Watching You

by Gemma Halliday

  Here’s what people are saying about

  the novels and stories of Gemma Halliday:

  "Stylish... nonstop action...guaranteed to keep chick lit and mystery fans happy!" - Publishers Weekly, starred review

  "A saucy combination of romance and suspense that is simply irresistible." - The Chicago Tribune

  "Fresh and witty little number that will appeal if you like sparkling, good stories with a splash of mystery. Full marks go to Ms. Halliday on what promises to be a very successful debut to a fabulous career." - Deborah Kimpton, Romance Junkies

  "Gemma Halliday writes like a seasoned author leaving the reader hanging on to every word, every clue, every delicious scene of the book. It’s a fun and intriguing mystery full of laughs and suspense." - Once Upon A Romance

  "SPYING IN HIGH HEELS is a roller coaster ride full of fun and excitement!" - Diana Risso, Romance Reviews Today

  "This charming debut novel by Gemma Halliday delightfully combines the best parts of chick lit with light mystery in the same vein as Janet Evanovich and Meg Cabot. Smart, funny and snappy, SPYING IN HIGH HEELS is the perfect beach read!" - Meghan Fryett, Fresh Fiction

  "(Watching You was) sometimes spooky…the novella read like a journal, with the main character writing down times and habits of the woman that he was watching. That would be scary to have someone keeping tabs on you and what you do. But it ended very differently from what I originally thought was going on." - Ruth Schaller, ParaNormal Romance

  * * * * *

  WATCHING YOU

  by

  GEMMA HALLIDAY

  * * * * *

  ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2009 by Gemma Halliday

  http://www.gemmahalliday.com

  http://www.facebook.com/gemmahallidayauthor

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  * * * *

  WATCHING YOU

  * * * *

  9:07pm. She walked in her front door. Dropped her briefcase on the floor, kicked off her shoes. Heels. Always heels, this one. Dale wondered if maybe she had a height complex. From a distance, he judged her to be petite, no more than 5’3”. She was slim and compact, not a surprise considering how many hours he’d watched her put in at the gym. Ten in the last week. He had to be impressed by that.

  She pushed a button on her answering machine and a mechanical voice told her she had no messages. Not, of course, that Dale could hear it from his car across the street. But he knew there were never any messages by her body language, the way she quickly turned away from the machine, the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly forward. The way she never called anyone back. He wondered why she kept checking day after day.

  She crossed into the kitchen, obscuring Dale’s view for a moment. He took the opportunity to readjust his binoculars, wiping a single bead of sweat from his forehead. It was easily ninety, even with the sun setting behind him into the San Francisco Bay. He would have killed to flip on the AC but was afraid the engine running might attract attention. No, better to suffer the heat. The last thing he needed was some yahoo calling the SFPD on a peeping Tom.

  She emerged from the kitchen, crossing in front of the windows again, a glass of wine in hand. Something white and dry. He knew she didn’t go for that fruity shit. He’d been a step behind her at the supermarket yesterday when she’d purchased the bottle.

  He shrugged his tight shoulders, sweat dampening the back of his t-shirt as he watched her flip on her stereo. Her head rolled back, her eyes closing, her body instantly swaying to the rhythm. He wished he knew what she was listening to. Jazz? Beethoven? Some pop singer? He had no idea. But in his mind, he liked to pretend it was a smooth Sinatra standard. Light, clean, classic. It fit her.

  She carried her glass of wine into the bedroom, her movements fluid as the music made her tense shoulders loosen. She worked too hard. Most lawyers did, but he could tell she was driven in a way that just making associate at age twenty-five, or partner by thirty wouldn’t ever be enough for her. Something inside drove her. She was single minded, relentless. She would never quit, never stop, never be satisfied with less than everything. He admired it. And yet, at the same time it was exactly what made him know he needed to be here. That as much as he knew it was wrong to follow her, to track her every movement like some sort hunter with his unsuspecting prey, he had to do this. Had to watch her. Had to follow her. Had to be that shadow, just waiting for the right moment.

  Still swaying to the music, she slowly pulled her blouse over her head, exposing a lacy, pink bra that made Dale shift in his seat. This was his favorite part of the night. When it was just the two of them, alone. When she was relaxed and uninhibited. He felt like he was seeing the real her, the real Isabella. Not the tough defense council, not the stylish urbanite, and not the dutiful daughter. Just her. Bella.

  And him.

  She reached down and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground in a pile.

  “Wash day, honey?” he whispered to himself, noting the plain, white cotton panties she wore beneath. Not that he minded. He shifted in his seat again. She had the kind of body that didn’t need lace to dress it up. She could have been in polka dots and still made him swell in his jeans.

