by Evie Nichole
She wrapped her arms around her knees and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Suddenly the operator came back on the line. “Ma’am? Ma’am? The police are at your door. Please go to the back entrance of your home and let them inside.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Daphne extracted herself from the nest of blankets on her closet floor and moved through her home to the back door on the far side of the house and near the fireplace. There were several cops standing there with their badges out for her to see. Unfortunately, she actually recognized these two officers. They had been to her home multiple times right after the breakup with Justin when things had been so very bad.
“Hello, Officer Keene,” Daphne said with forced brightness. “I’m so sorry you had to come back.”
“What happened?” Officer Keene waited for her to take a step back before he entered her home with Officer Torres right behind him. “I thought he gave up and moved on.”
“I’m not sure.” Daphne stood back as the men headed through her house to the front door. There were already firefighters and other men in masks standing there on her porch with the package. “Someone at work told me that he broke it off with the other woman he started dating after I broke up with him. He’s been showing up in my office and around the building at all hours the last few days, but I didn’t think it was going to be this bad again.”
Keene made a low noise as he eased the front door open. The tall officer gestured to one of the firemen. “Same thing as before?”
“Yes. Just gasoline in an open container inside a plain cardboard box.” The fireman gestured to the garden hose rolled neatly at the corner of the building. “I’m going to put some neutralizer on it and then rinse the whole thing clean.”
“Sounds good,” Keene said with a nod. Then he turned back toward Daphne. “There’s still no way to prove that he sent this unless he admits it to you. I’m sorry.”
“I already know that.” Daphne was feeling weak and shaky. “I just don’t know what to do. It’s like I can’t do anything about him bothering me until he makes an attempt to murder me in my bed or something.”
Keene sighed. “You’re not the only person who has or has had this problem, Daphne. I’m sorry. I wish I could offer more. I could suggest a security camera. That would at least catch him putting the package on the porch. I’d get a nanny cam for the front and the back. That will hopefully provide you with something.”
“Thank you.” Daphne had already done that once. She had taken them down after a few months because it felt creepy to have them there. Why did she have to record everyone coming and going from her home just because Justin couldn’t accept that she no longer wanted to be in a relationship with him?
“Hey!” One of the firemen was poking at the remnants of the box. “There’s something else here.”
“What’s that?” Keene stepped through the front door and squatted down beside the box.
Daphne watched with bated breath as both men stared at the remnants of the box and muttered to each other. What were they doing? What did they see? And was it something awful that would shed light on the situation, or was it just insulting and bad?
“Daphne?” There was such hesitation in Keene’s voice. It practically gave Daphne hives. “I think you need to take a look at this.”
Daphne swallowed back her revulsion and stepped carefully out her front door. She avoided the dark puddle still staining the concrete and stepped into the grass and the damp earth of the flowerbed. Both men were pointing to what had been the bottom of the box.
When Daphne had flipped the box over, the bottom had become the top. Whatever had been inside was heavy enough that it made the box stay in one position. In the past, there had been vases of cut crystal, a few very heavy lead glass sculpture looking things, and even some plain old gas cans left open.
“Oh,” Daphne said on an exhaled breath. “That’s me.”
“I know.” Keene’s voice was tight. “It looks like there’s a man with you.”
“That’s a Polaroid,” she whispered. Cocking her head to the side, she realized that she absolutely recognized the photograph. “That was taken earlier tonight!”
“Tonight?”
“I went with a friend”—she waved her hand to indicate she didn’t care to expand—“we had dinner at a place along the road home. That was taken in the parking lot.”
Her words died as she realized that if this photo had been taken in that parking lot, that it was very likely there were more photos and that they could be blatantly suggestive or embarrassing. She put her hands over her mouth to muffle the scream that wanted to escape.
She felt naked and horribly exposed. Someone had been watching her and Met in that parking lot. They had seen Daphne kiss him. They had seen him touching her, fondling her, and loving her. This was beyond horrible. The gross violation of her privacy left her feeling impotent rage so fierce that she did not know what to do with the corresponding emotions.
“Who is the man?” Keene wanted to know. “Could he be involved?”
“Demetrio Hernandez? Not likely.” Daphne waved her hand. “He’s a very good man and a—a good—friend.” She struggled to come up with a word that would tell Keene more than what she was currently willing to say.
“Meaning that if Justin Sorenson saw you with Met Hernandez, he would be very, very angry and also jealous.”
“Yes.”
Keene gave a short, sharp nod. “I get it. So, this narcissistic bastard broke up with his current girlfriend, and he ended things, so he really doesn’t want her anymore. Then you found someone else who is wealthy and successful. And now he’s pissed.”
“This is bad,” Daphne said hoarsely. “He took this picture. I know it. He’s been bugging me at work. Can’t you do anything?”
“We can take the photo in and see if there’s anything that would identify a camera or something else, but honestly, Daphne, these things are not like television. We can’t bring in some FBI profilers and have them use a computer hacker to follow this guy around until we catch him trying to stalk you. That’s just not how life works.”
