Eyes On You Part 21

"Will do."

"That said, I think we should turn the spotlight on Vicky. She's the first person you suspected, so let's start with her and work our way from there."

"If she's done torturing me, how do we catch her at anything?"

"By checking out her past."

"Her past?"

"Yes. If there's one lesson I learned in the DA's office, it's that people who do bad things have generally done the same kind of thing before. Maybe not identical but close enough. I also want to find out how tech-oriented Vicky is. That could explain if she knew how to send a botnet."

"One point you should be aware of?" I said. "The brownie was left for me when Vicky was in D.C. So if she was after me, she didn't operate alone."

"Good to know."

I reached out and touched Alex's arm. "There's a chance, Alex, that you could put your own job in jeopardy by snooping around on my behalf."

He smiled warmly and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

"It wouldn't be the end of the world not to cover underb.o.o.bage anymore," he said. He glanced at his watch. "I better hit the road."

I walked him to his car. The night sky was practically white with stars, but there was no moon this evening, and Bettina's house was a dark, hulking shape.

"Have you watched the show the last few nights?" Alex asked.

"No, it would kill me to see it," I told him.

"If it's any consolation, it's a disaster. They've named Hadley as the temporary fill-in, but she couldn't do it tonight, so they tapped that chick Erin from the morning show This Just In. Carter ended up calling in sick tonight. Apparently, he despises her."

I didn't want to hear any more.

"Drive safely," I told him as he slid into the car. I felt more than grateful for his visit.

"Yup. Give me a few days to start my research, and then I'll be back in touch."

As he drove off, I hurried back toward the guesthouse. Inside, I slammed the door tight and pushed the bolt in place. It was late, but I wanted to mentally review what Alex and I had discussed. I set a kettle of water on the stove for tea.

When the teakettle whistled, I offed the flame, letting the room go silent again, and filled a mug with water. As I went to set the kettle back on the burner, I heard a noise outside the house. A snap.

I held my breath.

Another snap. It was like the sound of someone's boot coming down on a twig and breaking it in two.

chapter 20.

I froze, the teakettle still in my hand. Had Alex returned? Or was it Nancy, finally back? I hadn't heard a car.

My eyes flew to the door. I waited for a knock, but it didn't come.

"Nancy?" I called out. My voice was like a mouse squeak. I spun toward the back of the house. On some level, I'd sensed that the sound had come from behind me.

Quietly, I set the kettle down and listened hard. Nothing. Except the katydids. I'm just jittery being alone, I told myself. It was the wind, or the house creaking. I let out my breath.

I dropped a tea bag into the mug, dunking it a few times. But my body was on guard, straining to hear. Stop, I told myself. Who would be out there, anyway?

And then I heard it again. Not a twig this time. It was the rustle of bushes out back, as if someone were brushing past. Fear shot through me. I looked toward the back wall of the room again, at the row of three windows. The drapes were all drawn. I'd done that earlier, before Alex arrived. As I stood there watching, the fuzzy silhouette of a person appeared briefly on the curtain and just as quickly vanished.

My legs seemed to melt from underneath me. I glanced back at the door again; yes, I'd bolted it. But with terror mounting, I remembered: I'd opened the back door earlier-the one off my bedroom. And I hadn't locked it.

I launched myself away from the counter, pushing off with my hand, and nearly hurled my body into the bedroom. I'd left one light on in there, the one on the bedside table, and I could see the back door. It was closed. Yet I could sense a presence on the other side.

I lunged toward it. The bolt was like the one on the other door. I fumbled with it clumsily, but finally I shoved it into the slot.

I hurried back into the great room. Phone, I commanded myself. I upended my purse until my iPhone bounced in its rubber case onto the coffee table. I s.n.a.t.c.hed it and tapped 911.

"What is your emergency?" the operator said.

"Um-" I ran back for the magazine with the label, blurted out the address, and told her there was a prowler.

"Is the house secure?"

"The doors are locked. I don't know about the windows."

"I'm dispatching the police. I need you to stay on the line with me until they arrive."

"Just tell them to hurry," I begged. "Please."

Outside I heard another sound, a sc.r.a.pe of shoe on pavement. On the pool deck.

"The person's still here," I whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

"The police are close. Continue to stay on the line."

There were no sounds after that. Just my heart pounding in my ears. Finally, I heard the police car, its siren screaming in the night.

"The police-they're here," I said to the operator. "Tell them I'm in the guesthouse. With the lights on."

A minute later, there was a sharp knocking and a voice calling, "Police."

I unbolted the door and opened it a few inches with the chain on. Two cops were standing there, an older woman and a younger guy, both with their guns drawn. I undid the chain and flung open the door.

"I'm okay," I said. "Just scared."

"You reported a prowler?" the woman said, holstering her gun. She was about forty, with black hair peeking out from under her cap. Her name tag said Orsini.

"Yes, I saw the person's silhouette in the window."

The two cops exchanged a look.

"What?" I asked.

"There was a car taking off just as we approached," Orsini said.

"You saw it come out of the driveway?" I asked. I hadn't heard a vehicle.

"It appeared to be parked along the road, just by the start of the driveway," she said. "Dark, could have been a luxury vehicle. We dispatched another patrol car to try to find it, but it's going to be tough without a license plate number. What about the main house, is anyone up there?"

