Watching You

Here’s what people are saying about

the novels and stories of Gemma Halliday:

"Stylish... nonstop action...guaranteed to keep chick lit and mystery fans happy!" - Publishers Weekly, starred review
"A saucy combination of romance and suspense that is simply irresistible." - The Chicago Tribune
"Fresh and witty little number that will appeal if you like sparkling, good stories with a splash of mystery. Full marks go to Ms. Halliday on what promises to be a very successful debut to a fabulous career." - Deborah Kimpton, Romance Junkies
"Gemma Halliday writes like a seasoned author leaving the reader hanging on to every word, every clue, every delicious scene of the book. It’s a fun and intriguing mystery full of laughs and suspense." - Once Upon A Romance
"
SPYING IN HIGH HEELS
is a roller coaster ride full of fun and excitement!" - Diana Risso, Romance Reviews Today
"This charming debut novel by Gemma Halliday delightfully combines the best parts of chick lit with light mystery in the same vein as Janet Evanovich and Meg Cabot. Smart, funny and snappy,
SPYING IN HIGH HEELS
is the perfect beach read!" - Meghan Fryett, Fresh Fiction

"(
Watching You
was) sometimes spooky…the novella read like a journal, with the main character writing down times and habits of the woman that he was watching. That would be scary to have someone keeping tabs on you and what you do. But it ended very differently from what I originally thought was going on." - Ruth Schaller, ParaNormal Romance

* * * * *

WATCHING YOU

by

GEMMA HALLIDAY

* * * * *

ebook Edition

Copyright © 2009 by Gemma Halliday

http://www.gemmahalliday.com

http://www.facebook.com/gemmahallidayauthor

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * * *

WATCHING YOU

* * * *

9:07pm. She walked in her front door. Dropped her briefcase on the floor, kicked off her shoes. Heels. Always heels, this one. Dale wondered if maybe she had a height complex. From a distance, he judged her to be petite, no more than 5’3”. She was slim and compact, not a surprise considering how many hours he’d watched her put in at the gym. Ten in the last week. He had to be impressed by that.

She pushed a button on her answering machine and a mechanical voice told her she had no messages. Not, of course, that Dale could hear it from his car across the street. But he knew there were never any messages by her body language, the way she quickly turned away from the machine, the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly forward. The way she never called anyone back. He wondered why she kept checking day after day.

She crossed into the kitchen, obscuring Dale’s view for a moment. He took the opportunity to readjust his binoculars, wiping a single bead of sweat from his forehead. It was easily ninety, even with the sun setting behind him into the San Francisco Bay. He would have killed to flip on the AC but was afraid the engine running might attract attention. No, better to suffer the heat. The last thing he needed was some yahoo calling the SFPD on a peeping Tom.

She emerged from the kitchen, crossing in front of the windows again, a glass of wine in hand. Something white and dry. He knew she didn’t go for that fruity shit. He’d been a step behind her at the supermarket yesterday when she’d purchased the bottle.

He shrugged his tight shoulders, sweat dampening the back of his t-shirt as he watched her flip on her stereo. Her head rolled back, her eyes closing, her body instantly swaying to the rhythm. He wished he knew what she was listening to. Jazz? Beethoven? Some pop singer? He had no idea. But in his mind, he liked to pretend it was a smooth Sinatra standard. Light, clean, classic. It fit her.

She carried her glass of wine into the bedroom, her movements fluid as the music made her tense shoulders loosen. She worked too hard. Most lawyers did, but he could tell she was driven in a way that just making associate at age twenty-five, or partner by thirty wouldn’t ever be enough for her. Something inside drove her. She was single minded, relentless. She would never quit, never stop, never be satisfied with less than everything. He admired it. And yet, at the same time it was exactly what made him know he needed to be here. That as much as he knew it was wrong to follow her, to track her every movement like some sort hunter with his unsuspecting prey, he had to do this. Had to watch her. Had to follow her. Had to be that shadow, just waiting for the right moment.

Still swaying to the music, she slowly pulled her blouse over her head, exposing a lacy, pink bra that made Dale shift in his seat. This was his favorite part of the night. When it was just the two of them, alone. When she was relaxed and uninhibited. He felt like he was seeing the real her, the real Isabella. Not the tough defense council, not the stylish urbanite, and not the dutiful daughter. Just her. Bella.

And him.

She reached down and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground in a pile.

“
Wash day, honey?” he whispered to himself, noting the plain, white cotton panties she wore beneath. Not that he minded. He shifted in his seat again. She had the kind of body that didn’t need lace to dress it up. She could have been in polka dots and still made him swell in his jeans.

