Deadline (Sandra Brown)

house only long enough to retrieve the pepper spray from the drawer of her nightstand. Going out the back way, she walked to the neighboring house and let herself in through an unlocked sliding glass door. She had hoped to catch the window peeper, for lack of a better word, in the act. If he hadn’t been taking a bathroom break from his spying, she no doubt would have.
    When he’d emerged from the bathroom, it was all she could do to keep from gasping. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but not this. Not him . He didn’t look like a man who would require perversion to satisfy his sexual urges. Nor did he fit her image of a writer, which was someone with an absent-minded demeanor, delicate hands, and a pallor. Someone much softer around the middle. Much softer everywhere.
    She said, “The IDs could be fake.”
    “They’re not.”
    “I’ll Google you.”
    “Be my guest. You can use my laptop.”
    She’d noticed it and the printer on the table, certainly tools of his trade, but she ignored his gesture for her to help yourself. “How did you track me here?”
    “Two things I never reveal. One, a source who asks to remain anonymous. And two, how I tracked—Okay, okay,” he said quickly when she thrust the canister toward his face. “There’s a researcher at the magazine. Her name is Glenda. I ply her with candy and wine at Christmas. She comes through for me.”
    “My house was bought over twenty years ago.”
    “June 1985.”
    “Under a corporate entity—”
    “WareHouse, LLC. Want to know the purchase price?” Reading the dismay in her expression, he said, “Glenda could find a flea on a single hair on a woolly mammoth. During a sandstorm.”
    That last was tacked on with a crooked smile, which only annoyed her. “Did you rent this house?”
    “As opposed to what? Breaking in and squatting?”
    “Nothing would surprise me.”
    “Saint Nelda’s Island Rentals. I spoke to a nice lady. The house was vacant. I have a credit card.”
    “How long have you been here?”
    “Since court was adjourned for the holiday weekend.”
    “Only since Wednesday?”
    “I arrived after dark.”
    “Hmm.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. I thought you’d been here longer.”
    “Why?”
    “Doesn’t matter,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “However long it’s been, you went to a lot of trouble and expense for nothing. I don’t grant interviews. Ever.”
    “My trouble wasn’t for nothing.” He motioned toward her wrist. “You got your watch back.”
    She glanced down at it. “Do I have you to thank?”
    “I was watching you through the binoculars yesterday while you were building the sand castle. After you and the kids went indoors, I saw something glittering in the sand. I went down later to check it out and found your watch.”
    “Why didn’t you just knock on my door and return it like any normal person would do? Any person who wasn’t a sneaking, spying magazine writer.”
    “Because I wasn’t ready for you to know that I was here.”
    “When did you intend to make your presence known?”
    “I’m not sure.” He squinted at her thoughtfully. “But I’m glad you know.”
    “I’m sure you are. You can turn the lights on tonight instead of stumbling around in the dark.” He acknowledged the barb, but didn’t comment. “Did you see me searching the beach last night?” Before he could answer, she said, “Of course you did.” Then another thought occurred to her. “The lightbulb?”
    “I noticed that it was out. The back of your house was dark. I thought—”
    “Thank you for your concern.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “And for my watch,” she said, although it galled her to thank him for anything. “It means a lot to me.”
    “Why?”
    She wasn’t about to answer a question that personal.
    Seeming to read her mind, he said, “Okay, if that one’s too tough, how about this one? How did you recognize me?” Holding her gaze, he took a step toward her. “You did, didn’t you?”
    She took a corresponding step back. “How would I have recognized you?”
    “I don’t know, but you did. If you hadn’t, I’d be writhing on the floor, temporarily blinded and choking. At the very least, you would have called the police and reported me as a stalker.”
    “You are a stalker.”
    “I know for certain that I’d never seen you until Wednesday afternoon when you took the witness stand. I was seated in the corner of the courtroom, back row. You never so much as glanced in that