Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. Stella tried not to think that Bailey was usually on that side of the bed, shoving his big head against her. To keep from acting like a baby, she sipped at the chocolate and forced herself to keep her gaze steady on Sam’s. He was a man who told the truth no matter the consequences. She might not always be able to read his expression, but she could count on knowing he would answer her when she asked him his real opinion.
Sam’s eyes darkened until they looked almost like black velvet. He reached over and switched off the lamp. “There’s no need to help him see anything. Let’s put your drawings and the journal in the safe. When you lean down, I’ll shield you with my body so it’s impossible for him to see what you’re doing even if he has night vision.”
Stella leaned over to put her mug of chocolate on the nightstand. At the same time, she scooped up her sketches and journal. Sam shifted to block her body from the sight of anyone watching from the window as she pressed her fingerprint to open the door built into the wall.
“That’s an interesting theory, Stella, that finding out your identity might have been the trigger for a serial killer. It would fit with someone watching you, trying to discover what your next move might be.” Sam sounded thoughtful but pragmatic, the way he always did, as if the idea might have some merit but it didn’t in any way get under his skin.
Stella wondered what it would take to get him riled up. Not that she ever wanted to see him angry or upset, but the idea that she might have triggered a serial killer into murdering random people sickened her. How Sam could be so calm about it shocked her. She stuffed the sketchpad and journal in the safe on the shelf below her gun and closed the door before straightening, trying to look composed.
“Does anything ever get to you?” She tried to keep the challenge out of her voice.
Sam gently tucked stray tendrils of flyaway hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. “You get to me. Anything upsetting you gets to me. A man stabbing Bailey gets to me. I learned a long time ago that thinking things through requires a calm mind. Anger gets in the way and clouds judgment. In order for me to stay alive, I had to learn to always keep my mind clear.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done, isn’t it?” She sipped the chocolate. That was always her calming go-to formula. That, Bailey, and now this man she was learning to love.
“My body was turned into a weapon. I learned to use all kinds of various weapons, but do you know what the greatest weapon we have is, Stella? Our brain. We all have one. The trick is to actually use it. We can’t panic. We can’t freeze. We have to be able to use our brain in a crisis. More often than not, that’s what keeps someone alive when others die.”
Stella knew that to be true. She had taken enough self-defense classes to have had instructors drill that into her over and over. Her brain was her greatest weapon. Use it. She also was taught to be observant. Don’t be looking down. Don’t look at her phone as she walked or ran. Look around. Pay attention to her surroundings. She had always followed those instructions.
“It’s difficult to stay calm when I know that horrible killer might have started murdering people because of me. But you’re right, and I know you are.”
“I don’t believe he’s aware of who you are, Stella. If this watcher is the serial killer, he’s here for another reason.”
There was something in his tone Stella didn’t quite understand. Speculation? An underlying darkness? A hint of a threat? “What would that be, Sam?” It would be interesting to hear what he had to say, especially since she had the feeling he wouldn’t want to tell her. “Why do you think he would come around then, if he doesn’t know who I am?”
He sighed and moved off the bed. It was the first time ever that she’d seen Sam act uncomfortable. “I think we need to get privacy screens to black out the windows, at least in the bedroom, Stella.” He paced across the room. “If he had a sniper rifle, we’d be sitting ducks.”
She leaned back against the headboard. The weird feeling of being watched had slowly begun to fade. “I think he’s leaving. Or he left.”
“We still need to get screens. I don’t like the idea of having someone watching us if I’m touching you, sweetheart.”
A little shudder went through her. That idea hadn’t occurred to her and it should have. She was a very private person. “I think you’re right. I’ll order them tomorrow morning.”