She Can Tell by Melinda Leigh

Watcher leaned out from behind a fat oak at the edge of the trees. The ankle-deep stream at the edge of the property swirled around his waterproof boots. He raised the binoculars to the opening of his camouflage hood and adjusted the focus. Rachel carried the small child to her pickup and secured her in the rear of the extended cab. Another child followed, climbing into the truck on her own. Rachel stopped and scanned the woods. Her posture stiffened.
    He lowered his field glasses and backed against the tree. She couldn’t see him. It wasn’t possible. Not at that distance. Not dressed head to toe in his best autumn forest camo.
    She returned to her task, and he relaxed. But he’d never forget the fact that she, and she alone, could tie him to a murder.
    He’d only killed one person in his life. Though he could still feel the burn of betrayal down to his soul, he regretted his reaction to this day. Getting rid of the body and destroying the evidence had been a hassle. Frankly, he’d panicked and botched the whole thing. He’d been lucky. The copshad assumed Harry had taken off. There’d been no evidence of a crime. But now that
she
was back, there could be.
    She could ruin everything.
    He turned to stare at the old farmhouse. What would it take to get rid of her? A lot, apparently. Troy Mitchell sure wasn’t going to get the job done. He was too lazy and undisciplined to be useful as anything except a pawn.
    The Watcher focused his binoculars on the barn with disgust. Graffiti was the best Troy could do? Really? What an amateur.
    Clearly, more of the Watcher’s assistance was necessary. He’d leave the juvenile tactics to Troy, while the Watcher took care of the serious business. Rachel had proven more resourceful than he’d expected. Both of his early attempts to break into the house had failed. With more time, he’d have managed it, but Rachel was never gone long enough. If he did get inside, he’d need a few hours to do what needed to be done. He couldn’t take the chance of being caught in the act.
    So, unless he figured out another way to get in, he needed Rachel to move out. But how?
    Nothing he’d done so far had convinced her that she was engaged in a losing battle. The stubborn bitch was a pain in the ass. He’d worked hard to put that night behind him. He wouldn’t let her ruin everything. It was time to take the plan to the next level, from mere inconvenience and financial hardship to real fear, which was easier than most people would think. Rachel wasn’t as tough as she appeared. Some personal terrors ran soul-deep.
    He knew all about Rachel’s phobias. He’d been watching her a long time. He thought about breaking in when she was home, of standing over her bed while she slept, unaware of his presence. His groin tightened. The sight of him in herroom would terrify her. She’d scream. He’d have to silence her before anyone heard her. Before she could tell.
    Anticipation kindled at the thought of an eternal solution to his current problem, of acting instead of only watching. He could wrap his hands around her throat. The memory of that one and only kill rushed back. The blood. The power. The thrill. He hadn’t expected it to feel so…good. Addictive. As if he’d been numb until the act had flooded him with feeling. Cold until he’d felt the hot rush of blood over his skin. Nothing in his life had come close to the few, tantalizing seconds when he’d watched the light, the soul, drain out of a man’s eyes. He’d felt more in that moment than in his entire life. Killing had fueled something inside him. A yearning that watching would never quite satisfy.
    But he was still paying the price for that ancient momentary thrill. Disposing of Harry’s body had been more difficult than he’d imagined. It had taken a long time before he stopped waking in a cold sweat, waiting for the police to show up at the door. One moment of pleasure hadn’t been worth years of anxiety. If he’d learned