by Desiree Holt
Because it was more than one date, jerkoff.
It was the girl herself, a very special girl he’d treated shabbily. Even after he left Arrowhead Bay to pursue his writing career, an image of her would float in his brain when he least expected it. He’d remember the feel of her slender body in his arms, the silken brush of her hair against his cheek, and the tantalizing flowery scent of her shampoo that had ignited every single teenage hormone in his body. Sometimes he thought if he could just see her one more time he could get her out of his system, but the older he grew the more he realized he might never get her out of his system at all.
Could the chemistry between two people linger for so many years, so strong that you never found it with another woman? Was that even possible?
Yes. You idiot.
Idiot was right. Not to mention being a classic asshole. Could being an asshole haunt you for the rest of your life?
Yes to that, too.
Well, one thing at a time. He had to take care of his immediate problem. But that didn’t mean while he was here he couldn’t try to find out where Samantha Quenel was now. Did she still live here? Would it be that easy? When he found her, he planned to make the biggest apology of his life. Then he’d see if there was something there between them or it was all in his overactive writer’s imagination.
The sidewalks were crowded today with the first early rush of snowbirds. As usual there was a line out the door at Fresh from the Oven. Blake’s mouth watered as he thought of the incredible muffins they sold.
Note to self: get muffins right after meeting with Avery March. And French press coffee from Fresh Roasted.
People stood on the sidewalks in small groups, chatting or looking in the colorful windows. Kids still rode their bicycles through town going to the beach or the community pool. A wave of nostalgia and homesickness hit him with the punch of a fist. He didn’t spend enough time here, now that he was such a so-called big shot. Time with his parents and any of his friends still here. He made a mental note to check with his agent and publisher about doing a signing at Read the Book here in town.
Then he was through the downtown area and following the GPS directions to Vigilance. The long narrow road he turned on to wound through a heavily treed area, finally emerging into a clearing. Exactly in the center sat a house built in the distinctive Key West style with a gabled roof and a wide front porch. Off to the side was a long two-story building that looked new, and he wondered idly what it housed.
The house had stood empty for quite a while after the owners died. Apparently not too many people wanted to live in the woods, but he figured for Vigilance the isolation was a good thing.
There were windows across the front of the house but they were opaque glass. Blake would have bet his next royalty check someone was watching from inside, probably through cleverly concealed cameras.
Blake climbed the stairs to the porch and pressed a button set into the framing.
“Yes?”
The voice came from a speaker embedded somewhere so cleverly he couldn’t even find it.
“Blake Morgan. I have an appointment with Avery March.”
“Can I see some identification, please? Just hold it up to the coach light next to the door.”
Blake would have laughed if he didn’t know how seriously agencies like Vigilance took their security. Hell, he wrote about them, didn’t he? Maybe when this was over they’d help him with further research. Meanwhile he took out his driver’s license and held it up to what he figured was a concealed camera.
“Okay. You’re cleared.”
“Thanks.”
The door opened and a man in jeans and a Vigilance T-shirt looked him up and down. Then stepped back to let him in.
“Sorry. Security’s our middle name here.”
“And I’m sure your clients are grateful you translate it to them.”
The man nodded, then closed the door and punched some buttons in a keypad next to it. “This way.”
Blake was familiar with the layout of Key West houses and it was obvious a lot of renovation had been done in this one. The living room and dining room were now enclosed rooms separated by a narrow hallway. He had no idea what went on in them because the doors were closed and his guide wasn’t very forthcoming. He just led Blake to the end of the hallway and knocked twice on a door.
“Your appointment is here.”
“Well, bring him in.”
Blake stepped into an office that was not at all what he expected to find for the head honcho of a high-profile security agency. A woven area rug covered a good part of the hardwood flooring and the furniture, rather than being utilitarian, had a Spanish flavor to it. Colorful prints brightened the walls, and a tall leafy plant stood in one corner.
Avery March impressed him right from the start. It wasn’t just her looks, although she presented a totally businesslike appearance, in her tailored blouse and slacks, reddish-brown hair held back in a clip. But beyond that, and more important, she exuded a quiet confidence that made him think at once, Oh, yeah. I’ll bet she can handle any problem at all.
She rose from behind her desk and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Blake. I have to say my sister and I are big fans of yours.”
He made a mental note to send signed copies of his books to both sisters. “Thank you. Maybe when my, uh, problem gets resolved you can help me with some basic information for my research.”
“I’d be glad to.” She grinned. “As long as it doesn’t touch on sensitive areas. Sit down. Please.” She looked at the guy who had ushered him in. “Thanks, Tom. You can go back to your toys.”
The man gave a half-grin, nodded and backed out, closing the door behind him.
“I appreciate you thinking of Vigilance,” Avery told him.
“I’ve heard you’re the best and that’s what I need. And lucky for me you’re even in my home town.” He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “My agent. He asked that you give him a call after our meeting.”
