by Desiree Holt
She ran her tongue over her lips, wetting them and making him want to kiss her again.
“Okay.” She blew out a soft, slightly ragged breath. “No angry women after you. Got it.”
“And get this, too.” He kissed her again, short and hard. “As soon as this tour is over and we catch this fucking bastard, my number one priority is making sure you know we’re going to build something here.”
Some unnamed emotion flared in her eyes, but in a minute it was gone. Maybe it was the nature of the situation he was in, but he had become desperate to hang on to her, to create a future with her. She grounded him in a way no one ever had.
“Um, okay.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and locked her gaze with his. “We’ll see.”
“Sam, I—”
She touched the tips of her fingers to his lips. “One of these nights when I can talk to you in the dark, I have to tell you another reason I’m so skittish. I—” She bit her lower lip. “I haven’t always made the best choices with the men in my life, so I’m not sure I can tell what’s real anymore. I couldn’t stand it if I made a mistake where you were concerned. We need to be sure we aren’t just living out some teenage fantasy.”
He wanted to tell her this was no mistake, that what had happened before in her life didn’t matter, but he knew it mattered a lot to her so he’d just have to help her work through it.
“The past is the past,” he said slowly, “but I hear what you’re saying. When you’re ready, lay it all out on the table so I can brush away those fears. Now—” He rose to his feet. “What else from Avery?”
“They’re going through the names you gave them of everyone you could think of who might have the tiniest grudge. That was some long list you gave them.”
Blake’s mouth curved in a wry grin. “You said to include everyone.”
“Including the author who argued that you had better placement at a book signing. Holy hell, Blake, are people really that petty?”
“You’d be surprised. This is a very competitive business. We’re all after the same consumer dollars with massive amounts of product they can choose from. That’s why I keep doing these interviews. Not everyone gets on that circuit and it pays to take advantage of whatever you can.”
“I’m beginning to think writers are worse at this than actors or musicians, both of whom I’ve had the unpleasant task of providing security for.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“At least Vigilance is eliminating people, which is something.” She set her laptop aside. “So what’s your routine while you’re waiting for the signing?”
He looked at his watch. “We’ve got four hours to the event. I try to get there about fifteen minutes ahead of time.”
“And in the meantime?”
In the meantime, I want to strip you naked and take you to bed, immerse myself in your body until that’s all I can think about.
“What I’d like to do will have to wait until we get back here later. I have some research I need done for my latest book. And I’m going to try to get a chapter done today. This business with the stalker has really thrown me off my schedule.”
“Would you have been writing during the week you were off?”
He nodded. “I have a deadline looming and I’m behind.”
“Then why don’t we both get busy?”
Blake sent her the list of things he needed researched, then grabbed his own laptop, sat down at the table across from her, and booted up. He had two email addresses, just as he had two cell phones, one for private and one for the public. Annemarie used to answer his public emails but when she left, his publisher assigned someone to do it for him. He usually breezed through it, just in case there was someone he wanted to touch base with himself.
Then he pulled up the personal ones. He clicked first on the one from his cousin, Robin, who was one of his biggest cheerleaders. She had even gotten her book club involved and they read each of his books when they came out. She had attached a document that the message said was something he’d enjoy reading. But when he opened the document he was stunned. Although the header indicated Robin’s email, the attached document definitely wasn’t from her.
“Killer! I know what you did!”
He nearly knocked his chair over backing away. “What the hell?”
Sam looked over at him. “What’s up?”
He turned the laptop around so she could see.
“Don’t touch any of the keys. I want to send this to Avery. But let me text her first, so she knows it’s coming.”
“What good will that do?” he demanded. “They can’t trace the source.”
“You never know what they can do.”
“Does that mean he hacked my cousin’s computer, too? Shit.”
Sam shook her head. “No. I don’t know all the ins and outs of cyber warfare, but I do know we’ve had situations like this before. Our guys have a way of tracking back to the source.” Then she hesitated. “Well, sometimes.”
“Before you send that, minimize it and let me check my manuscript. I don’t know if the document in this email carries a virus that will allow him to hack into it or not. But if this guy can do that he can get into my hard drive and my files.”
Blake clicked over to the folder where his current files were stored, sick to his stomach when he saw it was completely empty.
“God damn motherfucker.” He slammed his fist on the table.
“What?” Sam hurried to his side. “What’s wrong?”
“See this folder?” He pointed to the screen.
“I do. There’s nothing in it. Oh, God, Blake. Is that where your manuscript is stored?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his hand over his face, as if he could wipe away what he was seeing. “Let me check something else.”
He clicked on the icon for his cloud storage, typed in his password and opened it. At first everything looked okay. He opened some of the folders and the files were still there. But then he went to the one for his work in progress and it, like the one on his hard drive, was empty.
