“That’s a good idea.”
She scrubbed her palm over her face as if she could erase the sinister feeling that always came when she had the nightmare. A little shiver went down her spine. She found herself looking around, wanting to get her gun out of the safe where she kept it and just have it on the bed beside her. She took another cautious look out the bank of windows.
“Do you think he’s out there again, Sam?”
“Yes. He’s keeping his distance. While you were sleeping, I took a walk around the property, inside the gates and all around the cabins.”
“Sam,” she protested. “After what he did to Sonny and Bailey, you can’t take chances like that. I don’t care what you did in the military. This person is really scary. There’s something wrong with him. People like that are …” She stopped herself from saying invincible.
Sam’s dark gaze was fixed on her face. “Sweetheart.”
The way he said that single endearment turned her heart over, but it didn’t change the truth. Whoever was out there was playing for keeps. He had a knife and he’d plunged the blade four times into Bailey. He might have done so to Sonny had not Bailey attacked. Stella was certain he wanted Sam dead. She didn’t know why she was absolutely convinced of it, but she was. That brought her up short.
“Sam, if this man is the serial killer and he’s after you or even me, why hasn’t he targeted either one of us recently? You just said it yourself. You went walking by yourself at night on the property. He could set you up, draw you out. He hasn’t done that. He could make your death look like an accident if that’s his thing. You go out every night, sometimes several times a night.”
Sam hesitated.
“Just say it.”
“Lately, I’ve had Bailey with me. Now, Bailey’s incapacitated. We might see that change. The killer might target me now.”
She dropped her face into her hands. “This gets worse and worse.”
“No, it really doesn’t, Stella. We still have only a couple of things we’re dealing with and we take them one thing at a time. You do your sketch and journal like normal. See if Shabina has any recordings of birds and can help identify where the next murder is taking place. As for this watcher we have, he’s been around now for a little while. We’re both getting a feel for him.”
Stella had to admit Sam was right about that. Sometimes even when she went into town, the hairs on the back of her neck would stand up as if she felt the watcher close.
Sam continued. “He’s got some vantage point. In the morning I’m going to scout around and see if I can find his tracks. He’s got to be up high across from us. There are only a few places that would give him a good view of the house. He’s good at hiding his tracks when he wants to, but he might not think about it when he thinks he’s safe.”
“Could he be on a boat?”
“I thought of that, but he would be too low to see much if he was on the water. I would imagine it would be too frustrating.”
“We’d see the boat, even if he didn’t have running lights, most likely,” she agreed.
“I think he’s a good distance away. He might not think I’ll go looking across the narrow part of the lake up on the slope. That’s where I think he’s established himself. If I’m lucky, he’s sloppy there. Has a nice little blind set up for himself where he feels safe. Brings food and water. If he’s left anything behind, I might be able to get something with fingerprints on it.”
She looked up quickly, hope blossoming. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“Anything is possible, Stella. No one is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. He stabbed Bailey four times, and those stab wounds were deep. When you use a knife like that, often you can get cut yourself. He may have been bleeding. He might have retreated to his ‘safe’ place in order to see when everyone left so he’d have access to the house. If he cut himself, there might be blood and anything he used to clean up with.”
“I never thought of that.” But of course, Sam did. He was like that. He seemed to think of those little details that would never occur to her. “It’s hard to believe he’d have the guts to return after what he did last night,” she added, trying not to revert to rocking back and forth. It was such a bad habit. “You’d think he’d want to at least take a night off.”
“Apparently, serial killers and assholes don’t ever get tired,” Sam said.
To her utter astonishment, Stella burst out laughing. “Apparently not. Do I get hot chocolate while I’m sketching and journaling?”