by Nika Rhone
“The letter mentioned talking to her. Touching her!” Doyle threw the wadded-up paper towels into the trash with enough force to rock the can sideways before it finally settled back on its base. That was what had really sent him over the edge.
When you smiled so invitingly at me, and your soft hand touched mine in that secret caress, I knew the pleasures you were offering, the pleasures I will take. And I can’t help but wonder as I think of you every night as I lay in bed, is your skin that amazingly soft all over? I’ll know the answer soon, my love. Soon.
“It was an admission that there had been actual contact.” Doyle struggled to suppress the rage those words provoked. “It came within days of her meeting Hastings for the first time. That’s too much of a coincidence for me to swallow.”
“Just because the writer claimed contact doesn’t mean it happened anyplace but in his own mind,” Red replied. “You know the psych profile for intimacy-seeking stalkers says they can imagine an entire relationship out of nothing more than passing someone on the street. Or even if they did actually encounter each other, it could have been as simple as Thea paying and getting change from a cashier at the coffeehouse, or the ticket taker at the movies, or her keys from a valet, or…”
“I get the point.” Doyle dropped his large frame into his chair on a frustrated sigh. “It could be anyone, anywhere that she’s had casual contact with or someone she hasn’t even been within a hundred yards of. Which leaves us exactly nowhere.”
“The postmark was local, so we at least know he’s here in Boulder.”
Somewhere Hastings wasn’t any longer. “That does nothing to make me feel any better.”
Red leaned his hip against the side of the desk and crossed his arms. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this…”
Doyle had a pretty good idea what his second-in-command would say. And no, he didn’t want to hear it. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to start following his gut instead of his orders.
“If this guy has somehow gotten close and if he’s in a position to get close again, the best way to protect Thea is to let her know exactly what it is she needs to be protected from. Otherwise, she might miss something important, something that might warn her that she’s in danger. Despite what her father thinks, she can handle the truth without freaking out.”
Breath hissed from between Doyle’s lips. “I know she can. But Frank refused to reconsider his orders when I talked to him.” After the last letter had arrived and left his entire staff in want of a shower after reading its graphic rape fantasies, Doyle had been certain he’d be able to convince Frank to change his mind, given the new urgency of the local postmark.
No such luck. The term “control freak” had been invented for people like Francis T. Fordham. He’d insisted nothing be done until he was back home to take care of it himself.
“But he did give you permission before he left to confine her to the estate if it came down to a matter of her safety,” Red said to remind him.
Yeah, he had. And wouldn’t that just go over great with Thea when he couldn’t even explain to her exactly why he was putting her under the house arrest she’d once accused him of for the next five days. Not that it would stop him from doing it if he felt her safety was no longer guaranteed by her security detail, but that was a nightmare best saved for a last resort.
Once he played that card, he’d never get an ounce of cooperation out of Thea again. The stalker was too close, Thea was in danger, and they had jack shit to go on. All in all, he wasn’t feeling very good about their chances of avoiding a total clusterfuck before the whole thing was over.
“It’s an option if we need it.” What went unsaid, but both men understood, was that even if they locked Thea up snug and tight, their problem didn’t go away. The stalker wouldn’t just pack up his pen and paper and go home. He was fixated. Unless he found someone or something else to hang his psychotic attachment onto—not that Doyle wished that nightmare on anyone—he would continue to see Thea as the object of his lust and the only one with whom he could, in his own rambling words, “find permanent happiness.”
No, the problem wasn’t going to go away. Which meant they had to catch the sick prick, because until they did, Thea was a target just by breathing, no matter where she was, safely inside the estate walls or not.
“Have we heard anything back from the Feebs?” Doyle asked.
They’d finally brought the FBI into the mix after the presents had started arriving. Multistate postmarks together with the personal delivery of the candy had allowed them to put forth the probability that the stalker had crossed state lines in his pursuit of his obsession. That made it a federal crime, and had allowed Frank Fordham to tug a few strings and get the Feds involved.
As much as Doyle had disliked losing control of the situation, he was smart enough to know that it had reached a point where his security staff, as talented as they were, would be more effective in dealing with the threat if they had some official help. They were set up to protect, not investigate.
That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to keep his fingers in the mix, however.
“Still no match on that partial print from the box of chocolates from AFIS.” They both knew the odds were against there being one. As extensive as the FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Identification System was, it could only match against the prints it had on file. If they were lucky, their freak had a record.
Doyle hadn’t been feeling very lucky lately. “What about the chocolates themselves?”
“Not tampered with.” There was the same hint of relief in Red’s voice as Doyle felt when he heard them. At least Thea’s stalker wasn’t trying to poison or drug her. Yet. Still, it relieved a small knot of tension about the consequences if one of the “gifts” managed to get through to her before they could intercept it.
Another good reason to tell Thea about what was going on, the reasonable part of him urged.
And yet…he couldn’t do it. Frank hadn’t said the words, but it had been very clear after their last conversation that if Doyle went against his orders, he’d be out of a job the same day the Fordhams returned from their trip. Doyle couldn’t let that happen. The only way he could ensure Thea’s safety was if he was there for her.
