Savage Stalkers (Masked Men #9)

Skye

My shoulders twitch. Three times on the way here, I spun around, certain I heard footsteps behind mine. But each time, the sidewalk was empty except for a few scattered students, none following me. Yet the feeling hasn’t left. I reach for the handle, my palm damp against the cold metal.

The gifts started last week—a single rose on my pillow, a note slipped under my door. Last night I swore when I was getting changed there was a shadow standing across the road under a tree, but when I walked closer to check, it was gone.

I open the door to the study room, but I freeze when I see there is already someone inside, seated at the far end of the table, hoodie pulled up. “S—sorry,” I stammer. “I booked this room.”