Trembling with a nameless emotion, Jane turned her back on him and pulled a few suits out of the closet. She placed them into a garment bag and tried to focus on the task.
Byron watched every move she made, which only made her more self-conscious.
“I wanna take you out on the town, so bring somethin’ suitable. Tonight, as a matter of fact—just you and me. We’ll get some dinner and talk, sex is off the table for the moment.”
“We’re tracking down a murderer, not going on a couple’s getaway.”
“Yes, I know, but I take my wooin’ seriously. I’ve been workin’ on you for months. We can stop a murderer and still have time for dinner and drinks—trust me.” Byron snickered. “Although I’m usually committin’ crimes, not solvin’ them.”
Ignoring him, Jane continued packing, but the next thing she knew, Byron was pawing through her chest of drawers.
“I told you not to touch my things.”
“I remember.”
Yet he didn’t stop.
He hooted as he pulled out a lacy black confection she’d tucked away in the top drawer—a misguided gift from an old college beau. She’d gone through an “intellectual curiosity” sexual phase and had done some experimenting in high school and college.
“Put. It. Down.” Jane made a mental note to go through her wardrobe. It was time to donate some items, though she doubted the Salvation Army wanted her cast-off lingerie.
“You can bring this too.”
“Another man bought it for me and I refused to wear it.”
“Never mind.” He tossed it over his shoulder and it landed on the floor. “And when we get better acquainted you’re gonna tell me about your love life.”
No way. No how.
“Sit down and let me finish, so we can be on our way.” Her voice sounded shrill. Jane was a second away from ordering him outside so she could finish packing in peace.
He turned. “So you want me on the bed now?”
“Yes,” she grated out.
He obligingly laid down once more, and she did her very best to focus.
“What the hell?”
That was short-lived.
She tugged on her necklace. “What now?”
“The red flashin’ thing in your light fixture.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at the light fixture above your bed.”
She glanced up at the ceiling, and sure enough, a tiny red light flashed.
“Yes, and…?” She’s seen it before and figured it was part of the lighting unit.
“Your light ain’t supposed to do that.”
“It isn’t?”
“Fuck no.” Byron stood on the bed, pulled out his pocket knife.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Gettin’ to the bottom of it.” He unscrewed it and pulled off the globe, before handing it to her. Then he extracted a small black object, the size of a quarter, next to the light bulb— it was attached to the wiring through a line of twisty cable.
Again, her stomach rumbled with anxiety.
“What is it?”
“If I’m not mistaken, a camera.” He eyeballed the object. “Looks like it’s been wired into your electricity, and I bet it’s been connected to your Wi-Fi, projectin’ the video feed to him. I don’t see any microphones, though.”
“And by him, you mean Valentine?”
“Unless you got any other psycho killers obsessed with you?”
She supposed Byron Beauregard didn’t count.
Had Valentine been watching her this whole time—violating her privacy, her rights, and her trust?
All the warmth leeched from her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Valentine had been out on bail for months. Somehow, he’d broken into her home and set this camera up. He probably got a perverse thrill from having the power over her.
And he’d been in her apartment without her knowledge or consent—touching her things. People with Asperger’s had issues with people breaching their boundaries anyway, and this was a frightening violation. It made her want to grab everything and toss it into the washing machine, then sanitize the place with bleach, and move far, far away.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna call Vick, so she can sweep your place.” He whipped out his cell phone. “We’ll find out if he’s got any other cameras on you. Lord only knows what he’s been watchin’ you do, or for how long this peep show’s been goin’ on.”
Jane didn’t think she could handle anything else right now. The room swayed, and she slumped on the edge of the bed before her knees gave out.
Vick must’ve answered because Byron was talking to someone on the phone, but Jane couldn’t follow the conversation. Her skin was still crawling, and she couldn’t focus.