Funny enough, her first reaction to his face wasn’t fear. Instead, she was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Stalkers weren’t supposed to be handsome. Or well-dressed. He held out his hand, as if to stop her, but a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed her.

He saw the spray coming and he raised his hand just in time to block the stream. But the pepper spray had the desired effect. Just the smell made him cough and sputter and his eyes began to water. Cursing, he bent over at the waist, tugging his jacket up over his mouth and nose.

The bell for the elevator door sounded and Rachel dropped the pepper spray and rushed inside. Just as the door closed, he called her name again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone.”

“I work for Trevor Ross,” the man shouted, adding a string of curses to the statement. “He sent me.”

The door shut and the elevator began to silently rise. Rachel’s pulse pounded in her ears and her breath came in quick gasps, but she felt as if she were outside her body. Slowly, her mind began to work again and confusion replaced the panic that had overwhelmed her.

He had been dressed much nicer than the average stalker, although she didn’t know exactly what the fashionable stalker wore these days. She imagined a hooded sweatshirt and grubby clothes, not a tailored sport jacket and finely pressed trousers. And his dark hair wasn’t shaggy and unkempt but neatly trimmed.

If Trevor Ross had sent the man, what was he doing skulking about in the garage? And how had he gotten inside? She needed some answers. So when she reached her floor, she pushed the button for the garage and the elevator slowly descended. When she got back to the garage, Rachel found him squatting against a pillar, his cheeks wet from tears, his head tipped back. He’d tossed his jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt.