“And you said he doesn’t think this guy has done it before?” I prompt, proving I was listening… somewhat. “Why not?”
Rachel shrugs. “The detective thinks when the stalker told Joslyn that she was his favorite, it was just taunting.”
“And this detective bases that on what?”
She shrugs again. “I got the distinct impression he had bigger fish to fry. Given the lack of any fingerprints or DNA left behind, I doubt he’s going to put much work into this situation right now.”
“Typical,” I growl, then take a sip of coffee. Just as I’m lowering the mug, I see Joslyn over the rim.
Her hair is wet, face scrubbed of makeup, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She apparently got as little sleep as I had.
Wearing a pair of gray leggings and an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt, she’s easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. Barely looks a day older than nineteen.
Her eyes hold mine as she steps into the kitchen, and there’s definitely an awkward tension. I try to break the ice by updating her on what Rachel had found out from Kitchner.
“Without any fingerprints or DNA to go on right now, we’ve got barely anything to help us identify this guy.”
Joslyn doesn’t flinch or give anything away in her expression. She rounds the island and comes toward me. I’m presuming for a cup of coffee.
“But that’s all moot.” I mean for it to be reassuring—a testament to the fact I intend to lure this asshole right into a trap.
Joslyn merely continues until she’s right in front of me, then cocks her hand back and slaps me across the face. It’s hard enough to force my head to snap sideways.
“Oh, damn,” Rachel murmurs. A brief glance at Bebe shows she’s frozen, gaping from behind her laptop.
I settle my astonished attention on Joslyn. Her eyes are flaming with indignation as she mutters, “You’re an asshole, Kynan McGrath. In the future, do your job and keep your hands to yourself. You do that, and we’re good. Got me?”
The flush of anger and embarrassment layer on top of the heated imprint her hand left behind, but I merely nod as I grit out, “I got you.”
“Good,” she says with an icy smile before turning to her cabinet for a coffee mug.
Rachel raises an eyebrow, but I just shrug. Bebe returns to furiously typing on her keyboard.
The doorbell rings, and Joslyn puts her cup down. “That will be Lynn and Harry. I’ll go let them in.”
I grab the coffee pot, lean over, and fill her cup, pointedly ignoring Rachel, whose eyes I can still feel on me. I’m sure wanting to know why in the hell our client just slapped me. Ordinarily, as an employer, I’d worry about it, but Rachel knows my history with Joslyn.
I’m saved from having to meet her gaze by Joslyn returning to the kitchen with Lynn and a smartly dressed man who appears to be in his early thirties.
There are no introductions made. The man is carrying a large vase of fresh flowers—sunflowers to be exact—which are Joslyn’s favorites. It’s strange, the trivial things we remember from years ago.
For a moment, I have a flash of jealousy over her publicist bringing her flowers. She didn’t indicate they were in a relationship, but then I notice how pale Joslyn is.
When Harry sets the vase on the counter, I survey the sunflowers. “These were sitting at the edge of the front yard that borders the neighbor. I thought it was odd they were just sitting there, so I stopped to examine them more closely.”
Lynn’s hand flutters near her throat. “They’re from him.”
Reaching out, I snatch the plain white card that’s stuck in a plastic holder with no envelope. It doesn’t identify a flower shop, and it only has two simple words. Welcome home.
“Maybe they’re not meant for Joslyn,” Harry says hesitantly. It’s evident by his voice he really, really wants to believe that.
But I know they’re meant for Joslyn. We all do.
Turning to Bebe, I order, “Pull up the camera feed for that quadrant.”
“Already on it,” she says from a position hunched over her keyboard. I walk around the island to come up behind her. Rachel, Joslyn, Lynn, and Harry all do the same.
Bebe pulls up the footage, then starts a visual rewind. I watch the clock move backward in fast motion, catching the occasional stray car driving by.
“There,” Rachel exclaims. Bebe stops the rewind, playing the footage. We all lean forward and watch.
Just on the very outside edge of the screen, a hooded figure appears. The motion trips the camera’s spotlight to come on, illuminating the figure.
He’s carrying the vase of sunflowers, then sets them carefully on the grass before turning away and disappearing off the screen.
“Play it again,” I demand.
She does… three more times.
“How do we know that’s him?” Harry asks, the first to break the silence. Joslyn moves over to the island, then picks up her coffee cup. Lynn goes to the cabinet to get a mug for herself.
“It’s him,” Rachel says assuredly.
“It’s absolutely him,” I say in agreement. “The way he dressed in a hoodie pulled up, he didn’t want to be identified. He kept his shoulder turned so his face was never on camera. He also wasn’t surprised by the light coming on when the camera did. Based on the fact he barely came into the view of the camera, it tells me he knew exactly where the camera was placed and what it could see.”
“Which means he’s been watching the house and is well aware of our new security updates,” Rachel adds.
“I think you should move again,” Lynn blurts out as she pours coffee. “At the very least, check into a hotel.”
Rachel shakes her head. “No, this is good. This means he’s still fixated on her. She’s hardly been home a day, and he’s already reached out. If she goes into hiding, we lose our chance to catch him.”
