Ghost Shadow

6

H e was stunned to see Katie O’Hara suddenly on the street. She was staring after someone-as if she had just seen a long-dead relative.

And she was making her way down Duval. The crowd had thinned, but she was oblivious of the people who remained out.

She was chasing someone.

David Beckett was on the street, too, searching for Katie, then following her.

She seemed to be in some kind of a daze, intent on nothing but her purpose.

“Katie!” Beckett called, seeing her, racing after her. He reached Katie. Caught her by her shoulders and spun her around with surprise.

He couldn’t have known her, couldn’t have really known her, she’d been a kid back then.

But he’d known her brother, of course. Sean. Who had gotten out of town when it all broke, as well.

Beckett shook her gently, saying her name again, and then once again.

It was bizarre. She snapped out of whatever spell had gripped her. She seemed surprised to be in the street, there, with him. He was touching her. And her eyes met his. There was no hostility in them, just curiosity.

She shook her head then. Beckett was still concerned. Katie seemed to be determined to assure him that everything was all right. What was she saying to him?

He could tell…

There was just something about the two.

There was tenderness in Beckett’s eyes. It wasn’t the same kind of tenderness a man might show the younger sibling of an old friend.

And his hands. The way that he touched her…

The way that they stood. Why not? She was a stunning young woman. And Beckett…ah, Beckett. He played the part. The sterling son of a sterling family. Tall and handsome, a vet, an educated man, a famed photographer…

He felt his fists tensing into knots at his side.

Yes, there was something there.

Regrettable. Katie was a good kid. She didn’t sleep around, she didn’t drink herself silly. But it looked as if Katie was going to be the one. Maybe not first…maybe that would be too obvious far too quickly. But Katie would be the one who mattered.

Katie wasn’t as alarmed by what had happened as she was by the fact that David Beckett had followed her, that he had seen her.

And she couldn’t even try to explain.

I finally saw a ghost who might be Tanya. No, she probably is Tanya. She was in the cemetery today. I think she’s trying to reach me. I thought there was something familiar about her, and, of course, there was. I’ve seen her picture, I saw it years ago.

“I could have sworn I saw an old friend,” she lied. “I mean, I could have sworn it, but…I guess I was wrong. I thought it was…Janis Seacloud,” she said. She’d had to search her mind swiftly for the name of anyone she had gone to school with whom she was certain had left town years ago and not returned. He wouldn’t know her friends, of course. Still, a lie had to be as close to the truth as possible.

Bartholomew was beside her, as well.

“Oh, good save, young lady,” he told her. “I mean, seriously, what was that? I thought you’d lost your mind. And you say I’m going to make you look crazy! You’re doing just fine on that all by yourself.”

“Stop!” she murmured.

“Pardon?” David asked, frowning. He still had his hands on her shoulders. She liked the feel of them.

But they were still standing in the street, and she was looking more unbalanced every second.

“Oh, God, I ran out in the middle of a song!” she said. She turned, escaping his hold, and hurried back.

She paused at the door, looking back at David. “Um, thank you. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to alarm anyone… I’m… Thanks!”

She hurried back to the microphone at her station, and called up the group of partying girls she’d helped choose a song. It was an old Madonna song, and the group had a lot of fun doing it. She felt unnerved, and prayed for the business of the place and the music to calm her sense of unease.

For God’s sake, she’d seen ghosts forever. Sometimes they approached her-most often they didn’t. Only Bartholomew had ever decided that he needed a best friend among the living!

“Steady, kid, steady,” Bartholomew whispered to her.

“Did you see her?” Katie asked.

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“Right! And do you know every tourist walking down the street? Tourists are living, you’re living. Does it mean that you know everyone? No! Just hold it together, Katie O’Hara. And stay away from this whole thing. I know you’re thinking that girl was Tanya. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. Doesn’t matter-you need to stay out of it and away from David.”

Katie ignored him. She needed to get through the night.

“Katie?” he persisted.

“Bartholomew, you need to make up your mind. You said that you liked David, but you keep suggesting that he might be a murderer.”

“I do like him.”

“Okay, so?”

“He still may be a murderer.”

She groaned and turned her attention to her computer.

“What the hell happened?” Liam asked David as he took his chair next to his cousin.

