Page 23 of Risk Assessment
He stared at her for a long minute. “Come with me.” His tone was still flat.
He seemed almost angry.What the hell? She was the one whose stalker just showed up. What did he have to be angry about? She followed him down the hallway to the room. Dread flooded her body as she got closer. She grabbed onto the doorjamb for support, her eyes on Dylan who was well into the room, standing in front of the nightstand.
“What?” she croaked. Her throat was dry as the desert.
He pointed to the floor beside the bed. She looked down. At first, she couldn’t see what he was pointing at. She had to take another step into the room before she saw it. Her scarf. The one she’d put on before leaving the room earlier. The edge of it was peeking out from underneath the bed.
“But I had it with me. I-I put it on the back of my chair. I forgot I’d even worn it.” She looked at the scarf again, perplexed. Then it dawned on her. Her breath came in gasps. She wobbled on her feet and grabbed blindly for something to hang on to, staggering for a couple of steps before Dylan gripped her arms.
“He was there tonight. In the dining room. He took the scarf from the back of my chair.” Her teeth were chattering now. “I—” She couldn’t get the words out. “He was standing next to m-m-me.” She gasped for breath again. “H-h-he could’ve t-t-touched me.” Oh God, she was going to be sick.
Dylan must have recognized there was a problem because he rushed her into the bathroom. Her knees had barely hit the cold marble floor before she became violently ill.
While she retched, she registered Dylan’s hand on her spine. Mortified, she just wanted to curl up and die on the floor of the bathroom, but Dylan handed her a warm face cloth and helped her up off the floor. He then left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
She closed her eyes and slid down the wall to form a puddle on the floor. Her body started shaking.
He’s here.
Her one weekend away from the horror of it—or so she’d thought—andhe’dfollowed her. Dylan was supposed to keep her safe. It was part of the deal. Now she was trapped at this luxury get-away with her stalker, and she couldn’t leave until the weekend was over. Her worst nightmare, but she was wide awake.
Her stomach churned, and the queasiness returned. How was it possible to be sick again after not eating a damn thing since breakfast this morning? She turned her face. The cool wall tile helped clear the clammy sweat from her face. The nausea eased.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Are you okay?”
No, she was most decidedly not okay. She was sick. She was tired. And she was terrified. She caught her reflection on the glass shower door. She looked like hell.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she croaked. Standing up she leaned over and turned on the water. She rinsed the face cloth in cold water and pressed it to her face for a moment. The coolness helped ground her. Setting the compress aside on the sink, she brushed her teeth for a solid two minutes before leaving the room.
Dylan was leaning against the dresser in her room, texting on his phone. He straightened when she paused in the doorway. “How are you?” he asked
“About like you’d expect.” She took a couple of wobbly steps into the bedroom, sucking in deep breaths. Why did this hit her so much harder than the last break-in at her own place? Because she’d deluded herself into thinking she was safe here but she wasn’t safe anywhere. No way was she sleeping in this room tonight or any night. She clamped her teeth together and made for the door, only slowing her pace when she reached the kitchen.
Dylan had followed her, and once she sat down, he placed a cup of prepared chamomile tea in front of her. “Might make you feel better.”
She nodded and wrapped her hands around the mug. Her hands had turned to ice, as if the whole incident had literally chilled her bones.
He leaned against the counter and studied her. “The security guys will be knocking on the at door any minute now. I need to ask you some questions.” He paused, waiting for a reaction.
She gave none.
He pierced her with his stare “When was the last time you saw the scarf?”
She was frightened by the intensity of his glare. She would hate to be the crook he was questioning. His eyes were blank, though they seemed to see right through her.
She squeezed the mug tighter. “I remember I had it around my shoulders when we sat down.” She looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded.
“I took it off when we got our drinks and put it over the back of my chair. I left it there when I went around the room, interviewing people, and you went off to the bar.” She tried to bring up a mental image of her table. “I think it was still there when I got back to the table right before someone came up to speak to me… But I can’t be sure.”
He nodded once. “Who was with you at the table?”
“At that moment? No one, but people came and went the whole time.”
“Who stopped by your table?”
“Well, Mr. Clark, Mr. Jenkins, the Hunts, the Carpenters, Daniel Crow and his wife, the usual crowd that attends all the arts events in Bedford Hills. They came by to say hello, supposedly to Clark, but really to make sure I knew they were there. Lydia must have told them I was covering the event. Normally, they give me a brief wave and keep going, but tonight they all stopped by. They all want to be mentioned or have their pictures taken with one of the influencers. All in all, a dozen people must have stopped over to the table.” She looked at him. “And that doesn’t include anyone who could’ve walked behind me and grabbed the scarf without me noticing.”
“I saw you talking to the photographer.” Dylan played with the wrapper from the tea bag.
