‘What do you think I’m doing?’
‘Stalking me. Writing me threatening notes. Marking up my fucking car.’ I take a step toward him and steady the knife. ‘You’re nextscraped into my door.’
My throat feels tight as my eyes sting, the stress of the past few weeks bubbling up.
‘Do you find it fun? Making me freak out. Did you enjoy it?’
Those eyes shift behind the mask, one gloved hand flexing.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he says.
‘Don’t you lie to me.’
‘There was a man in your alley tonight,’ he says. ‘I lost him in the industrial estate. He knows the area. He’s been here before.’
I stare at him. ‘And who the hell gave you permission to watch over me?’
‘I couldn’t help myself. But the notes weren’t me. Or the car. I promise, Kat.’
The way he says my name sounds almost reverent. Not like a guy looking to scare me. For the first time, I let myself wonder if it could really be him. The boy from the woods…
No, Kat. Don’t be a pillock.You can’t just believe a lunatic in a mask.
‘Then take off the mask,’ I say. ‘Show me who you are.’
‘Not yet.’ His focus settles on my face. ‘But youknowwho I am.’
‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want or how long you’ve been outside my flat or how you got into my—’I stop.
My denial of him registers in his eyes, and the way he sets his shoulders.
‘The summer you were eight. I first held your hand after I gave you the stone you wear around your neck.’
It feels like the world lurches and the knife loosens in my hand.
‘You used to bring me sandwiches and wash my hair in the stream.’
My hand moves to the stone at my throat to steady myself, but I freeze when I see the way he stares at it.
‘You found it in the water,’ I whisper, my mind going back to that moment. To the way the gap-toothed boy held the wet rock out for me.
‘I’ve looked for you so many times.’ The throaty voice makes my stomach flip.
The knife clatters to the floor as I stumble back, bracing against the brick wall. Before I know it, my knees go, and I’m going down. He’s there in a moment, catching me with an arm around my waist. I want to pull away, but it’s like someone’s stolen all the bones from my body.
It can’t be him.
Can’t be.
Here in the flesh with his hands splayed over my spine after so many years have passed.
I look up at the mask. To the eyes beyond. The deepest brown flecked with amber in the light.
It’s him.
There’s no denying it. But it doesn’t mean I can trust him. If what he says is true, then someone else is after me. And I’ve no idea who.Not a single suspect.
Up close, with his hands on me, the fear has dissipated. Replaced by the warmth of him. It’s affecting my ability to think clearly, and I am very aware of how close he is. How gently he holds me, and the way my heart gallops.