“Beats me. I’ve never seen anyone with a look like that… She said she saw an old friend.”

“It’s still bizarre,” Liam noted. “I guess I’ll hang around and walk her home. I’ve never seen Katie behave so oddly. And it looks like she’s talking to herself.”

Clarinda swept over to the table; she had heard Liam. “Anything else for the moment, fellows? Oh, and she isn’t talking to herself-she sings along with the music.”

“Of course,” Liam said.

“How late does she keep the music going?” David asked.

“It’s Saturday night; she’ll go to three,” Clarinda said. “Jamie O’Hara says that three is just right. By then, folks are in, and the place stays open, so people will stay. And hard-core karaoke folks can go down the street to Rick’s. Share the wealth, so he says.”

She smiled, arched a brow, saw they wanted nothing else at the moment and moved on to check on other tables.

“Don’t worry about hanging around,” David told Liam. “I’ll stay.”

“No, I’ve known Katie a long time now. And…there’s an interesting, rowdy crew in here tonight.”

“Liam, I don’t work in the morning. You do.”

“All right. You stay. But don’t decide she’s all right, okay? Make sure you see her all the way home.”

“I will,” David promised.

Soon after Liam left, Sam walked over to his table. “How’s it going?”

“Slowly.”

Sam nodded and lifted his beer, indicating Danny Zigler, who was busing a table nearby. “There’s a suspicious character for you,” he said.

“Danny?”

“Scrawny little fellow just making his way.”

“Right. Which makes you wonder if such a scrawny little fellow just making his way would have the capability of planning out such a murder,” David said.

“I wouldn’t count him out,” Sam said morosely.

Katie announced the last singer of the evening and Marty went up to do a Jimmy Buffett song. When he was done, Katie started closing down the equipment. She announced that if anyone wanted to keep on singing, they could head down Duval to Rick’s.

A few moments later, Katie joined them at the table. She seemed pleased to meet Sam, told him that it was good to see him. “You were in the other night, weren’t you?” she asked him. “But you’ve shaved since then.”

“Observant girl!” Sam noted.

“Well, it was quite a beard!”

Sam seemed to like Katie, which seemed equally natural. She spoke softly with a sweet voice, her eyes were like crystal and her scent was definitely compelling. She was a beautiful young woman.

If a little strange! She had almost appeared to be in some kind of a trance when she had walked out so suddenly.

Katie frowned, listening, and turned toward the doors. David realized there was some kind of disturbance going on in the street.

David didn’t say anything-he gave her a glance that told her he would check it out. He walked to the door. There was a bar fight going on. Pete Dryer was there, a big man, holding the battling drunks apart from one another. He saw David. “Get the little one, running down the street, David!”

David went after the man. He looked to be about twenty-one or twenty-two, and it wasn’t any problem getting him-he ducked and shrank, putting his hands up. “Hey, you got me, you got me, don’t hurt me!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. The cop down the street wants to talk to you, that’s all,” David said. “Turn around, and head on back.”

The kid did so. He looked younger, and terrified.

Two bigger fellows had been cowed. They stood on either side of Pete. “All right, what the hell is going on here?” Pete demanded.

“That little shit robbed me!” one fellow said.

“That’s my brother. He didn’t rob you,” the other big guy said.

Pete looked at the kid. “Did you rob him?”

“Hell, no! That stripper came out and started busing him all up-I didn’t take anything from him. Check my pockets!” the younger kid said.

Pete arched a brow. The kid pulled out his pockets. He had only his own wallet, which contained his ID. He was Lewis Agaro, age twenty-one, and he had ten bucks, an ATM card and one credit card, in his name.

“What are you three doing together?” Pete asked.

“We’re not together. That thug just suddenly started going after my little brother!” one man said explosively.

“Hey, sorry, man! So, now, come on, let’s go after the stripper!” the other man said.

“What stripper?” Pete asked.

“Well, what the hell, she’s gone now, what do you think?” the apparent robbery victim asked.

“All right, we’ll take a report from the robbery victim-the two of you need to get to your rooms for tonight, cause no more trouble, or I’ll see that you’re locked up for your vacation, and you’re not going to find any margaritas or hurricanes or any other such concoction when you’re in my custody!”

