“Yes. I’m visiting a farm in Northland and several in the Waikato. I’m scheduled to visit a new farmers’ market in Pukekohe. I have several engagements in the rural sector.”
“We’ll have to increase security measures at each venue,” Nelson said.
“Maybe we should come clean about Josh getting shot,” Gerry suggested. “That way, the public might help us keep an eye out for anyone carrying a gun.”
“What if it keeps voters away? It’s important to meet as many of the voting public as possible. That’s the purpose of a campaign.” Ashley blew out a breath. “What type of gun did he use?”
“A rifle,” Josh said. “He’ll look out of place toting one of those around the city.”
“He knows where Ashley will be each day. That’s the problem.” Gerry said.
“He didn’t shoot at me, though. He shot at Josh. What if I’m not the target but Josh is?”
“I haven’t been home long enough to piss off anyone,” Josh said. “Besides, you were receiving odd notes and dead flowers before I arrived in Auckland.”
“That’s true,” Nelson said. “It might simply be that your stalker wants Josh out of the way or wishes to hurt you as much as he can. Removing your fiancé would do that. A public figure such as yourself is under scrutiny from the press twenty-four/seven. You’d need to mourn in public while doing your job.”
“That theory makes more sense,” Josh agreed.
Ashley shuddered. “I don’t understand. What have I done to cause someone so much pain they’re willing to go to these lengths to hurt me?”
Josh took her hand, which was icy cold, despite the warm vehicle interior. He wove their fingers together and squeezed lightly in silent commiseration.
“We’re looking at every angle,” Nelson soothed. “But the truth is sometimes people are strange. They take offense at the smallest thing and aninsultsnowballs inside their head until it becomes a life and death matter. You might have smiled at the wrong time or ignored a question. You might’ve done a dozen different things to upset your stalker.”
“He’s accusing me of murder,” Ashley said with quiet dignity. “Which simply isn’t true. Murder is not a little thing. That last reporter intimated there were new posts.”
“More posts?” Gerry pulled out his phone and scrolled. “Yep, more posts. We’ve spoken to the social media company. They say this person has opened new accounts. When they check the name and address details of the users, they’re fake, yet their systems don’t catch them until later when they scratch below the surface. None of their bots or machine learning is picking up these false accounts.”
“What do I do?” Ashley asked.
“Carry on as you have been,” Josh encouraged. “You’ve publicly labeled him a bully, which is basically the truth.”
“I agree.” Nelson nodded in approval. “Until he makes his next move, we can’t do a thing. We have to catch him breaking the law.”
“What if he kills someone before you catch him?” Ashley asked. “I don’t want anyone to die. It was bad enough that Josh—” She swallowed hard. “Josh came close to being seriously hurt this afternoon.”
“Ashley, try not to worry. Continue doing your job, and we’ll do ours,” Nelson said.
By the time they arrived back home, Ashley was exhausted. Her stalker was interrupting her sleep and that, plus her long days, was catching up on her.
Used to the routine now, Ashley waited in the vehicle with Nelson while Gerry and Josh checked the house. The new security lights had come on when Nelson nosed the car into its normal parking space at the rear of her home.
Ashley scanned the areas of her garden still in shadows, anxiety doing a number on her stomach. It churned while her pulse raced. She hated this. This was New Zealand. People didn’t, as a rule, go around shooting each other with guns.
A light came on inside the house, and Josh returned to the entrance. He nodded, and Ashley waited for Gerry to come around and open the door for her.
“Anyone want a hot chocolate before they go to bed?” Ashley asked.
“I’ll make it,” Josh said.
“But I make it a special way—”
“Frog told me one night when we were on watch together. I know how to do it. Go. Get ready for bed, and I’ll make the hot chocolate.”
Ashley didn’t argue any further. If the hot chocolate wasn’t up to her standards, she didn’t need to drink it.
“She’s scared,” Nelson said.
