by Dori Lavelle
“I think that’s unlikely.” Kirsten pulled her purse into her lap and removed her wallet. “Someone who sends you blood is not only sick; they could be dangerous.” She inclined her head. “Do you think maybe someone wants to blackmail you? The whole town—heck, the whole country—knows you’re engaged to Miles Durant. Maybe they saw an opportunity to make money? Maybe you should tell Miles. He could pay them off so they leave you alone. The truth is, cops can be slow sometimes.”
I had not considered blackmail before. Up to this point, I’d thought the person was trying to scare me. I was almost relieved, but my thoughts reminded me that blackmailers often used a piece of nasty information they had on a target to get what they wanted. Blackmail or not, the end result would be the same. I couldn’t get Miles involved. And I couldn’t confide in Kirsten any further… at least, not about this. I was alone.
Chapter Six
When I arrived home in the evening, I found a note on the bed from Miles. He’d gone on a last-minute business trip to Miami. He didn’t say when he’d be returning, and his phone went straight to voicemail.
“Did Mr. Durant mention when he’ll be back?” I asked Mary, our housekeeper.
Mary looked up from polishing the silver and smiled, shaking her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Mary.” I went back to our bedroom and had a shower. The jet of hot water beating down on my head and shoulders did nothing to relax me.
My mind spun. Even though I kind of regretted opening up to Kirsten about the cards, it had still made me feel better to share the news with someone. During my drive home, after a lot of back-and-forth, I knew I had no choice but to tell Miles. I’d told Kirsten, and she was so worried about me. What if she told him? I’d asked her not to, but fear made people do things they didn’t plan on doing. I should know that.
If Miles found out I didn’t go to him first, he’d be hurt. So I’d tell him the exact same thing I told Kirsten; nothing more.
I stepped out of the shower and pressed a button at the corner of the LED wall mirror. The steam coating it melted off as if by magic, leaving it crystal clear.
For a long time I stood on the thick bathmat, naked, dripping, studying my slim but curvy body, my eyes, my hair.
For the first time since leaving Misty Cove thirteen years ago, I felt like that girl again. The girl I used to think was ugly, with the tasteless clothes and chubby cheeks. Now I had designer clothes, expensive makeup, and a great body, but my eyes... The fear that had clouded them through my first years of college and beyond had turned them from, golden honey to deep maple syrup. And there were dark bags under them now.
I raised my hand and placed it on my heart. It vibrated with each rapid beat. Vomit rushed up my throat and I ran to the toilet, making it just in time. Snot and tears mixed as I retched.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d cried. I’d come to be quite good at holding back the tears, even when hurting. So many things had happened in such a short time, things that had changed my life and scarred me forever. Things that had happened because of decisions I had made. Those dark memories I had tried so hard to ignore were rushing up, and they rendered me helpless to fight them.
After a long, good cry, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then I draped a fluffy towel around my body and left the bathroom. Though my sobs had quieted, the tears kept coming, streaming hot down my cheeks. My chest ached as it had that night thirteen years ago. I could keep the truth from the world, keep my scars out of sight. But the layers I had wrapped around myself were starting to peel away.
It was before nine, but I climbed under the covers anyway. I normally worked or read a book before falling asleep. And since Miles often got home late from work, I liked to wait up for him, for his arms to wrap around me when I fell asleep.
Tonight, I lay on his side of the queen-size bed, hugging one of his pillows tightly. I searched for his smell, his comfort, but couldn’t find it. Mary had already washed the sheets and pillows. Washed away the familiarity.
For the first time in a long time, I felt alone. Even though I didn’t get too close to many people, I still had a lot of friends. Most of them had entered my life after I started dating Miles, which wasn’t a surprise. If I picked up the phone, there would be someone on the other end, willing to meet up for a coffee or a movie. But unlike Kirsten, most of those people were little more than acquaintances. If they knew who I really was, they would be gone in the blink of an eye.
***
When the doorbell rang at 10 p.m. I was still awake, soaking Miles’s pillow with my tears. Who would visit this late? I was not in the mood to entertain anyone, and my eyes and face were sore and puffy from crying.
I lay there for a few minutes, praying whoever it was would go away, but the doorbell wouldn’t quit. Mary had already gone home, so I had to go to the door. My body ached as I climbed out of bed and put on a robe. I made a quick stop in the bathroom, where I quickly splashed my face with cold water, dabbed concealer on the bags under my eyes, and squeezed drops into my eyes to lighten the redness. The result wasn’t amazing, but an untrained eye would be fooled into thinking I was just tired.
While the doorbell continued ringing, I put on jeans and an oversized t-shirt, pulling my long hair into a messy ponytail on my way out the door. As I descended the steps, I hoped the person had given up waiting and left. No such luck.
Owen, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, stood at the door, his whole weight pushed against the doorframe. I recoiled from the smell of alcohol drifting off him. He was far from the well-dressed gentleman I had seen at the AIDS Gala a few days ago.
