“No problem, princess. I’l be back in Columbia by late this afternoon. I’l do it toot sweet, and fax you a copy of the report.” I thanked him, disconnected, and went straight to my computer. Though Cagle’s cal had distracted me for a time, I was anxious to see what kind of e-mail stalker wanted to be my chat buddy.

What kind of psychopath knew my home phone number.

The flag on my inbox was straight up. A cheery voice told me I had mail.

Barely breathing, I double-clicked the icon.

Forty-three e-mails.

I scrol ed downward.

And my heartbeat ratcheted up.

Twenty-four messages had been sent by someone using the screen name Grim Reaper. Each file carried an attachment. Each subject line held the same message in bold caps:BACK OFF!

I recoiled from the monitor.

Breathe in.

Out.

In.

My hand shook as I double-clicked one of the Grim Reaper subject bars.

The message window was blank. The attachment was a numbered graphics file, 1.jpg. Download time was estimated at less than a minute.

I hit “download.”

AOL asked if I knew the sender.

Good point.

I went to the member directory. No profile on Grim Reaper.

Back to the e-mail.

A moment of hesitation.

I had to know.

I clicked “yes,” told the download manager to save.

Slowly, an image unfolded down the screen. My face, a hash-marked circle superimposed.

My subconscious knew instantly as my conscious mind moved toward comprehension.

My left hand flew to my mouth.

I was viewing myself through the scope of a high-powered rifle.

For a moment I could only stare.

Seriously frightened now, I closed that e-mail and opened another.

2.jpg.

Myself, leaving a Starbucks. This time the scope was trained on my back.

3.jpg.

Myself, leaving the MCME facility, bul ’s-eye on my forehead.

Morbidly fascinated, I had to see more.

8.jpg.

A picture of Ryan and me leaving the McEniry Building at UNCC.

12.jpg.

Boyd, exiting my kitchen door.

18.jpg.

Myself, entering Pike’s Soda Shop.

Breathing hard and starting to sweat, I opened another.

22.jpg.

The sweat went cold on my skin and I shivered.

Katy sat reading on what I guessed to be Lija’s front porch swing. She was wearing shorts and a tank top I’d purchased at the Gap. One bare foot was lazily pushing against the railing.

A rifle was aimed at her head.

20

AT THE SOUND OF THE DOOR, IFLEW TO THE KITCHEN.

Boyd was guzzling from his bowl.

Ryan was digging water from the refrigerator. I watched him straighten, uncap the bottle, throw back his head, and drink. His skin glistened. Strong, ropy muscles rippled in his arm, neck, and back.

Seeing him calmed me.

Needing a male presence to calm me annoyed me.

I shoved both feelings aside.

“Good run?” I asked, attempting a conversational tone.

Ryan turned.

One look told him al was not wel .

“What’s up?”