To be there for her, he had to keep his job.
To keep his job, he had to continue lying to her.
Therefore, he would continue to lie to her, no matter how much he hated it.
He might have screwed up in every other way with her, most recent with his infamous “I value your friendship” speech—which he still was dragging his feet about apologizing for—but in keeping Thea safe, he wouldn’t fail.
He couldn’t.
Which still left him with one huge problem. If their letter writer wasn’t Nick Hastings, then who the hell was it?
****
“Mmmm.” Like a cat with its cream, Lillian closed her eyes as she licked the thick whipped topping from the rim of her hazelnut mocha latte. “If it could bring home a paycheck and pick up its own socks, I’d marry it.”
Thea, used to her friend’s communion ritual with her twin vices of chocolate and caffeine, smiled and took a mechanical sip of her own triple-shot cappuccino. She was starting to drag, and it was barely two o’clock. A week of little to no sleep would do that. The worst of the dark circles had been dealt with thanks to a judicious application of concealer, but her body was showing in other ways that it was starting to run on empty.
Doyle didn’t want her. Fine. She’d always known that, somewhere deep down where all her insecurities squirmed and hid, even when she’d been swimming deep in denial and hoping for her fairytale ending: the prince sweeps the princess into his strong arms, declares his never-ending love, and they ride off into the sunset, together forever.
She snorted to herself and took another sip. Some princess she was. Any princess worth her salt could get her prince to go to one knee and declare his eternal devotion. What did she get? An avowal of undying friends
hip.
Friends.
Right.
Perfect.
Sometimes life truly sucked.
Her phone vibrated on the table, indicating a new text message. She checked the sender, and then deleted it without reading it. Seth again. Somehow he’d gotten her phone number, and for the past two days he’d been sending messages that she had absolutely no interest in returning. Hopefully, he’d take the hint and go away. If not, she might just have to change her phone number. Again.
“I still think we should just cancel for tonight.” Thea took another pull on her cappuccino, willing the caffeine to kick in.
“No,” Lillian replied. “Just because Mellie can’t make it doesn’t mean we can’t still have a fun night out.”
They had made plans to take Amelia to Club Platinum as a sort of pre-engagement-party party, but a little while ago, she had called and begged off. Charles, along with his father and the rest of their entourage, had unexpectedly made another fly-by visit to Boulder. Even more unexpected, he’d asked Amelia to go to dinner. Just the two of them. Amelia sounded so enthused by the prospect of being alone with her fiancé that Thea hadn’t even given her a good teasing over bailing on her own party. Amelia so rarely sounded enthused about anything to do with her wedding these days; Thea hadn’t the heart.
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood,” Thea said.
“Oh, come on, it’ll be good for you.” Putting down her drink, Lillian tapped her phone with one finger. “I can call Carlos and Miguel and see if they’re free.”
The dark-haired twins from Blaze. Lillian had started seeing one of them, not that Thea could remember which. It was tempting to say yes. She was getting sick of her own company, and another Saturday night spent moping around her bedroom sounded like even less fun than going out with people she barely knew and pretending to have a good time.
Before she could answer, though, Lillian said, “Hey, isn’t that Nick over there at the counter?”
Surprised, Thea looked up and connected with Nick Hastings’s emerald gaze as he swung away from the condiment bar with his doctored coffee in one hand and a gigantic cinnamon bun in the other. He looked a bit off balance finding both of them staring at him, but a pleased smile overtook his face and he started walking their way.
A smile tugged at Thea’s lips in response. Yeah, sometimes life sucked. But sometimes, if you were really lucky, it took pity on you and tossed you a nice, juicy bone.
Chapter Fifteen
Club Platinum was packed.
Currently the premiere hotspot on the Denver clubbing circuit, the eclectic mix of tasteful elegance and flamboyant trash had become not just a huge tourist draw, but the destination of many locals as well. The door charge was higher on weekends, but the show inside was worth the price.
And only part of it was on the stage.
As Thea and Lillian led a wide-eyed Nick through the crowd, Thea couldn’t seem to keep from second-guessing the decision to bring him tonight. Called back to town for more meetings and left at loose ends until Monday, Nick had been onboard with the last-minute invitation, even offering to pay for the evening out of appreciation for their company, an offer Thea had declined. Letting him pay would have made it feel too much like a date.
There had been one tricky moment when she remembered her promise to Doyle concerning Nick and excused herself to make a quick cell phone call from the ladies’ room, but where she expected and planned for Doyle’s earlier resistance, what she got instead was a quick agreement.
Granted, Doyle had seemed a bit distracted and harried, like he was impatient to get back to something she interrupted, but still! He sounded more than happy enough to okay the outing. He’d even told her to have fun.
With. Another. Man.
If she’d needed a final nail in the coffin about how Doyle felt about her—or, rather, didn’t feel about her—there it was. And it hurt. A lot.
She’d gone back to the table where Nick and Lillian had been involved in a heated discussion about hybrid cars, of all things, and managed to smile and even participate in the conversation for almost ten minutes before suddenly “remembering” a promise to Rosa to stop at a specialty store while she was in town and pick up a few things for her Sunday baking. Since Lillian was in love with just about anything that came out of Rosa’s kitchen, she’d all but shoved Thea out the door, but not before making plans to pick up both her and Nick for their club outing.
