Free The Stalker by Gail Anderson-Dargatz Page A

much warning, too.
    Liz lived just down the road from me. That’s how I’d ended up hiring her. I had met her at the mailboxes on the corner. She was looking for work just when Sara said she wanted to switch to the one-day tours. Even better, Liz was a trained cook. In fact, she had owned her own café in Port Alberni until the economy tanked.
    “Need help loading?” Liz asked. She pointed at my Ford pickup.
    I shook my head. “No. We’re all set to go.”
    I had already loaded the truck with the food and gear for that weekend’s tour, and the kayaks were on the trailer. Our group would fit into the pickup’s crew cab. There would be only four of us on this trip: me, Liz, and two guys from Vancouver. Their company developed computer programs that made maps. In short, the clients were a couple of computer geeks.
    I hadn’t talked to either of them yet. All I knew were their names: Gerald Williams and Sam Andrews. A secretary had booked their tour. She told me that their boss had decided to send them on this trip. They didn’t get along, andtheir dislike of each other was bad for business. The boss hoped they would get to know each other better on the kayak tour. He thought a “bonding experience” would stop their arguing.
    “Are you ready for this?” Liz asked. I had told her what we were getting into.
    “No,” I said. Fortunately, the trip wasn’t one of my week-long tours. I just had to get through today, and we would head home Sunday afternoon. Besides, the company that had sent these two clients my way had paid me very well. I had explained that I charged per person. Taking only two people out for the weekend wasn’t cost effective. The company had agreed to pay the bill for the eight-person tour I usually ran.
    “What’s with the tank top?” I asked Liz. “I haven’t seen you dress like that before.”
    She looked down. “You don’t like it?”
    I shrugged. “You don’t strike me as a tank top kind of gal.”
    I felt sorry as soon as the words came out of my mouth. The tank top did suit her. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it, or her. That was the problem.
    Liz, hurt, turned away. “Can I use your washroom to change my shirt before we head out?” she said quietly.
    “Sure.”
    She carried her dry bag into the washroom. I took a sip from my coffee and tried to come up with some way to say I was sorry without making things worse. Then my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and answered it.
    “Liz is there, isn’t she?” The caller was the man with the space-alien voice who had woken me up an hour before. He knew who Liz was, and he had to be close, watching my house. I pulled back the kitchen curtain to look out the window. The street was quiet. Most folks were still sleeping on this Saturday morning.
    “Where are you?” I said. “How did you get this number?” Not even my mother had my cell phone number. She called me on my home phone. I had given my cell phone number to my employees and to my clients, but not to anyone else. I hadn’t even listed it on my company’s website.
    “I know she’s there,” the voice said. “I saw her go inside.”
    “Who is this?” I said.
    “I’m watching you,” the guy said. “Stay home.”

Chapter Two

    Liz and I met our tour group down at the marina. Artists’ studios, cafés, and a fish and chips shop lined the waterfront. Fishermen’s boats were tied up along the docks beside the tourists’ sailboats and motorboats. Across the inlet, mist drifted down the rocky cliffs. The scene was postcard perfect.
    Jason was already there, as we had arranged. He sat at a table outside the donut shop with a balding man and a middle-aged woman. Jason would drive with us out to the launch site, and then he would drive my truck back to town. The next day, he would pick us up farther along the coast. That way, the clients didn’t have to paddle back.
    “You’re late,” Jason said as Liz and I reached his table. Other than the strange fact that