Pete looked at David. “Hell, I’m not even on duty!” he moaned. “I was going to join you guys for a drink. I got a car coming. I think I know which lovely little stripper is at her pocket-picking again. I’ll have to find her.”

David grinned. “Tomorrow, Pete,” he said. He had come halfway down the street. When he turned around and went back into the bar, Katie was gone.

He caught Clarinda by the arm, his touch far more forceful than he had intended. “Where’s Katie?”

“Gone, she went on home.”

There must have been a look of alarm on his face.

“I tell her all the time not to go alone!” Clarinda said.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” David said. “Which way does she go?”

“Down Simonton,” Clarinda said. “Make her call me!”

David turned and headed out, running around the corner to the back. Almost two blocks ahead, he could see Katie.

Between them, he could see Sam Barnard. His heart leapt to his throat. Sam had to be watching out for her.

Why was Sam following her late at night, though?

“Katie!” He shouted her name.

Both Katie and Sam stopped, and turned back. Katie seemed surprised to see him; so did Sam.

“Sam, where are you heading?” he asked, moving up.

“My B and B is down the street,” Sam said. He blushed. “I’m staying at Artist House. We don’t have a place anymore.”

“Oh, well, it’s a beautiful place,” David said. They walked together on down to Katie where she waited.

“A couple of drunks got rowdy?” she asked.

“Yeah, Pete was there.”

She laughed. “Pete doesn’t have to deal with the drunks much these days. He must have been ticked that they acted up right in front of him.”

“Yep,” David said.

“Hey, a cop is a cop,” Sam said. He stood awkwardly for a moment. “Well, good night. See you all. Tomorrow, I imagine. Hey, Katie, you got your act up tomorrow night, too, right?”

“Sunday, yes,” she said. “Good night, Sam.”

Sam walked on. The streets were quiet. Katie waited, looking at David. “I was trying to walk you home,” he told her.

She smiled. “That’s nice.”

“Let me see you in.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence for a minute. They reached her house and she opened the door. She seemed to hesitate, as if she was about to ask him in, but wasn’t sure.

He waited.

She didn’t.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded. “Well, keep your door locked, all right?” he asked.

Her smile deepened. In the muted light her eyes were truly a crystal that seemed hypnotic. He reminded himself that she was Sean’s little sister.

But Sean’s little sister had grown up.

“Well, good night,” he told her.

“Good night.”

She closed the door; he heard her lock it. He turned and walked slowly back to the Beckett house.

He paused on the street. He loved the house but tonight, it seemed cold, empty and forlorn.

And down the street, he could see the museum. He wasn’t given to anything illogical, but it seemed that night that the museum had a life of its own. It looked large in the shadows, dark and evil.

Irritated, he let himself into the house he now owned. He went to bed, and lay awake a long time, staring up at the ceiling.

Katie was exhausted, but the events of the past few days seemed to rush through her mind. She was restless, jumping at sounds. But then she grew angry with herself; she wasn’t easily scared. For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if she thought there was a ghost in her closet.

There might be a ghost in her closet, but if there was, she wasn’t afraid of it! Ghosts reached out. They needed help. They weren’t evil puffs of air or mist or…whatever. They were lost, and frequently, in pain.

She wondered then if there were evil ghosts. In her experience, no. For her, they were a part of life-just like allergies were to some people. Sometimes startling and annoying, and sometimes, like Bartholomew, they just seemed to hang around endlessly.

She was fond of Bartholomew. And he actually made her feel safe. In his odd, ghostly way, he was a very good friend. He was fond of her, as well.

She thought about David, and what he believed-that surely there was nothing in the world beyond the obvious. David wouldn’t be a big believer in ghosts.

She tried counting sheep. That was ridiculous. She looked at the clock. It was 4:00 a.m. She prayed for sleep.

At last, she drifted off, and then fell deeply asleep. She woke slowly in the morning, feeling the coolness of her sheets, hearing the hum of the air conditioner. Her drapes were closed, but the sun was filtering into her room. It was day; she had rested. And she felt good.

She stretched, and then rolled over, cuddling her pillow, wanting just a few more minutes in bed.

She froze.

Despite herself, she screamed.

She wasn’t alone in bed. The woman she had seen on Duval was there, lying next to her, staring into her eyes.

