After a quick trip to the kitchen, I pull the bottle of merlot off the quartz counter—not my first choice of drink, but Mandy likes it—and rummage around for a corkscrew. After a twist or two, followed by a soft pop, I uncork the bottle. A nearby cabinet produces a couple of wine glasses. I fill each and take them into the living room to wait. We’ll talk for a bit, make sure Oliver is nice and asleep, then…it’s on.
As I set the stems on the coffee table, I catch a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye. Movement. A person in dark clothing on the lanai out back, peering through the sliding door.
My heart jolts. I drag in a breath to counter its pounding as I straighten and make my way to the back of the house, trying to act as if I don’t have a care in the world. No need to alert whoever’s out there that I’m on to him. But once I hit the hall—out of the lurker’s sight—I sprint to the bedroom and back to the closet, where Mandy leans over the crib, patting Oliver’s back, trying to soothe him and still his restless kicking.
“I put some numbing gel on his gums,” she says without looking up. “He should be comfortable soon.”
“Mandy, listen to me. Someone is outside. A man. Where’s your phone?”
She tenses, eyes flaring wide. “In my purse. In the bedroom. D-do you think it’s…him?”
I pull a grim face. “Who else would be out there?”
“Any chance he’s just a guy walking the beach?”
“Dressed in a ski mask and head-to-toe black while peeking in the back door?”
“Oh, my god. How could this crazy man have found me, especially so quickly?”
That’s my question, too.
“Get your phone.” I pull my Glock from its holster.
Mandy rushes to grab her device. “What should we do?”
“Not we. Me. I’m going out there to find him.”
“What? No! It’s too dangerous. Let me call the police and—”
“Don’t count on them to save us. They took too long last time, and your intruder escaped. I don’t know if this is the same guy, but just in case, I’ll make sure he can’t get away. Stay here with Oliver.”
I sprint from the closet and down the hall. As I approach the living room, Glock pressed to my thigh, I relax my gait so I don’t tip off the son of a bitch still peeping through the glass door. With my free hand, I lift the nearest wine glass and sip, pretending to cast a casual glance outside.
The dark shadow jerks away again.
Fuck him. I’m putting a stop to this now.
With an easy gait, I head to the kitchen. Once I’m no longer visible from the lanai door, I creep to the garage and sidestep Joe’s Mustang before sneaking out to the side of the house. Pressing my back against the exterior wall, I edge toward whoever’s lurking, grateful that the brisk tropical breeze and the rustling palms mask the sound of my footsteps.
When I finally reach the edge of the lanai, I spot him. He’s roughly average height and average build. Good. I’m also grateful he didn’t bring a mob for me to contend with. He’s alone—and staring intently through the glass into the living room. If he’s smart, he’s wondering where the hell I went.
Then again, since he’s not doing a very good job of hiding himself, he’s clearly not the sharpest tool.
As I inch away from the villa, I crouch behind the lush foliage surrounding the lanai, slowly flanking him until I creep beyond his line of sight. Then, one stealthy step at a time, I sneak up behind him and press the barrel of my gun against his skull. “Hold still, motherfucker, or you’ll be missing half your brain.”
“D-don’t shoot. Please. It’s n-not what you think, I swear.” His voice is a squeak, and he sounds like he’s about to wet himself.
Either he’s an exceptional actor or he’s never committed a crime in his life, especially murder.
“Who are you?”
“Where’s Amanda?”
“Shut up. You’ll never touch her,” I vow as I pat him down for weapons. Nothing, so I reach around him and rap on the glass door.
“What are you doing?” He trembles.
Good. He should be scared. “I’m asking the questions. Why are you after Amanda? Were you the one who tried to stab her the other night?”
Before he can answer, Mandy bustles into the living room and, wide eyed, wrenches the door open. “Oh, my god.”
I shove the stalker inside, not caring when he stumbles over the threshold and falls onto the carpet on his hands and knees. “I’m guessing this is your intruder from the other night. He asked for you by name.”
Mandy stares intently, as if she’s trying to look through his ski mask. “What do you want? I’m calling the police.”
“No!” He scrambles to his feet.
I grab his neck and squeeze, cutting off his windpipe, and press the gun to his head again. “Don’t move.”
He raises his hands in the air. “Amanda, please! Let me explain.”
Shock and recognition cross Mandy’s face. “Bruce?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He peels off his ski mask to reveal mussed brown hair, panicked brown eyes, and a pasty face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Well, a little… I thought if you were frightened enough, you would come home and—”
“You’re the one who’s been terrifying me? And you broke into Nia’s house with a knife?”
“Just for show. I was never going to use it.”
“Oh, my god. You have stitches where I hit you with the vase?” She gazes at the angry red wound crisscrossed by dark thread.
He nods. “And a mild concussion.”
“Why would you do all this?”
“Do you really have to ask? You know how I feel.”
Is he serious? This was some fucked-up way of telling her he loves her?
I wedge my body between him and Mandy—and come face to face with her “nemesis.” He’s probably a decade younger than me, but he
