by Kali Argent
“I think you should come stay with me. Just for a couple of days.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Elena leaned forward over the island counter, her gaze probing. “I know you, Phoebe. You’re going to be thinking about it all the time if you stay here.”
“No, El, thank you, but that’s silly. I’ll be fine. Besides, nothing really happened.”
“This time,” Elena said with her usual bluntness.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Rayce interjected. “At least until I can get someone out here to put those security bars on your patio doors.” Pausing, he bent to brush a tender kiss across her forehead. “Better safe than sorry, sugar.”
“You can have the guest room,” Jonas offered. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Rayce instantly stiffened. “You live with your sister?”
“For now,” Jonas answered defensively.
Phoebe thought they were all ridiculous, but she also agreed that it would be a little while before she felt comfortable being alone in her house again. “Yeah, okay, but just for the weekend.” Taking the initiative this time, she rose up on her toes to press her lips to Rayce’s. “I’m going to pack, and you should probably get to work. Thank you again for staying last night.”
“Anytime.” He kissed her again before releasing her and taking a step back. “Stay out of trouble. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Unsurprisingly, she managed his request with minimal effort on her part.
Friday, after she’d packed a few essentials in an overnight bag, she’d accompanied Elena and Jonas to the outlet mall on the north side of Dallas. She hadn’t bought anything, but she’d enjoyed spending time with her friends and browsing the sales racks.
Later, they’d had a nice dinner at a hole-in-the-wall burger place. It hadn’t been anything fancy, but the food had been good, and she’d computed the name to memory so she could return the next time she found herself in the area.
Saturday welcomed warmer temperatures and clear skies. Wanting to enjoy the sun, but knowing she still had to work, Phoebe carried her laptop out onto Elena’s patio and curled up in the corner of the wicker loveseat. No one bothered her, except to ask if she needed a drink or something to eat—benefits of her hostess being an author as well.
The words flowed smooth and fast, ideas pouring onto the page just as quickly as she could type them. By the time the sun began its descent toward the horizon, her wrists ached and her fingers were stiff, but she’d finished an entire chapter. After reading it over twice and making some minor tweaks, she powered down her laptop and took a moment to admire the shades of pink, purple, and orange that blended together across the sky, highlighted by the dying rays of the sun.
Writing was a solitary endeavor, best performed without distractions, which meant it also had the tendency to be incredibly lonely. After a long writing session, she always felt a bit out of sorts and in need of companionship. Secretly, and maybe a little selfishly, the company she wanted right then was miles away, working security at some fancy party.
“Hey,” Jonas said, poking his head through the open patio door. “Finishing up?”
“Done for the day,” she confirmed.
“Good, because dinner’s ready.”
The scent of garlic and basil wafted through the open patio door, making her stomach grumble. She loved Elena’s spaghetti, and she was ravenous enough to eat the entire pot of it by herself.
“Are there breadsticks?”
Jonas winked. “You know it.”
“Excellent.” Rising from her seat, she twisted and stretched, twirling her wrists in big circles to work out some of the knotted muscles in her arms. “Oh, crap.”
Jonas paused on his way back into the house, and looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Rayce was supposed to call today.” Digging around on the loveseat, she found her phone buried between two cushions. Sure enough, her notifications listed one missed call. “He’s already at that party.” Disappointment filled her. “I guess I’ll call him back tomorrow.”
She was still staring at Rayce’s name on her missed call list when her phone chimed with another notification. Without thinking, she swiped her thumb across the screen, bringing up a preview of the new email message.
Her pulse sped, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She gripped the phone tighter when her hands began to shake, and though she tried to take deep, calming breaths, it did little to ease the knot forming in her throat.
“Phoebe? Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” she answered, her voice trembling. “I’m fine.”
Coming to stand beside her, Jonas rested his hand on her shoulder. “No, you’re not. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Gently, he pried the phone from her fingers and held it out in front of him.
Phoebe didn’t argue. The email consisted of only one line, but it had been enough to make her blood run cold.
“I don’t understand.” Staring down the phone, Jonas scowled. “One-zero-two-eight. What does it mean?”
Phoebe swallowed several times before she could answer. “It’s the master code to my security system.”
~ ~ ~
Rayce checked his phone for the fourth time in twenty minutes. No missed calls. No text messages. Not even an email.
He’d called Phoebe earlier in the day as promised, but she hadn’t answered, nor had she returned his call. She was with her friend and that kid with the dumb smile and big, puppy eyes. There was no reason to be worried, or so he reminded himself. If something had happened, she would have called.
The Lowen anniversary party had been an interesting affair. Watching drunken men in power suits sing Britney Spears karaoke had definitely been entertaining. Rayce’s favorite part of the evening, however, had happened just after dinner, when the Lowens’ daughter, Gemma, had climbed up on a table to teeter around on her six-inch heels and sing off-key into an empty champagne bottle.
It had taken him, Wren, and Tieran to get her down, though she hadn’t come quietly. The girl had a mean right hook and damn good aim. Tieran had the busted lip to prove it.
