Free The Stalker by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

Chapter One

    The stalker phoned me for the first time early on a Saturday morning. The ringing of my cell phone woke me. I grabbed the phone from the nightstand and flipped it open.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, Mike,” the guy on the other end said. He sounded like one of those space aliens from the TV show Stargate SG-1 , the ones with glowing eyes. The caller’s strange, deep voice told me that he had voice-changing software on his phone, but I felt sure I was talking to a man.
    “Nice day for a little kayak trip, eh?” he said. “But I wouldn’t go out if I were you.”
    “Who is this?”
    The guy hung up. I checked the list of callers on my phone, but there was no caller ID. No name, no number.
    “Nut case,” I said aloud. “Thanks for waking me up.” Then I glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. I had to get up anyway.
    I run sea kayak tours. My staff and I guide tourists as they paddle my boats around the many islands along the coast of Vancouver Island. I have ten kayaks, each paddled by one person.
    The summer when I got that weird phone call, I had three employees. They only worked for me during the spring and summer, in the tourist season. Jason led the one-day kayak tours around the local bay. I took clients on weekend or week-long wilderness adventures. Each of us had an assistant guide. This person helped with the tour and also had first aid training.
    On the longer trips, my assistant guide was also a cook. Without those great meals, the tourists simply wouldn’t come back. Sara had been my cook and assistant for five years, ever since I started my business. But Sara’s husband didn’t like her being away so much in the summer. So, to make him happy, she told meshe would work only the one-day tours with Jason. That’s when I hired Liz to cook and be my assistant guide on those longer trips.
    The morning I got that phone call, Liz had been working for me for about a month. She was a great cook and easy to get along with. I liked her. But that was it. I never got involved with the women who worked for me. That would just be asking for trouble.
    Still, no one can blame a guy for looking. And Liz was a pleasure to look at. She was fit from so much kayaking, and she rode her bicycle almost all year. She was a natural beauty.
    My business is very small. I attract most of my clients with my website and by word of mouth, and my kitchen is my office. At six-thirty that morning, I looked up from my coffee, and there Liz was, framed by the window of my kitchen door. She usually kept her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. But not this morning. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She wore a pink tank top, one of those tight ones with skinny straps, and no bra underneath.
    “Hello, Mike,” she said when I opened the door.
    “Liz! What are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to meet at the marina.”
    I never meet clients at my house. Instead, I load enough kayaks for the trip on my trailer, hitch it to my truck, and drive to the town marina. I meet my clients there, and then we drive together to the starting point for the tour. The marina is a natural place to meet because it’s the only real tourist attraction in this town.
    “So far, you’ve been late for every one of our trips,” Liz said. “I stand there waiting with the clients, making up excuses for you.” She twirled her hair with one finger and grinned. “I thought I would make sure you were on time for a change.”
    “This is the west coast,” I said. “No one is ever on time.”
    Liz stepped inside carrying her “dry bag.” This waterproof bag held the change of clothes she’d need if she got wet. Her “dry suit,” her waterproof pants and shirt, were slung over one arm. We would both put on these dry suits when we reached our launching place. We had to keep warm and dry as we paddled along the coast. The kayaks sat so low in the water that we oftengot splashed by waves or spray from the paddles. Storms often hit without