The Watcher

  I don’t realize I’m screaming until Kenai falls to his knees in front of me, grabbing me and pulling me into his arms. “What happened? Marlie, what happened?”

  “H-H-H-H-H-H-He…”

  “Calm down and talk to me. Fuck, you’re bleeding.”

  “He’s … he’s…”

  “Marlie, breathe.”

  “He’s alive,” I whisper,

  Kenai’s body goes still.

  Then he scoops me into his arms and says quietly, “Let’s get you inside.”

  He flashes his light around, but there is no one in sight.

  He’s gone.

  For now.

  * * *

  “Marlie, talk to me,” Kenai says, squatting in front of me, washing my dirty face with a warm cloth.

  “It was him.”

  “Who?”

  My eyes meet his and they flare.

  “Marlie, he’s dead.”

  “It was him, Kenai. I know it. I’ve known it all along. He’s got Kaity and he’s tormenting me. This is all a game. A trick. He lured me out to that truck and he chased me through the woods. If you didn’t come out…”

  “Did you see him?” Kenai asks, carefully, gently.

  I blink. “No, but…”

  “Did you hear his voice when he spoke to you?”

  “He had one of those voice-changer things on. I know what I heard, Kenai. He said it’s not over.”

  Kenai studies me, and I can see the pity in his eyes. He’s looking at me like he feels sorry for me.

  “Did you have a dream before you went outside?”

  My eyes widen. “You think I imagined it?”

  He takes my hand but I jerk it back. “I didn’t imagine it,” I cry, horrified he’d even think that.

  “Marlie, sometimes when stress and emotions are high, our bodies do strange things. Have flashbacks. It’s a form of PTSD.”

  “It was real, I didn’t chase myself through the woods,” I yell, standing up, legs shaking.

  “Please don’t get upset,” he says, carefully, controlled, like he’s talking to a woman who is about to dive off a cliff.

  “I know what I saw, I know what I felt, I know what I heard. Someone was out there tonight, Kenai. Someone tormented me. Someone is playing a game. Until you believe me, until you’re willing to look at this from my side, we’re never going to be safe. And neither is Kaity. Think what you want about me, and maybe I do have PTSD. But that did not cause this. This really happened. I can tell the difference.”

  I turn and rush into the bedroom, my entire body aching, my heart full of fear at my nightmare being reopened. I can’t believe Kenai thinks I’m imagining things, that he refuses to consider that The Watcher is involved. Why can’t he see that I’m telling the truth? Why can’t he believe in me enough to know that I know with every single ounce of my being that this is connected to my past?

  “Hey.”

  I turn from my spot on the bed twenty minutes later and see Kenai walking in, a tablet in his hands.

  “Please don’t, I can’t take anymore.”

  “I went outside, looked on the ground. You were right. There are two sets of footprints. I’m sorry. I should have believed you.”

  I nod, but my throat tightens.

  “I’ve got all my notes and police documents here, from your case, from Kaity’s, everything. I think we need to start again. I think we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

  “I think so too,” I say, shifting over on the bed so he can sit beside me.

  “You up for a long night? This could take a while.”

  I shrug and peer over his shoulder at the screen. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. I’ll make us some coffee.”

  “Before we do this, let me finish cleaning you up. You’ve still got blood and dirt on your face.”

  I nod weakly.

  He stands and extends a hand to me. I narrow my eyes and shake my head in confusion.

  “Trust me?”

  I reach out and take his hand. He pulls me to my feet and leads me to the bathroom. He lets me go and turns the shower on, then he turns back towards me and murmurs in a low, husky voice, “Arms up.”

  I lift my arms and he takes the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it up and over my head. My heart pounds against my ribcage as he tosses the shirt to the side and his hands come back to rest against my skin. I look up at him, my eyes holding his as he reaches down and slides my shorts down. I tremble as I stand before him naked, holding his eyes, loving the way he stares at me.

  “You’re beautiful, Marlie.”

