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Stalker
Faye Kellerman
The twelfth book in the hugely popular Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus series from New York Times bestselling author Faye KellermanSomeone is watching your every move…Detective Peter Decker knows all too well the risks of police work, so he was horrified when his daughter Cynthia entered the LAPD. But as a first-year rookie, Cindy is fast proving she has the same razor-sharp instincts as her father.Now though, Cindy’s skills are put to the test like never before. Things in her apartment are moved, her possessions are destroyed, and an unnerving tingle down her spine tells her that someone is following her.As her stalker grows bolder by the day, Cindy must do all she can to discover who is after her. Can she stop them before she’s trapped in a nightmare with no escape?
Stalker
Faye Kellerman
Copyright (#u96b5b233-67d1-5974-9f81-9ec20ca7d221)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in the United States by William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, 2000
This ebook edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Faye Kellerman 2000
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
Faye Kellerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008293598
Version: 2018-12-12
Dedication (#u96b5b233-67d1-5974-9f81-9ec20ca7d221)
To Jonathan, my #1 guy
To Barney, my #1 agent
To Carrie, editor par excellence,
who is always there for me
Contents
Cover (#u83d748de-d9b9-592f-8874-8ec6f32cbb9b)
Title Page (#u0de7d0b2-7623-58d1-8081-c21f58c0a80e)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Keep Reading
About the Author
Faye Kellerman booklist
About the Publisher
1 (#u96b5b233-67d1-5974-9f81-9ec20ca7d221)
It should have happened at night, in a secluded corner of a dimly lit parking lot. Instead, it occurred at one twenty-five in the afternoon. Farin knew the time because she had peeked through the car window, glancing at the clock in her Volvo—purportedly one of the safest cars on the road. Farin was a bug on safety. A fat lot of good that was doing her now.
It wasn’t fair because she had done everything right. She had parked in an open area across the street from the playground, for God’s sakes! There were people in plain view. For instance, there was a man walking a brown pit bull on a leash, the duo strolling down one of the sunlit paths that led up into the mountains. And over to the left, there was a lady in a denim jacket reading the paper. There were kids on the play equipment: a gaggle of toddlers climbing the jungle gym, preschoolers on the slides and wobbly walk-bridge, babies in the infant swings. Mothers were with them, keeping a watchful eye over their charges. Not watching her, of course. Scads of people, but none who could help because at the moment, she had a gun in her back.
Farin said, “Just please don’t hurt my bab—”
“You shut up! You say one more word, you are dead!” The voice was male. “Look straight ahead!”
Farin obeyed.
The disembodied voice went on. “You turn around, you are dead. You do not look at me. Understand?”
Farin nodded yes, keeping her eyes down. His voice was in the medium to high range. Slightly clipped, perhaps accented.
Immediately, Tara started crying. With shaking hands, Farin clutched her daughter to her chest, and cooed into her seashell ear. Instinctively, she brought her purse over Tara’s back, drawing her coat over handbag and child. Farin hoped that if the man did shoot, she and the purse would be the protective bread in the Tara sandwich, the bullet having to penetrate another surface before it could—
The gun’s nozzle dug into her backbone. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out.
“Drop your purse!” the voice commanded.
Immediately, Farin did as ordered. She heard him rooting through her handbag, doing this single-handedly because the gun was still pressing into her kidneys.
Please let this be a simple purse snatching! She heard a jangle of metal. Her keys? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the passenger door to her station wagon had been opened. Again, she felt the press of the gun.
“Go in. From passenger’s side! You do it or I shoot your baby!”
At the mention of her baby, Farin lost all resolve. Tears poured down from her eyes. Hugging her child, she walked around the front of the car, thoughts of escape cut short by the metal at her tailbone. She paused at the sight of the open door.
“Go on!” he barked. “Do it now!”
With Tara at her bosom, she bent down until she found her footing. Then she slid into her passenger’s seat.
“Move across!” he snapped.
Farin tried to figure out how to do this. The car had bucket seats and there was a console between them. With clumsy, halted motions, and still holding Tara, she lifted her butt over the leather-cushioned wall, and into the driver’s seat, both now scrunched behind the wheel. Again, Tara started to cry.
“You shut her up!” he barked.
She’s a baby! Farin wanted to shout. She’s scared! Instead, she began to rock her, singing softly into her ear. He was right beside her, the gun now in her rib cage.
Don’t look at him, Farin reminded herself. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!
Staring straight ahead. But she could tell that the gun had shifted to Tara’s head.
Think, Farin! Think!
But nothing came into her hapless brain, not a thought, not a clue. Fear had penetrated every pore of her being as her heart banged hard against her breastbone. Her chest was tight; her breathing was labored. Within seconds, Farin felt her head go light, along with that ominous darkening of her vision. Sparkles popped through her brain … that awful sensation of floating to nothingness.
No, she hadn’t been shot. She was going to pass out!
Don’t pass out, you fool. You can’t afford—
