Page 76 of I'm Watching You

Heat from the sidewalk shot upward, and sweat began to trickle down her bare legs. ‘Excuse me.’ Her voice cracked.

The man nodded. ‘No problem.’ He kept walking.

She stared after him. He wasn’t Richard. Richard was 3,000 miles away. Yet, her heart hammered in her chest. She started walking, but her gait wasn’t as confident. The ease she’d felt just seconds ago had vanished.

She’d not seen Richard in nearly three months, but thatdidn’t mean she was safe. Sheknewher husband. He was out there looking for her, and if she wasn’t very, very careful he’d find her. She glanced back at theFOR RENTsign. What had she been thinking? A business was just too risky.

She opened the cell phone Lindsay had given her and turned it on. She usually kept the phone off because Richard had used her old cell to keep tabs on her.

Her hands trembling, she dialed the number of the woman who’d helped her escape Richard: Claire Carmichael. As the phone rang, she wasn’t sure what Claire could tell her. Maybe that Richard was still in San Francisco … that he’d forgotten about her.

Claire’s voice mail picked up. When the beep sounded, Nicole panicked and couldn’t speak. Lindsay had warned her about any contact with people from her old life. She closed the phone.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Better to be safe.

For the millionth time, she wished Richard was dead.

San Francisco, 11:15A.M.PST

Richard Braxton had chosen his home because of the stunning view of San Francisco Bay. The original house on the lot had been old, filled with ‘charm,’ according to the historical society, but it hadn’t suited his vision of the home he deserved. So he’d had the house razed. There’d been an outcry, protests, lawsuits even, but he’d maneuvered through it all.

The showpiece house he’d created, with its steel and sleek modern lines, didn’t suit the narrow-minded tastes of his neighbors, who preferred brick and boxwoods. But that didn’t concern him. Richard Braxton did whathewanted,whenhe wanted.

Richard understood his greatest skill was his ability to see the potential; to know when a house, a market, or a woman was worth his attention.

Potential had been the reason he’d been drawn to the lot and it had been the reason he’d been attracted to Christina, his wife. Christina was a beauty, a stunner, and he had known from the moment he’d first seen her in that rundown photography studio that he could make her into something special.

Training her had not been easy. She had a fierce and spirited nature, and it had taken so many lessons to mold her into the vision he’d had for her. In the last few months they’d been together, he’d begun to believe that he had nearly succeeded. She no longer argued with him. She dressed perfectly in the tasteful Chanels and de la Rentas. She’d learned to be punctual, to keep her makeup perfect, and had tamed that thick mane of black hair.

Perfection had been in his grasp.

And then she’d vanished. That fool chauffer had let her slip away.

How long had she been planning to run from him?

The thought tormented him daily. He replayed every moment they’d shared those last couple of months. He thought about the books she’d read, the movies she’d seen, and the people she’d spoken to, looking for clues.He’d been insanely busy with work during that time and had been distracted. But he’d thought she’d been transformed and there was nothing to worry about.

For her to run, there had to be someone else. She had to have taken a lover.

A soft knock on his study door had him turning to find Vincent Malone standing at the threshold. Vincent wasn’t a tall man, but his wiry body was compacted muscle. His Italian double-breasted suit complemented his frame, and his ice blond hair, pulled back in a ponytail, accentuated vivid green eyes. He was Richard’s right-hand man. He knew all his dirty secrets. For the last two weeks, he’d done nothing but search for Christina.

‘Anything come of that lead Jimmy gave us?’ Richard said.

Vincent closed the study door behind him. ‘I’ve had men canvassing the area and showing her picture around. No one has seen her.’

Richard moved to his large mahogany desk that he’d had specially made in Spain. ‘So that’s it? She just vanished?’

Vincent smiled. Like Richard, he savored a good hunt. ‘Everyone leaves a trail, Mr Braxton. The trick is being able to find it.’

‘Has there been activity on a credit card or cell phone?’

‘No. There’s been no activity on her cards, phones, or Social Security number. And I’ve had computer experts check every chip in her computer. Nothing. I’ve still got men looking in every airport, bus and train station, and car rental place. But there’s been no sign of her.’

Anger was nearly driving him insane. Killing Jimmy had made him feel good for a while. But his well-being hadn’t lasted long. ‘So we’ve got shit.’

‘Not exactly.’

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