by Deborah Camp
Her smile wavered and then became brittle. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you. We’re destined for each other. We felt it in Key West. Everyone who saw us felt it! I belong here with you and you will never leave me and I will never leave you!”
The faint wail of a police siren galvanized her again and she started thrashing and snapping at the air as if she could gnaw her way out of her predicament. Shaken, Levi retreated down the steps to the dining room as Gonzo and the other security guards manhandled her from the kitchen. Gonzo turned off the stove’s burners and grabbed another dish towel, swiping at the splatters of grease on his skin and shirt.
“You hurt?” Levi asked.
“Nah. I’m tough as leather,” Gonzo flashed one of his megawatt smiles before he motioned for the men to hustle the sobbing, hysterical woman out of the penthouse. “Take her downstairs to the cops and tell them that Mr. Wolfe is definitely pressing charges.”
Levi turned his back on the mayhem and stared out the windows at Olympic Park, spread out before him, just past a busy thoroughfare. The intruder’s shrieks of rage reverberated off the lobby walls and inside Levi’s head.
“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” Levi said between gritted teeth. He ran his hands through his hair. He needed a few minutes to think. He needed a drink. And God, he needed to talk to Trudy.
Gonzo came to stand beside him. “In your professional opinion, you think she’s crackers?”
“Certifiably,” Levi confirmed, wiping vestiges of grease off his cheek and noticing specks of it on his tie. “And she’s been in my home for a couple of days.”
“I’ll go over everything meticulously,” Gonzo said.
“I’m sure she’s been there, done that already,” Levi noted, squelching a shudder that tried to work through him at the thought of her pawing through his things, bathing in his tub, sleeping in his bed.
Gonzo rested a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “I want a word with the police before they head off with her. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Levi nodded. Gonzo turned and left. Alone, at last, he thought with a dollop of sarcasm. He picked up a pair of binoculars from a lamp table and focused them on the sidewalk and street below. Police officers surrounded his stalker and were putting their own set of cuffs on her. Gonzo joined them. One of the officers talked with Gonzo while the other two forced the wailing, kicking, writhing woman into the back seat of the squad car.
He felt like a heel for not feeling pity for her. He already felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, what with his newly minted passion for Trudy and his worry that he would end up botching their relationship and lose her. And now this woman . . . this fake Trudy had just given him a mighty shove. He was freefalling toward a dark abyss and he hated not being able to grab onto something solid. He couldn’t tolerate the chaos taking shape before him and inside of him.
“Get out and stay out,” he growled, lowering the binoculars and placing them on the table. Catching sight of his reflection in the glass, he stared at the man with the mussed black hair and the dark blue eyes. His good looks had saved his ass many a time, but they were also a liability. Yeah, he could attract women, but once they looked past the handsome face and athletic physique, they realized he was a fucking mess. Except for Trudy . . . she was hanging in there. For now. He fought off feelings of doom that seemed to always be nipping at his soul and spun away from the windows, away from his own brooding visage.
He thought about going across the courtyard to the twin building next door that housed his businesses. These two buildings were his safe bubble – or they had been before today. He’d renovated them, made sure every detail was perfect, and they were the crown jewels of his other building makeovers. No one had ever been in the penthouse without his personal invitation. Until now.
Removing his grease-stained tie, he tossed it into a trash receptacle as he unfastened his top two shirt buttons. Weariness billowed through him and he decided against the office. His mind was mush, so he’d get no work done.
Instead, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a whiskey on the rocks. He regarded the pieces of soggy chicken scattered all over the place and shrugged. Wes would deal with that mess. He sat at the dining room table and sipped the whiskey slowly, savoring it, allowing it to clear his head.
And now to clear his heart. Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, he pressed “1” to call the new number one in his life. The phone rang four times before Trudy’s voice coated his raw senses like warm honey butter.
“Hey there! Are you home?”
He could hear the faint sound of traffic and knew she was behind the wheel of the motorhome she called “Gypsy Spirit.” Unlike him, who always flew first-class and stayed in the best hotels, Trudy was used to living close to the bone. He hoped to change that. Trying to convince her to fly back to Tulsa and let him hire someone to deliver the RV to her home had failed. She was a hard woman to boss around. Impossible almost.
“You there?” she asked, raising her voice.
“Yeah. I’m home.” He rolled his eyes. Such as it was. “Where are you?”
“A couple of hours away from Jacksonville. I’m going to stop there overnight. Mouse is getting antsy.”
He smiled, picturing her gray Chihuahua. “She’s probably missing me.”
“Or she’s ready to eat dinner.” Her chiding giggle made him feel better. “So, I bet you’re glad to be home, huh? Did you go straight to your apartment or did you stop off at your office first?”
“Uh . . . I’m at the apartment.” He closed his eyes and wondered if he should tell her now or later about the mental case in the penthouse. Later. If he told her now, she might head for Atlanta and he didn’t want her in harm’s way again. Until the fake Trudy was booked and jailed, he didn’t want the real Trudy anywhere near Atlanta – or him, for that matter.