The woman was dead.

Her eyes were wide open, huge and blue, and staring sightlessly.

She was a ghost, of course…

The ghost of Tanya Barnard.

No matter where he went, no matter the project, David preferred staying close to the sea.

Actually, one thing that he had missed about home was the guarantee that the water was going to be temperate and beautiful. Sure, in the middle of winter even the Atlantic and the Gulf could be cold. But usually, nine months out of the year at least, the water was beautiful.

Today he felt the need for the water. He thought best when he was in the water, and he wasn’t feeling close enough to anyone else from his past to ask for company-not true, he’d have asked Katie O’Hara, except that she had kept her distance the night before- and though he knew damned well he shouldn’t plan on going out by himself, he was going to do so. He’d had good friends, expert divers, who had actually died by believing that they were so good they didn’t need company. He preached diving with a buddy.

But today, he was going to live recklessly. He was going out alone.

He knew that his grandfather had kept the Lucky Life in good repair at the dock; he knew that Liam took the boat out often enough, as well. He walked the distance to the boat, knowing that Liam kept dive equipment on her. The dive shop right at the docks rented tanks, and he could also buy sandwiches, water and beer.

Lainie Regent still worked at the dive shop; she greeted him and rented him four tanks with thirty minutes each. These would work as long as he controlled his breathing and kept his dives around sixty feet. He assured her he wasn’t doing any of the deep wrecks, and that he’d be fine.

“Welcome back, David,” Lainie told him. “Be nice if you stuck around a bit. Hey! I saw some of your work in that national earth-thingy magazine. David, what great pictures!”

“Thanks, Lainie.” He bid her goodbye without making any commitments and headed on down to the Lucky Life. Craig had never really been much of a fisherman; in his younger days, he’d been an avid diver. The boat was designed to that end with eight tank holds, a freshwater hose and bucket, a small cabin with a very small working galley and a head. Since David had been gone, sonar equipment and global positioning had been added.

Nice.

He checked his gas, then started to slip the ties that tethered the boat to the dock.

“David!”

He looked up, startled by the sense of pleasure that seemed to wash over him.

Warmly.

Hotly.

Katie O’Hara was hurrying down the dock toward him. She was wearing deck shoes, shorts, a bikini top with an open long-sleeved shirt over it and a huge, floppy sun hat. She was all long legs and flowing hair, and she seemed to make his heart beat too hard, his libido to flip about. He kept his features rigid, thinking of the years he had been gone, the women who had come and gone from his life, many nice, kind, cute, beautiful, intelligent-and some not. They had all been friends, but all like ships at sea, passing in high and low waters, in storm and in calm.

None had made him feel this way, and he had to wonder why.

He barely knew her.

And she was Sean’s little sister.

“Hey, Katie,” he said, pausing. He frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

“I don’t exactly have a phone number for you,” she apologized. “I called Liam. Then I did try you, but you’re not answering.”

“Sorry, my stuff is thrown in the cabin.”

She nodded. She looked like she had the night before.

“Why were you looking for me? Is something wrong, has something happened?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong and nothing has happened. I guess I wanted to talk to you, mull things over more. Now that I’m here, I think you need company. It’s dangerous to dive alone, you know.”

He smiled. She sounded like one of the very serious and professional instructors they might have had when they’d been young, just old enough for certification.

“Climb aboard,” he told her.

“Where are you heading?”

“Sand Key-nothing deep. I’m looking for something peaceful, protected…lots of fish, clear water.”

“Sounds good to me. Do I need more tanks?”

“We can make two dives-and I imagine you have to be back for work.”

“Great. Food?”

“We’re good. Climb aboard.”

She hopped on, releasing the last loop as she did so and winding the lines. She knew the boats; she knew diving.

They were conchs.

He kept his speed slow while exiting the no-wake zone, then picked up as they headed out in a southwesterly direction. The sound of the motor kept them from talking much, nothing more than, “Want a water?” And, “Sure!” And then his thank-you to her as she produced the plastic bottles from the ice chest.

At last he slowed the boat; there were charters out in the area and a number of smaller craft, as well. He set their dive flag out, and went for his equipment.

