Stalker in the Shadows. Camy Tang

gave her a sharp look. “Have you talked to Augustus about this yet?”

       Heat like a sunburn crept up her neck. “Uh…Dad mentioned yesterday how he needed help now that he’s actually decided to go forward with the hotel.”

       Mr. O’Neill smiled. “I do have time this afternoon.” He turned to Shaun. “Did you want to come with me or pick me up later?”

       “I’ll come with you.” His voice was light, but his blue eyes flickered to Monica.

       She had to remind herself that she wanted to speak with his father, not with him. “Great. Thanks, Mr. O’Neill. Three o’clock at our house?”

       “Sounds good. Who are you meeting for lunch, by the way?”

       “It’s a potential investor for my free children’s clinic. Phillip Bromley.”

       Shaun’s jaw suddenly tightened and his eyes became shards of ice. “The son of the CEO of Lowther Station Bank in San Francisco?”

       She nodded. “His brother’s a medical missionary in Kenya. I’ve known Phillip for a few months, but last week at the Zoe banquet, he expressed interest in my clinic and mentioned that his brother might be willing to donate his time to the clinic when he returns to the States this summer.”

       But Shaun was shaking his head. “You should stay away from Bromley.”

       “Shaun…” Mr. O’Neill said gently.

       “Why?” Monica said. “Phillip has always been perfectly civil to me.” Whereas Shaun’s wildness seemed to exude from him, only barely restrained by his conservative white cotton shirt and jeans.

       There was also anger underlying that wildness as he answered, “It’s just a mask. It’s not the real him.”

       A mask? Monica hadn’t seen that at all, and she prided herself on being able to read people rather well. She didn’t particularly like Phillip—there was something about his manner that seemed too self-focused and self-serving—but she hadn’t detected anything deceptive during the times they spoke to each other.

       “He’s dangerous,” Shaun growled. “You need to stay away from him.”

       Shaun’s commanding tone grated down her spine, and she lifted her chin to glare at his set face. “How is he dangerous?”

       Shaun’s lips tightened briefly. “He just is. You don’t know him.”

       “And you do?”

       “Better than you do.”

      “Children,” Mr. O’Neill said in a long-suffering voice, “play nice.”

       Monica backed down. Mr. O’Neill was right, she was being childish. The same fiery temper that got her into arguments with her dad was now picking fights with a man who only wanted to…what? Warn her? Protect her? She wasn’t used to men like Shaun, whose life work was protecting people. Her ex-boyfriends had mostly been artists and playboys, who all seemed “soft” now compared with Shaun’s solid presence.

       She had to admit that his presence made her feel less uneasy, less vulnerable to the eyes that might—or might not—be watching her. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing outside again, but saw no one lurking or looking at her.

       At that moment, her cell phone rang, and the caller ID said it was Phillip.

       “I’ll talk to you later,” Mr. O’Neill said quickly, giving her a peck on the cheek before letting the hovering hostess seat him and Shaun at a table.

       She answered the call. “Hi, Phillip.” Were his ears burning because they’d been talking about him?

       “Hi, Monica. I’m sorry, but there’s an overturned construction truck here on highway 121. I’ll be about twenty minutes late.”

       “No problem. I’ll be waiting.”

       She had the hostess seat her at a table, but stopped when she saw it was right in the center of the large windows at the front of the restaurant. She glanced out at the tourists and pedestrians on the street. No one was even looking in her direction, but she felt as if a cold hand gripped her around the throat.

       “Could I get a table near the back?” she asked, and the hostess nodded and seated her at a small table at the back of the restaurant.

       However, it was close to where Shaun and his father were seated. She didn’t want to request another change so she sat, but it was hard for her to keep her head averted with Shaun only a few feet away to her right.

       At least the horrible feeling of being watched was gone. She spent a few minutes checking her email on her phone, but then the restaurant’s owner and chef, Lorianne, approached her table with a long white florist’s box and a huge grin on her face. “Hey, Monica. I happened to be up front just now when this was delivered for you.” Excitement radiated from her bright eyes as she sat down across from her. “Who’s it from? You didn’t mention a new boyfriend when I talked to you a couple weeks ago.”

       “I still don’t have a boyfriend. Your guess is as good as mine.” Monica didn’t look at Shaun, but could sense him glancing at her at Lorianne’s words. Really, what business was it of his? She wished she weren’t so close to their table.

       “Ooh, a secret admirer,” Lorianne said. “Well, as owner of this fine establishment, I am entitled to view any and all flowers delivered.” She winked at Monica.

       A part of her was flattered by the gift. Who wouldn’t be? But another part of her was wary. Who gave flowers to a woman through a delivery and not personally? Then it occurred to her that maybe Phillip had them delivered in advance of their meeting. He had seemed a bit friendly last week at the Zoe banquet, but she’d been careful not to encourage anything more than a business relationship. She hoped he didn’t misinterpret her body language.

       Well, she knew who it wasn’t from. She tried to angle her body away from Shaun as she lifted the lid. An odd cigarette smell made her eyes burn, and she blinked away sudden tears.

       In the box, nestled among white tissue paper, lay a huge dead snake.

       Monica gasped and dropped the box onto the table, making the silverware rattle.

       “Oh, my gosh.” Lorianne’s eyes were huge.

       The ugliness of the gift seemed to stifle her, and Monica fought to breathe. Who would send her something so hateful, so horrible?

       “I’m so sorry,” Lorianne said. “If I’d known…”

       “Monica, are you all right?”

       Shaun’s voice cut through the shocked fog of her brain, and she managed to swallow, her eyes still riveted to the hideous carcass. Then she felt his fingers grasp her chin and turn her head away from the sight into his concerned face. The blue of his eyes calmed her a little.

       His finger caressed her cheek. “Breathe. Are you all right?”

       She swallowed again. “I’m fine.” Her voice came out shaky.

       “Who is this from?” Mr. O’Neill’s outraged voice filtered through her consciousness.

       She steeled herself, then pulled away from Shaun’s hand and looked back at the box. A white envelope peeked out from behind a jagged fang in the open mouth. Shaun reached forward, but she moved faster to take it, not touching the snake. Her fingers trembled as she opened it and pulled out a thick, plain white notecard.

      Monica,

      Consider this a warning. Cease your efforts on your persistent plans. Your free children’s clinic will never see the light of day. I will kill you if I must. My course is set, my determination sure. If you do not abandon your clinic, my vengeance upon you will be “As the snake late coil’d, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength."

       It was unsigned.