“What are you doing here?” I considered not letting him in, but I wouldn’t be able to close the door with him blocking it. He didn’t look like he had any more energy left to move. I moved aside and he almost fell into the house, catching himself in time. I closed the door but didn’t lock it. I would never lock myself in the house alone with him.
“I need a drink.” He stumbled toward the bar in the downstairs living room. He picked up a bottle of gin, unscrewed it, and took a long swig straight from it.
Disgust roiled in my stomach and I grabbed it from him. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol tonight.”
No wonder he had been pushed out of Torp. Who would want to work with him? He was a mess. I wouldn’t put it past him to show up drunk at the office.
The decision to let him go had weighed on Miles. Miles had mentioned that Owen had been missing work, showing up late for meetings, even bringing random women to the office. After leaving Torp, Owen threw a fit that lasted for weeks, but eventually they made up.
Since leaving the company, Owen had pursued his passions:
women and booze. He had no shortage of girlfriends. Even without a job, he had the looks and the money to make women fall at his feet.
Owen stumbled onto one of the couches. He attempted to sit upright, but kept folding to one side. “I want to talk to Miles.” He pointed an unstable finger at me as I stood under the chandelier.
“He’s not here, Owen. He is in Miami. Call him and ask when he’ll be back, then come and see him.” I shivered when I remembered the second card, the one I discovered at the gala. “What do you want from Miles, anyway?” It had to be important for Owen to show up at our house so late.
“None… none of your business.” He fell onto the couch.
“It is my business. It got me out of bed.” My breath came quick and sharp. Almost gagging at his stench, I sank onto the leather chaise lounge.
“Owen, what is it you have against me?”
Owen looked up then, appearing almost sober. For a few seconds his blue eyes cleared and drilled into mine, causing a chill to race down my spine. “I have plenty of reasons not to like you, Chloe. One of them is your stupid gossip magazine that got into my business.”
“You wouldn’t have ended up in Sage if you’d lived your life more responsibly.” Even as I said it, I wondered: Would he end up telling me t
he same thing one day?
He pulled himself up with difficulty. “You pretend to be so perfect, so put together. You know what? I think it’s a cover… for something. You make other people’s lives your business.” He cleared his throat. “I wonder if somebody looked into yours what they would find. Would you qualify for a feature in your own trashy magazine?” He lowered himself back down.
“So, you’re the one… the person sending me those cards? The lace?”
Owen groaned in response. I couldn’t tell whether his answer was a yes or a no because he was snoring now, black-out drunk.
I’d gotten enough information from him to raise suspicion. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was him. I had to find out the truth. If he was the one, I’d be forced to tell Miles.
Chapter Seven
I found Owen's phone on the dashboard of his Maserati, but it was switched off.
A quick glance at the front door assured me he was probably still asleep. He had been too far gone to even stir when I'd removed the keys from his pocket.
I pressed my thumb on the power button but the phone remained dead. Shit. I let the phone fall into my lap.
Feeling sick and frustrated, I pressed my fist to my forehead and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I froze. Owen was outside the car, a confused expression cutting through his drunken haze. How had I not heard him open the front door?
My breath hitched inside my throat and my knees knocked against each other. Before I could think of what to do or even come up with an excuse, he yanked the door open, standing in my way so I couldn't exit the car.
“What do you think you're doing?” His voice was controlled and cold, matching the sadistic smile that cut across his face. It was no longer laced with alcohol. “You do know you're in the wrong car, right?” He opened the door wider and his eyes narrowed. “Is that my phone? Were you going through my things, Chloe?”
He reached into the car and picked the phone up from my lap, glanced at it, and then back at me with what could be described as a look of triumph. “I always knew you couldn't be trusted. Looks like I was right.” He moved aside. “Get out.”
I got out of the car, my cheeks burning, my knees trembling uncontrollably. I was both embarrassed and angry at myself for getting caught red-handed. ”I was...” I breathed in to collect myself. “Look, you were asleep. I needed something from—”
“My car? What could that be?”
I couldn't come up with an answer. “I... Nothing. I have to go.”
Owen slammed the car door closed and leaned against it, arms crossed across his muscular chest. The light coming from the moon and standing lamps in the driveway made him look menacing. I took a step back but he grabbed my wrist, his strong hand tight around it. “I find you in my car and you think you can walk away without an explanation?”
“Let me go.” I yanked my hand from his grip and massaged it. I had to face him head on. He could be the only one to give me answers. “It's no secret that you don't like me. The feeling is mutual. I know you don't want Miles to marry me. But to go that far? What you're doing is considered a crime.”
Owen narrowed his eyes. “And it's not a crime to break into someone else's car? Or are you above the law?”
”Stalking someone is much more serious than looking for something inside a car that's on my property.”
“Wow.” He rubbed his strong chin. “That's what you think of me...?” He got into his car, slammed the door, and leaned his head out the open window. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to figure it out. Yes, I've been looking into your past. If you had succeeded at switching on my phone, you would have found a dozen Internet searches about you and your life before Miles. You’re not as untouchable as you think.” He held my gaze. My eyes burned. “Watch your back. One day you'll pay a high price for messing with people's lives.”