“I know that.” She lifted a shaking hand to her face and tried not to freak out. Her heart was pounding, and she felt weak-kneed and almost sick to her stomach. “Thank you very much for coming out. I know you’re probably just as sick of this as I am.”
Keene’s smile was just as sad as it was genuine. “We’re just sick of not being able to help you, Daphne. It has nothing to do with coming out here to help you.”
The firemen were buzzing around picking up the box and helping the policemen put the pieces into big plastic evidence bags. Daphne had a mental image of the evidence storage at the local satellite office near her condo complex. They probably had a whole filing cabinet just for her. There was so much “evidence” and so little opportunity to tie it to anything useful. The only thing she could hope for was that someday Justin would make a mistake. And when he did, the police would have buckets and buckets of evidence to tie him to the stalking and harassment that had been going on for nearly a year now.
“You know,” Keene began hesitantly. He cast a surreptitious glance over at his partner. Torres was studiously looking away. “If you’re dating Met Hernandez, there might be a chance he could help you out. His family has resources that the police don’t necessarily have access to.”
Daphne frowned. “Resources?”
Keene shrugged. “With all of that illegal activity they have going on, I’m sure they know people who could put some pressure on this stalker to move on.”
Daphne felt her mouth pop open in surprise. “Illegal activity? What are you talking about?”
Keene’s brows drew together in confusion. “To hear Captain Weatherby talk about it, the Hernandez family is like the crime family of Denver.”
“Then Weatherby is full of shit!” Daphne burst out. “Look. I like you. I always have. You’re a good cop, and you’re extremely polite and competent at your job. But you
need to start thinking for yourself. I work for the Hernandez family. I have for years. I’m in public relations. And I can tell you that there are a lot of people my company represents that are total sleazebags.” Daphne took a deep breath. Keene’s expression was bordering on shock and confusion. “The other thing I can tell you is that, while the Hernandez family has its share of problems, they are minimal compared to the average suspects. Do you get me? They’re not criminals. They like to drink and party just as much as the rest of the people in their social class, but that does not make them bad. They aren’t criminals. They aren’t a crime family. And Captain Paul Weatherby stands to gain an awful lot by making it seem like they are. So, maybe you should look at your own captain before you throw stones at anyone else.”
Daphne gave Keene a nod and then went back inside her home and closed the front door. She didn’t care if she had just alienated her only advocate on the local police force. People needed to start getting their facts straight. About Justin. About the Hernandez family. About the Flying W and Captain Paul Weatherby. About everything!
Chapter Seventeen
Met stood in front of the open liquor cabinet and continued to contemplate the contents of the thing. He had no idea how long he’d been standing here. It felt like forever. His joints were creaking and he needed to sit down. Yet he could not seem to make a simple decision about what kind of liquor he was going to take out of the cabinet and pour into his glass.
The glass sat empty on top of the marble countertop before him. He cocked his head and stared at the beveled edge of the glass. It refracted and reflected the light spilling from the kitchen into the den. It was probably a good thing that Laredo kept the liquor cabinet in the den instead of the kitchen. If it were in the kitchen, then it would have been far too accessible for Met on a regular basis. Walking into the den involved going through a narrow sort of doorway leading from a corner of the living room.
The house was simply too large for one man. That was a problem. Met knew that Laredo had purchased the place at the request of his ex-wife. They’d lived here with their daughter, and Laredo had at one time entertained thoughts of having more children. Then Helena had run off with someone else, and Laredo had been living here in this cavernous and rather depressing space with his only daughter—Bella.
Met turned his back on the liquor cabinet and walked back out to the living room. The only light came from the kitchen, which was the next room over. Met contemplated the horrendous amount of knickknacks in this room. The place was absolutely full of them. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there were mirrors on practically every wall. It looked like something out of a magazine, and Met hated the pristine sort of snobbishness of the space.
“I need to get my own place,” he muttered.
Feeling claustrophobic, Met flung open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck. The night sky was barely visible in a neighborhood full of floodlights, mood lighting, and twinkling Christmas lights used like outdoor party lighting. There were no stars visible in the sky, and Met wondered how the residents could stand being here all the time. He had only been here a week or two and it was driving him crazy.
Turning, Met suddenly spotted the hot tub sunken into the far right side of the deck. The deck itself had been built around the 330-gallon spa. Met stared at the thing for all of ten seconds before making his decision.
Marching toward the spa, he threw open the lid. It was on. Likely the cleaning and maintenance service that Laredo hired to take care of the place also took care of the cleaning and chemicals. Met recalled Laredo casually mentioning that the hot tub was there for Met’s use, but until now, Met had been happier with his alcohol consumption to loosen up his tight and painful muscles.
He studied the instrument panel for a few moments and then pushed a button. The jets flared up, and a mushroom cloud of steam lifted into the air around the hot tub. There was a light in the depths of the well in the center of the spa. It radiated a bluish sort of glow that did not go much past the lip of the hot tub’s edges.