“He’s watching,” I tell Lynn. “That means he’ll be easy to lure into the open.”
Joslyn doesn’t say a word. Leaning against the counter, she just sips her coffee.
I turn to Harry. “That’s where we need you. Joslyn and I have to go public with our relationship.”
“Relationship?” he asks in confusion.
“Fake relationship,” I amend. “Figure out the best way to get the news out to the biggest population of people.”
“Cara Peterson,” Harry says, and Lynn nods in agreement.
“Who is that?”
“Only the biggest talk show on TV these days,” Lynn explains.
“That will work,” I reply with a curt smile. Joslyn seems to be disconnected from all of this—stuck in her own head.
I leave it alone for now, addressing her manager and publicist. “For the next few weeks, book us in high-profile restaurants with paparazzi, secure tickets to shows, whatever it is you do to get your girl out there. I’ll be by her side the entire time, hopefully pissing this guy off.”
“We’ll do an official press release,” Harry says as he whips out his phone and starts typing notes into it. “I can get her on Cara’s show pretty easy. She owes me a favor.”
“I don’t like this,” Lynn reiterates, pointedly gesturing at Joslyn, who has her gaze pinned on her coffee cup. Lynn puts her arm on Joslyn’s shoulder, and she reluctantly turns to her manager. “I think this is just too dangerous.”
“She’ll never be by herself,” I reassure her, and Lynn swings my way, eyes heavy with distrust. “I promise she will be protected at all times.”
Giving my attention to Joslyn, I address her specifically. “But you have to be okay with this, Jos.”
She finally acknowledges me, the first time since she slapped my face, which I admittedly deserved. Her look is fierce, not in anger but in determination to get this solved.
She then turns to Lynn, taking her hand. “I trust Kynan to protect me. I want to do this. If we don’t do something affirmative, it could be weeks or months where I’m living in fear. I want to be able to move on w
ith my life and put all of this behind me.”
Her words are simple, easily explaining where her head must be these days with having a stalker come after her. But I can’t help but feel those words are also specifically directed at me. That she wants to move past me, what we had, and what we did last night, ending with me giving her a metaphorical slap in the face by leaving her without talking.
Yeah, I totally deserved that actual slap.
“Fine,” Lynn says in capitulation, but then she pivots and points a finger directly at me. “But if Joslyn gets hurt, I’m going to cut your balls off.”
“She’ll be safe, I promise.”
Lynn nods and turns to Joslyn. They huddle with Harry, starting to make plans to out us to Hollywood as a couple.
Rachel leans in toward me to murmur. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Not to you,” I answer, although I’ll probably tell her at some point about what happened last night. Rachel is the least judgmental person I know. But for now, we have work to do. “I need you to get on all the local flower shops to see if you can find out who bought those flowers.”
“That’s a needle in a haystack,” Rachel points out. “He could have bought those flowers four towns away.”
“I know,” I say with a wry smile. “But try, okay?”
“Of course,” Rachel says, then asks Bebe. “Can you print me a list of all flower shops in a twenty-mile radius? I’ll start with that.”
“Sure,” Bebe says as she starts tapping away at the keys. “But I can do you one better.”
“How’s that?” Rachel asks.
“I can try to hack into their systems to check their electronic records. It will take time, but at least it’s something.”
“You are brilliant.” Rachel beams at Bebe, who flushes under the praise but turns worried eyes to me.
“That is…” she says. “If you want me to do that. It’s not legal.”
“Go for it.” I’m not worried in the least. It’s for a good reason, and it’s not going to hurt the flower shop owners.
Bebe nods and gets to work, and I realize… if she has luck with locating the guy this way, this could be over with very, very quickly.
I had sort of set my expectations this could take weeks to resolve—certainly several days at the least. But if Bebe is as good as I think she is, and this stalker was stupid enough to leave a trail, then my time with Joslyn is quickly ticking away.
I have no clue how that even makes me feel.
CHAPTER 12
Joslyn
After I pull another armful of hangers with clothing attached from my closet, I throw it on my bed. Picking up the one on top, I examine it. It’s a silver Givenchy gown I’d worn to the Golden Globes five years ago, and I haven’t worn it since. It’s not proper in Hollywood to wear the same designer gown twice, so it just sits in my closet and collects dust.
With a quick critical eye, I determine it’s not something Bebe could utilize until she can buy some clothes of her own.
Not that I expected to find anything in here she’d appreciate. I’d already raided my drawers yesterday not long after we’d arrived at my house. I know Bebe had to be dying to get rid of that prison uniform, so I’d gathered a bunch of casual stuff—shorts, t-shirts, jeans, and sweatpants. I’d even had a bunch of brand-new lingerie I’d never worn, although my bra size is about two cups too big for Bebe, I’m sure she was thankful for the fresh panties. I set her up right away in one of the guest rooms that has its own master bath so she could shower the stink of captivity off and start fresh.
Tossing the Givenchy gown to the left of the pile, I pick up the next item. An Oscar de la Renta black crepe pantsuit I’d not even worn yet. It still had the price tag on it, but it also went into the pile on the left. I’d donate it somewhere, although I have no clue who would actually wear this stuff. Or maybe I can have Harry auction it off and give the proceeds to charity.
