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"Miss DeVane?"
The voice of her secretary coming from her intercom dragged Willow from a wealth of daydreams. Straightening, she smoothed a hand over her still-flat stomach, grinned when she thought about it filling with Raith's baby, and answered, "Yes?"
"Your new client, Mr. Kettle, is here to meet with you."
Willow cleared her throat, hoping it would help clear her head as well. "Thank you, Jan. Please send him in."
She pasted a greeting smile to her face as she pushed to her feet but stopped cold as she spotted a figurine sitting on top of her filing cabinet. Frowning at it, she moved closer and sucked in a gasp.
The cop statue had returned.
Slowly, she reached out to touch it, thinking it couldn't be real. But the cool metal surface grazed her fingertips, letting her know she wasn't imagining anything.
Behind her, the door opened and a prickle of awareness shot up the back of her neck.
"Ah," came a smooth, cultured voice. "You found my present this time, I see."
She whirled around. As soon as she realized who was entering the tiny office, she opened her mouth to demand he leave, but she was so shocked, no words came out.
He shut the door behind him, locking it. "Scream and I'll cut your throat before anyone can save you," he told her, producing a huge knife in his hand.
Willow nodded, believing him. She couldn't take her gaze off that long blade, light glinting off the silver surface as he lifted it. "You broke into my home," she managed to say aloud.
He smiled. "Remember me, do you?"
"Actually, I remember that knife. I think you left its twin at my place the other night. If you're coming to retrieve it, I'm sorry, but I don't have it any longer. You might try the police station. I think they said they'd keep it safe until you showed up to claim it."
"Well, well. You're just a regular comedian now, aren't you, Willow? I couldn't see your smartass side after watching you from so far away these past few weeks."
Watching her? The creep really had been stalking her. Her skin crawled, tingling up her arms, along the back of her neck, and down her spine. "I can be direct if you like," she said. "Get out of my office. Now."
His amused smile fell. "That wasn't very nice."
"Stalking me and vandalizing my house isn't very nice," she countered, licking her suddenly dry lips. She glanced toward the phone on her desk. How fast could she lunge toward it and dial 911?
Probably about as fast as he could lunge toward her and slice her throat.
She swallowed. "What do you want?"
"I want to end your life," he answered, making her shiver by the evil relish in his voice.
Her purse sat behind her on her cabinet. Maybe she could inch backward, somehow dig her cell phone out, and call for help without him knowing. She shifted a step in reverse. "I don't even know you."
"Ah, but you know my buddy Malloy real well. Don't you?"
Willow froze.
"Yeah," he told her, his eyes flashing wicked delight. "Now, it's finally sinking in. I've been following him since the moment I got out of prison. He's the one who led me to you. He's the one you should thank for my, what was it you said, my stalking you."
She shook her head, confused. "I don't understand."
"Let me spell it out then, sweetheart. Malloy and I go way back. He's the asshole who got me sent to prison for two years. Two years of my life... gone. I had to live through horrors because of him." His bright eyes— glazed with insanity—trailed over her body. "Well, now I'm going to take something from him and teac
h him the true meaning of horror. Don't you think that's fair?"
"Um," she said in a small voice. "Well, no. Now that you mention it, I don't. Not really. I mean, I'm just an innocent third party here. I don't—"