“God, Blake.” Samantha stared at his screen. “What are you going to do?”
“First of all, I’m smarter than this idiot. I wasn’t prepared for this, but I do know computers can crash, and even cloud storage can be hacked. Watch this.” He reached beside him for his messenger bag and pulled out a thumb drive. “Hard backup just in case.”
“No. Stop.” Sam closed her fingers over his wrist. “Don’t plug it in there.”
“Why the hell not? Sam, I need to get some work done.”
“Let’s plug it into mine to check it. I’m calling Avery. She may want us to ship this laptop to them so they can run diagnostics and see if they can pick up whatever virus or viruses this guy is using, or programs to mess with your stuff.”
“What am I supposed to do without my computer?” God. He was getting so far behind. He’d have to get Henry to have a talk with the publisher.
“We’ll take care of it. You’ve got your manuscript and that’s what’s most important. Just let me give her a call. Please.”
More than anything Blake wished for that drink now. He drummed his fingers on the table while Sam talked to Avery, trying to make sense out of what they were discussing. Finally, when he was about to grab the phone himself, Sam disconnected the call.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. It’s obvious this guy’s cyber skills are way up in the stratosphere, and we can’t leave you electronically unprotected.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand. What can we do?”
“Vigilance has contacts in several cities that we use for various things.” She grinned. “You know, all our jobs aren’t in Arrowhead Bay.”
“I know that.” He bit down on his impatience.
“So we’re going to see someone here in Charlotte that Avery�
�s worked with for a long time. He’ll get you all fixed up.”
“What about sending this laptop back?” he asked. “And transferring all the material on it?”
“He’ll take care of that,” Sam assured him. “Including shipping the laptop, just in case your stalker decides to follow us around. Just shove everything back in our bag.”
A headache was starting to build at the base of his head. He dug into his messenger bag for some aspirin and tossed down three of them with a glass of water. Then he packed up his bag, grabbed a soft collar shirt, and switched it for the one he was wearing.
“Tonight’s shirt and tie again,” he told Sam. “Right now I need to be comfortable.”
As if a different shirt could fix what was happening.
When they pulled into the driveway of a house in an upscale residential area of Charlotte, rather than a store or office in a business area, he wasn’t the least surprised. He was learning that nothing in this business was ever as it seemed on the surface. And despite the turmoil of this situation, he intended to find time to keep notes on all of this for the future.
A man who could have been forty or sixty, in black jeans and a T-shirt, let them in.
Sam made the introductions. “Blake, this is Fred.”
Fred just nodded, listened to what they wanted, and went to work. Blake watched everything the man did, fascinated, and took mental notes. Two hours after they arrived they walked out the door with a new laptop filled with every kind of security possible. His files had been restored from the thumb drive and he had a cloud storage account with the no-name security company.
“Can I go to work for the CIA now?” he joked as they pulled away.
“No.” Sam chuckled. “But you could audition for Vigilance.”
Blake looked at his watch. “I don’t think I’ll be getting much work done this afternoon.”
“Do you normally eat before a signing?”
“No. Well, just something light. Some kind of snack. Annemarie used to order something up from room service. And I need to shower, shave, and get dressed.”
“Then as the new Annemarie,” she said in a light voice, “I’ll find an appealing snack and get it up to the room for you.”
On the ride back to the hotel, everything seemed to suddenly coalesce and slam into him like a big black rock. He thought he’d been pretty together up to this point, dealing with everything rationally, even when he wanted to rail and scream and find this guy and chop his head off. He’d done his best to maintain a calm appearance all afternoon, but inside he was shaken.
He leaned his head back in the seat, trying once again to make sense of everything. He thought of Grant Kennelly, a nice man who was only watching out for his neighbor, beaten half to death because he got in the way of the stalker. The situation shook him badly. Avery fed them daily updates and thankfully, the doctors predicted a full recovery, although it would be a long one.
The notes, their language getting bolder and bolder, were unsettling him more than he let on. The knowledge that the asshole had been watching them the whole time they were in the coffee shop—coffee shop? The asshole was watching them all day!—distressed and unnerved him. And now this thing with his laptop. The fact that this stalker could access his emails and his files that he thought were so protected really rocked him. He thought not being able to write this afternoon was probably a blessing in disguise, since his brain was so fractured by this whole situation. He probably wouldn’t have been able to write a coherent sentence.
He was still trying to straighten out his brain and make some sense out of all this when they walked back into the suite. He couldn’t even concentrate when Sam asked him to make a choice from the room service menu.
“Whatever you choose is fine.” He set his messenger bag down on the couch.
“Blake?” Sam walked over, stood in front of him and placed her soft hands on his cheeks. “Blake, look at me.”
He managed a half smile. “You’re the only thing I want to look at.”
“That’s nice, but just look into my eyes and listen to me.”
