The back of her legs bumped into her bed. He's the only one I back away from.
When he should have been the man she always ran to.
"But you should have contacted me. Some creep is in your home, in your bedroom." His hands were fisted. "I would have been on the first fucking plane down here. Jason is dead. But there are people out there-people who get obsessed with serials. Women who fall in love with them. Men who want to be them. As the only surviving victim, shit, that makes you a target for people like that. It makes you-"
"Why do you think I moved to New Orleans?" She gave a sad shake of her head. "I needed to get away from all that. From the letters that came from strangers who told me what they'd like to do to me." She'd given all of those twisted letters to the authorities in Baton Rouge. They'd assured her they would investigate, but no one had ever been arrested.
That was years ago.
"I had a normal life here," she continued determinedly. "People had forgotten. I had a business. I had clients who trusted me." A job that made her feel as if she were making a difference. And not just being a victim. "But someone started trying to unravel that life."
He watched her with a hard gaze. "You think it's the same man who killed our Jane Doe."
"I think..." She stopped, then tried again. "I think I want to be a part of your investigation because someone has been screwing around with me." She wanted to believe that Jason Frost was dead. Oh, God, she wanted that to be true. But his body had never been found and fear had haunted her. The fear was a companion that had dodged her steps for years.
And...
She was lying to Tucker. Well, a little. Only a little lie. In those first few months after her attack, she had imagined that Jason was after her. Everywhere she'd turned, she'd seen him. She'd thought for sure he was tailing her. She'd been so certain that she'd hired a PI.
Timothy Roth had been in his late fifties, a tough, grizzled, no-nonsense PI. He'd taken her money, he'd tailed her and he'd looked for someone who might be stalking her...
Jason.
And after six weeks, he'd given her the money back. No one had been following her back then. He'd found zero evidence.
The PTSD had gotten to her.
She'd seen a shrink.
She'd gotten better.
But I can't have that dark time brought up again. I can't have people saying that I was just imagining everything again. And that was the real reason she'd held off on contacting the police until she had solid proof. Not just scents in her home. Not just two photos that had been switched. Not just goose bumps on her arms when she was out late at night-the primitive, instinctive response to being hunted.
More evidence. Real evidence that couldn't be denied.
Timothy had been the one to teach her that she needed more. Timothy had been the one to teach her how to be a PI. Only she wouldn't tell Tucker any of that because she wanted him to keep believing her. There couldn't be any room for doubt in his mind.
But Tucker had just turned and headed away from the bed. She hurried after him. "Tucker?" Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him again.
He opened the French doors that led to her balcony and stepped outside. She hurriedly followed him, and the heat of a June New Orleans day sank on her like a hot, heavy blanket.
Since she'd grown up in Baton Rouge, Dawn was used to the South and the heat it brought. But tourists...they usually melted down on the street below. They'd strip off their extra garments and sag as they walked down the worn sidewalks...just as they were doing right then.
"The only way to your condo is by taking the stairs that were inside the building, right?"
"Right." The door to her building opened to a landing-her downstairs neighbor's place branched to the left, and the stairs that led up to Dawn's place were nestled to the right. But just to get into the building, you had to have the security code. It was supposed to be a safe place.
"Who lives below you?" His hands had curled around the wrought iron railing.
"A tattoo artist. Jinx Donahue is the best in New Orleans." Dawn had even gotten inked by her. "I asked Jinx if she saw anyone, but she said she didn't."
"You and Jinx both know the security code to access the building."
The security system was in place to keep the vagrants out of the building. Vagrants, curious tourists, ghost hunters-they'd all tried to get in at some point. She nodded.
"You've both probably given that code to friends...to lovers."
"I don't give the code to anyone."
His blue stare slid to her face. "But Jinx does."
"Yes." She eased closer to him. He won't bite. Why am I afraid? She'd been strong, she'd felt strong, for so long...until the watcher began to mess with her mind again. At first, he'd made her doubt herself. Is this happening? Am I just imagining things again? Seeing a ghost when the real killer is long gone? "But those people can only access the bottom floor. You saw that I had my own separate security system up here-"