Free The Perfect Neighbors by Sarah Pekkanen

fresh air and the swings would do them both good. There was an elementary school nearby, and school had just let out, so the playground should have been empty.
    As she’d approached the park, Tessa had noticed a group of kids at T-ball practice. The children were adorable; their team T-shirts must have been ordered in a size too large, making them resemble Charlie Brown and his gang. Tessa had settled Bree into a bucket swing. The gentle motion was one of the few things that soothed Bree, but it had to be a real swing. Naturally, the mechanical one Tessa had bought for their living room, the one that had cost a hundred dollars—and would free up her hands—only irritated Bree.
    She’d been thinking about Harry, wondering what he was doing in California at that exact moment. It was late afternoon on this coast, which meant it was lunchtime there. Perhaps he was eating in a nice restaurant. Sushi, maybe. Tessa hadn’t had sushi since before she’d gotten pregnant. It had always been her favorite splurge—the dash of searing wasabi, the tangy crunch of seaweed, the soft rice. After a good meal and then an afternoon of meetings, Harry would head back to his hotel room, where the newspaper would be crisp, the minibar filled with tempting treats, and the sheets on his bed snowy white. Perhaps he’d take off his shoes and flop on the bed and watch a little television, or sneak in a catnap. Maybe the maid had left him a minty piece of chocolate.
    Sometimes she almost hated her husband.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a man coming from the direction of the parking lot. He was maybe in his sixties, with graying hair. He’d been moving slowly, weaving through the trees as he headed toward the T-ball field.
    But then the man had stopped a few dozen yards away from the field. He’d positioned himself behind a tall, thick tree, leaning against it with his left hand while his right hand slipped into his pocket.
    â€œMa!” Bree had yelled at that moment.
    Tessa would’ve liked to pretend that Bree was calling her, but she knew it was Bree’s way of saying, “More!”
    She’d reached out to give her daughter another gentle push, then she’d swiveled to fix her eyes on the man. He was a little disheveled-looking, now that she was getting a closer look. He wore a battered baseball cap, khaki pants, and a plain blue T-shirt.
    There had been something in the hand that was coming out of his pocket. Something shiny that had glinted as the sun caught it.
    A cell phone? No. A small video camera.
    Tessa had glanced again at the children. A dozen or so little boys and girls, about five or six years old. The man had lifted the video camera to his eye as a little girl in a skirt walked to the batting tee.
    The little girl’s skirt hiked up, revealing her small, chubby thighs, as she swung for the ball and missed. Why was that creep hiding behind a tree, filming a little girl as she bent over?
    A nanny had been pushing a child on the swing next to Bree’s.
    â€œDo you see that?” Tessa had asked. She’d pointed at the man. His hand was back in his pocket now.
    The nanny had squinted and frowned. “What is he doing?”
    â€œHe’s taking videos of those kids! He’s a creep!”
    â€œIs he a grandfather?”
    â€œNo!” Tessa had said. “Why would he be hiding? The parents can’t see him because he’s behind that tree.”
    The nanny had shaken her head. “That’s no good.”
    â€œCan you watch her?” Tessa had said, gesturing to Bree. “I’m going to talk to him.”
    The nanny had nodded and taken over pushing Bree. Tessa had moved three long strides toward the man before she’d frozen. What would happen if she confronted him? He might attack her. More likely, he would simply walk away. She’d never know where he came from, or who he was. He’d go prey on other