He drew in a breath and then let it out slowly, hoping it would settle his whirling mind.
“Okay. I can look at you forever.”
“Then look and listen. Don’t let him get in your head like this. I know it’s hard, but that’s what he wants. That’s why he’s doing everything the way he is. He wants to turn you into a quivering, shivering mass before he finally unleashes the big one.”
He gawked at her. “The big one? Hell, Sam. What the fuck do you think he’s got in mind?”
“The beatdown on Grant was an unexpected treat for him. An accident of fortune that allowed him to rattle you even more.”
“It wasn’t fortunate for Grant.” Blake snorted.
“Of course not. And it’s one more thing for you to deal with.” She stroked his late day scruff. “The more he can put you on edge, the more he can shake you up, the happier he is. He wants you destroyed. But I promise you when he gets to the end of his campaign he will have something huge planned.”
“And I don’t even know the fuck why.”
“Not yet, but we’ll find out. Meanwhile, you have readers who aren’t part of this. They know nothing about it and tonight a significant number of them will be standing in line to listen to you and get you to sign their books. They’re who you have to focus on right now.”
He cupped her face in his palms and brushed his lips against hers. He loved the way she tasted, like ripe fruit, and her faintly floral scent that always tantalized him and made him hard just by inhaling it.
He grinned at her. “I know what would really relax me,” he teased.
“I’ll bet it would, but let’s save it for later. Okay?” She gave him a quick kiss and took a step back. “Now go shower while I order up some snacks.”
“Get something more for yourself,” he suggested. “You don’t have to wait to eat until later.”
“I’m good.” She planted a very light kiss on his mouth. “Now go on. Shower and change.”
Every gesture like that, every intimate touch, continued to give him hope that when this tour was over they’d have the solid basis for a future. He’d walked away from her once. He wasn’t planning to do it again.
With that in mind, he pulled himself together while he showered and dressed. By the time he was back in the living room, nibbling on the finger food Sam had ordered up, he was feeling good about the coming event tonight. That good feeling lasted until they went to get the car and found the latest note tucked under the windshield wiper.
I know what you did, and soon everyone else will, too. Take care of those near and dear to you. Your time is coming.
Chapter 10
Sam took a picture of the note, then texted Avery and sent the picture as an attachment. Avery texted right back.
“Just help him keep it together tonight. Take pictures of the crowd. Maybe the creep will show.
They wouldn’t know who he was, but she and Avery had discussed doing this at all the stops. That way if there was someone who showed up each time they’d have a face to focus on.
On the way to the store she did her best to calm Blake down and help him gather himself for the book signing. She hated to see him so rattled, but she could hardly blame him. This guy, whoever he was, knew exactly how to stick the knife in and twist it.
She’d spent some of the time in Arrowhead Bay doing a lot of reading about Blake Morgan. The world could find out anything it wanted to know about the man just by doing a global search online.
She’d learned he was well respected in the industry, that his books got excellent reviews and that with the fourth book he’d finally hit the best-seller lists. When she checked his social media pages she discovered he had thousands of Facebook likes and more than fifty thousand Twitter followers. Scoping out his photo album
on Facebook she discovered that he never posed with just one woman unless it was a reader, and that his readers apparently mobbed him for pictures.
She asked herself over and over how a guy who had grown up to be a decent human being could have acquired someone so vicious as this stalker. There was no hint, not on social media or in any of the articles she’d read, of anything he might have done to engender this kind of situation.
All this reading also gave her a clearer insight into the man he’d become. Maybe she could let herself believe what he said. God knew she wanted to very badly. Those feelings she’d kept buried all these years were battering at the wall she kept around them. But she worried things were moving too fast, not at all the way she’d insisted that day in the Driftwood. And then there was her past, and all the mistakes she’d made. How did she get beyond that?
God, what a mess.
But right now, she reminded herself, her focus was on Blake. She done her best to settle him before they left the hotel. Now she sensed him pulling himself together and donning the personality of the public Blake Morgan. When they exited the car in the parking lot behind the store, someone not familiar with him would see a man relaxed and ready to meet his public. Only Sam, or someone else who knew him well, would catch the telltale tightening of his jaw or the haunted look in his eyes.
Chelsea Hanover, the store manager, was waiting for them when they rang the bell for the back door.
“We’re so excited to have you, Mr. Morgan.” She smiled as she led them inside. “As I told your assistant, we’ve had tons of calls since your television spot this morning.” She gestured toward the interior of the store. “And as you can see, you won’t lack for fans tonight.”
Sam wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t the wall-to-wall people in the store, which was no small space.
“I’ll do my best to satisfy them,” Blake told her, his public personality covering him like a cloak. He took Sam’s arm and tugged her forward. “This is my personal assistant, Sam Quenel. If you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask her. And she’ll be taking pictures of the readers. I hope that’s okay.”