Now, with the party winding down, and the guests stumbling to their respective cars, the only thing left to do was to make sure everyone had either a designated driver or a car service. Once everyone had left, the ARIES team would do a final sweep, Asher would give his report to the Lowens, and they would be on their way.
It couldn’t happen fast enough for Rayce.
“Give me my keys!” a woman screeched from somewhere near the circular driveway. “This is harassment. You’re harassing me.”
From his place by the edge of the driveway, Rayce couldn’t see the woman through all the cars, but he recognized the voice. “Sound familiar?”
Sighing, Wren shuffled over to stand beside him, her eyes transfixed on the twinkling lights that lined the driveway. “That girl needs help.”
“I’ll bust your other fucking lip!” the woman screamed, her voice cutting through the night.
“Sounds like Tieran is the one who needs help.”
Jerking his head to the side to indicate Wren should follow him, Rayce led the way, winding through idling cars and drunken guests. On the far side of the circular driveway, he found Tieran standing beside a sleek, white Porsche, his arms crossed, shoulders back. His lip had started to bleed again, the crimson staining the collar of his white dress shirt. Presently, he didn’t seem too concerned about it, because he did nothing to try to stem the flow or mop up the blood.
On the sandstone driveway, back pressed against the rear tire, Gemma Lowen stared up at Rayce with glassy, sea-green eyes. Her tousled red hair fell over her shoulder, the untamed curls obscuring one side of her face. Rayce didn’t know anything about shoes, but hers looked expensive, or they had been before she’d snapped the heel clean off the right one.
She had her legs stretched out in front of her, thighs splayed, dress bunched up around her hips to the point of being indecent. Her mascara smudged under her eyes, and the stench of v
odka and vomit permeated the air around her—likely coming from the puddle just a few inches from her left hand.
People stopped to gawk, some whispering behind their hands, some openly pointing as they commented on the Lowens’ “wild” daughter. No one offered their help. No one asked about her wellbeing. Clearly, this was nothing new, and they’d all seen it before from the young woman.
“Are you a cop?” Gemma asked, her words slurred. “I need to report a crime.”
“I’m not a cop,” Rayce answered, his heart breaking for her. “Come on, Miss Lowen. Let’s get you up.”
“You stay away from me!” she demanded, belligerently swiping her hands at him. “I don’t need your help. Him!” She screamed the word and jabbed a finger at Tieran. “This man is harassing me. Arrest him.”
“Tieran, go clean yourself up and put some ice on that lip.” Rayce could have used the guy’s help, but his presence only seemed to be acerbating the situation. “Wren,” he said quietly from the side of his mouth, “find her parents. She’s not going anywhere tonight.”
After a pitying glance at the woman on the ground, Wren nodded and hurried away to find the Lowens. Tieran hadn’t budged, and he showed no indication that he planned to do so.
“Help me get her up.” Rayce had neither the time nor the patience to deal with whatever bug had crawled up his friend’s ass.
Gemma Lowen couldn’t have had more than a hundred and twenty pounds on her five-three frame, but she was scrappy, and even in her inebriate state, she moved like lightening. Her first jab caught Rayce in the ear, and he cursed a blue streak as he jerked back. The next time he tried to lift her from the ground, she elbowed him right in the throat, cutting off his wind and forcing him to retreat once again.
“Damn it, Tieran,” he rasped. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Then, Gemma started to cry. Her shoulders shook with big, wracking sobs as she rolled over on her side and curled into a ball. Spitting, screaming, and scratching, Rayce could handle. He didn’t know what the hell to do with…whatever she was doing now.
Without a word, Tieran knelt beside her and brushed the hair away from her tear-stained cheeks. “I can help you, cher, if you let me.”
“Why do I ruin everything?” She sniffled again, but his touch seemed to calm her some. “What’s wrong with me?”
Instead of answering, Tieran scooped the woman into his arms and stood, cradling her against his broad chest. Her parents chose that moment to come running across the front lawn, calling her name as they approached, which set off a whole new round of sobbing wails.
“Gemma,” Mr. Lowen sighed when he reached them. “Not again.”
Mrs. Lowen combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair, then patted Tieran on the elbow. “Take her inside, please.”
Wren returned, just as Tieran disappeared with the Lowens, her dark hair mussed and a button missing from her black blazer. Cheeks flushed, breathing heavy, a sheen of sweat across her brow—if Rayce didn’t know better, he’d think she’d been involved in something scandalous.
“Whose ass did you kick?”
“Just some drunk. I put him in a car service and sent him home.” She smoothed her hair back and swiped her arm across her forehead. “How’s Gemma?”
“She was crying when Tieran carried her away.”
Wren sighed. “They need to get that girl some help. This is what? The third party we’ve covered where something like that has happened?”
“Third in six months.” The Lowens really enjoyed entertaining.
Rayce’s phone vibrated against his chest. Reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket, he smiled when he saw the name displayed on the screen.
“Hey, sugar,” he answered. “I’m just finishing up here. Can I call you back in about an hour?”
“Rayce?” Elena asked tightly.
“What happened?” He could think of no other reason Elena would be calling him from Phoebe’s phone. “Is Phoebe okay?”
