Heather Graham Bundle: The Island / Ghost Walk / Killing Kelly / The Vision. Heather Graham
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of course. The Masons dance.”
“Right.”
“I’m sure it will be a fantastic evening. Good night.”
Nothing suspicious there, she told herself dryly. “Good night,” she returned.
He walked away. She rolled up her window and, shaking her head, started out. The guard was in his booth as she drove past.
A creepy feeling crawled up her neck, and she threw her car into Park at the entrance to the main road.
She turned, almost dreading what she might find, and looked carefully into her back seat.
There was nothing there.
Her car was an SUV, with plenty of room in the back. She actually got out, circled to the rear and stared into the back, then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was empty of everything other than her mask, fins and a towel.
Feeling like a fool, she hopped into the driver’s seat and headed home.
BEN OPENED HIS LOCKER and frowned. He wasn’t obsessive-compulsive in any way, but neither was he a slob, and something seemed…out of order, somehow.
He looked over everything. His jacket was hanging on the hook. His shoes and suit pants were on the first shelf, his toiletries on the middle shelf. The things he kept on the upper shelf were there, just as they had been. Stuff he kept at the club that was only used at the club. His silly St. Patrick’s Day T-shirt, his Halloween glow sticks and vampire teeth were there, along with the plastic eggs that members put pennies in for the little kids to find at Easter. His schlocky vampire cape was folded over everything else.
He couldn’t think of a thing that was missing.
He checked for his wallet and found it right where it should have been, in the pocket of his trousers. His keys were there, as well. There was nothing missing.
He still had the feeling someone had been in his locker.
With a little oath of self-disgust, he got his clothing, slammed the door and headed for the showers.
BETH LOVED HER HOUSE. It was a row house, right on Mary Street. Although it wasn’t really that old—no more than thirty or so years—it had been built in the old Spanish style. She had a little front yard to go with it, and a matching backyard. The entire diminutive community was enclosed by a high iron fence, with each house possessed of an individual gate for its front walk.
Her yard boasted a palm and a lime tree, and in the little garden area, she had different kinds of flowers in a brick plant bed. Her porch area had a swing seat.
It was no problem to leave her car overnight on the street, since pay parking ended at midnight and didn’t begin again until nine the next morning. The Grove was one of those places that wasn’t in a hurry to get up in the morning. Few places—other than banks—opened before ten o’clock, and lots of the shops didn’t open until eleven.
She parked in front of her house, then opened her unlocked gate and headed for the door, only to discover that whatever paranoia had gripped her at the club had apparently followed her home. As she headed up the little walk, she was suddenly certain she saw a shadow on the street.
A shadow that was there, then gone.
The streets here—absolutely beloved by day—suddenly seemed eerie by night. Coconut Grove was famous for the lush foliage so many home owners encouraged, but by night, especially when there was a moon, there were shadows. And rustling leaves. Always. It was something she didn’t usually think about.
But tonight…
She hurried up the steps to her door. On her way, she dropped her keys. She bent to retrieve them and looked back toward the street, certain she’d heard footsteps.
There was a huge oak just down the street.
It seemed that—just as they had in the parking lot at the club—a smaller shadow suddenly merged with the larger one of the tree.
As if someone had slipped behind the oak.
She quickly retrieved the keys and cursed when her fingers shook.
She got the key into the lock and twisted it. The door opened. She stepped inside, slammed it shut and leaned against it, quickly turning off, then resetting, the alarm, and locking the door.
The prickling of unease at her nape remained. She didn’t turn the lights on but eased around to the window, kneeling on the couch and just touching the drapes, determined to look out. Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t imagined it.
There had been two shadows.
A man emerged from behind the tree.
She could make out nothing about him, other than the fact that he was tall.
And that he was watching her house.
She sat back quickly in the dark, amazed and, oddly, not as terrified as she might have been.
At least she wasn’t crazy.
She looked out again quickly, realizing that she needed to watch him, needed to see where he went, what he did.
But when she looked out again, he was already gone.
It was then that fear set in.
Had he already moved closer to the house? Was he trying to find a way in…?
Was he out there, closer still, nearly breathing down her neck?
What to do…call the police?
And say what? There had been a man standing on a public street?
She shook her head, got up and suddenly went into speedy motion, running around the downstairs first, checking every window, running through to the back, checking to see that both bolts were secure, then heading upstairs and assuring herself again that all her windows—and the glass doors to the upstairs balcony—were securely fastened.
She was certain she was never going to be able to sleep that night.
She dragged a pillow and blanket downstairs. In the living room, she set up a bed on the couch, then stood still in the middle of the room.
She had lights on everywhere. That was probably stupid—in fact there was no “probably” about it.
But she didn’t want to sit in the dark.
At least she had heavy drapes. Coconut Grove was the kind of place where people walked all the time, where they took out their bicycles and ran with their dogs. She loved living where she did, but she also liked privacy, so her drapes kept her safe from the public eye.
She turned on the television. If she was going to sleep tonight, it would be with the television on and every light blazing. Fine.
As a last precaution, she dragged one of the heavy end chairs from the dining-room table and set it in front of the front door. Foolish? Maybe, but she couldn’t help remembering the skull jumping out at her from the computer, and the words that had been written there.
I’ll be seeing you soon. In the dark. All alone.
She knew she was being foolish. Amber had written the words. She had admitted it.
Still…
Someone had been out there, and there was nothing wrong with being careful.
Finally satisfied, she lay down on the couch, and hit the channel changer until she got to Nickelodeon. There was little likelihood of anything coming on that might scare her into a further fit of unease.
A vintage sitcom was playing, just as she had expected.
She eased her head against the pillow, smiling a little wryly at herself. This was all absolutely ridiculous. No reason to be afraid.
Then something thudded against the front