“I just talked to Quintara a few minutes ago. She’s very proud of us. You know, how we handled the serial killer and all.”
Quintara. He made a mental note to call her and ask her to keep an eye on Trudy for him. He didn’t know how far down the rabbit hole the stalker had gone in her quest to be Trudy, but he knew enough to worry that she could harm Trudy if given the chance. Of course, Quintara wouldn’t need encouragement from him to shelter and nurture Trudy. She was Trudy’s psychic mentor, after all.
“Do you have a lot of work piled up?”
“Yes.” He focused again on the conversation. “Be careful out there, Tru. You lock your doors at night, right?”
“Of course,” she said, her weary sigh floating to him.
“Of course,” he repeated with droll sarcasm. Propping his elbows on the table, he let his head drop into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let the scene of Trudy knocked out cold on a dirty, restroom floor take him over again. But he knew they were both thinking of a few days ago in a Key West bar where a serial killer had held a knife to her throat.
“Jesus,” he said under his breath as the dark memory blasted through his mind and his need to protect her consumed him to the point that he felt as if he could blast off like Iron Man and soar across the miles to be at her side – Avenger style.
“Calm down, Wolfe,” she said, her voice soft, her words telling him that she knew he was back in that restroom. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years now. I’m fine.”
Yes, yes, she was. He breathed out a long sigh, chastising himself for getting so worked up. Trudy wasn’t in any danger.
Silence crackled across the connection. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He sat up and glanced around, momentarily expecting to see her standing in front of him. Trudy accused him of reading her mind, but he could swear she could ferret out his feelings and she also had an uncanny way of making him tell her things that he didn’t reveal to anyone. Knowing that, he mentally steeled himself against her Super Heroine feminine powers. “Nothing’s going on except the rent,” he replied, then winced. Where the hell had
that come from?
“The rent,” she repeated. “You sound tired. You should rest.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. I’m tired.” Tired of having his life turned upside down and himself turned inside out. So fucking tired.
“Hey, Wolfe?”
“Yes?” He held his breath. Now what?
“I’m waiting.”
There was a note of amusement in her voice and he wished he knew why. He scoured his brain, trying to figure out what she was waiting for. Was he supposed to tell her something . . . do something? Was this part of the monogamous relationship thing that they’d agreed to try before they’d left Key West? He gave up.
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to tell me that you miss me.” Her voice was sultry now . . . sexy.
Levi shut his eyes and his heart swelled. Christ, the woman knew how to get to him! “I miss you,” he said, and no truer words had ever been spoken. In fact, he wished to hell that he was in that damned rolling shack with her. They’d pull into the next rest area, close the curtains, and he’d fuck her until he couldn’t form a coherent thought.
“I feel so connected to you.” Her voice was whispery soft and his cock jerked. “Sometimes I get this image of you in my head and I can sense your mood. Like right now . . . well, right now, you’re thinking about us and you’re getting all hot and bothered . . . but a few seconds ago, you were wrung out and tense. Something’s wrong.”
“I told you, I’m beat.”
“Oh? Seems like there’s more to it. I’m psychic, you know.”
He knew she was smiling. He could hear it in her voice. He felt his answering smile bloom in his heart before it surfaced on his lips. “Oh, yeah? How about that? I’m psychic, too.”
“The Great and Mysterious Levi Wolfe,” she said with a sexy laugh. “Psychic Extraordinaire. I hear you put on quite a show.”
“I do. You should come to one of my public appearances sometime and see for yourself.” He leaned back in the dining room chair and closed his eyes again so that he could imagine her face. Her pretty, heart-shaped face. Her short auburn hair that curled loosely over her head and made her look like a sexed-up pixie. Those soulful green eyes that peered right down into his soul. Her mouth. Jesus. He got a hard-on just picturing her mouth with its full, curvy upper lip . . . the way it tipped up at the corners.
“I could throw my house key onto the stage or . . . my panties! Would you like that? You could touch them and see what you could conjure up from them.”
He chuckled. “My dick is conjuring up right now all on its lonesome. And it is lonesome.”
Her laughter bubbled and made him ache anew for her. “There’s my naughty guy.”
“You were naughty first.”
“You bring that out in me. Levi, we really shouldn’t keep things from each other. I mean, if we’re going to work together and be in a committed relationship, then we can’t keep secrets.”
“Right,” he said, drawing out the word. God, she was far too perceptive! “Hey, I just got home. Give me at least a day before you start accusing me of keeping things from you.”
“Okay, okay.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re home safe. I’ll call you tonight after I’m settled in.”
“You do that.”
“See you soon?”
He closed his eyes. “Uh-huh, but not soon enough,” he said before ending the call. It had become their sign-off. Soon. But not soon enough. He realized it was what they said instead of goodbye because goodbye was too final. Goodbye twisted the heart.
Someone rapped on the door, making Levi jump to his feet, then chide himself for being so edgy. Gonzo came striding around the corner into the dining room.
“Want a drink?” Levi asked, raising his almost empty glass.