“She’s not hurt, but I wouldn’t say she’s okay, either.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “She hasn’t said a word since the police left.”
“Text me your address.” He disconnected the call and pulled out his earpiece. “Wren, I have to go.”
Wren nodded. “Most of the guests have already left. We’re good here.” She offered him a rare smile. “I’ll cover for you. Go get your girl.”
His phone chimed with an incoming text message just as he reached his pickup. He knew the area, one of the bigger suburbs east of Dallas, and at least half an hour on the turnpike from his current location.
He made the drive in under twenty minutes.
Climbing the front steps, he couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between Elena and Phoebe. Where Phoebe had dancing elves and playful fairies scattered about her front porch, Elena had painted gargoyles and stone crows. To each their own, but the fucking birds were disturbing.
The door opened before he could knock, and Phoebe leapt across the threshold, grabbing him around the neck and squeezing him tightly. She didn’t cry, but her body trembled, and every breath came out shallow and choppy.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he teased as he held her close and stroked her hair.
She laughed, her breath fanning over the side of his neck. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Ushering her into the house, he led her across the foyer and into a sparsely furnished living room with garish blue curtains that matched the color of the overstuffed sofa. Jonas rose from said sofa when they entered the room, and Elena looked up from her perch on the hearth of the dark, unlit fireplace. No one seemed to know quite what to say.
Rayce waited for Phoebe to choose her place on the couch, then sat directly across from her on the edge of the massive ottoman nearly the size of the sofa itself. Leaning forward, he took her hands, and looked her in the eye.
“Tell me what happened.”
In answer, she took her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, then passed it to him. “It’s my master code.”
Rayce’s chest tightened, and a red haze descended over him. “Do you know who sent this?”
Phoebe shook her head. “The police came. They said they’d send a patrol to my house to see if anything had been disturbed.” Her gaze drifted to the phone. “They’re going to look into the email, but the officer didn’t sound hopeful that they’d find anything.”
His gaze flickered to Jonas and Elena. “Who has your master code?”
“No one.” Phoebe shook her head. “Just me.”
“Do these numbers mean something?” Most people used something easy to remember for their security code—a birthday, anniversary, phone number—all to their detriment.
“It’s the day my first book was published.”
It was even worse than he’d thought. “So, anyone could know that?”
“Yeah,” Elena answered with a shrug. “It’s published on distribution websites and even in the front matter of our books. It’s definitely public knowledge.”
Rayce didn’t want to frighten Phoebe any more than she already was, but he strongly suspected that her visitor Thursday night had also been in her house. Her security system provided a thirty-second delay from the time she walked through the door, allowing her time to disarm the system before the alarm sounded. Armed with some basic information, thirty seconds would be more than enough time to guess several four-digit codes.
He could have berated her, told her how careless it had been to use a code so easily guessable, but the damage was done, and he saw no sense in making her feel any worse. Instead, he retrieved his phone from the inside of his jacket and dialed Dominic’s number.
Despite the late hour, his boss answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Dom, we have a problem.” Rayce rattled off Phoebe’s name and address, then outlined the situation.
Dominic said nothing for several seconds, then asked, �
��She important to you?”
Watching Phoebe chew her bottom lip, Rayce bobbed his head. “She is.”
“I’ll have a team out there in the morning. We’ll have her place locked down tighter than Alcatraz.”
Phoebe moved to the edge of the cushion, her head tilted to the left. “Who was that? What are you doing?”
After disconnecting the call, he cradled her cheek and leaned in to capture her lips. “Whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Other than Rayce’s obsessive need to update her security system, things remained quiet for two weeks after Phoebe’s last brush with her so-called admirer. She still didn’t understand what her stalker thought he’d gain by sending that email, other than to scare her. She just didn’t know why. He’d started with a rose, then escalated to borderline threats. It made no sense, but of course, Rayce took everything as a threat.
He’d even interrogated and frisked her poor mailman.
Tucker had given a convincing alibi for both incidents, ruling him out as a suspect, at least in the eyes of the police. Both emails had been sent from a dummy account using an IP blocker, meaning it could have been sent by anyone, from anywhere.
Lucky her.
The night she’d received the second email, Rayce had insisted on staying with her, despite Elena’s protests. Phoebe couldn’t say how much sleep he’d actually gotten, because when she’d awoken the next morning, he’d still been sitting in the same chair by the window in the guest room, and he’d been almost finished the book in his hands. To her horror and mortification, it had been one of her books…her very first book.
She hadn’t dared asked him what he thought about it.
Once she’d showered and changed, he’d helped her gather her things which she’d somehow managed to string from one end of Elena’s house to the other. They’d said their goodbyes, and Phoebe had thanked her friend for having her, then she’d followed Rayce out to his monster of a pickup.
When they’d arrived at her house, she’d been too shocked to say anything at first. Three vans from Watchdog Security Solutions had been parked in front of her house when they’d pulled into the driveway. The six technicians in those vans had wasted no time getting to work after she’d unlocked the doors to let them in, and Rayce had clearly been in his element, answering questions and barking out orders.