In this dim light, Met began stripping down to his underwear right there on Laredo’s deck. If the neighbors wanted to complain, they could. Met needed some relief, and he needed it now. Once he was standing there in nothing but his briefs, he sat on the edge of the tub and swung his feet over. He plunged his legs into the hot water and hissed as the ninety-plus degree heat seeped into his sore and tired muscles.
Met eased himself the rest of the way into the water and sighed. It felt heavenly to sit here and let all of his pain just leach out of his joints and muscles. He could totally understand how people talked about this as being a luxury. It certainly felt like one. His shoulder stopped screaming at him, and the desire for an alcoholic haze went away completely.
His brain started to think in clear, concise patterns. Mostly it settled on how much he enjoyed being around Daphne. When he was not consumed by pain, it was pretty much the only thing he thought about. Daphne. Daphne. Daphne.
The flash of light came as a total surprise. Met struggled to an upright position and reached for the control panel. He turned off the jets, and then as an afterthought, he turned off the light. There had been a big flash. It had seemed almost bright as a lighting strike, but there was no storm.
He heard a rustling in the bushes just beside the deck. Was that the source of the light? Was someone hiding in there? Who? Who would want to spy on him? Was it some weird reporter type looking for dirt on the Hernandez family? What would the point of that be? You would get better stuff on their family from attending regular social events around Denver than from hanging out at their private homes.
“Who’s there?” Met demanded.
More rustling, but no answer. It wasn’t an animal. Met had spent far too many years listening to animals moving around in the brush to think that what he was hearing had its roots in the animal kingdom. It was human.
“Hey!” Met snapped. “Get up and show yourself, you damn coward!”
Silence. Not just silence, but the eerie kind that made you think you were being watched. Met moved a little in the water, but the light slapping noise of it hitting the edges of the tub seemed loud in the night.
The bushes where he suspected the Peeping Tom to be hiding were just on the other side of the railing surrounding the hot tub. It was only a few feet away. Met stooped low inside the spa. He spread his arms wide and used his entire body to create a tidal wave of water that exited the hot tub and soaked the bushes.
There was a yelp as the water cascaded over the edge of the deck and bypassed the railing. Met slapped the instrument panel to turn on the light. The deck was suddenly filled with that bluish glow. The suddenness of it seemed to dazzle his eyes, but not nearly as much as it bothered the intruder.
There was a man—Met was absolutely sure it was a man—stumbling around behind the railing as he tried to leave the bushes. The guy was tripping and cursing as he fumbled around in what was now mud and wet grass. Met caught an outline of a narrow sort of man of middling height. But the guy was carrying a Polaroid camera in his hand. He held it up above his head as he struggled to get traction in the wet grass and hurry out of there.
“Stop right there!” Met shouted. “I’ve got a gun right here, and I’ll shoot you where you stand for trespassing!”
That was a lie, but Met had a feeling there were enough evil Hernandez rumors flying around that Met could have claimed to have a rocket launcher and people would believe it.
Sure enough, the man stopped in his tracks and turned slowly. But in the process, he backed into the inky shadows on the side of the house, which prevented Met from seeing who it actually was.
“What do you want?” the man called out. “You can’t just murder me in your yard. There are laws against that. Even for a Hernandez.”
“I’m not going to murder you,” Met drawled. “I want to know why you’re here.”
“You need to stay away from her!” The man’s voice grew tight and strange. The
pitch was raised, and he sounded crazy as a loon. “You’re going to ruin her! You’ve tainted her.” The man was actually moaning every single word out of his mouth. The sound raised the hair on the back of Met’s neck. “She’ll have to be cleansed! Do you understand? She has to be cleansed because of you!”
“You’re crazy,” Met said decisively. There was no doubt in his mind that this was true. He just didn’t quite know what to do about it. “Who are you talking about?”
Of course, Met had a bad feeling that he knew exactly who this guy was raving about. The man choked and made a noise like an animal gnashing its teeth. “You touched her! You touched her, and now she’s tainted.”
“Justin, right?” Met could not resist blurting that out just to see what the man would say.
There was an actual stammered curse, and the moaning and groaning stopped. “Stay away from her!”
Justin shouted the words before bolting away from the backyard. Met could have followed, but he was in his underwear with no shoes. There was little enough point in trying to make contact with a crazy man who seemed bent on scaring Met away from Daphne. There was probably more point in attempting to go inside and phone Daphne to make sure that she was safe.
Met levered himself up out of the hot tub. Slamming the lid closed, he headed back into the house. Careful of his wet feet on the tile floors, Met tried to find his phone. Where had he left it anyway? He never recalled. Then a mental image of the liquor cabinet came to mind.
There were chill bumps all over his body as he tiptoed on wet feet back through the living room and the den. Finally, he located his phone on the liquor cabinet’s marble-topped counter. That was when he realized that he had a missed phone call and two texts. They were all from Daphne.
