Page 39 of Breaking Free

It wasn’t. The heat wave continued to plague the city, but the man was utterly maddening. He couldn’t at least say hello?

Inside, she found him leaning against her kitchen counter, brawny arms folded across his chest. He straightened as she drew near and held out his hand, palm up. Piper had a flash of déjà vu. Rather than making a fool of herself again, she waited until he explained.

“Keys,” he said, a man of few words, and she didn’t hesitate to drop them into his open palm.

Tristan held up a key fob before sliding it and two new keys onto her ring. “This gadget is a tracker, but it has a few extra features. If you ever find yourself in a tight spot, press the red panic button. It’ll instantly connect you to the control room at Rossi Security. You won’t be able to talk to them, but they’ll be able to pinpoint your exact location and send help right away.” He adjusted his grip and flipped open a cap at the end with his thumb. “Pepper spray,” he stated. “A quick spritz in the eyes of an attacker can buy you precious time to escape. Don’t use it in enclosed spaces or windy conditions. You don’t want it blowing back in your face and making matters worse.”

She nodded, swallowing with difficulty around the lump in her throat as she imagined the burning mist blinding her, rendering her helpless and unable to fend off an attacker.

He dangled her keys in front of her and dropped them into her hand when she reached for them.

“I also need your phone.”

She passed it to him without question.

“Password?” He keyed it in when she gave that to him too. “You’re gonna want to take that off,” he advised. “You don’t need to be slowed down when calling for help. I’m adding the Rossi control room to your contacts and an app to manage your system remotely.” His thumbs flew over the screen for several minutes before he spoke again. “Follow me.”

Disliking the victim role immensely and that all of this was necessary because of some creep, she followed on his heels to the wall-mounted panel by the front door. First, he had her select a security code and activated fingerprint biometrics. Then he showed her how to arm and disarm the alarm system and had her practice until he was satisfied she had it down pat.

“If you’re home, the system stays on. There are sensors at every door and window that will alarm when opened, so you’ll have to silence them if you have a guest. You have new keys to the upgraded locks I installed, and there are motion-activated cameras at your front and balcony doors. There is also one at the entry gate.” He held up her phone before returning it. “I installed an app for the feeds. Check them before you let anyone in. Call me, Hunter, or George across the way if you get home after dark. One of us will walk you to your door.”

“You told them?”

“That you’d received threats, yes. The more eyes looking out for this creep, the better.”

That seemed like a huge imposition on her neighbors, and Tristan, especially since she wasn’t paying for any of this. “I’ll get home before dark.”

“Good idea.”

“What about the letters? I haven’t heard anything from the police.”

“Detective Lloyd called me. They found some smudges but no clean prints they could use, as I suspected.”

“What now?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch, almost shrill. “I have to wait for him to do something else?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Hopefully the security sign at the gate and on your door will be a deterrent. I also alerted our mailman today. He’ll be watching for unmarked mail from now on.”

“Why? It’s a private box.”

“It doesn’t matter. Mail tampering of any kind is a federal crime, whether taking mail out or putting it in, stamped or not. And sending threats by mail is even more serious. The sentence can be a fine of up to $250,000 and five years in prison.”

“I’m worried he’ll do worse than threaten by mail.” Trying to hold it together as he’d suggested, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe. But it forced a single tear to overflow and trickledown her cheek, giving away the emotions welling inside her. Piper impatiently wiped it away. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing, most likely.” His hand slid up her back to her neck and squeezed gently. “It doesn’t take much with these psychopaths. It could simply be you caught his eye.”

“Great. We’re back to my skirt.” She sniffled, throwing up her hands. “It’s practically to my knees and isn’t all that tight. What am I supposed to wear? A shroud?”

“No, but beautiful women get attention. It’s a fact of life. You just have to take precautions to be as safe as possible.”

“What else can I do?”

“Stay vigilant, and don’t give him an opportunity to engage. Document any suspicious activity, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Don’t isolate. Getting you by yourself is likely his goal. Tell everyone you know what’s happening—family, friends, co-workers—so they don’t inadvertently reveal your personal information and can be alert to anything unusual. And be careful of what you post online—nothing identifying, especially pictures. Stalkers often use photos to track their target’s movements, frequented locations, such as restaurants, and to identify connections such as family and friends.”

Well, she’d asked. His cautionary words—quite a laundry list of them—were necessary, but an uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach as he spoke.

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I have, unfortunately.” His warm fingers flexed on her neck. “I don’t want you frightened more than you already are but being aware of your surroundings is critical. We can install the latest technology and implement safety measures, but you are the key to your protection.”

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