He looks up, startled. ‘I shut it. I know I did. I locked it when I came back in.’

‘Maybe he has a key.’

We take that in, a hum of terror thrumming through my body.

‘But I put a chair in front of the door,’ Liam says. He turns his head to the front door, realisation dawning. ‘He came in the front,’ he says. ‘I forgot to bolt it. He must have come in that way and left by the back door. I can’t believe I did that.’ He curses himself under his breath and hobbles over to the front door, drawing across the bolt.

‘It’s not Andrew McKay though,’ I say, running to fetch the article. ‘They found his body. He killed himself.’ I show him the newspaper.

Liam snatches it from my hand and reads it.

We fall silent, both of us looking around the chilly front room, staring at the now-dead fire and the rug where we lay sleeping. ‘Well, whoever the hell he is, he was here,’ Liam says in a hushed voice. ‘He must have come in while we were passed out. He stood here.’ He points at where he’s standing. ‘He watched us.’

The Stalker

I stood over them for the longest time. I wanted to kill them both. It was hard not to. I had to fight hard to wrestle the anger and rage and subdue it. I wanted to make them suffer first. I wanted to hurt him in ways that he could never imagine, and I wanted to make her watch. Then she might know some of the pain I’ve experienced watching her with him.

So I decided to wait.

I glanced at the gift I’d brought for her. An angel made of glass.

‘This is for you,’ I whispered, setting it down.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I glance down at the splinters of glass on the carpet. ‘Why put an angel ornament there?’ I ask. ‘I don’t understand!’

‘I told you. He’s messing with us.’

‘But why?’ I shout. ‘Who could it be? What do they want with us? Why are they stalking us like this?’

Liam shakes his head and collapses down into the armchair, wincing as he brings his foot into his lap. He presses a tea towel gingerly to it. ‘I need to get this glass out,’ he says. ‘Or I won’t be able to walk.’

‘I could use a razor blade,’ I say, trying to shrug off my terror and focus on the problem in hand, ‘and try again.’

Liam glances at me, grim-faced, and then nods, reluctantly. ‘There’s a spare blade in the bathroom, with my shaving stuff,’ he tells me.