thing Page noticed was the deadbolt wasn’t locked. “I don’t think I forgot to lock that. I always double-check it—hell, I double-check everything. I’m funny about my house, you know that. You’re always making fun of me about it. Something’s going on, Mano.” Mano always teased her about being OCD, and maybe she was a little bit when it came to things like the stove or doors and windows being locked. She was used to being single, independent, and above all, safe.
“You’re damn straight it is. That old lady didn’t just die—somebody killed her, and I’d bet it’s connected to the guy who tried to run you off the road. I don’t believe in coincidences in my line of work.”
“I wonder how they did it?” She couldn’t help but let her mind wander about how the woman had been killed. She hoped she hadn’t suffered, but there was no undoing what had been done—her neighbor was dead, and it might be because of her.
“Neighborhood gossip will let you in on that. We’ll wait for the cops to clear out and then ask some neighbors if they saw anything. People are all too willing to talk in situations like this. They won’t think anything of us knocking on their door and asking questions. They’ll just think it’s a neighborhood watch type of thing. This is the most excitement this neighborhood has ever seen.”
Page plopped down on the couch and scrubbed her hands over her face, “I hate to think Mrs. Boxley was killed because of me. I can’t imagine a blog causing this much trouble.”
“The power of the written word, babe. He may be scared you’re going to reveal something he’s kept hidden. It’s hard to know how a psycho is thinking. He killed your neighbor. She must have seen him coming out of your house or something. If she confronted him and he was scared she’d tell you, that’s all it would take.” Mano sat and rubbed a hand across her back, an attempt to calm her. “This isn’t your fault. We’re dealing with a sick sonofabitch who enjoys killing. He doesn’t need a reason. Do you want me to fix you some coffee?”
“No, I’m too keyed up.”
“Then I’ll make you some chamomile tea. It’ll help calm your nerves.” He took a second to look at her, “I don’t want you feeling guilty about this. Don’t let this guy get in your head. You’re just giving him power if you do.” He got up and walked towards the kitchen. He grabbed her favorite mug that said something about not pissing her off, or she’d put you in a book and kill you off. He had seen it in a bookstore and thought it was funny, so he bought it for her. The microwave dinged, and he grabbed the hot water and put a teabag in it. He thought about everything going on as he lifted the tea bag up and down so it would seep quicker. He was worried about Page, but he needed to be strong, so she didn’t become fearful. Scared people made mistakes, and that’s precisely what this bastard wanted. Mano knew the psychological games all too well, he’d used them in his line of work, and the authorities would also if they got wind of what was going on.
He walked back into the living room, making sure he had a smile on his face. He sat down and handed her the tea.
“My favorite mug—it sounds like something I’d do.”
“That’s why I bought it for you. It fit you so well.” He kissed her cheek.
“I don’t think I feel guilty. I just keep trying to understand why this guy is so fixated on us. I can’t wrap my brain around it.” She took a sip of the tea and let the warmth soothe her. “I know he was here. I don’t leave my deadbolt undone, and that Kleenex box on my desk has been moved.”
“He moved things on purpose. It’s a mindfuck they teach us when they’re training us to be in the cartel. It’s like gaslighting somebody; making them think they’re crazy. There will be more moved around, and nothing was stolen; unless he took a trophy.”
“A trophy?”
“Yes. Something to remind him of you—something intimate. Let’s look and see what he moved around and what’s missing. I’m sure he tried to get on the computer and couldn’t because its password protected.”
Page reluctantly got up and began looking around. She could see her desk had been tampered