Chapter One
I see you.
Instinctively, Detective Paul Monroe of the Thornwood Park Police Department glanced over his shoulder at the front door before training his sharp gaze on the copse of trees behind the row of houses across the road. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he glanced down at the plain piece of paper with those three chilling words written in a haphazard script. It was the second time in the past month that he’d found a scrap of paper tucked under the windshield wipers of his car when he left for work in the morning.
And, like the other time, he took a small glassine bag from the glove compartment of his car and slid the piece of paper inside, but he did so without much hope of finding any prints other than his own. On instinct, and because Cliff was still sleeping, he returned to the porch to check the locks on the front door. Finding them secure, he tramped up the driveway to the rear of the house to make sure the door from the deck to the kitchen was locked as well. Only then did he get into his car and drive to the station.
“Morning, Julie,” he greeted the front-desk receptionist on duty.
“Hi, Paul. How’s it going?”
“Not too bad.”
Except for a pesky stalker.
“Lieutenant is on his way in, and he called to say he wanted to see you and Rob this morning.”
He stifled a groan. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile and picked up the ringing phone. He walked away and caught a glimpse of Rob over the partitions. Hoping to catch his partner cheating on the diet Rob’s wife forced on him, Paul soft-footed it through the room until he stood behind their shared space. He grinned, seeing the remnants of a Danish on the wax paper on Rob’s desk and waited, listening to Rob fast-talk to his wife, Annabel.
“Babe, I swear I’m being good. Would I lie to you?” He licked his fingers. “Yeah, grilled chicken and steamed broccoli is fine. Sounds great. Gotta run.”
He disconnected the call and groaned. “That sounds fucking awful.”
“It’s not so bad,” Paul said, laughing out loud as he swung into his seat. “And do I have to call Annabel to tell her you’re already cheating?”
“You wouldn’t. Paulie, come on. We’re partners. You have to have my back. Besides”—Rob grinned—“it was a chocolate Danish. There are antioxidants in that.”
“You are pathetic.” Paul showed the note to Rob. “I got another one.”
The humor fled from Rob’s face as he read the three words. “Number two. First one said the same thing, right?”
“Yeah.” Paul drank the coffee he’d brought with him, knowing it would be a three-cup morning, what with Kraft breathing down their necks about who knows what.
“Any ideas?” Rob studied the note through the clear plastic bag. “You talk to any of your neighbors?”
“No. I was thinking about all the people Cliff and I met when we went to that block party a few months ago, after I moved in. Most people were friendly, but there were definitely a few who weren’t happy about having a gay couple living in their midst.”
Rob leveled a sharp-eyed gaze at him. “Oh, yeah? Assholes. You have any problems with them? Do you know their names?”
Paul returned to that Sunday afternoon. “One was Wilbur Falk. He runs a tire-repair shop. Lives across the street from us with his son, who doesn’t do much aside from drink, get himself arrested for disorderly conduct frequently, and occasionally work at the local Super Fresh Market, stocking shelves and making deliveries.”
“Sounds like a real prize,” Rob said dryly. “Anyone else?”
“The others are the Jansens—Eric and Irene—a couple with a baby, and pretty new to the neighborhood. They moved in a few months before I did, and Cliff said he was hoping to make friends, since they’re around our age and enjoy theater and sports, stuff we like. They were friendly to him before I came, but once I moved in, they shut him down. Walked right past us at the block party, not even acknowledging Cliff or saying hello.” Cliff had been hurt by the obvious snub, but Paul knew assholes existed everywhere, often disguised in pretty packages hiding the ugly underneath.
“Why are people so dumb?” Rob’s lips tightened. “You think it’s one of them?”
He lifted a hand. “Who knows? I’d be more inclined to think it’s Wilbur. I know I’m profiling, but he has that angry, discontented look about him, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, like he’s walking around with his balls in a vise.”
“You got it,” Paul said with a slight smile, but he was worried. “Of course, I could be wrong, and it could be someone else entirely.”
“True, but it’s a start.”
Rob crumpled up the paper bag that held his breakfast and tossed it into the trash. He stood, holding his mug. “Want another?”
“Yeah. Gonna need it. I’m about to start running through the notes on those break-ins on Main Street.”
Rob filled his mug and poured a cup for Paul. “Here you go. How many do we have now, three?”
Paul nodded as he read through the file. “Uh-huh. Game On, the electronics store, Today’s Man, and Twenty-Four Karat, the jewelry store.” He grimaced and continued scanning his notes. “Same MO. They wear dark masks and gloves, disguising skin color, and baggy clothes so we can’t distinguish build. Two suspects sweep through the stores, grabbing what they can. In the last one, the jewelry store, they smashed through the display cabinets and took over ten thousand dollars’ worth of items.”
“Yeah, that was their last and biggest haul. Probably using the other stores earlier in the week as a tester for the big one in the jewelry store.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Paul pushed his chair away from the desk. “And the Curry Spot reported receiving a threat last night, so we’ll need to stop by and talk to them. We should tell Kraft they need to increase foot patrols there at night and have the patrol cars make a sweep every half hour instead of hourly. Did we get anything yet from the outside cameras? What car they might’ve used?”
“Not yet.”
“Guess we should also pay a visit to the pawnshop over on Market Street later, once we receive the inventory of stolen jewelry. See if they’ve gotten anything in.”
“Sounds good.”
Paul’s phone rang. “That’s Kraft. Yes, sir?” he answered, unconsciously sitting up straighter.
“Can you and Rob come to my office, now?”
A bit surprised the lieutenant asked and didn’t order, Paul waved to Rob. “Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.” Rob rolled his eyes and unhooked his suit jacket off the back of his chair—Kraft insisted they present themselves in their full-dress attire whenever they came to his office.
They crossed to the opposite side of the precinct from where they sat, and Marcia, Kraft’s secretary, greeted them.
“Good morning, Paul, Rob, how’s the family?”
Rob’s wife and three daughters had stopped by a few weeks ago, and the little girls had charmed everyone, including Kraft, who’d taken out his wallet and shown pictures of his grandson to everyone.
“Everyone’s good, thanks,” Rob replied. “And you?”