“Do you think he’s the reason I’ve had so many things come up missing lately?” she finally asked, realizing she should have mentioned the other articles before now.
Both men froze, their gazed sharpening, expressions becoming savage.
“Like what?” Mac asked dangerously.
“Well, my comb. Remember?”
He nodded sharply. “All you mentioned was a comb.”
“There was a bottle of my favorite perfume. The dress I wore last week to that meeting in Virginia. The engraved pen you bought me for Christmas just little things, Mac.”
His jaw hardened dangerously. “What else?”
Keiley frowned. “That’s all I’ve noticed.”
“How long has this been going on?” Mac snapped. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me about it?”
She hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’ve been busy. I thought I had misplaced them until I went looking for the dress last night. I was going to mention it, but—” She cleared her throat. “Things happened.”
“Mac, anyone could have found out you were investigating that case before you left,” Jethro muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
“What case?”
She caught the sharp look Mac gave him as she questioned the comment.
“Mac, don’t you think it’s just a little too late to shield me here?” she snapped in frustration. “I’m not a child, nor am I an imbecile. It’s a stalker, isn’t it?”
It was one of a woman’s worst nightmares.
“Shit,” Mac growled as he pushed his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Damn it to hell.”
“You were working a stalker case before we moved, weren’t you?” Her voice trembled on the question. “The one that led to the attack on the accountant in Alexandria.”
He nodded shortly. “We called him the Playboy. Until that attack he had never hurt any of his victims. He played with them. Or more to the point, he played with their lovers and husbands.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“He focused on women whose husbands or lovers were in the investigative fields. Cops, bodyguards, private investigators. As though he were testing himself against them. He would steal their personal items, then later begin returning them in places where they knew they wouldn’t have left them. It was a dare. He put their men on alert, then began escalating, getting closer and taunting them with the knowledge that he could strike at any time.”
“Then he attacked one of them?”
“Her husband was a private investigator. He slipped into the house, managed to knock him out, and then attacked her. Then he just disappeared.”
“Until now.” Her breath hitched violently as her stomach contracted.
“He must have found out who was investigating the case with the FBI,” Mac snapped. “It wouldn’t be that hard to do. I questioned three of the seven victims.”
“And he found out you were married,” she whispered. “He’s daring you.”
“He’s dared the wrong men.”
Keiley flinched at the murderously cold smile that curved at her husband’s lips. And she didn’t miss the plural at the end of that declaration. The wrong men. She turned her gaze to Jethro and caught her breath. If Mac was murderously cold, then Jethro was icy. His eyes were like winter frost, his expression merciless.
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to catch the bastard,” Mac assured her, his voice silky smooth but with an edge of violence as he turned to Jethro. “Do you still have the tracing program on your laptop?”
Jethro nodded.