Bodyguard/Husband by Mallory Kane

envelope.”
    Jack’s nod reminded her of his certainty that the stalker had access to her home. She shuddered. Uncle Virgil was right. Jack’s questions were unnerving and unnecessary. He already knew all this.
    “When did you find it?”
    “Four weeks ago today.”
    “Right about the time you announced your trip.”
    “You know, I didn’t announce my trip. I’m not the town celebrity.”
    Jack raised that irritating brow. “Maybe not, but didn’t everyone in town know you were going to Chicago for that seminar?”
    She shrugged. “Probably. Living in a small town is kind of like living in a glass house.”
    “So your stalker knew you were leaving.”
    “Oh God, that’s true.” A shiver of revulsion skimmed down her spine. “I just want a normal life,” she said sadly.
    “Then, work with me. Where was this note?” He pushed it toward her.
    She suppressed the urge to push it away. “It wasn’t with sympathy cards or wedding gifts, like the other two. There was no occasion that called for a card. It was just there.”
    That was the important thing. Holly understood, just as he did, the significance of the third note: there was no reason for it. It had arrived three months after Danny’s death.
    “Was this the first time you’d spent any time out of town in a while?”
    She nodded. “With my job at the hospital and my fitness classes, plus cooking for Uncle Virgil and AuntBode three nights a week, it’s been two years since I’ve taken any time off.”
    “Stalkers like to maintain a steady uninterrupted sense of control. Any break in routine, like your trip out of town, can cause severe agitation, trigger the stalker’s need for attention.”
    Holly’s eyes widened like those of a small animal trapped by a predator. Suppressing the urge to reassure her, knowing she needed to understand just how dangerous her stalker was, Jack deliberately turned his attention back to the last note.
    Thank God her great-uncle had been smart enough to bag it. Chief McCray had had the police lab in Jackson check for latent prints on all three notes, but nothing conclusive had shown up. From Jack’s inspection, they looked clean, and the paper was unremarkable. It was standard copier paper. No watermark or identifiable grain.
    He hoped the FBI lab could pull enough epithelial cells for a DNA match. Then all he’d have to do was line up everybody in Maze and swab them for DNA. He snorted to himself. Fat chance of that.
    “So, about Detective Barbour,” he prompted.
    Holly wondered at the shadow in his expression. His mouth was set, his eyes dark. She could almost think it was sadness.
    “Danny died of a wasp sting. When I saw the reference to the wasp in the note, it really spooked me. I thought someone had a sick sense of humor.”
    “Everything the stalker does is deliberate. Danny’s death was no accident. Nor was the note. There was a lethal concentration of venom in his system, many times the amount in a single wasp sting.”
    “Oh, no.” Holly absorbed this new, horrific information. Her heart beat painfully in her chest and her throat felt clogged with tears. “So Danny was murdered, too—” Her voice broke. “But why? It doesn’t make any sense to kill Danny.”
    Jack’s face was inscrutable. “There are only two explanations for why the killer targeted Danny.”
    Holly waited, dreading the words he was about to say, hating the fact that she already knew them.
    “Either because you and Danny were becoming too intimate, or because Danny had discovered the killer’s identity.”
    She wanted to clamp her palms over her ears and pretend she didn’t know that Danny had died because of his association with her. “We weren’t intimate.”
    “Tell me about the day he died.”
    “He was invited to Uncle Virgil’s for dinner that night,” she said shakily. Her throat tightened and the dull pain behind her right eye became sharper. She rubbed her temple.
    “When he didn’t answer his home phone or