She slipped into a skin, telling him that she hated running into jellyfish, and they helped one another with their tanks, rinsed their masks, held them and back-dove into the water. He had taken one of his underwater digital cameras for the day, not planning to do any professional work, but seldom without a camera.

It was good to have Katie with him.

It was good to be down.

The deepest the area went was seventy-five feet or so, but most of the reefs and the fish were found at depths shallow enough for snorkelers to enjoy the water, too.

They kept a distance of about five feet apart, and the dive was everything he’d wanted. Crystal clear water, just cool enough to be pleasant, warm enough to be comfortable. Tangs in a variety of colors shot around the reef, anemones flared and larger fish appeared as well, one giant grouper, a curious barracuda that politely kept its distance and, beneath them, a number of little nurse sharks.

Katie, in her light dive skin, hair flaring out around her, eyes large and beautiful behind her mask, made a perfect subject for quick takes with his camera. She frowned when he first started snapping, but he shrugged, and he saw her smile around her regulator.

It’s what I do, he reminded her silently.

Especially where there was such an abundance of colors. And since they weren’t deep, the sunlight penetrated beautifully. He had shot and filmed in so many exotic places. And yet, his own backyard offered some of the most enchanting underwater locations around.

He saw something in the sand and headed down, touching the granules to find a little ray nestled there, happy to move, even sit in his hand and puff as Katie joined him. He shot the little ray, and Katie’s finger just brushed a wing. But then her attention was diverted.

And it was while they were there, kneeling in the sand at about forty feet, that Katie suddenly made one of her startling and frightening changes again.

She was touching the little ray…

Then she was frozen.

Staring wide-eyed.

And she wasn’t breathing. No bubbles were escaping from her regulator.

He dropped his camera and the ray and gripped her shoulder. Her eyes met his. He couldn’t begin to understand what he was seeing in them. And those eyes of hers, framed and huge behind the lenses of her mask…

She didn’t appear to be afraid of him.

In fact…

She wasn’t afraid at all.

She suddenly looked as if she were about to cry.

He tapped her chest. She inhaled; her bubbles began again.

He signaled that they go topside. She shook her head, but he was firm. She lowered her head, and then she nodded.

He crawled up the stern ladder first, doffing his flippers and then, once up, his tank. She removed her flippers and threw them over and he reached to help her up with the weight of her tank. She stripped off her dive skin and accepted the bottle of water he gave her. He studied her, and waited for her to speak.

She sat in the cushioned seat behind the helm and said nothing.

“Katie.”

“Hmm?” She looked at him and smiled.

“Katie, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked.

She looked out at the water. She started to speak, hesitated, then didn’t. Then she looked at him. “Do you…do you believe in dreams, or hunches, or…I don’t know, the mind trying to tell us things that maybe we just can’t really understand logically?”

Like seeing an image in the sea of Tanya trying to communicate?

He shook his head. “Katie…no. Not really.”

“Experts know that our dreams reflect our lives,” she said defensively.

“I’m lost, Katie. What are you talking about?”

He didn’t want to be lost. Her hair was tousled and soaked and flying around her head, and she was just curled on the cushion, staring off. She was still beautiful. He wanted to reach out, touch her, tell her that whatever it was, it was okay.

Her legs were endless, muscled and lean, her breasts were full against the bathing-suit top. She had a belly-button ring, a little dangling silver dolphin, and it made her belly seem like the most desirable stretch of bronzed flesh ever imagined…

“I just had a dream last night, that’s all,” she said.

“Good dream, bad dream?” he asked her.

“Good dream.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?” he asked. It wouldn’t explain what had happened in the water, but it might lead to an explanation.

“I don’t want you to laugh at me-or hate me,” she turned her gaze from the sea to stare at him.

“All right. I swear, I won’t laugh at you. And,” he added, hearing his own voice grow huskier, “I won’t hate you.”

She spoke quickly, suddenly. “I dreamed about Tanya.”

He started to move; the words made him want to bolt, no matter what he had said.

“It was a good dream,” Katie said. Her hand fell on his knee.

His knee had never felt so naked. Nor had he had ever known that a kneecap could suddenly be such an erogenous zone.

“Tell me,” he said. His voice was tight.

“She didn’t know who had killed her in the dream. She did know that you didn’t do it.”

