Page 28 of X Marks the Stalker
“Thanks for listening. Love you, Acorn.”
“Love you too,” I say, ending the call.
I sit on my bed, staring at the wall. Blackwell. Again. His reach extends everywhere, touching even the people I care about most. First, my parents, now Zara’s family.
“That was my friend,” I say to the camera. “We met in college. She has nothing to do with my cases. I could have told her about you.” I gesture at the camera. “About Martin. About all of it. She’d drop everything and come over with pepper spray and her boyfriend’s baseball bat.”
I lean closer to the lens.
“But I didn’t tell her,” I continue, staring into the camera. “Because I protect the people I care about.”
I stand up, attempting to look intimidating despite the absurdity of threatening an electronic device. My voice drops lower.
“So let me make this crystal clear to whoever’s watching. Zara stays out of this. My friends, my contacts—they’re off-limits.”
I pace around the table, feeling ridiculous yet determined.
“You want to scare me? You want to watch me? Fine. But if anything happens to Zara or anyone else I care about, I’ll burn everything down looking for you.”
My laugh comes out harsher than intended.
“Who am I kidding? You probably already have a complete file on me. You’ve heard every conversation I’ve had in here for...however long these have been planted.”
I pick up the camera, inspecting it.
“You know about my candy stash. My obsession with this case. My parents.” My voice catches. “You probably know what kind of toothpaste I use and how I take my coffee.”
I set the camera back down, running my hand through my hair.
“So here’s the deal. This is between you and me. Whatever you want, whatever game you’re playing—keep it focused on me. Because if you go after Zara or anyone else in my life, you’ll discover I’m not just some nosy journalist. I’m the daughter of a detective and a forensic psychologist, and I inherited all their best qualities.”
I lean in closer to the lens, my voice barely above a whisper.
“And their worst ones, too.”
Chapter 8
Xander
“Found you,” Oakley says to the camera, and something inside me shatters.
My body freezes into a perfect still-life titled “Surveillance Expert Having Existential Crisis.” She’s looking directly at me—not at the camera, but through it. Impossible. Yet here we are.
“Hi there.” She waves, a small, knowing gesture that sends my heart rate into territory usually reserved for cardiac stress tests. “I figured we should introduce ourselves, since you’ve been watching me shower for the past week.”
“That’s—that’s not true!” I blurt to my empty apartment like she might hear me through the video feed. My face burns hot enough to qualify as a renewable energy source. “I never put cameras in your bathroom. That would be— I’m not— I have an ethical framework for my unethical behavior, thank you verymuch!”
The accusation stings more than it should, considering I literally monitor people for a living.
I have standards, damn it. I’m not some basement-dwelling creep with a collection of toenail clippings. I’m a sophisticated basement-dwelling creep with military-grade surveillance equipment.
“I even closed my eyes when you were changing earlier,” I mutter, then catch myself. “Great job, Rhodes. Talking to yourself about how you sometimes don’t watch the woman you’re illegally surveilling while she changes clothes. That’ll hold up beautifully in court. ‘Your Honor, I’d like to enter my basic human decency as Exhibit A.’”
Did I say all that out loud? To no one? Not that closing my eyes negates the whole invasion thing. But still. Principles.
The justification sounds pathetic, even bouncing around my empty apartment. What am I doing? Defending my surveillance ethics to someone who can’t hear me, while simultaneously violating her privacy in ways that would justify her calling the FBI, CIA, and whatever agency handles pathetic stalkers with advanced technical skills.
But I can’t bear her thinking I’m that kind of creep. I’m a professional. A gentleman stalker, if such a thing exists.
