Chapter 26

Pete Hancock"s strides were light and rhythmic, the leash in his hand slack as his golden retriever bounded ahead of him. The Florida sunshine draped over them like a warm blanket, and a grin spread across Hancock's face while he watched the dog's exuberant frolic in the sand—sand that was technically off-limits to four-legged beachgoers.

"Go on, Rufus! Have at it!" he cheered, the dog"s name a bright note against the hush of waves. His chuckle rolled out, free and easy, as Rufus marked an abandoned towel with a carefree stream. "That"s showing "em, boy!"

The owner of the towel, a middle-aged man with skin the color of a well-oiled baseball mitt, bobbed in the water, blissfully unaware. Hancock whistled sharply, a signal honed through years of companionship, and Rufus came galloping back, spraying sand in his wake.

"Good boy," Hancock praised, but his eyes darted away as Rufus squatted, leaving a small indignity behind. He glanced around; no one seemed to notice. With a dismissive shrug, he hooked the leash onto Rufus"s collar and set off toward home.

Whistling a tune from some old romantic movie, he made his way off the beach, the hot sand giving way to the firmer sidewalk. Mrs. Donnelly, who lived three houses down, was tending to her roses, the very picture of suburban dedication.

"Beautiful day, isn"t it, Mrs. Donnelly?" Hancock called out, tipping an imaginary hat her way.

"Indeed it is," she replied, her smile genuine—if a tad strained.

As he passed her neatly trimmed hedges, Hancock allowed his smile to sour. "Nosy old bat," he muttered, sure she couldn"t hear him.

A smug grin spread across Hancock"s face, but suddenly, a tingling sensation shot up his spine, and he froze in place. He spun around, frantically scanning the empty street for any signs of danger. The rustling leaves and joyful cries of children playing were the only sounds that greeted him. He let out a nervous laugh and chided himself for being paranoid. He turned around and started to walk, then heard footsteps behind him.

He quickened his pace, the leash slipping through his fingers as Rufus struggled to keep up. The footsteps grew closer, echoing in his ears like a slow, ominous drumbeat.

Hancock felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple as he debated whether to turn around. The instinctual fear gnawed at him, urging him to seek safety. But curiosity tugged at the corners of his mind, whispering that he needed to face whatever or whoever was following him.

He finally mustered the courage to pivot on his heel, heart pounding in his chest. But the street behind him was empty.

"Who"s there?" he ventured, more to the wind than anyone in particular. Silence was his only answer.

"Probably nothing…" he mumbled, though he couldn"t shake the uneasy thought that one of his less-than-amicable flings had taken to stalking him. It would be just his luck that his cavalier love life had finally caught up with him.

"Come on, Rufus," he said, forcing cheer into his voice, "let"s get you home."

But even as his feet moved, his mind raced, tallying names and faces, wondering which of his many dalliances might have turned into a stalker.