I explained, stumbling over the words, that I was a houseguest, Bettina was in the city, and the housekeeper apparently didn't live in.

"Does anyone else know you're staying here?"

"A work colleague. He was here earlier-we had a few things to go over. But he left almost thirty minutes ago."

"Maybe he came back," the young cop said.

"He wouldn't sneak around that way," I said.

"We'll take a look around and be back in a minute," Orsini said.

While they were outside, I s.n.a.t.c.hed my laptop out of my tote bag and checked the train schedule. The last train was leaving for Manhattan in two minutes. s.h.i.t, I thought. I can't stay here. Should I hire a cab to drive me all the way back there? But then I'd be facing the press again.

I looked up as the door swung open.

"The ground's dry, so unfortunately, there aren't any footprints," Orsini said as the two reentered the house. "There's no one around now."

"I don't feel safe here," I said. "But I don't have any way to get back to the city."

"We just came on our shift, so we'll keep an eye on the place tonight," she said, her face sympathetic. "I don't think the person will be back. We had our lights flashing, and I'm sure he saw us coming."

"He?" I said. "You could see the driver was a male?"

"No," she said. "That was just a manner of speaking."

They checked the windows and the rear door before they left. As soon as I'd let them out, I threw the bolt and dragged the dining table in front of the main door. Then I scrambled into the bedroom and shoved a bureau against the door in there.

It's almost funny, I thought. My life goes to h.e.l.l, and now this. The top I was wearing was damp, and I peeled it off, replacing it with another from my duffel bag.

One option I had was to spend the rest of the night in a hotel, taking a cab there. But not only would it be pricey, I also might be recognized, resulting in the press being tipped off. I mulled over what the cops had said. There was little chance of the prowler returning, knowing that the police had been alerted. I decided to tough it out and stay.

But there was no way I was going to bed. I dragged a pillow and a blanket to the couch and set my phone on the coffee table, along with one of the fireplace pokers.

Should I call Bettina? I wondered. She would need to be informed. But it was after midnight, and I didn't want to wake her knowing there was little she could do.

My brain was muddled from fear, but I tried to make myself think about what the cops had asked: Who knows you're here? Bettina, of course. The housekeeper, Nancy. And Maddy, I remembered. I'd confided that I was staying at Bettina's. She might have let the information slip, and it would have been easy enough for someone to track down the actual address.

There was another comment from the cops that echoed in my head: Maybe he came back.

Would Alex have returned? The sounds had occurred a few minutes after he'd driven off. Enough time for him to park the car along the side of the road and traipse back in the darkness. His car was a dark Audi. A luxury car.

But it made no sense. Why would he want to spy on me?

For the rest of the night, I sat bolt upright on the couch, my head jerking constantly as my eyes chased any little sound. I was like a bird on a wire.

At first light, I moved the pillow against the armrest and let my head flop on it. My whole body ached-from fatigue, from stress, from being buffeted all night by fear. I closed my eyes and dropped into sleep like a performer falling toward a circus net.

When I woke, the sun was streaming through the sides of the curtains, and someone was pounding on the door.

"Ms. Trainer, are you in there?" It sounded like Nancy.

I hauled myself across the room, shoved the table over, and swung open the door.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, startled by the sight of the table.

"Unfortunately, no," I said. "There was a prowler last night. I had to contact the police."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "A prowler?" she exclaimed. "Dear mother of G.o.d. Did he get in here?"

"No, and I don't think the main house, either, but you'll need to check. Do you not live on the property?"

"I do," she said. "But my sister was feeling poorly, and I spent the night with her."

"We need to inform Bettina immediately. And though I appreciate the offer to stay here, I don't think I could handle another night. I'd like to take a train back to the city in the next hour or two."

"Oh, but Ms. Lane is arriving this morning," she said anxiously. "The cook has come in and is going to make lunch for both of you. I can take you to the train afterward."

"Um, all right," I said. If the chance to speak to Bettina was happening today, I couldn't forgo it.

After Nancy left, I staggered into the shower. As I was toweling off, Bettina called to check on me. She said she would be there at one and would debrief me then.

I did my best to pull myself together. I blew out my hair and pulled on a light cashmere sweater over a pair of white jeans. I applied a little makeup, but my face was drawn and haggard, hardly something a few swipes of bronzer could rescue.

I made coffee and phoned the police station. The two cops who'd answered the call were now off duty, but according to the officer who answered, no car had been located.

Mug in hand, I wandered outside and made my way around to the back of the house to the spot where I'd seen the prowler standing. There were a few feet of lawn that gave way to woods, a mix of fir trees and deciduous. I searched the ground with my eyes, realizing how unlikely it would be for me to find any kind of clue, like a b.u.t.ton or cigarette b.u.t.t. Indeed there was nothing, just random piles of twigs and pine needles.

I examined the windows next. On one of the great room windows, there was a gap between the frame and the cream-colored curtains inside. I leaned forward and peered in. The person could have caught a glimpse of me easily.

Maybe it had been a Peeping Tom. Or a burglar. But it all seemed too coincidental. Could it have been someone from the press, I wondered for the first time, perhaps even a reporter from Bettina's own website?

I hurried back inside and pulled out my laptop. Before heading up to lunch, I wanted to research botnets. I found several articles and learned that they worked just as Alex had described. All someone needed to do was send an email with an attachment, counting on the receiver to open it.