So here she was.
On a date.
With Nick.
Okay, it wasn’t really a date, considering Lillian made them a threesome. And that Lillian had been the one to ask Nick along. And it was Lillian who was driving. But it was Thea’s hand that Nick had a hold of as they plowed through the crowded club, and it felt…nice. Comfortable. Safe. Almost…brotherly.
Thea groaned to herself. That was exactly how it felt. Like she was holding hands with one of Lillian’s brothers. Platonic. Uninspiring. Sexless.
She was pulled from that depressing line of thought when Nick eased closer to her and whispered—or rather, shouted over the noise—in her ear, “What kind of show did you say we were going to see here?”
Despite her inner turmoil, Thea couldn’t help but smile. They’d kept Nick in the dark about what the entertainment for the evening at Platinum would be. It was always fun to see how long it took for the uninitiated to figure it out. Although she did feel a twinge of apprehension, since they didn’t know Nick well enough to be sure how he’d react, Thea just grinned and whisper-shouted back, “It’s kind of hard to explain. But you’ll love it. The performers here are all amazing.” And they were. It was that dedication to quality that kept Platinum at the top of everyone’s “must” list.
Lillian, who had been forging their way through the sea of bodies like a miniature icebreaker cutting through the North Atlantic, came to a sudden stop to give someone a hug. When she pulled back, Thea saw that it was Desmond. Only he was in full Desdemona Darling regalia, which meant that they’d gotten lucky and he, or rather, she would perform that night. Since buying into ownership of the club, Des’s onstage time had been scaled back in favor of more managerial duties.
Careful of all the stage makeup, Thea hugged their friend. Des returned the embrace with equal care and then smiled down at Thea from atop three-inch heels that had her topping out over six feet. “Who’s your new friend, and whatever happened to the delish Doyle?”
Choosing to stick with the first half of the question, Thea took a step back and made room for Nick to move to her side. “This is Nick Hastings. Nick, this is Des.” And left the introductions at that. Des could decide what to let Nick know or guess. It was impossible to see anything left of Desmond. In costume and makeup, there was only Desdemona, and as strange as it sometimes was for Thea to admit, Des was gorgeous.
Des’s dark, Mediterranean eyes were shadowed and sultry, those Val Kilmer lips becoming more Angelina Jolie under their glossy coating. A wig covered Des’s short-cropped hair, so natural looking even a touch wouldn’t give it away. And as for the breasts…well, there were some things about Des’s transformation Thea didn’t care to think about too closely, because at the moment Des had more cleavage than she did.
Extending a manicured hand, Des beamed a wide—and if Thea wasn’t mistaken, interested—smile at Nick. “How nice to meet you, Nick. Very, very nice.”
Somewhat tentative, Nick accepted the extended hand. He must have noticed the gleam in Des’s eyes as well. “Nice to meet you too.” He smiled, retrieved his hand, and dropped his arm around Thea’s waist. He couldn’t have been any clearer if he’d hung a “not available” sign around his neck.
Des, being Des, ignored the gesture and gave him a slow, face-to-foot perusal, lingering in a few places long enough to make Nick squirm.
“Not on your team, Des,” Lillian murmured, although she looked more amused at Nick’s discomfort than sympathetic.
“You never heard of switch-hitters?” Gazing back on n
eutral territory, Des sighed and ran a fingertip over the corners of her mouth, ostensibly to wipe any lipstick smudge, but in reality a gesture that meant she found Nick drool-worthy. Thea fought back a grin. She needed some more gay friends so Des could stop striking out with her straight ones.
“The place is packed tonight,” Thea said, trying to divert the current conversation into safer waters. “I hope we can find a table.”
Des arched a perfectly plucked brow that said without words that of course it was packed, and, of course, there were no tables to be had. This was Platinum, after all. Then she surprised Thea by saying, “You have a table reserved stage side. Follow me.” With a swish of skirts, she turned on her stilettos and started shooing people out of her path with a mere flick of her hands. They parted like water around a very determined rock, making the rest of the trip much easier than their struggle from the front door had been.
Once they made it to their table, Thea saw that Des hadn’t lied. They were tucked against the runway that jutted out from the stage onto what was a dance floor on other nights. Plucking the reserved sign from the red and gold tablecloth, Des pulled out the seat that gave the very best view of the stage and smiled in invitation at Nick, who hesitated before taking it. Whether it was because a woman had held a chair for him, or because he’d been seated before Thea and Lillian, or if it was because of the avaricious gleam in Des’s eyes, Thea wasn’t sure, but when she saw Des’s hands slide from the chair back to Nick’s shoulders, she decided the game had gone on long enough.
“Stop teasing, Des.”
Des gave her a pouty smirk but backed off. “First drink’s on the house. Enjoy the show, kiddies.” With a wink for Nick and a questioning glance for Thea, Des retreated back the way they’d come, the crowd once again parting like magic before her. Once she was out of sight, Nick visibly relaxed.
