The Men In Uniform Collection. Barbara McMahon

going to hurt you.” He spoke softly. Barely above a whisper.

      “You son of a bitch. I’ll scream. I’ll scream my head off.”

      “You don’t have to do that. I promise. I’m here to help. But please, keep your voice down.”

      She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

      “Christie,” he said, moving a bit closer. “Your brother sent me.”

      Her breath caught. “My brother’s dead.”

      “I know. But he gave you a phone number. You called that number this morning.”

      “What?” she asked, knowing it was a trick.

      “I served with Nate,” he said, his whisper deeper, as if it wasn’t quite real. “He saved my life.”

      “You could have tapped my phone.”

      “I could have, but I didn’t.”

      He took a step into the room and Christie backed up, banging her head against the window.

      “Hold on. I’ll show you.” He walked over to her bed and put the mug down on the side table. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

      Christie watched him, knowing she should make a run for it. Break the window if she had to. Scream, like she’d threatened. But she felt immobilized. As if her feet were stuck to the floor.

      He approached, and every muscle in her body tightened. He handed her a snapshot.

      Her fingers shook so it was hard to focus. It helped when he turned on the light by her bed. In the photo, she found Nate instantly. He wore camouflage, complete with floppy hat. Next to him was a big guy. The one standing not a foot away. There were other people in the picture, two men and two women. The six of them were smiling. Happy. Their weapons held casually, the way she used to hold her stuffed bear.

      “That was in Kosovo. I’m sure Nate told you we were there.”

      She looked at his face, which she could see clearly for the first time. Like Nate, he was a good-looking man. Dark hair cut short, but not as short as in the picture. Vivid eyes with long, dark lashes. An angular jaw and a full lower lip. He wasn’t as tall as she’d thought. Maybe six-two. And while his shoulders were broad, his hips were slim, his legs long. There were small lines at the edges of his eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. “They said it was a pizza parlor.”

      “It is. But the man who owns it doesn’t just make pizza.”

      Her hands still shook as she returned the picture. “Why the hell did you break in?”

      “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d wake you. I didn’t want your stalker to know I was here.”

      “You know about the stalker?”

      He nodded. “I got on it as soon as I heard about your call.”

      “Got on it? What, you broke into the police department?”

      “No. I have someone at the FBI who helped.”

      “Jesus.” She pushed back her hair, wondering if this was the part where the men in the white coats entered. “So, what, you’re here to…?”

      “Help. To catch him. To make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

      “The police and the FBI haven’t been able to do squat. What makes you so sure you can do anything?”

      “Trust me. I can. I’ve already done a preliminary sweep in here. I found these.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a jumble of tiny electronic bits. “Why don’t we sit down. Talk this thing through.”

      She nodded, hardly believing her eyes. The bastard had put bugs in her bedroom? It creeped her out so much her knees nearly buckled. She barely made it to the bed, where she sat for a few minutes remembering how to breathe.

      When she was calm enough to talk, she looked up. “What’s your name?”

      “Boone. Boone Ferguson.”

      “There are only two possibilities here,” she said. “One, you’re him, and you’ve planned this whole thing, including the picture in your wallet. Two, you really did serve with Nate, and for some unknown reason, you want to help. If it’s the first, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it. You win. If it’s the second…” The breath she’d fought for slipped away. “You win there, too. I have nothing left. I was going to leave first thing in the morning. But he got to the bank. Had the IRS seize my accounts. I’m broke. I’m tired. I give up.”

      Boone nodded. “Here’s what you’re going to do right now. Put on a robe and some slippers, take that mug of tea and come into the kitchen. Give me about ten minutes. I want to make sure we’re not overheard.”

      “Where’s Milo?”

      Boone almost smiled. “He’s in the kitchen. Ten minutes.”

      She watched him leave. He wore jeans and an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He could have been a businessman or an architect. In truth, she had no idea who he was. Only that if he were telling the truth, he’d known Nate.

      Instead of the robe, she changed into jeans and a shirt. She’d never go to bed in just a T-shirt again. As she dressed, she remembered some letters Nate had sent her from the Balkans. At the first opportunity, she’d get them out, check and see if there were any mention of Boone Ferguson. The name sure didn’t ring a bell.

      Once she’d dressed, she took the cooled mug into the kitchen where Milo was gnawing on a big rawhide bone. One she hadn’t given him.

      Boone was at the table, a large duffel bag by his chair and an array of electronic equipment spread before him. He looked up at her, then back at the meter in his hand.

      “More bugs?” Those, at least, had convinced her to keep her voice down. Way down.

      He nodded. “When was he in here?”

      She went to the microwave and stuck the mug in for a minute. As she waited, she turned to him. “The last time was three days ago. He ate cake.”

      “Ate cake?”

      She joined him at the other side of the table. “He also left me a note. It said ‘You can run, but you can’t hide.’ So it’s safe to talk now?”

      “Let’s keep it down, just in case, but I’m pretty sure the room is clean.” He looked down at the mess of electronic bits spread out in front of him. “This is some sophisticated shit.”

      “Not as sophisticated as his IRS trick.”

      “I’ve got someone who might be able to help with that.”

      “How?”

      “He’s got…interesting connections. We’ll see. Back to the stalker, do you have any idea who he is?”

      “No. None.”

      “He’s been after you for what, five months?”

      “Yes. He’s been relentless. I’ve gone to the police, the FBI. No one has been able to find out a thing.”

      “Has he indicated what he wants?”

      She stared at him. “Are you kidding?”

      “No. Some stalkers are very specific. They’re after a relationship, or they believe they’ve been wronged in some way. If his messages have had any kind of theme, that could be helpful.”

      “He wants me to be afraid. Hold on,” she said, rising. Milo watched her, his paws still guarding his bone, as she went to the living room and got her log book. “Tell me something,” she said, handing it to Boone. “What did you do to Milo?”

      “I gave him a bone.”

      “No. Before. He didn’t attack