  She turned, her back to the large, floor to ceiling windows that flanked the walls of her loft. Then undid the clasp on her bra, letting it fall away to reveal the smooth expanse of her bare back.

  Dale held his breath. What he wouldn’t give to make her turn around right now.

  Instead, she crossed the room, disappearing into the bathroom.

  He let out a long breath through his nose as if to cleanse himself of her image. He knew she’d spend the next twenty minutes in there, bathing, then emerge wrapped in a towel, slide beneath her silk sheets, set her alarm, and fall asleep.

  Dale set the binoculars down, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Jesus, it was hot. He pulled his little notebook from his pocket.

  9:26pm. Bubble Bath.

  He leaned back against the torn headrest, flipping on the radio, listening to the Giants game while he waited for her to finish her nightly ritual. When she was done, he’d drive back to the shitty little apartment he’d rented two blocks away and close his eyes for a couple hours before being back here at dawn again.

  He’d close his eyes, but he was never sure if sleep would actually come. Lately, all he saw behind his eyelids were images of her.

  Her.

  Always her.

  He breathed in deeply and could swear he almost smelled the soft, floral scent of her bubble bath.

  Soon. It would all be over soon.
>
  The one thought that kept him sane. She’d become his whole world, his every thought. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

  Soon…

  * * *

  4:15pm. Starbucks.

  Dale watched as she walked into the café across the street, standing in the queue behind half a dozen other caffeine addicted suits for her afternoon pick-me-up. He waited three beats, then got out of his car, the rusty hinges of the Ford Festiva groaning in protest. It was a shit car; Dale was surprised it even ran. He’d purchased it two months ago. Cash. On the upside, at least he didn’t have to worry about anyone stealing it.

  Dale waited for a pause in the afternoon traffic, then jogged across the street just in time to see Isabella give her order to the multi-pierced barista. He pulled his ball cap lower on his head, careful not to glance her way too often as he got in line, and ordered. Plain coffee. The barista snorted at him, making her lip piercing bounce up and down, but put in the order. He slid to the side, taking a position along the wall as he waited for his drink.

  Which came up first, of course. The reason he forwent the cappuccino he really wanted, instead adding mass amounts of sugar and cream to the bitter black coffee that he knew was a fast order. One that would have him ready to move when she was.

  “Isabella?” the kid behind the counter called, shoving a frosty looking thing full of whipped cream to the window. Her one indulgence.

  He watched her grab it, her pupils wide like a kid staring at a shiny Christmas bike. He couldn’t help the corner of his mouth tilting up. She was cute like that. He could almost picture her as that kid.

  She wrapped her lips around the straw, taking that first heavenly sip. Her head lulled to one side, her throat bobbing up and down, her eyes fluttering closed for half a second.

  Which is probably why she didn’t notice the suit to her left and bumped right into him, spilling his expensive latte all over his sleeve.

  “Oh, God. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, grabbing at a pile of napkins.

  Dale receded behind the growing number of people waiting for drinks, keeping his back to her.

  “No, no, it’s fine. My fault. I should have had a lid on it,” the man responded. He was blond, clean cut, polished to a high shine. Either a stock broker or a used car salesman.

  “Oh, your suit! Look what I’ve done.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s getting warm out there anyway, I’ll just take the jacket off.” He smiled down at her. A thing that must have cost his parents a mint in orthodontics.

  “You sure? Here, at least let me buy you another drink,” she offered, still mopping at his soggy sleeve.

  He grinned. “From a pretty gal like you, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

  What an asshole.

  Dale watched them both get back in line, the blond’s hand skimming the small of Isabella’s back. He grabbed a paper from the rack by the window and settled into a worn chair, flipping it open. World News. Whatever. It was a prop, nothing more. His attention was riveted to the newcomer.

  “I swear I’m usually not this big of a kltuz,” Isabella told him.

  “Hmm,” the man looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “So, let me guess - you bumped into me on purpose just to meet me?”

  “No!” Isabella laughed, though Dale could see a blush tinge her cheeks.

  “Leo,” the man said, offering her his hand.

  She shook it. “Isabella.”

  “That’s lovely. Spanish?”

  “Italian.”

  “Mmm… my favorite.”

  Dale adjusted his ball cap. He took a big gulp of coffee, burning his tongue, as the pair made it to the front of the line, Bella paying for the asshole’s drink.

  “You work nearby?” he asked.

  Bella nodded. “Dunwood and McKittridge.”

  “Uh oh. You’re a lawyer.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not bad. But always expensive.”

  She smiled at him. A slow, soft thing that said she’d had to think about it, had to decide if this man was worthy of her smile. And apparently, he was.

  What Dale wouldn’t give for a smile like that.

  He let out a long breath through his nose, skipping to another unread page of the paper.

