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Adam watches me with hooded eyes that smolder in the dim lighting of the patio. My mouth is hanging open when he nods at me. Tonight he's wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved knit shirt that hugs his broad muscled chest and arms.
Please don't forget he's a stalker, and possibly something worse, Sam.
Closing my mouth, I change directions and head out to his table. He stands as I approach, his gaze slowly traveling up and down my body.
I think I look pretty good in my boots, flowy skirt, and cropped denim jacket, but certainly not worthy of the look he's giving me now.
Since he could be homicidal, I wish I was wearing sweats and a ball cap.
"What are you doing here?" I get right to the point, putting one hand on my hip.
"I'm having a beer. Would you like to join me?" he asks as he pulls out a chair. I look between him and the chair.
Oh what the heck.
I have no other way of learning who he is, and I need a last name. Maybe I can get him to answer some of my questions before I ask Sean to pull his bar tab so I can get it off his credit card.
Sitting down, I toss my long strawberry waves off my shoulder so that I can take a sip of my beer. "Did you follow me here?"
He responds with a question. "What would you do if I said yes?"
I blink at him, thrown off by his response.
"I'd say you're a stalker. Why are you following me?" I cross my arms over my chest. My action does not go unnoticed by him.
"If I recall correctly, it was you who followed me first. If that is the criteria used to judge me, what does it say about you?" he says with a steady gaze.
I roll my eyes at him. "You know what I do for a living, so stop sidestepping my question."
"I'm merely stating a fact and making a suggestion. But since you did make yourself known to me, I'm now curious about you. I would like to know you better." He leans forward in his chair, already in my personal space again. Does he mean know me or know me?
I scoot my chair back several inches, turn myself to the side, and cross my legs. Anyone with half a brain can read my body language and know that I'm not happy, comfortable, or inviting at the moment.
Unfortunately, Adam is not deterred. He simply reaches over, grabs the leg of my chair with his boot, and pulls me closer with little effort. I'm shocked by the ease with which he does this. I'm sure it shows on my face. I'm a solid 130 pounds.
Our legs are now touching—I glare at him and he stares back.
"Look, you can't keep following me, and you have to stop invading my personal space! Does your country not believe in personal space? Where are you from, anyway?" I ask, getting annoyed again.
I'm not sure if it's because he keeps pushing all the normal boundaries or because he seems to know how to get under my skin.
I reach for my beer and he grabs my hand and holds it firmly, ignoring my questions. His touch feels like an electrical current that shoots right up my arm and ends with my stomach doing flip-flops. I try to pull it away from him, but he doesn't release me. We are surrounded by people, so I'm not completely freaking out—yet.
"How do we become acquainted if we do not spend time together?" he asks as he gently strokes my hand with both of his thumbs. He leans forward and stares directly into my eyes with such intensity I feel naked. I squirm on my chair, still trying to pull my hand away without making a scene.
"You want to leave with me, Samantha Lewis. Take me to your home, now," he says, still staring into my eyes, and I feel as though I zoned out for a second, but then I realize what he said, and burst out laughing.
"Are you serious? Does that actually work for you?" I ask, still laughing until I realize he's not.
He releases my hand and leans back in his chair with a peculiar look on his face. I rein my laughter in to a little cough, and take a long sip of my beer. Once again, he's looking at me like I'm a puzzle to be solved. I start to feel uneasy under his intense scrutiny.
When he doesn't speak, I ask, "Adam, what exactly are you looking for here? You can't possibly think I want to sneak off and have sex with you. My name is not Rebecca, and I do not have slut or desperate tattooed on my forehead. At this point you're a stalker, and who knows what else. I hope you understand that this is not normal behavior. I'm going to return to my friends now, and if you continue to follow me I'm going to contact the police and have a restraining order placed on you. Do you understand me, Adam?" I stand, making sure I'm out of his reach while waiting for a response.
He continues to study me a few moments longer before responding.
"I never assumed you were that sort of woman. I will admit you are a mystery to me, and that I am intrigued. I will not promise to stay away, but you have nothing to fear from me. I only thought we could continue our conversation somewhere more quiet. I am usually quite persuasive. Your ability to resist my...charms is fascinating to me, and yet another reason I'd like to learn more about you," he says.
With that, he stands, walks a short distance, then turns to me. "I like the way my name sounds on your lips, Samantha."
Before I can even think of a response he turns and leaves. My stomach does a little flip at his words. He must be throwing off all kinds of pheromones or something. I caught myself imagining him with his shirt off. And I still don't have a last name. Damn it!
Embarrassed at my own thoughts and how inappropriate they are under the circumstances, I head back to my friends and find them openly gawking at me. Great.
I spend the rest of the evening fielding questions from my friends about Adam. I tell them that we met at the mall—which is partially true—and that he wants to date me, if you can call it that, but I'm not interested. Lies, lies, lies. My body seems to have a will of its own, but my head knows that's not happening.
Dayna won't stop talking about how attractive he is, and how she can't believe I'm not into that. Eric keeps quiet, and continues to avoid making eye contact. He, and his "friend" leave early, and I'm glad. It hurts my heart a little to see her hanging on him.
I do ask Sean about Adam's tab. After checking with the waitress, he tells me the customer paid in cash.
Awesome.
***
Once home, I feed Wilbur and catch up on news from my laptop while giving my kitty some much-needed attention.
There was another murder—two in one week. This is a little more newsworthy. Police deny it's the work of a serial killer, but confidential sources say it's a possibility because both victims were blonde women in their early twenties, and other similar details that are not being released while the crimes are under investigation.
Creepy. How long did Adam say he'd been in town? He said that he's here on business. What is his business, I wonder?
Lying in my bed, I can't help but think about Adam. What's his story? Who he is, where he comes from, and why he seems fixated on me. Maybe I fit his victim profile! Crap. Why can't I meet a nice, normal guy?
***
I'm running in the forest again. I feel he's close. I don't know how I know, but I do. I feel vulnerable and exposed. This time I'm not sure if I want him to find me or not.
I see a shadow up ahead. Is it him? I stop and watch. The shadow watches me back. Then I hear my name from somewhere behind me. It sounds like Adam, but I'm confused. Who is the shadow figure ahead of me?
I look back and see Adam running toward me. I think he's saying my name, but I can't be sure. He looks desperate and furious as he runs toward me. I look back at the shadow, but it's gone. I spin around in a circle searching for it.
Suddenly, someone has me in a tight embrace. I look up, expecting to see Adam, but the face is hidden in shadow, and all I can see are fangs...before they sink into my neck.
I scream and scream...
I wake with a start. I'm breathing hard, and my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. What was that? And who bit me? I reach up and rub the spot on my neck that still throbs with a phantom pain. The water next to my bed is empty. I head to the kitchen for more.
I stop dead in my tracks. My patio doors are open, and my little warning bells are lying on the chair. Oh, crap! I run for my bed and grab the knife from under the pillow.
Here we go again.