“Great. We can put that in the newspaper.”

She flushed. She looked as if she would have walked away from him-if she could have walked away.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t really believe in that kind of thing. I mean, maybe dreams are a reflection of our lives. You don’t want me to be guilty, and since I swear to God I’m not, I’m grateful that you feel that way. But…” He leaned toward her. A mistake. She still smelled faintly of her intoxicating cologne, even though she was drenched in salt water. She seemed to emit an aura of warmth that lured him closer, or made him want to drown in touching her.

He eased back. “Katie, last night was scary. And freezing like that when you’re diving, well, that’s damned scary. Why did you freeze in the water?”

She looked away again and chewed on a thumbnail. She shook her head. “It won’t happen again,” she told him.

“Katie-”

“Sorry. I believe in dreams. And it’s nice. She loved you-in my dream. She knows that you’re innocent-in my dream.”

“She’s dead,” he said bluntly.

“Yes, she is. But I dreamed about her.” She inhaled. “And then I saw her in the water. Not in a bad way. She’s trying to help.”

“What?” David said sharply. What was this? Was she taunting him somehow? Torturing him. Foolish, it was long ago. His heart had hardened.

Not enough, maybe.

She wasn’t taunting him. Maybe it was worse. Maybe she was just crazy. He didn’t want her to be crazy. He cared about her…far too quickly, and far too deeply. He needed to remain rational.

“Katie, I am a big believer in the power of suggestion. And with everything going on…”

He let his voice trail with its own logical suggestion.

“Yes, that’s it, of course. It’s nice, though, that this kind of power of suggestion is a good one-the images I’m seeing in my crazy little suggestible mind seem fond of you, hurt for you.”

“Katie, look, I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

She looked at her watch, all business all of a sudden. “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry. It’s gotten so late. We need to head back-I have to get to work. I ruined your diving day. I’m so, so sorry.” She was sincere and contrite. And she didn’t seem to be really angry with him.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not,” he told her softly. And he did touch her. He touched her cheek, and he met her eyes, and he realized that whatever it was that made a man attracted to one woman and not another, he had just found it in Katie. He wasn’t just attracted. He was entwined.

He stood. “Grab a few of the sandwiches. We’ll eat while we motor back in.”

She nodded; he pulled in the flag and the anchor while she went about pulling food from the ice chest. He chewed on a ham-and-cheese-on-wheat while she stood next to him, facing the wind and the spray while they motored back in to the dock. He slowed his speed and followed the markers until they reached the dock. Katie jumped out with the ties.

“Hey, I’ll start rinsing equipment,” she called to him.

“No, go on. It’s nothing-I’ve got it. Get cleaned up for work,” he told her.

She stood on the dock, looking down at him. Now, she was just in her bikini. It wasn’t a super-string thing or anything like that, just hip-hugging bottoms and a bra top.

Lord, but she was beautifully built. Athletic, curved, lean…

“It’s all right, Katie. You’re working. I’m not. Get going.”

She still stared.

“I’ll see you at O’Hara’s later,” he told her.

She smiled.

It seemed a fire started in his chest. Or his loins. He couldn’t really tell. It was just burning everywhere.

He handed up the rest of her belongings, watched her slide into her oversize shirt and shorts and then turn and start home.

He plowed into the ice chest for a beer, and sat on the chest then for a moment, puzzled, staring after her.

It was still fairly early, afternoon. Daylight. Sun was streaming down on the island.

But he was worried. About Katie.

He forgot the equipment and the boat. Or, they were there, in the back of his mind. But they would wait.

He slid into his deck shoes and leapt to the dock and went racing after her.

The streets were crowded today. Sunday. People were shopping, taking dive-and-snorkel and party boats, Jet Skis and more. They were eating and drinking, and buzzing slowly around on scooters.

He raced from the wharf to Front Street. He could see Katie turning off, right before Two Friends bar and restaurant. He followed.

He reached her in time to see her enter her house and close the door behind her.

He stood still on the street, wondering about her earlier words.

He could see no one who seemed to be paying the least attention to him.

He looked up to the windows in the old Victorian and Deco houses around him. No one seemed to be peeking down from behind shutters or curtains.

And yet, he could swear that he was being watched. He was being watched because…

Katie had been followed.