Page 46 of X Marks the Stalker
Wait. What if he has an STD? Images from that sexual health presentation in college flash before me. Then I remember we’ve never had sex. Not the real kind, anyway.
“Can’t catch anything through the phone.” Although that phone sex was more intense than my last three actual dates combined.
I slide my press badge around my neck and snag a clipboard from an unattended desk. Nothing makes you seem like you belong somewhere like carrying a clipboard.
Inside the lobby, Xander’s speaking to a receptionist, his voice carrying across the space.
“—Dr. Wendell’s office? I’m from the medical board review committee.”
I duck behind a ficus tree, which offers exactly zero actual coverage. The receptionist gives Xander an appointment card, and he walks toward the elevators.
I tuck my press tag into my shirt and approach her desk with my most professional smile. “Hi there. You were just speaking with my boss about where to find Dr. Wendell. I’m his assistant, but he forgot to tell me which floor.”
The receptionist blinks at me. “The neuro wing is on seven. Dr. Wendell’s office is 712.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” I start toward the elevators, then spin back. “Also, what’s Dr. Wendell’s specialty? My boss quizzes me on these things.”
She gives me a strange look. “He’s chief of neurosurgery.”
In the elevator, I press seven and dig through my snack satchel. Confronting a medical mystery requires sustenance. I unwrap a chocolate protein bar and take a massive bite.
The elevator dings as it reaches the seventh floor. I step out, mouth full of chocolate protein bar, and freeze.
Xander stands twenty feet away, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. His voice carries down the empty hallway.
“—need those records today. Not tomorrow. Today.”
I press myself against the wall, heart hammering. He hasn’t seen me. The protein bar sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow.
Xander ends his call and strides down the corridor, disappearing around a corner. I count to ten before peeling myself off the wall and following, clipboard clutched to my chest like a shield.
Room 712, she said.
I peek through the small window in the door. Xander moves around the office, examining the certificates on the wall, the computer setup, the filing cabinet. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small—a camera, identical to the ones I found in my apartment.
My breath catches as he installs it above a bookshelf, angled toward the desk. He places another behind a framed photograph, then a third inside a potted plant.
This isn’t about medical issues. He’s not a patient.
He’s hunting.
The realization washes over me like ice water. The same man who’s been watching me is now targeting this neurosurgeon. But why? What connects them? Or is this just what Xander does, watches people through hidden cameras for some twisted purpose?
Xander pauses at Wendell’s computer, inserting a USB drive and tapping keys. His face focused, intense, devoid of emotion as he accesses whatever secrets this doctor holds.
Footsteps echo down the hallway. Sharp, purposeful clicks of shoes on tile. My heart leaps into my throat. Someone’s coming.
I flatten myself against the wall beside the door, praying Xander doesn’t glance at the window. The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
“Dr. Wendell?” A woman’s voice calls out. “Your three o’clock is here early.”
Fuck.
Inside the office, Xander freezes, fingers still on the keyboard. His head snaps toward the door—toward me.
I dive across the hallway, chocolate protein bar stillclutched in my hand, and slam into the women’s restroom. The door swings shut behind me just as I hear Wendell’s office door open.
“I’m sorry,” Xander says. “Dr. Wendell stepped out. Asked me to update his scheduling software.”