  “And you? What do you do, Leo?” she asked him as the kid behind the counter handed him the fresh drink.

  “Stockbroker. Meryl Lynch.”

  Figures.

  Dale downed another gulp of coffee, cringing as an unstirred clump of sugar dissolved in his throat.

  “That sounds interesting,” Isabella responded.

  “Liar. Stocks are boring as hell.”

  She laughed. Not a nervous giggle or a polite chuckle, but an actual deep in the gut laugh.

  Jesus, was she really falling for this guy’s bullshit?

  “Listen, I hate to cut this short,” Leo said, looking down at his watch. Gold Rolex. Fucker. “But I’ve got a meeting with a client.”

  “Oh.” Dale could have sworn she actually sounded disappointed.

  “But, I’d love to continue this over dinner. Tonight? Say eight o’clock?”

  Her face brightened up like she was seeing the sunshine for the first time. “I’d love to.”

  Dale watched as she pulled a business card from her purse, handing it over. Leo tucked it in the pocket of his coffee stained jacket, then gave her a wink before leaving.

  And actual dirty uncle wink. What an ass.

  Dale tossed aside his paper, stalking out of the cafe. He threw the dregs of his coffee in the nearest waste bin before sprinting across the street to his car.

  He got in, took deep, long breaths, taking stock of the situation as Isabella emerged and got into her Lexus heading west.

  For once, he didn’t follow her.

  Instead he focused on the red BMW pulling out two cars up on the left side of the street.

  Leo.

  A complication that wasn’t in Dale’s plans.

  A complication Dale didn’t need.

  He put on his blinker, merging into traffic a beat behind the flashy Beemer.

  * * *

  “This place is lovely, I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” Isabella smiled up at Leo, laying one manicured hand on his arm.

  “You’ll love the risotto,” he assured her. Then skimmed the small of her back, steering her possessively toward a dimly lit booth near the back of the restaurant.

  Dale ground his teeth together, turning on his bar stool so his face remained hidden from the pair. This was the sixth time in as many days that they’d been out together. It was pissing him off. Suddenly everywhere Dale went, there was Leo. Isabella talked about him to her friends, met him for lunch, coffee, drinks. Dinner, movies, even an evening at the opera for fuck’s sake. Didn’t this guy have any other life? She had no routine anymore. Nothing was predictable. Dale didn’t like it.

  And he didn’t like this asshole, either.

  “Champagne?” Leo asked, signaling the waiter.

  She nodded, wisps of dark hair falling in her eyes. He loved it when it did that, shifted across her face that way. Sexy as hell.

  Leo noticed, too, sending her a salacious look before perusing the wine list. Probably looking for the most expensive bottle he could find. Show off.

  Dale sipped his beer, adjusting his earpiece. After that first night, Dale hadn’t been able to stand not knowing what that creep was whispering to Isabella. So he’d “accidentally” bumped into her at the café the next day, dropping a bug in her purse. It was a given she’d find it eventually – she was too smart not to – but Dale didn’t care about eventually. What he cared about was here and now.

  And this unwanted complication.

  “So, how is the Gianni case progressing?” Leo asked.

  Isabella let out a long sigh. “Slowly.”

  He took her hand in his. “Sweetheart, you’re the most impatient person I know.” He began drawing little circles on h
er palm.

  Dale took another swig of beer.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Isabella smiled. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Dale loved it when she smiled. It lit up her whole face, made her almost look as if she were shinning from the inside out. “Anyway, we’re set to go to court next week, so it’ll all be settled soon.”

  “Hmm… I guess we’ll have to celebrate, then, won’t we?” Leo lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

  Dale set his glass down on the bar. Hard. Too hard. The guy in the business suit next to him jumped. Dale mumbled an apology, pulling his cap lower over his eyes.

  “A celebration, huh? Exactly, what did you have in mind?” Isabella sent her companion a coy smile through her curtain of dark hair.

  “Oh, I can think of a few things.” There went that look again. Like she was dessert, and Leo was about to skip the main course.

  Dale ground his teeth together.

  He’d done his homework on this guy. After following him that first day, he’d learned that Leo did, indeed, work at Meryl Lynch. He played racquetball after work. Lived in a new high-rise in Pacific Heights. Slept in the nude. After Dale’d driven back to his shit motel, he’d spent the evening on his laptop, digging even deeper. East coast native, Yale grad, law school at Stanford. He’d stuck around San Francisco since then, bouncing from one big, name-brand firm to another. His clients were the typical Silicon Valley millionaires and retired old guard money. All in all, just your average all-American GQ guy.

  Which was why Dale didn’t trust him. No one was that perfect.

  Leo leaned in close, whispering something in Isabella’s ear. She giggled, ducking her head away.