She turned, her back to the large, floor to ceiling windows that flanked the walls of her loft. Then undid the clasp on her bra, letting it fall away to reveal the smooth expanse of her bare back.

Dale held his breath. What he wouldn’t give to make her turn around right now.

Instead, she crossed the room, disappearing into the bathroom.

He let out a long breath through his nose as if to cleanse himself of her image. He knew she’d spend the next twenty minutes in there, bathing, then emerge wrapped in a towel, slide beneath her silk sheets, set her alarm, and fall asleep.

Dale set the binoculars down, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Jesus, it was hot. He pulled his little notebook from his pocket.

9:26pm. Bubble Bath.

He leaned back against the torn headrest, flipping on the radio, listening to the Giants game while he waited for her to finish her nightly ritual. When she was done, he’d drive back to the shitty little apartment he’d rented two blocks away and close his eyes for a couple hours before being back here at dawn again.

He’d close his eyes, but he was never sure if sleep would actually come. Lately, all he saw behind his eyelids were images of her.

Her.

Always her.

He breathed in deeply and could swear he almost smelled the soft, floral scent of her bubble bath.

Soon. It would all be over soon.

The one thought that kept him sane. She’d become his whole world, his every thought. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

Soon…

* * *

4:15pm. Starbucks.

Dale watched as she walked into the café across the street, standing in the queue behind half a dozen other caffeine addicted suits for her afternoon pick-me-up. He waited three beats, then got out of his car, the rusty hinges of the Ford Festiva groaning in protest. It was a shit car; Dale was surprised it even ran. He’d purchased it two months ago. Cash. On the upside, at least he didn’t have to worry about anyone stealing it.

Dale waited for a pause in the afternoon traffic, then jogged across the street just in time to see Isabella give her order to the multi-pierced barista. He pulled his ball cap lower on his head, careful not to glance her way too often as he got in line, and ordered. Plain coffee. The barista snorted at him, making her lip piercing bounce up and down, but put in the order. He slid to the side, taking a position along the wall as he waited for his drink.

Which came up first, of course. The reason he forwent the cappuccino he
really
wanted, instead adding mass amounts of sugar and cream to the bitter black coffee that he knew was a fast order. One that would have him ready to move when she was.

“
Isabella?” the kid behind the counter called, shoving a frosty looking thing full of whipped cream to the window. Her one indulgence.

He watched her grab it, her pupils wide like a kid staring at a shiny Christmas bike. He couldn’t help the corner of his mouth tilting up. She was cute like that. He could almost picture her as that kid.

She wrapped her lips around the straw, taking that first heavenly sip. Her head lulled to one side, her throat bobbing up and down, her eyes fluttering closed for half a second.

Which is probably why she didn’t notice the suit to her left and bumped right into him, spilling his expensive latte all over his sleeve.

“
Oh, God. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, grabbing at a pile of napkins.

Dale receded behind the growing number of people waiting for drinks, keeping his back to her.

“
No, no, it’s fine. My fault. I should have had a lid on it,” the man responded. He was blond, clean cut, polished to a high shine. Either a stock broker or a used car salesman.

“
Oh, your suit! Look what I’ve done.”

“
No, it’s fine. Really. It’s getting warm out there anyway, I’ll just take the jacket off.” He smiled down at her. A thing that must have cost his parents a mint in orthodontics.

“
You sure? Here, at least let me buy you another drink,” she offered, still mopping at his soggy sleeve.

He grinned. “From a pretty gal like you, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

What an asshole.

Dale watched them both get back in line, the blond’s hand skimming the small of Isabella’s back. He grabbed a paper from the rack by the window and settled into a worn chair, flipping it open. World News. Whatever. It was a prop, nothing more. His attention was riveted to the newcomer.

“
I swear I’m usually not this big of a kltuz,” Isabella told him.

“
Hmm,” the man looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “So, let me guess - you bumped into me on purpose just to meet me?”

“
No!” Isabella laughed, though Dale could see a blush tinge her cheeks.

“
Leo,” the man said, offering her his hand.

She shook it. “Isabella.”

“
That’s lovely. Spanish?”

“
Italian.”

“
Mmm… my favorite.”

Dale adjusted his ball cap. He took a big gulp of coffee, burning his tongue, as the pair made it to the front of the line, Bella paying for the asshole’s drink.

“
You work nearby?” he asked.

Bella nodded. “Dunwood and McKittridge.”