  My cheeks heat as he removes his clothes and then carefully takes my hand and pulls me into the shower. The first touch of the water against my skin has a hiss leaving my lips. It burns the tiny scratches and cuts all over my body. Kenai takes a soft washer and soaks it with water, before stepping forward and gently wiping the dirt and blood from my face.

  I say nothing.

  Neither of us do.

  You don’t need to say a single word to understand what another person feels. Sometimes you can sense it with every fiber of your being, just by looking at them. It’s an energy that passes between you. A deep understanding. A bond. It’s real. It’s pure. You know it with every single piece of who you are. No, words are not needed when you have a connection that reaches your soul.

  I reach out and stroke my fingers against his skin, running them down his chest and over his abs. He shudders beneath my touch, but does nothing to stop me. I think we’re both well and truly past trying to fight this. I drop lower, curling my hand around his cock. He makes a low, feral sound in his throat and growls, “Baby, believe me, I want this again but you’re hurt and I’m not that big of a dog.”

  I raise up on my tiptoes and whisper, “I didn’t say I was going to get anything, maybe I just want something for you.”

  His eyes flash as I lower down to my knees, keeping my fingers curled around his cock. The warm water trails over me and my knees burn, but I don’t stop, I don’t even want to. I bring him to my lips and take him in, swirling my tongue around the tip, loving how he hisses and bucks his hips.

  “Dammit, yes,” he rasps, putting his hands up onto the shower wall as I take him deeper.

  I curl my hand around the base, stroking as I suck, loving the sounds that leave his lips, loving how it feels to have him under my control. He tangles his fingers gently in my hair and guides my mouth deeper down onto his cock. It feels good, incredible, even though my scalp burns a little from the pressure. But this is one moment when I’m not going to let the demons of my past haunt me.

  “I’m going to come,” he growls. “God, Marlie. Fuck yes.”

  He moans low and throaty as he releases into my mouth. I take all of him, loving how he tastes, how he feels. I gently pull back and look up, finding his dark, lusty eyes. He reaches down and cups my jaw, murmuring, “You’re perfect.”

  A loud crash has both our heads whipping around.

  Kenai moves fast. “Don’t move.”

  He’s out of the shower with a towel wrapped around him before I can even push off my knees. Another crash. Then a loud, angry curse.

  I get up and rush out of the shower, pulling a towel around me and running out into the living room. I can’t believe we let ourselves get distracted. Guilt swarms my chest as I move through the living room. Kenai is nowhere to be seen, and the kitchen table is turned over, all the contents from the top scattered across the floor.

  All of the contents except … Kenai’s tablet.

  “Kenai?” I call frantically, rushing to the front door.

  He’s out in the woods, head whipping back and forth as he barks, “I’ll find you. I don’t need my files to do that.”

  Then he turns and charges back up to the house, fists clenched, mouth tight with anger.

  “Kenai?” I say softly, clutching the towel tighter against myself.

  “Someone doesn’t want us investigating any further. You’re right, we’re being play
ed with. It’s not safe here. We need to go.”

  I nod, turning and rushing back into the house. Kenai gets dressed as quickly as I do, and we gather our things before rushing out to the truck. When we reach it, Kenai puts an arm up, halting me. His eyes narrow and he murmurs, “Stay here.”

  He moves towards the truck and I notice the back door is ajar. He doesn’t swing it open, but instead gets on his hands and knees and looks under the truck. I watch him with confusion as he scours the entire truck. Standing, he moves to the other door and pulls it open, then his entire body goes stiff.

  “Kenai?” I call, taking a step forward.

  He reaches and lifts something, then he turns and looks at me. There is sympathy in his eyes. Pity, even.

  “What is it?”

  He steps out. In his hand he has a lock of thick red hair tied with a ribbon. No. Please. No.

  “That’s his trademark,” I gasp. I can’t breathe. I can’t seem to get my lungs to even try and work. “And that’s Kaity’s hair!”

