Page 34 of Watching Her

“Maybe not until the time is right.” The chill lingered, tickling my spine. Not a threat, but a promise for more.

“Exciting,” Jasmine offered.

Or damning, depending on how you looked at it.

The evening was enjoyable, but I’d paced myself, determined to get a good night’s sleep since the flight was early. After saying my goodbyes, I decided to take a few minutes outside before I slipped under the covers to indulge in deep, dark fantasies.

Plus, I constantly searched the bar, maybe in hopes of seeing the mystery man once again.

I’d spent little time outside and the grounds of the hotel were stunning. While the area around the pool was packed, few guests had ventured off on their own as I intended on doing.

The night was gorgeous, a light warm breeze carrying the scents of various flowers. With lights in dozens of trees, the festive atmosphere from the hotel carried throughout the landscaped area.

I moved past a line of cabanas, finding a spot far enough away from the pool I could enjoy time to myself. It had been a long time since I’d felt this relaxed. As I stood staring at the mountains, the nearly full moon providing a stunning shimmer, I held my arms.

For whatever reason, I had a slight chill, which was ridiculous with it being in the high seventies.

Ahead of me was a gorgeous fountain, one of several I’d noticed on the property. As I moved closer, I couldn’t help but think about the dance from the night before. One dance had left me with incredible dreams.

Oh, who was I kidding? I’d been grateful I’d brought my travel vibrator with me.

Music was coming from somewhere, the soft and melodic strains completely different than the night before. There was something freeing about being out of my comfort zone, being allowed to pretend as if I was someone else.

Coming to the conference had been very good for my psyche, but it was time to pack and get ready to head home. At least I’d been refreshed and eager to fully embrace the next chapter of my life.

One more minute of quiet pleasure. Sometimes the best kind.

Just before turning, I had the strange feeling of being watched.

Again.

Instantly, the words on the card crashed into the forefront of my mind.

It started as a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the early autumn air. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my muscles instinctively coiled tight, shifting my body from a relaxed state into a hyper-aware defensive mode.

I remained where I was for a few seconds, debating what I should do. My hypersensitivity suggested the person was on my right, which included the path I’d come from. There was also one to the left, a longer way around the landscaped area to get back to the hotel.

That’s what I chose, walking as if nothing was bothering me. Simply moving forward and resisting the urge to turn around. The moment I stopped short, I heard two footsteps that also stopped, but not quickly enough for me not to calculate how far behind me the person might be. I pretended I’d merely stopped long enough to smell one of the flowering plants, which offered an opportunity to quickly glance behind me.

Seeing no one, I reminded myself that sound could carry a significant distance.

After managing to smile as if simply enjoying myself, I continued walking.

With my nerves sliding to the edge, I quickened my pace, telling myself I was just being paranoid. It’s just the wind. It’s just another commuter. But that nagging voice in the back of my mind—the one that always scanned the exits and counted the shadows—screamed that I was being followed.

Finally, I took a sharp turn that anyone behind me wouldn’t expect, fighting the urge to scream. Why wasn’t there anyone around? I’d gone farther than I thought. I slipped my hand into my bag, trying to find anything that I could use for self-defense.

I slipped through a cabana, which had only recently been vacated. As luck would have it, someone had left a wine opener behind, which held a corkscrew. I didn’t stop, snagging the implement easily and continuing walking directly toward the hotel. At least I was getting closer.

The initial wave of panic evaporated, replaced by a cold, clear surge of adrenaline. My mind snapped into tactical focus, the open corkscrew placed between my fingers.

Whoever it was picked up the pace. “Hey. Slow down. I just wanted to talk to you. Wanna come have a drink with me?”

Why did I recognize the man’s voice?

“No, thanks,” I said. Still walking. Still keeping the weapon in my hand.

“Ah, come on. Just one drink.” He was closer. And he was intoxicated.