Page 121 of Executing Malice

“If you see him again, call me.”

I will not be doing that, but don’t tell him that.

“So, I think I’m beginning to understand the majority of your gifts. The candy apple. The jar of condoms. The bike saddle. The home movie. And all the others, but what do the ones on the car mean?”

Dante stops, brows furrowed. “What ones on the car?”

I try to remember them. After the panties, there haven’t been any others.

“The pencil. The piece of cloth. The panties, which was probably the weirdest one. The bird skull.”

The drill is set down.

“When?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really keeping track. I thought they were from you.”

“No.”

Without waiting for me, he’s stalking from the kitchen. I know he’s headed for his stalker cave — as I’ve begun to call it — before I even get the chance to unfurl my stiff legs and hobble after him.

Everything is exactly like the last time I’d been up here, except the neat, white box resting on the bed.

I ignore it and follow Dante to his system.

His long fingers move fluidly over the keys, bringing up hours of footage. Every glide is precise, practiced. It reminds me of a dance and for a twisted second, I think how expertly those same digits know every key stroke across my body to make me squirm. Everything about them is sexy. The ink across the bruised and scabbed knuckles. The short, blunt nails. But my favorite is the rough texture of his finger pads. The calloused skin that scratches just enough to make me shiver.

“That’s not right.” His low murmur pulls me free of my thoughts.

I blink and focus on the screen.

I don’t get it. I see the front of the house. I see the wide expanse of space where usually Mom and Dad’s car would be parked next to mine, but only mine is visible in the clear display. The image flips from bright day to the glowing green of night vision. Then bright again.

“What’s wrong?”

He lifts the hand not manning the mouse and points. “There are chunks of time missing every night. Not big enough to notice if I wasn’t looking. Fifteen minutes at most, and always between two and three am. But I can’t see anything on your car. The items are too small, and you’re parked too far out.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’ll stop by tomorrow.”

His head tips up. “What’s tomorrow?”

I drift away from him towards the bed and the box. “It’s always like this before Halloween. It stops once the day is over and kids start behaving for Christmas. They never mean anything.”

“That doesn’t explain the time loss,” he grumbles. “My system is ironclad. Kids wouldn’t be able to tamper with it.”

I dismiss the allegations. “It could be downtime when then turn the systems off for maintenance. I don’t have a computer so I can’t guarantee that, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing diabolical. What’s in the box?”

Change of topic working, Dante spins in his chair and pushes to his feet with the same momentum. “Step away.”

I get closer.

“Is it my surprise?”

He’s on me before I can take another step. “Let’s go, little demon.”

I squeak as I’m unceremoniously plucked up and tossed over his shoulder. Man doesn’t even break stride as he stomps to the hatch and starts bringing us down like I weigh nothing.

At the bottom, he drops me down on my feet but keeps me braced with an arm hooked around my middle.