  My world starts spinning and Kenai moves quickly, catching me around the waist before I can fall. I bury my face into his shirt and take a few deep, calming breaths. I can’t lose it. I can’t. That’s what whoever this is wants. They’re trying to scare me. Trying to get me to break. They won’t win. I won’t let them.

  I pull back and meet Kenai’s eyes. “We need to find her, Kenai. I know what he’s doing to her. We have to help her.”

  “It’s not him, Marlie.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he puts up a hand.

  “I’m not saying you’re crazy,” he continues. “I’m just saying it’s not him. He’s dead. I saw all the reports. Whoever this is, he’s a copycat.”

  “A … copycat?” I say, rubbing my arms to try to remove the chill from my body.

  “Yes, a copycat. A disturbed stranger who read your book and got a sick idea. Either way, it’s not him.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He leans down, lifting the bag off the floor. “Copycats are a lot more common than the dead coming back to life. And The Watcher is dead—I’ve read the autopsy reports, seen pictures of his body.”

  “Were your files backed up? How are we supposed to find out anything without them?”

  “We’re heading back to Vegas today. I have a friend in the police force there, he’ll help me regain access to the information.”

  “And Kaity?” I say in a scared voice, my eyes falling to the lock of thick red hair resting in his hands.

  “We’re going to find her. Do you trust me?”

  I look up at him, and nod. “Always.”

  “Then let’s go. We’re running out of time.”

  SIXTEEN

  We reach Vegas a little after lunch. Kenai parks in front of a local police station, and we both head inside. There is a pretty young blonde at the reception desk, happily chatting away on the phone. When she looks up and sees Kenai, her face splits into a massive grin. She says a quick goodbye, then leaps up and charges at him. “Kenai!” she squeals, launching into his arms.

  My brows shoot up.

  “Hi, Sara, long time no see. How are you sweetheart?”

  Sweetheart?

  My chest clenches. Is that jealousy?

  I squash it down.

  “I’m good now,” she says. “You look great.”

  “So do you. How are Mark and the kids?”

  She’s married.

  Down, tiger.

  I relax.

  “They’re all good. The boys are both in school now.”

  “No kidding?” Kenai grins. “Nice. Hey, is Darcy in?”

  “He is. He’ll be thrilled you’re here. I’ll call him out.”

  She goes back around the desk as Kenai turns to look at me. Then he grins.

  “What?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “You were jealous.”

  I snort. “As if.”

  “You were. I saw it.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Fabio. I was curious. Not jealous.”

  His grin gets bigger.

  I roll my eyes and turn back towards the counter. A moment later a gorgeous man comes out with Sara. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. He’s not rugged, like Kenai, but more sophisticated and clean cut. His hair is slicked back, his eyes are almond-shaped and brown, and he’s got a grin on his face, showcasing two stunning dimples.

  “Kenai, brother,” he laughs, walking over and throwing his arms around Kenai. “Long time no see.”

  “Still looking sharp, Darcy,” Kenai chuckles, stepping back. “How’s things?”

  “Better now that you’re here”—Darcy’s eyes flick to me and widen—“Marlie Jacobson.”

  Great.

  He knows me.

  “Hi,” I say softly.

  Darcy walks over and extends a hand. “It’s an absolute honor to meet you. I’ve heard your story, as I’m sure most have. I’m awed by your strength and courage.”

  The compassion in his eyes puts me at ease. “Move over, Kenai,” I say, taking Darcy’s hand, “I just fell in love.”

  Darcy bursts out laughing as Kenai mumbles something under his breath.

  “I like her. If you don’t keep her for yourself, let me know.” Darcy winks, then lets my hand go. “What can I do for you?”

  “First,” Kenai grumbles, “you can stop hitting on her. She isn’t available. But you can give me some information.”

  Is Kenai … jealous? My heart flutters.

  My legs tremble but I keep it together. I know they can both see the blush that crawls up my cheeks, though.