Before I could say anything more to defend myself, he started the car and drove off, tires screeching.
As furious as I was at him, a trace of worry fluttered in my heart. He was driving on alcohol and anger. What if he had an accident? Owen was like a brother to Miles. Miles would be devastated if anything happened. I pushed the thought out of my head. Right now I had to worry about myself. Owen had pretty much admitted he was the person stalking me. And his parting words held an unmistakable warning.
My suspicions grew even more when I returned to the house and found another card in my walk-in wardrobe. Had he put it in there while I was outside, or had it been there earlier? I had no way of knowing; I had not been in there since getting home from work. Instead of giving in to my fears this time, rage rushed through me. Who did he think he was? I'd worked too damn hard to get where I was. I would not let him ruin my life.
I knew that an Internet search about me wouldn't yield any results. I did such a search at least once a month to see if anything from my past had popped up. Till now, a search of my name only returned information about Sage, and my relationship with Miles. Owen was only trying to scare me—he didn’t know my real name. At least, not yet. I had to get Miles to stop him before he dug something up.
I picked up my phone from the bed to call Miles, and a missed call from him was displayed on the screen. He’d left a message that I should return his call.
My stomach was in knots as I waited for him to pick up. It rang several times with no answer, and I almost ended the call when his baritone voice came on the line. Tears welled up in my eyes. I missed him so much and suddenly wished he were home, holding me.
“Sweetheart, hey, are you all right? You sound like you’re crying.” His voice was gentle and warm, which made me cry even harder.
I blew my nose and shook my head, as if he could see me do it. “When are you coming home? I need to talk to you.”
“Is something wrong? Is it to do with the wedding?” He sounded concerned.
“No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It's to do with me. Something's going on and I need to discuss it with you.” I tried to control myself, but the crying wouldn't stop. I'd never felt more out of control. The weaker side of me was pushing its way to the surface and I was helpless to do anything about it. It brought along with it all the insecurities I thought I had left behind.
“I have a business meeting in the morning with the Vendet Group, the tech company I told you we're in the process of merging with. I planned on being home for dinner.” He paused. “But you don't sound fine. Go to the airfield. I'll arrange for someone to fly you out with the second jet. It's Friday… maybe we can stay until Sunday, turn it into a little romantic weekend.”
It took me a while to respond. Flying to another town would require more energy than I had at the moment. But I also couldn't talk to Miles about this over the phone. And I needed to be with him right now, in his arms. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, I'll pack a bag.”
Chapter Eight
It was 11:30 p.m. when I soared into the night sky, holding on to the envelope I had found inside my wardrobe. In a way it was a good thing that I had found another card. I was about to accuse Owen of stalking me. Nothing spoke louder than physical evidence.
It wasn’t long before I stood in the spacious elevator of the Marwood Hotel, my hands still clutching the envelope and the handle of my bag as I headed for the deluxe suite where Miles stayed every time he was in town.
Being in Miami always reminded me of the early days of our relationship. Since Miles had so many business contacts in Miami, and I had been unable to get enough of him, we’d spent a lot of time here.
I had loved staying at the Marwood with him; it was one of the taller buildings in town and had a great view of the skyline. I had felt like an excited girl as he twirled me around the private living room. We had made love everywhere in the suite—the oversized closets, the huge bathrooms, the king-size infinity bed, and even on the thick wool carpets.
I looked forward to more quality time together like that, and a break from work. Starting Monday, I wouldn’t be going b
ack to work until after we returned from honeymoon. I hadn't taken a day off in months.
Miles was at the door waiting for me, wearing black pants and a custom-made gray shirt without a tie. The large oak writing desk at the far end of the living room was scattered with papers and I suspected he hadn't stopped working all day. He was as much of a workaholic as I was.
“How are you doing, my love?” He kissed me, pulling me into a hug and into the room. I trembled in his arms. Coming to him felt like coming home. He closed the door with his foot and continued holding me tight.
I pulled away and looked into his eyes. “I'm so happy to see you.” Before I lost my nerve, I decided to get right to it. I walked over to one of the couches and dropped my bag and purse onto it, lowering myself down. Miles came to join me, questions in his eyes.
“You're not having cold feet, are you?” He gave a nervous laugh, and then his smile faltered when I didn't smile back.
“No, I don't have cold feet.” I took his hand into mine and squeezed it. “I love you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I've never been more sure of anything before.”
“Should I get you something to drink before you tell me what's going on?”
“No, I'm okay. I had a glass of wine on the jet.” I pulled my hand from his and turned to face him. “The past few days have been kind of difficult for me. Miles, I think somebody's blackmailing me.”
“What do you mean somebody is blackmailing you?” His eyes darkened.
I reached for my purse and pulled out the envelope. I removed the card and the piece of lace fluttered out, dropping to the carpet between my feet. My gaze followed it and I watched it for a moment.
Miles bent forward and picked up the lace. He held it between his forefinger and thumb, his brows knitted. “Is this... It's not what I think it is, is it?”
