Page 63 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Sailor!

Another scream. Her horror floated easily between our two houses, thanks to our open windows.

I didn’t think.

Hauling on a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and fighting my way into a black t-shirt, I bolted down the stairs. Skidding through my conservatory, I went to fly off the deck, but common sense had me sprinting back into the house and snatching my motorcycle scarf and hat.

Yanking the balaclava over my head, I jammed my hat into place and brought the scarf as high as it would go to just below my eyes. My vision was fuzzy without my glasses, but not so bad that I couldn’t beat the shit out of whoever was hurting Sailor.

Prying the palings apart, I fought my way through the fence. The loose screw snagged my t-shirt as I wriggled into her back garden. Barefoot and absolutely panicking, I charged onto her back deck and tried the door handle.

Locked.

Fuck.

Hurry.

Hurry!

Ducking to one knee, I found the lavender pot where Melody always kept the spare key. Shoving it into the lock, I swung the door open.

Moans and thrashing came from the living room.

My hands curled into fists. All my training as a doctor switched from saving a life to taking one. I knew what artery bled the most. I knew what bone to snap to cause the most pain.

He’s dead.

Skidding into the living room, I flicked on the light, then snapped it off again.

Shit.

Shit!

This is bad.

So bad.

So very,verybad.

Sailor woke up, thanks to me blinding her with the overhead light. It took a second for her brain to work and another second to drink me in. Sweat glittered on her temples, her phone beside her where she’d fallen asleep, her legs tangled in the blanket I’d given her when she’d slept outside.

Our eyes met, and for a second, she didn’t react.

And then, she exploded into action.

“No. Don’t.Help!” Scrambling to the opposite end of the couch, she hunched into a ball and went to scream again.

I did the only logical thing I could do.

Throwing myself over the arm of the couch, I landed beside her and slapped my hand over her lips. With my other hand, I reached behind her and turned off the side lamp, suffocating the room in darkness.

Everything Colin had said echoed in my head.

The Clark Kent effect. The fact my face and hair were hidden but my bright green eyes were not. I had to stay in the dark. I had to act different, speak different. If I wanted any chance of her not recognising me, I needed the night to be my ally.

Squirming beneath my gag, her eyes bugged with terror. Her nails scratched at my wrist, leaving me with welts I would never be able to explain in the morning.

“It’s me,” I growled, keeping my voice as gravelly as I could, grateful I still had sleep tangled around my voice box. “It’s—”Do not say your real name. “X.” Backing away, I curled my fingers around her cheek. “I’ll let you go, but you can’t scream, alright? I don’t think you want the police here, thanks to a nosy neighbour calling, do you?”

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