“Spring cleaning?” I hear from my bedroom doorway, and I whip around to find Rachel standing there. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I murmur, nabbing a flowery Gaultier above-the-knee dress I’d worn to some award luncheon. I’d managed to land a plum role in an indie film about a singer disillusioned with the business who gave it all up to start a new life in another country. Of course, she meets a handsome, mysterious man there and falls in love. The role hit close to home because I sometimes find myself so tired of everything that I wonder how bad it would be to walk away from it all.
I have to admit cutting out crazy stalkers from my life has great appeal.
Holding the dress up, I remember how great it looks on me. I love this freaking dress. I’d totally wear it again, be damned what the critics say. It starts a new pile to the right.
Rachel comes into my room, then plops down on the other side of my bed from the pile of clothing. She reclines on her side, propping her head in her hand and watching me.
I go through a few more outfits, all ending up in the auction pile. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s not necessarily comfortable either. Just before I can start blabbering just to fill the void, Rachel says, “Lynn and Harry seem really nice.”
“They’re the best,” I agree, shooting her a brief smile.
“And I think Bebe is going to be a game changer for us.”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“We’ll have this asshole caught in no time,” she says cheerfully.
“Counting on it.” I put a Zac Posen skirt in the auction pile, but then reconsider, moving it to the small pile I’m keeping.
“Why did you slap Kynan?” Rachel asks, and my eyes snap to her in surprise. She merely smiles blandly. “I mean… I’m sure he deserved it because he wasn’t mad about it.”
My tongue feels glued to the top of my mouth. Being confronted about this out of the blue by a woman I don’t know much about has me at a loss.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she continues. “But I figure it might be good for you to have someone to talk to. Clearly, something is going on between you two.”
I deflate immediately, giving up the pretense I can just move on from what happened last night. I’ve not been able to think about anything else. How wonderful it was. How I felt such an intense connection with him.
How I’d—for the first time in as long as I can remember—felt hopeful about things.
Until he walked out of the room… and sent me crashing back down to earth with no soft landing in sight.
“He seduced me last night,” I confess as I slowly raise my head to meet her eyes. She doesn’t seem surprised. “I mean, came right into my room and started… well, he didn’t give me much of a warning or room to say no.”
“Be honest,” Rachel chides. “You didn’t want to say no.”
The corners of my mouth pull upward, and I shake my head. “No. I didn’t want to say no.”
“Y’all had some serious issues,” Rachel points out as she pushes up and maneuvers to sit Indian-style facing me. “How did you get past them?”
I give a mirthless laugh as I finger the next outfit on top of the waning pile in the middle. “I had thought he cheated on me, which is why I broke things off. Found out my mother had scammed me. Doctored up a fake report from an investigator. Threw in a picture of him hugging you.”
“Me?” she asks in surprise.
“You came to visit him in Vegas around the time we were dating,” I answer. “My mom did have someone following Kynan, and he snapped a picture of you two hugging. Coupled with some fake texts, emails, and receipts, it looked like he was two-timing me.”
“Oh, wow,” she murmurs as her gaze drifts to the pile of clothes before popping back up to me. “I bet Kynan was pissed.”
I nod, my own anger building again. “Pissed enough to fuck me, make me think we had a connection, and then walk away without another word. He didn’t even bother to get naked. Just unzipped his pants and—”
Rachel defensively holds up her hands. “TMI, Joslyn. TMI
.”
I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The point being… I thought it meant something, but it clearly didn’t to him. And truth be told… I think he acted that way to punish me for being so stupid all those years ago and falling for my mother’s shit.”
Empathy fills Rachel’s eyes. “Maybe. But we all do stuff out of anger we regret later, and I know Kynan… he’s not an inherently unkind man. He is an emotional one, though, and I’m betting he’s having some regrets today.”
I snort in disregard of such an assertion. I don’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt on this, which is exactly what I was guilty of doing twelve years ago. The irony of that is obvious, but I don’t give my body away easily. I have to feel something deep for a man. It hurt to know I was feeling it last night, while he was just feeling a good orgasm.
Or hell… maybe it wasn’t even good for him.
“Ugh,” I moan, snagging another outfit from the middle pile. I move to the free-standing full-length mirror in the corner of my room, then hold the red silk dress up in front of me. I’d worn it to the recording wrap party after my last album.
“Let’s go shooting,” Rachel suggests.
My brows draw together as I consider her through the mirror’s reflection. “Shooting?”
“Guns,” she replies smoothly. She swings her legs over the side of the bed where she bounds off. “It will be fun. You can imagine Kynan’s face in the center of the target. Besides… you should know how to shoot a gun for protection.”
“I know how to shoot a gun for protection,” I mutter as I examine the dress. “I’m from Montana for God’s sake.”
“Then let’s go shooting.” Rachel grins like this is the best idea in the entire world. It’s not, of course, but it is a lot better than cleaning out my closet.
“Okay,” I finally manage to say, tossing the red dress on the bed and feeling a bit… lighter. Maybe aiming at an imaginary target of Kynan’s head will improve my mood even more.
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