Chloe closed her eyes for a moment, returning to that fateful morning. Flashes of her attack splintered her thoughts.
A tall, dark silhouette appearing from the shadows.
Olive eyes she could still see in the murky darkness, and a grin that sent shivers up her spine.
The nightmares and the wound her attacker left behind reminded her he was there.
She was startled out of her trance when an announcement blared through the loudspeakers.
“Flight 2405 at one-fifteen to Fort Lauderdale will begin boarding,” the lady at the desk said into the mouthpiece. “We will start with First Class and Premier seating.”
The air was extremely hot and muggy. The damp warm breeze rustled the palm trees. Caribbean weather had a mind of its own. There would be a torrential downpour for ten minutes and the next moment, the clouds disappeared, and the sun shone as if it never happened. In the distance, the sky displayed shades of pinks and blues as the sun began to settle over a shimmering dark blue ocean.
Booker sat under an umbrella on the patio of the safe house tucked away in the hills, once again going over the case file while he had a couple of hours to spare. It was peaceful and tranquil—until his phone vibrated.
“Knox, what’s up?” Booker answered.
“Frank received another letter a few days ago. The letter targets Chloe.” Knox did not beat around the bush. “The unsub may take this opportunity to get his hands on her. My gut tells me this bastard will be out there instead of waiting for her to return home.”
“As I told you before, the estate was like Swiss cheese. The unsub could easily get in and out of the property undetected. I installed the covert cameras and the security system. Tyco has eyes on the property now. I tried to show the old man, Ezra, how to use the alarm system, but he’s clueless. So, I’ll go ahead and remotely set the silent alarm every night after my rounds,” Booker reported.
With utmost discretion, Booker had first installed the covert cameras. The estate was used for vacation renters and he needed to be careful in respecting their privacy. The cameras captured the pool man and gardeners with their normal routines, and the ins and outs of the resident staff—both Ezra and his wife, Olinda.
Booker had firsthand knowledge of enemy tactics. He didn’t expect the perpetrator to show his face on the property; that would be stupid on his part since the jackass had been careful enough to go undetected for the last year. This perp was good, really good, and it pissed off Booker more than any other mission he’d been on.
“I’m glad you took the liberty of tightening things up. I informed Frank that you’ve been securing things over there this past week. Once Chloe gets back to the States, Rocky will resume her role.”
“I understand.” Booker hoped this maniac showed his face in the next few weeks, so he could move on with his personal plan. “And what if this all blows over before she returns?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes… Stick to the plan,” Knox bit out. “The contract specifically states that your undercover assignment must not be compromised. You’re the handyman and driver…and she knows nothing about the psychopath after her. Frank never told Chloe about the letters, her mother’s murder, or that she’s now marked.”
“I don’t get it. Why doesn’t he want to tell her? I think she has a right—”
“Frank doesn’t want his daughter living in fear.”
“I still don’t agree.” Booker rubbed his face.
This has got to be one of the hardest fuckin’ cases I’ve worked.
“Agree or not, your job is the contract. Shadow her…and keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.” He hung up without a goodbye. He gritted his teeth, hated the sound of Chloe Channing labeled as a contract. But the fact of the matter was, her father was KSIG’s client and Booker had no choice but to follow orders.
When he’d first joined the security firm, he’d met Tyson Cooper, or as the team called him, Tyco. Tyco had the technical skills, could break into any database and dive deep into someone’s background for findings that couldn’t be gleaned through normal channels. He’d given Booker all the intel he could on Chloe Channing. There wasn’t much about the unsub because the psychopath was good at covering his tracks and this angered Booker to high heaven.
Who was this asshole? And why did he target the Channings—especially, why Chloe?
For the thousandth time, Booker flipped through the pages of the case file. Enclosed were copies of the letters addressed to Judge Channing and names of people associated with the family. There were photos of Chloe and her father at the coffee shop, a few at the hospital, hanging out with friends at the local bar, and some of Chloe jogging around her old neighborhood. The file contained police reports from Sarah’s accident which took her life the summer prior to Chloe’s attack.
Doctor Sarah Channing had been in a car accident that was anything but. At first glance, it merely resembled a hit-and-run. According to witnesses, a black GMC pickup ran a red light, crashed into Sarah’s Mercedes Benz, and fled the scene. Tyco retrieved the police report along with video footage from the street cameras over that intersection. He confirmed a hit-and-run with a black truck—and it did look deliberate.
Shortly after the harrowing incident, a letter arrived at Judge Channing’s chambers. The envelope did not have a return address.
Your wife is dead and she’s next.
Booker examined Chloe’s police report again and again trying to piece together why she was a target since her mother’s death. No blaring sirens grabbed his attention. She kept a regular routine and it was probably how the attacker was able to get her alone. Booker’s stomach tightened when he read over the details.
It had happened on a cold January morning. She’d gone out for a jog through her neighborhood when the unsub wearing a dark hoodie had attacked, stabbed, and rendered her unconscious. The suspect could’ve done worse, but another runner had come up and scared off the attacker who was smart enough to take the weapon with him as he fled the scene.
