Chapter 11 - The Stalking Shadow
The glossy photograph slipped from my trembling fingers and landed face-up on the hardwood floor.
I stared down at the image of my innocent daughter, feeling the icy grip of sheer terror wrap around my throat all over again.
Mark was safely locked inside a maximum-security prison cell, but his evil reach had somehow followed us across state lines.
I frantically ran to the apartment window, locking the heavy brass deadbolt and yanking the thick curtains completely shut.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I scanned the dark, empty street below our building.
There was no one out there, but the undeniable proof of a stalker was currently sitting right on my living room rug.
I grabbed my cell phone and immediately dialed the direct number of the federal detective who had arrested Mark.
The detective listened to my panicked explanation, but his response sent a cold chill down my spine.
He explained that without a clear image of the photographer's face, they could not offer twenty-four-hour police protection.
He coldly suggested that I file a standard police report with the local precinct and buy a better alarm system.
I hung up the phone in absolute disgust, realizing that the legal system was going to fail us once again.
I was not about to sit around and wait for Mark's mysterious accomplice to make their next deadly move.
I opened my laptop and instantly transferred ten thousand dollars from my legal settlement to hire an elite private security firm.
Within two hours, a towering, heavily scarred former military contractor named Jax arrived at my front door.
Jax did not waste a single second on pleasantries before he began sweeping the entire apartment with a specialized radio frequency scanner.
I sat on the couch, holding Chloe tightly against my side, silently praying that the photograph was just an empty threat.
Suddenly, Jax stopped in the center of the living room, his scanner emitting a high-pitched, frantic beeping noise.
He reached up to the smoke detector mounted on our high ceiling and aggressively ripped the plastic casing right off the wall.
Jax turned around and held out his massive, calloused hand to show me what he had found.
Resting in his palm was a tiny, state-of-the-art microphone and a microscopic camera lens wired directly into the building's electrical grid.
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They had not just followed us to our new safe house.
They had been listening to every single word we said since the very day we moved in.