  Darcy’s grin gets bigger and he wiggles his brows before turning and saying, “Follow me.”

  We move down the hall after him, the intensity between us now at an all-time high. We just about slam into each other trying to get into Darcy’s office.

  “You two are hilarious,” Darcy chuckles, sitting down behind his desk.

  Kenai shoots him a glare.

  I giggle.

  Kenai shoots me a glare.

  Moody.

  “So, what can I do for you?” Darcy asks when we both sit down.

  “Need the files on Marlie’s case and The Watcher. Mine were stored securely but my device was lost, and I can’t access them remotely. Need to go over them.”

  Darcy taps his fingers on his chin. “Not my department, you know that. The crime happened in Denver.”

  “Yeah, but I know you have contacts and can get me the information.”

  “I can, but not until you tell me why.”

  I look to Kenai, but he holds Darcy’s stare.

  “Remember that time I pulled you out of the shit…”

  Darcy rolls his eyes. “All right. I knew you’d use that against me.” He hands Kenai a slip of paper. “Write down the case information, then give me until this afternoon. I’ll get you copies of the files.”

  Kenai scrawls down what he can and hands the paper back to Darcy. “Good man,” Kenai says, standing. “If you’re not busy later, have a drink with us.”

  Darcy looks to me then to Kenai, and chuckles, “It’s not me who will be busy.”

  I roll my eyes. I can’t hold back my smile.

  I feel immediately guilty for letting myself feel good, but at the same time, a little bit of light in this dark situation is exactly what we need.

  Sometimes you just need a little bit of good.

  * * *

  “You don’t want to look at these, sweetheart,” Kenai murmurs, flicking through the paper copy of the files that Darcy dropped off an hour ago. “Since we’re dealing with a copycat, I had Darcy pull files from the original case too.”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen,” I say, trying to peek around him.

  “Maybe, but you don’t need to relive this horror. Let me go through them.”

  “Kenai, please, I need to help. Don’t give me the picture files, just the information files. I’ll look over those.”

  He looks up, studies me, then
mutters, “You won’t leave me alone until I give them to you, will you?”

  I shake my head with a grin.

  He grunts and hands me a stack of papers. “All the information on Clayton. See what you can find out. Family. Friends. Anything.”

  Clayton. The Watcher.

  My skin prickles, but I take a deep breath and open the file, reading his information. Name. Birthdate. Weight. Skin Color. Hair Color. Eye Color. Previous criminal records, which honestly didn’t hold much except a few charges for breaking and entering that couldn’t be proven. My throat is tight as I scour the information. I didn’t know all of this. I wonder if the police ever looked back on his file and thought about the times he came in for minor crimes and wondered if they might have looked at him a little harder? Would they have known? Do any of us really know if we’re having an encounter with a killer?

  I flick through the first few pages, and then come across a couple of notes in scrawly handwriting. They look like someone just thinking out loud.

  Clayton grew up in San Diego? Family?

  I keep reading the scribbled notes that officers have obviously added throughout the investigations.

  Information on his parents is scarce. Suspect was put into the foster system right from birth.

  I swallow. The foster system from birth. Is that why he turned out the way he did?

  Interview with foster families reveal that he had a long history of violence. At one point was caught cross-dressing.

  I shiver. I remember the way he was so obsessed with females and their beauty.

  No word on parents still, but have located information that says he has a sister who was put into the system a few years before him.

  A sister.

  He has a sister.

  “Here!” I cry, looking up.

  Kenai jerks and looks up from his scouring. “What?”

  “He has a sister. She might know something.”

  I hand the paper to Kenai, and he nods, giving me a proud expression. “Good lead. See if you can find out if they discovered who she is, or even where she lives.”

  I keep reading intently.

  Sister is said to live in San Diego still. Alone. Not married. She claimed she hadn’t seen her brother since he was a child. No evidence suggests she is aware of his crimes. Questioned her. She was unable to provide any useful information.