her words were like a punch to the gut, making the air whoosh out of his lungs. He stared at her for a moment, then pulled his arm away from her and started walking away.

  She ran after him, tugged at his arm, made him stop. Then she put her hands on either side of his face and made him look at her.

  Her eyes were clear and soothing, like looking into a cup of tea. He couldn’t speak, but her eyes seemed to be trying to read his thoughts so he wouldn’t have to.

  “Why are you angry at yourself?” she asked softly. “Is it because of Clare? You couldn’t have done anything. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I could have been here,” he mumbled. “I could have noticed something was wrong, I could have made her tell me about the stalker. I could have prevented her from moving to L.A.”

  “Oh, Shaun,” she breathed. Her fingers caressed his face. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Do you really think you need to be a superhero?”

  Maybe he did. He had so many people he had to take care of, not just Clare, but also the people at the border.… He looked away from her, but her hands were strong, and she forced his eyes back on hers.

  “It’s not just Clare,” she said.

  “Everyone I should protect dies,” he blurted.

  His words made her eyes widen, and she went rigid for a second. But then suddenly she pulled his head down and kissed him.

  Her
lips were warm and soft. It was as if she wanted to give him something he needed, something he lacked. As if she could give him the strength he needed.

  He pulled back and they stared at each other for a long moment. Then she dropped her hands from his face, leaving his skin feeling cold.

  She took his arm and led him to the steps leading up to the park, and then pulled him down to sit. “Why did you say that?” she asked him.

  “Never mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  He didn’t answer.

  He shivered in a chill wind blowing in from the San Francisco Bay, making the city colder than the warm rolling hills of Sonoma or the hot beaches of southern California. She was trying to dig into a deeper part of him that he didn’t want to uncover, a dark place he didn’t want to go.

  She searched his face with those clear eyes. “Something happened more recently than Clare’s death. Something that’s still raw and hurts you.”

  Images rose up in his mind. He’d joined the border patrol to right wrongs, but it seemed there were more and more wrongs committed every day that he couldn’t fix. The coyotes, the men who smuggled Mexican nationals over the border into America, were ruthless and completely without morals. Time and again, he’d see the coyotes commit horrible atrocities to their human charges and get away with it.

  The last straw had been a car chase that ended with the coyote driving a van of people over the edge of an embankment and into a raging river. The coyote had swum to safety, but the people had been locked in the van. Shaun had plunged into the water to try to get to the van before it sank, but he’d had to watch as the people drowned in front of him—men, women, children. He heard their fists pounding against the metal sides of the van as it sank below the waters, as he tried to swim faster and get to them. He dove to try to find the van, to open a door before it sank too far, but he couldn’t dive deep enough.

  “They all died.”

  He didn’t realize he’d been telling the story out loud until that moment. He didn’t realize her hand was twined with his, gripping his fingers tightly.