Christmas Stalking ; Christmas Countdown by Margaret Daley

Author:Margaret Daley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-06-21T19:16:14+00:00

One week later...

The doorbell rang.

Maggie’s heart slammed against her ribs. She sat straight up in bed, snagged her weapon from under her pillow and crammed her flashlight into the pocket of her jeans. She hadn’t gone to bed in PJs in three years, but always slept fully dressed, prepared for nights with an incident like this.

Hyperalert, she listened for the bell to chime again. It didn’t. She hadn’t dreamed it. She never slept soundly at night; if anything, she just dozed. Crawford attacked at night. The ring was real—and unexpected. The only person in Decatur who knew her at all was the rental agent, and there was no reason he’d be ringing her bell at midnight.

Midnight. Exactly, according to the red numerals on her bedside clock. The precise time Crawford had killed his first four victims.

Her skin crawled and her heart raced even faster. He couldn’t have found her already. He couldn’t have. It’d been only ten days...

She firmly gripped her weapon, swiped back the covers and then crept silently in the dark. Scraping her back against the wall, she inched down the hallway, not daring to turn on her flashlight. The house had to appear unchanged from outside. Otherwise, whoever was out there would know she was inside. Keep them guessing, Maggie.

She scanned ceiling to floor. Second bedroom...clear. She skirted the landscape painting of the Louisiana bayou at sunset, and then moved on, the rough wall snagging her blouse at her back, abrading her skin. Bathroom...clear. Moving again, she listened intently for the slightest creak or groan, for any sense of movement or odd sound.

Nothing. She checked the windows then the front door, avoiding the peephole. As a profiler, she’d read way too many reports of people checking peeps and meeting with a bullet or a rammed sharp object. Instead she peeked out at the edge of the window beside the door, through the tiny gap between window casing and miniblind. Nothing.

No one standing on her porch. No light or darkness rupturing the soft amber rays and shadows cast by the streetlamp. No extra car at the curb or vehicle out of place. Nothing as it hadn’t been for the past nine nights.

Stretching, she clasped a small mirror from a table beside the sofa and lifted it at an angle near the window to view the running length of the porch. Rocker...unmoved. Planter...unmoved. Nothing at waist level obstructing her view. Her hand not quite steady, she tilted the mirror down to reflect the porch floor and stilled.

What was that?

A dark clump lay on the welcome mat in front of the door. Straining, she made out the shape.

A black rose.

Her heart stopped then shot off like a launched rocket, shoving adrenaline through her veins that gushed and pounded in her ears. She jerked away from the window, fear churning in her stomach, turning the taste in her mouth bitter.

Her cell phone vibrated in its case clipped at her waist. She didn’t recognize the number, let it go to voice mail, then checked the message.

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