When Chloe awoke at the hospital the next day, she couldn’t remember much. She didn’t even remember waking up the previous morning for her run. The doctor had diagnosed Chloe with temporary memory loss due to her concussion and said it was nothing to be alarmed about. Eventually, the doctor explained, she would regain more memories that might feel like déjà vu, or she may not.
Now, Booker wondered if it was coincidence or destiny. Regardless, he had a job to do.
Protect her and keep her safe.
Maybe, just maybe, once the job was done, he could resume that conversation from two years ago. He realized he was taking a gamble she would remember him, and if there were any chance she did, it was a chance he was willing to take.
Thump, thump, thump, thump… Oxygen in her nose, exhale through her mouth. Repeat. Chloe’s breathing was fast and steady as her running shoes vibrated against the sidewalk. Music blaring in her ears. She was in the zone, in her own world and away from reality. The street lights were still lit, and the sun had not made an appearance in the inky sky. Training for the marathon was best done early in the morning. There was an occasional passing car momentarily blinding her with its headlights. Her ears and nose felt cold in the January breeze.
She turned the corner to run alongside the park. Trash can, tree, car, bright light; she said to herself as she ran by each one. Just ahead, around the corner came a silhouette runner. No warning. The vision collided full force. Knocking the wind out of her, she lost her balance and fell backwards hitting her head on the ground. She touched the back of her head and felt wetness, most likely blood.
Headphones still in place, she could barely hear the song from the loud ringing in her ears. He straddled her body, imprisoning her. She gasped for the air she desperately needed but heavy hands on her throat impeded her efforts. Tears streamed down her temples. A steely knife skimmed her face. Her heart raced. She was terrified and helpless. Her vision blurred; she could barely see her at
tacker’s face. But there was no doubt the narrow, beady eyes threatening her were filled with hatred and pure evil. She wanted to scream but the words stuck in her throat.
His breath reeked of cigarettes. Then a fist crossed her face before the cold knife entered, stealing the last of her breath with excruciating pain. He grabbed a lock of hair and slammed her head against the concrete.
Then, only blackness.
The jerk of the airplane landing on the tarmac had awakened Chloe. Her heart raced, short of breath and a sheen a sweat on her forehead.
She placed her hand on her lower abdomen, where the phantom pain still throbbed. The asshole had left her the scars to prove he was there. She was unsure if the vivid images from nightmares were real. In some way, she believed they really did happen, and this scared the shit out of her.
One thing remained, tattooed in her mind: the evil eyes gave her shivers down to her core and she trembled at the thought knowing her attacker was still out there. For now, there was comfort knowing she was thousands of miles away.
When the police had taken her statement while she recovered in the hospital, they deemed it random. But this never eased her mind knowing there was a maniac around the neighborhood. They lived in a safe area with hardly any crimes reported. The weird thing Chloe couldn’t shake was there were no similar assaults reported prior or after hers.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Phoebe asked, her hand on Chloe’s shoulder.
“Why? Did I say something?” Chloe sat up, getting her bearings as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
“Nothing in particular. I can tell…you were mumbling again.” Phoebe pressed her lips and gave a concerned look.
“I’m fine.” Chloe made an imaginary X across her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart.” She attempted a smile, but Phoebe knew her too well.
Phoebe had been and still was Chloe’s rock. When Chloe was released from the hospital, Dad tried to persuade her to stay at his home, but Chloe refused. She wanted to be in her own apartment in her own bed. Most nights, Phoebe slept in bed with her so Chloe would feel safe again, and she was the one who was awakened by Chloe’s screams.
And although their neighborhood was considered among the safest places to live in San Francisco and their building had a doorman that announced all guests to the tenants, Dad still took every precaution by installing a security system at the women’s home to ensure Chloe’s safety.
Chloe watched Sam fetch the carry-on bags from the overhead compartment and hand one to Phoebe. She then looked over at Sage across the aisle tapping on her cell phone which reminded Chloe to call her dad as soon as she landed.
Chloe pulled out her cell phone and turned it on. She read a few texts from her colleagues and friends. One from Celina promising she would take care of the apartment and mail. A funny text from Ryland wishing she could be with Chloe and Phoebe on this trip, asking them not to forget about her. A short message from Rochelle to call when Chloe returned and hook up for drinks. Brennan, their friend and owner of the Tipsy Turtle, also sent a cute text saying he missed his two favorite drinking buddies. And one from her dad reminding her to call as soon as she landed.
Chloe pressed Dad’s name on her phone.
“Pumpkin?” the man answered on the second ring.
“Dad, hi. We just landed in Fort Lauderdale, then to our connecting flight to Papa’s.” She grabbed her carry-on from Sam, which he’d pulled down for her.
“How was the flight?” Frank asked.
“Okay, I guess… I read a bit then dozed off.” Chloe yawned. “And what are you doing?”