“Of course. I’ll need to coordinate with him to make sure we’re prepared for anything.”
He sat in one of the client chairs, pulled a large manila envelope out of the slim briefcase he carried and handed it across the desk.
“I saved all of these except for the first two,” he told her. “By the time the third one showed up, my agent decided I should hang on to them, just in case we were dealing with some crazed fan. Oh, and I don’t think there’s much use checking for fingerprints since I wasn’t too careful about handling them. Unfortunately.”
“You’d be surprised. We’ll take yours so we can eliminate them and go from there. People aren’t always as meticulous as they think.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the expert. I made a list of the places where the notes were left. That’s in there, too.”
Avery shook the contents of the envelope onto her desk and separated them, using the end of a pen. Then she sat studying them for a few moments. “Someone obviously has a serious issue with you.”
“No kidding. And I haven’t got the faintest clue who it could be.” He leaned forward. “Avery, this whole thing came at me without warning and is just blowing my mind.”
“You said you received some texts, also?”
He nodded, and reached into his briefcase again for the cell phone.
“This is my personal one. I don’t know how whoever this is got the number.”
Avery gave a dry chuckle. “In this era of sophisticated electronics, absolutely anything is possible. All it takes is someone who has half a brain and a minor understanding of the stuff. It could even be as simple as someone sitting near you in a restaurant and cloning your phone.”
Blake grimaced and handed over his cell. “I’d have a hard time believing this stuff if I didn’t write about it.”
“I hope you bought another pho
ne.”
Blake nodded. “The same day. I try to be cautious about who I give that number to. Almost everyone has my business number. The unlisted one I only give to my agent, my editor, my parents, a couple of other people.” He held up a hand. “I know, I know. Widening the circle, but trust me, Avery. You can thoroughly vet these people.”
“And trust me.” She smiled at him. “I will.”
He rubbed his jaw. “It’s just been the damnedest thing. “These messages or whatever they are started showing up out of nowhere. I blew off the first couple because I always have a weirdo or two doing stuff like that. After their first episode or two, they usually disappear and go after someone else. But look.” He waved his hand at the notes spread out on the desk. “Whoever this is just won’t let go.”
Avery picked up her desk phone and punched a button. “Mark, can you come into the office for a moment? Thanks.”
In seconds, there was a tap at the door, then it opened and a thin man about thirty, with hair almost to his shoulders, poked his head in.
“You need me, boss?”
Avery nodded and waved her fingers over the notes on her desk. “These have to be tested for prints, but we need to eliminate Mr. Morgan’s. Blake, have you ever been fingerprinted?”
He nodded. “I actually went through the entire application process for a Concealed Carry license because I was using it in one of my earlier books.”
“Good. Then we can pull yours up out of the system.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You can access them?” Then he shook his head and grinned. “Of course you can. You can access anything anywhere, right?”
Avery chuckled. “You might say that.” She looked at Mark. “Get your goodies and take these notes with you. Let’s eliminate Mr. Morgan’s prints first.”
“Back in a sec.”
He returned carrying a wooden box and a pair of tweezers. Blake watched, fascinated, as the man carefully lifted each note and placed it in the box.
“I figured we’ve got enough prints on these already.” He looked at Avery, one corner of his mouth twitching with a grin. “I assume you want these yesterday?”
“Absolutely. So get going on them.” When Mark left she turned back to Blake. “The first thing I want to tell you is I agree with your publisher and your agent. You need a bodyguard to travel with you.”
Blake shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I know you’re right, but the idea makes me uncomfortable. I’m not used to traveling with someone being with me so much.”
“But I understand you travelled with an assistant, didn’t you? Or rather she travelled with you.”
He nodded. Avery had done her homework. “But that was different. Personal assistants are common in the industry.”
Avery grinned. “Then we’ll just get you someone who can handle both jobs. I actually have one of my agents in mind, but let’s go over everything first. I want to backtrack a little and see if you can pinpoint something that might have triggered this. The note says he—or she—knows what you’ve done. Do you have any idea what this person is referring to?”
Blake ground his teeth. “I wish I did. It would be a lot easier to handle. But honest to God, Avery. I’ve tried to recreate everything from the time I signed my first contract and nothing jumps out at me.”
She wrinkled her forehead in a slight frown. “Forgive me for being blunt about this, but everyone has something they wish they hadn’t done. Including me.”
“Oh, well.” He crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “Do I regret a lot of things? Sure. Like you said, everyone has something. I’m sure I probably pissed off a fan at some time, or got a little testy with someone criticizing one of my books. Or got some woman angry with me because she wanted more than I planned to give her. But do any of those sound like something that would trigger this kind of campaign?”
“No, I have to agree with you there. Still, you never know what sets someone off. So, that said, tell me every single thing you can remember about when the first one appeared and when you found it.”
