Page 125 of Our Little Secret

A gust of wind snatched at her hood, pulling it off. “I won’t be terrorized by you, Gideon,” she warned him and swept her burner cell from her pocket. “We. Are. Done.” Her eyes scorched him in her fury. “You got it?” She warned, “If you don’t, if you make one more call, step onto my porch, contact me in any way, I’m going to the police.”

He actually laughed. “Don’t think so.” He’d moved closer now and she reached into her pocket one final time, her finger surrounding the butt of Neal’s gun.

“And why not?” she asked, taking the bait.

He seemed smug. “Because, Brooke, I have evidence.”

“Evidence?” What the hell was he talking about?

“That you’ve been stalking me.”

“ThatI’vebeen stalkingyou? No way. No one would believe that. Not after what you’ve done.”

“What proof do you have?” he asked, and she glanced overboard where the rat, the cameras, and the bracelet were now presumably at the bottom of the bay.

When she didn’t answer he said, “Yeah, too bad, eh?” and followed her gaze to the water.

Her heart turned to stone. She thought of Marilee in the shower, or her underwear, or naked in her room. Or of her and Neal making love. “You bastard.”

His eyes sparked as he stepped closer. “Oh, more than what you’re thinking,” and the smugness of his expression was a warning.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Don’t I?” He was close now. “You’re a fake, Brooke! You and your precious little postcard-perfect family,” he mocked. “The perfect husband who never strayed; the teenager who’s kept up her grades and athletics and never dabbled in alcohol, pot, and boys. The loving wife who’s never so much as looked at another man, much less warmed his bed and begged for him to fuck her?”

She slapped him. Hard. The smack against his wet skin resounded in her ears.

“That’s right, Brooke. Attack. Hit and kick and bite. Like before. You’re such a hot little bitch.” She reached back again, but he caught her wrist in his gloved hand and drew her close. “That’s your problem, isn’t it?” he said, almost in a snarl. “Good thing I’ve got pictures of our last fight. Of your attack. How you coldcocked me and drew blood.”

“What?”

“Not only did I catch it all on camera, but I’ve got a witness. My neighbor on the next boat.” He hitched his chin to the little sailboat where she’d seen the balding man with the pail of fish.

“No one would believe you!” she spat and tried to pull her hand from his.

His fingers were a manacle. Kept her bound.

“And just now, while you were snooping around the cabin of my boat, prowling around and trespassing. And with a weapon? A gun?” He made little tsking noises and she wilted inside. “I’ve got pictures of that too. A video. Amazing what technology can do these days.” He yanked her even closer. “So don’t be so sure of yourself. The police aren’t going to buy it.”

How diabolical was he? How depraved?

“I don’t think you’d want to risk going to jail. What would Neal think? Does he know? And what about pretty little Marilee? How would she feel if her mother were behind bars? A second offense.”

“What?” she whispered.

“Old records could come to light.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, but fear grew within. As little as she knew about him, he seemed privy to everything about her. She glanced to the docks, hoping to see someone, anyone, out, but the vessels moored to their berths were, for the most part, dark. No one had ventured out in the storm.

“You haven’t talked to Keith Turnquist lately?”

No! Oh no! Immediately, he had her full attention again. He didn’t have to say anymore. She was shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s old history and sealed and—”

“And the truth, Brooke.” To prove his point, he pulled her so close his breath was warm against her face. Startled, she felt his hand on her waist. What?

His free hand snaked into her pocket.

She tried to tear herself away.

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