The Stalker Next Door: 14. The Open Window

The handle turned. The door swung wide. And there he was — her watcher, stepping inside with a predator’s grace. His eyes locked on her immediately, on the window, on the air drifting in.

His face went blank. Then dark.

“Mara.” His voice was low, almost calm. Too calm. “What are you doing?”

Her heart crashed against her ribs. “I—just needed air—”

He shut the door quietly behind him, like a man sealing a tomb. He moved toward her in slow, deliberate steps. As he advanced, she moved back from him. 

“You think I don’t know?” His eyes flicked to the open window, to the darkness beyond. “You think I can’t feel it when someone else is touching you with their eyes?”

“I wasn’t—” she started denying it. 

“You were.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You were going to let him in.”

The last inch of space between them vanished. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, twisting it so the ribbon pulled tight. “Did you think I wouldn’t come bac