“No, thanks. I’m on the job. I called Wes and he’s on his way. He’ll help me poke around to see if anything’s missing. A police detective will be by later. Come on. Let’s go to my office. I have some stuff to show you.”
Levi finished the drink and joined Gonzo in the elevator. They crossed the lobby and walked across the courtyard to the next building. The offices of GSI – Gonzales Security, Inc. – were located on the sixth floor where a young receptionist smiled at them from behind a cherry wood desk.
“We’ll be in my office, Trisha,” Gonzo said, marching past her.
“All right. Good afternoon, Mr. Wolfe. It’s so good to have you back.”
“Thank you.” Levi afforded her a quick smile as he followed Gonzo to his office at the end of a corridor. “Have I met her before?”
“Who? Trisha?” Gonzo shook his head and settled his tall frame into the big, leather chair behind his massive desk. “I hired her a few weeks ago, but she’s already got the hots for you.” He grinned at Levi. “And, yes, she’s single and of legal age, but don’t hump her.”
Levi frowned. “When have I ever humped an employee?”
“So, all employees are off limits?”
He sighed. “Always have been.”
“That’s good to know. I think one of the guys on my staff has the hots for you, too, pretty boy.”
Levi sent him a snarky grin. “Just one?”
Gonzo chuckled before he leaned back in the chair and his expression grew somber. “My tech team is checking the surveillance camera film before we hand it over to the police. They’ll call me if they come up with anything – and they should unless that woman is a shape-shifter. We have cameras pointed right at your front door.”
“For all the good that does,” Levi noted, dryly.
“They will show us how she got in,” Gonzo said, undeterred by Levi’s sarcasm. “I want to install security alarms on the front door and terrace door.”
“The front door I can sort of understand – although no one should get up to that floor without punching in the security code – but why the other? How could anyone get on the roof? Eight floors up?”
“If there’s a will, there’s a way. And believe me, buddy, that woman we just wrestled with has a strong will and found a way to get to you. I want to put sensor lights in back of the building, too, and another camera out there. A hidden one. So, if anyone takes out the obvious one, the hidden camera will still be filming. I want another trained on the freight elevator—.”
“Why? No one uses that other than Wes and an occasional delivery man.”
“It goes up to the eighth floor. Granted, you have a camera and locked doors up there, but it still allows someone to get up to the penthouse.” Gonzo’s phone pinged and he held up his hand to put the conversation on “pause” before he answered it. “Whatcha got?” He listened. “Send it to me so I can eyeball it. Yeah, no surprise there. Keep me posted.” Ending the call, he swiveled around to his laptop. “That was Murphy, my main tech guy. He’s sending me some video off the camera feed outside your front door. I want the extra camera on the freight elevator because what we have there now doesn’t give a wide angle view.” He hit a couple of keys on the laptop and scowled at the screen. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought had happened.”
He motioned for Levi to come around the desk to view the screen. “When the trash men were here, they came inside to buy soft drinks from the machines at the back of the lobby and she slipped inside the back doors then. She came up to your floor in the freight elevator. We need to put a security code on that elevator, too. I wanted to do that a year ago, but you nixed it.”
Levi stared at the black-and-white film, watching the woman move into the camera’s view and slip inside the building. Her hair was dark and shoulder-length. A cold sliver of anxiety ripped through him. “She cut her hair and had it dyed since this was filmed.”
“Yeah . . .” Gonzo glanced up at him. “Maybe in the hair salon downstairs?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Levi leaned closer. “What’s this?”
“This is how she got into your place.” Gonzo inched his chair sideways so that Levi could get a better look at the la
ptop’s screen.
An image of Wes Statler, his major domo, came into view. Wes unlocked the doors to the penthouse and stepped inside. He left the doors open and moved toward the kitchen, his arms full of grocery sacks and dry cleaning. A slender figure darted into the apartment and disappeared from the camera’s view.
“She probably hid in a closet until Wes left,” Gonzo said. “She might have even had the place under surveillance, so she knew Statler’s schedule. Easy-peasy. There’s also video here of her taping the latch on the service door so that it wouldn’t lock behind her. That’s how she went in and out of the building without anyone noticing her. She left the penthouse unlocked so she could get back in there.”
Levi moved back around to the chair and sat down. Cold reality sifted through him as the burden of celebrity settled more heavily on his shoulders. “Damn it to hell. Ramp up security. I don’t want anything like this to ever happen again. You got that?”
“Sounds great to me. We should have had a pin number panel on that freight elevator way before now.”
Levi’s phone vibrated and he withdrew it from his jacket pocket, checked the I.D., and answered, “Yes, Darla?”
“I’m sorry about all the mess going on in the penthouse, and I hate to bother you with this, but I thought you’d want to know,” his assistant said, sounding a little irritated. “Ms. Darwin isn’t at the rehab center anymore.”
Levi shut his eyes for a few moments as anger shot through him like a bolt of lightning. Damn it all, Lizzie! “Where is she?” he gritted out.
“They don’t know. She left with that . . . that same guy that she left with the other time she was in a treatment center. I guess he’s her boyfriend. The motorcycle guy. Do we know his name?”
