But if I hadn’t noticed any of those things, I still would have known.
Every single night when I told him goodnight and he would whisper, “Sweet dreams,” I would feel his stare on me until I turned the corner into his bedroom and climbed into his bed.
It was driving me mad.
For a girl who never thought about sex, who never desired that kind of relationship with a man… I sure was making up for lost time.
I knew it was better this way, that I couldn’t act upon my feelings. This was only temporary—soon I would be going back to my life and he would go back to his. There was no use in complicating something that could remain simple.
With a sigh, I pushed all thoughts of Holt out of my head, glancing up at the clock. It was almost six. Closing time. I was tired today. It had taken two days of consistent work to get caught up here at the library. Things had really piled up while I was gone, but I finally managed to finish everything that needed to be done. All I had left was one cartful of books to put away, and then I could lock up for the night.
The last patron had left about an hour before, so I was alone in the building. Normally, I liked this time of the day, the peacefulness of being in a quiet place surrounded by books—of the passions of other people’s minds. I enjoyed being able to be alone with my thoughts, but tonight felt different somehow.
The silence seemed ominous.
The peacefulness seemed disturbed by something unseen.
“It’s just the rain,” I murmured to myself, and as if on cue, the darkened sky lit up with lightning and thunder rumbled above the building. Southern thunderstorms were always a little creepy.
As I wandered down the aisles with my cart, replacing books to their designated place, I thought about what the police told me when Holt and I took them that letter.
Of course they were suspicious of Holt. They didn’t understand why he wouldn’t show them immediately.
Holt held firm, stating he wasn’t about to discuss something that pertained to me until he had the chance to speak to me first. The police weren’t as tickled by this as I secretly was, but eventually they moved beyond it and got to the matter at hand.
Even with an obvious threat against me, there still wasn’t much to go on. The only thing they seemed clear on was that someone wanted to hurt me. They were, of course, going to be investigating. Taking prints off the letter (they didn’t expect there to be any), looking for clues as to who could have sent it. They were questioning people at the WFD where Holt worked to see if anyone saw a person leave this note on Holt’s windshield.
So far nothing.
And there had been no more fiery attempts on my life.
I didn’t know what to think. Had the person given up? Was I safe? Or was the killer merely waiting for an opportunity to strike?
Like when you’re alone in an empty library.
The thought caused me to look over my shoulder. Of course, no one was there, and I laughed lightly at my paranoia. Still, my footsteps quickened as I moved deeper into the shelves of books to finish my task.
A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and close. Great, I thought. Only on nights when I am tired and ready to go home do people come in minutes before I lock up and expect me to stay late.
The little bell on the front desk chimed and rolled my eyes. “I’ll be right there,” I called out, abandoning the cart and stepping down the aisle.
The bell started ringing again. Impatiently this time. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring!
Irritation slammed through me. I knew they could hear me. It was so quiet in here, they would have to be deaf not to. Guilt followed the thought. Perhaps it was someone with a hearing problem.
I heard an odd scraping sound, a sound that caused me to pause and listen. It sounded as if someone were dragging something across the tiles that surrounded the front entrance and information desk.
Apprehension crawled up my legs like a long-legged spider, and my skin broke out in a cold sweat. I picked up the thickest, heaviest book nearby and held it out in front of me like a club, and I tentatively moved toward the sound.
I might be scared. But I wasn’t going to run.
The sound of a scraping match echoed through the entire building and caused momentary spots to form before my eyes, blocking my vision. I sagged against a shelf and gave myself a mental pep talk. If it really was what I thought it was, I didn’t have time to stand here and be scared. I had to act fast; I had to get out of the building.
Holding my breath, I turned the final shelf, stepping out into the open, facing the door and front entrance.
And that’s when I saw it.
A cry ripped from my throat as I rushed forward.