With the deft touch of an expert, she pulled everything out of him he had to give. Anyone he’d ever had a run-in with. Someone he might have pissed off. Women who thought he’d dumped them without reason. Women who’d expected to marry him. Authors who thought his celebrity was not earned. And on and on and on. Nothing, she told him, was too insignificant.
Blake gave her as much detail as he could. By the time they were finished he felt as if he’d been run through a wringer, and Avery had pages of notes.
“Are you really going to check into every single one of those?”
“It’s what we do,” she told him. “The person you dismiss out of hand could be the one in the end doing it all. Let me ask you again. Did anything special happen around the time you received the first note? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“My practically indispensable assistant left without any notice. One minute she was into details of the next signing and any promo she’d set up. The next she was throwing stuff into her suitcases and flying out of there. She said she had to take care of personal business, but—”
“But she gave you no notice? No indication of why she had to leave in such a hurry?”
“Nada. I was upset, her just walking out that way, but she seemed on edge, which was unusual for her. All she kept saying was she couldn’t take it anymore. I asked her if it had to do with us and she just shook her head and kept telling me not to push her. That’s all I can tell you.”
Avery looked at her notes. “That’s Annemarie Schaefer.”
“Yes. But, she was with me for four years and I know she felt bad about leaving. It can’t be her.”
“I’m keeping that in mind, but no one gets a pass on this. I’m still going to check her out.”
He shook his head. “This is not who Annemarie is. You can say it’s possible as many times as you want, and I’ll still disagree with you. You can’t work that closely with someone for four years and not get a sense of them. Of who they are.”
Avery made more notes, then looked over at him. “Blake, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take her life apart to see if you’re right and I’m wrong. We have to look at everyone. And maybe what we find out will give you some peace as far as she’s concerned. So I’m including her on the list.”
“Yeah, I can see that you have to.” But he hoped she didn’t waste too much time barking up the wrong tree.
“Just out of curiosity, what have you been doing for an assistant since she left?”
“Making do.” He laughed. “Remember, I didn’t have an Annemarie in the beginning. My agent has had someone pick up the slack for now answering emails and keeping up with social media. My publisher is handling the media. All I’ve had to do, really, is get myself to the signings, smile at people, and sign my name.”
“But now you have a little break on this tour, right?”
He nodded, giving silent thanks for that. “A week, then five more signings. We end with a big deal in Tampa at a small event hall. After that I’m done for a while.”
Thank God, and did I ever think I’d say that?
“Good. This gives us time to go over everything and anything you can think of and get this all set up. Maybe we’ll get lucky and figure this all out before you have to take off again. If not, we’ll get you fixed up with a bodyguard who can double as your assistant.”
“I hope so.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m worried this will start to spill over where my fans are concerned. I mean, what if whoever this is decides he hasn’t harassed me enough and zeroes in on my readers? I mean, this person obviously shows up at my signings. What if he decides to follow someone, and—”
Avery held up a hand. “Stop. We aren’t there yet. Let’s concentrate on finding this person and protecting you before it gets to that.”
<
br /> For the next hour Avery took him back over everything yet again, until he wanted to scream and bang his head. Had he forgotten any names? Any events? Any little thing?
“You never know what the trigger could be,” she explained, when she saw him grinding his teeth. “I know this is tedious but trust me, Blake, sometimes it’s the tiniest detail that gives us the clue.”
He wanted to tell her the CIA could probably use her as an interrogator. At one point, unable to sit still any longer, he jumped up and began pacing. The reality of someone stalking him made him nuts. Why him? The question plagued him nearly every minute of every day. What had he ever done that drew this kind of nut into his orbit? He turned to Avery and asked her the question.
“There could be a million answers.” She shrugged. “And, in cases like this, there’s often no sane answer. You may not have done a thing. It’s what the stalker perceives and you can’t control that. Unfortunately, yours isn’t an isolated case. After your call yesterday, I did some research. You’re lucky your stalker isn’t sneaking into your hotel room or breaking into your car. Or any of a million other things they could do to grab your attention. Because trust me, this is what they want. Your attention. All of it, so they can tell you just how you made them do this.”
“Don’t forget. This person did break into the trunk,” he reminded her.
“Yeah.” She snorted. “But at least whoever this is didn’t lie in wait in your car and bash you over the head.”
“Sometimes I wish whoever this is would do that.” He held up a hand. “Not bash me over the head but jump into my car with me. At least then I’d know who it is.”
“Yes, but you could also end up dead.”
“Dead?” Now that was a chilling thought.
“It’s a possibility. That’s why you’re hiring us,” she reminded him. “So that doesn’t happen.”
It was a little scary, when he looked at it like that, to realize how dangerous fans could be. What an ironic twist of fate it was that when he’d been merely a midlist author hardly anyone ever bothered him with crazy stuff. He guessed fame brought out all the crazies.