“Oh, the usual.” Chloe heard him take a sip. She pictured him with his usual short glass of brandy sitting behind his mahogany desk in his leather chair, maybe with a Victor Sinclair cigar, working on a case. “Listen, I know I’ve been a pain in your ass these last couple of months, but please be careful out there. Remember the buddy system, safety in numbers? And make sure Sam is with you.”
Chloe sensed there was more to what he was saying. Dad’s tone was tense and scared. She couldn’t shake the distinct feeling there was more to his concern than he let on. The last several months, she had this eerie feeling of being watched. Since her attack, her senses heightened, she was more aware. Whenever Chloe scanned her surroundings, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, the ominous feeling sometimes overwhelmed her.
Then there were the unexplained one-word postcards that arrived in the mail addressed to her. Did her dad know about the postcards she’d received lately?
NEXT
Where did they come from? They never had a return address. And what did ‘NEXT’ mean? She assumed they were advertisements but then they kept coming. Now her gut warned her otherwise. Especially when the words progressed.
YOU ARE NEXT
“I’m turning thirty in a couple of weeks, I know—”
“I don’t care if you’re turning fifty. You are my little girl. Always.” He sounded off a smirk, obvious that he did not like her remark.
“Dad, since my attack you’ve been so protective, and I appreciate it, I really do. Don’t be such a worry-wart. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she told him, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.
“I will always worry about you.” Frank took another sip. “Remember your first day going into third grade and you wanted me to drop you off about a block away?”
Chloe nodded as if Dad could see her. “Uh-hum. Kinda.”
“Well, I did as you wished. But I was still there watching you to make sure you were okay.”
“That was the day I met Feebs.” Chloe was surprised she remembered.
“Yes. You have been inseparable since. My point is, don’t take my worry-wart away from me. I’m your dad and it’s my duty.”
“Okay, my worry-wart dad… I’ve gotta go. We’re headed to our gate about to board.”
“Love you, Pumpkin. Call me when you get there.”
“Love you more. And I will.”
It was a short trip on the charter plane to their final destination. As they approached the baggage-claim area, Chloe noticed a dark-haired man holding a sign with CHANNING written on it. They approached the tall, very tanned and handsome man. There was something familiar about him, nothing triggered.
Sam raised his hand to him. “My name is Sam Channing.” He shook the man’s hand.
“I’m Chloe Channing.” She raised her hand. The handsome man’s large hand wrapped around hers and she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling in the back of her mind as goosebumps rose on her arms.
Have we met before?
“My name is Julian—Julian Cruz, and I’m here to drive you to the Channing Estate.” His voice was low and raspy, and his eyes were only looking at Chloe.
Julian? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.
Chloe opened her mouth then quickly closed it. She was tempted to ask if they’d met before, but she didn’t want to feel stupid if they hadn’t.
His dark intense eyes lured her in. His five o’clock shadow and dark hair was a bit longer than she cared for, nevertheless she liked what she saw. He wore tan cargo shorts and his broad shoulders fit perfectly in the black short-sleeved shirt that exposed rippled muscles on his forearms and a hint of a tattoo.
There was no doubt he was strong, and Chloe was turned on the more she watched him. Julian’s biceps bulged as he lifted their luggage effortlessly from the carousel and placed them on the buggy. She couldn’t control her gaze as it went south, curious of how well-endowed he was.
Chloe shut her eyes, covered her face with her hand and pressed her lips.
Holy shit! Why did I look there?
Chloe’s heart beat faster just thinking about what he looked like under his clothes. She wanted to lick the perspiration off his neck caused from the humid air like her favorite ice-cream flavor dripping from its cone. Her thoughts wandered, imagining Julian satisfying all the things she’d never done, things she’d only fantasized about an
d read in her romance books.
Chloe shook her head and snapped herself from the thoughts. This wasn’t like her and she needed to get control of herself.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Girlfriend, that is some eye-candy,” Phoebe whispered, nudging Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe rolled her eyes, not surprised at Phoebe’s comment. “And babe, you might want to wipe the slobber.” Phoebe giggled pointing to Chloe’s mouth.
“Wha—I’m not…” Chloe gasped from embarrassment.
Julian and Sam loaded the luggage into the back of the Range Rover. The ladies scooted into the back row and Sam took the passenger seat. The drive over to the beach house was mostly quiet except for the radio playing steel drums of a familiar melody from Rihanna. It was dark out and there was no use looking out the window to take in the sights.
“So, Julian.” Phoebe broke the awkward silence. “Are you staying at the beach house, too?”
“No, ma’am. I have a small place a couple of miles away.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m not my mother,” Phoebe said.
Julian’s mouth perked. “Noted.”
“So, what’s your deal?” Phoebe continued.
“I’m helping out Ezra until he gets some permanent help.”
“Hmm...I see.” Phoebe paused. She glanced at Chloe with that I-have-a-plan look. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Chloe elbowed Phoebe’s rib. “Stop asking so many questions. You’re not working on an exclusive story. Besides, I’m sure he’s got a girlfriend,” Chloe said through gritted teeth. “Isn’t that right, Julian?”
Till I Found You: The Broken Hero Series—Book One Page 3
