by Marie Harte
“Oh boy.”
“Your mom was a champ.” Steven laughed. “Calmly, as if we weren’t watching the man’s bare ass waving in the wind as he frantically tried to cover up, she starts asking him about the house. Square footage, improvements, his favorite selling point. I’m doing my best not to burst out laughing. The woman’s hiding under the covers, and the guy is bright red. But he’s answering your mother. I kept waiting for him to ask us to leave. He never did.”
“That’s the magic of Linda. But I have to say, I heard what you got your house for, and it’s a steal.”
“I told friends moving to the city about her. She’ll be getting more clients in no time.” He paused. “You never thought about working with her? She mentioned it.”
“Oh my God. No. One nightmare of a summer was all either of us could stand.”
“Ah. Probably for the same reasons I refused to work at the same hospital as my mother. Chief neurosurgeon makes for a lousy boss and mother.”
“Amen.” They toasted glasses. “Oh boy. I’d better get back.”
“Shoot. Me too. It was a pleasure. And I hope it’s not too pushy, but I’d like to have you—and your boyfriend—over for dinner some time. I’m new to the city and making friends, and hell, I like you. Cam too.” He paused. “Vanessa…”
“Say no more. She’s magnificent. Beautiful. And deadly with a calculator.”
He laughed. “I was going to say she sold me on her firm in less time than it took to say hello. She’s intimidating.”
“And very good at her job. Between Cam helping you manage your money and Vanessa making sure the IRS doesn’t take it all away, you’re in good hands.”
They left the restaurant and returned to their cars, parked next to each other.
Steven frowned and bent over the hood of his car. “Damn it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone keyed my car. Son of a bitch.”
“Will your insurance cover that?”
“I hope so. Man.” He looked around, but his car seemed to be the only one affected. “Just my luck.”
Hope felt the odd sensation of being watched, and when she turned around, she saw a familiar figure in a sweatshirt and ball cap rounding the corner across the street.
She trembled, forced a smile for Steven, and left to head back to work. In her car, she called J.T. and got his voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. I had lunch with Steven, and it’s not him. My stalker keyed his car. I saw him, J.T. I saw the guy from a distance, in a blue sweatshirt and hat. I couldn’t make out much more than that, but I saw him. Call me when you get this.”
She had just walked into her office when J.T. returned her call. “You somewhere safe?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m in the office.” She heard Cam on the phone in the back. “Cam’s here.”
“All right. This shit ends now. I’m coming to get you.”
“No. We need to let this play out. So far, this person hasn’t hurt me. He’s hurting people who have any interest in me.”
“Steven’s interested?” J.T.’s voice lowered. “I thought it was a friendly, I-have-a-boyfriend lunch.”
“It was. He was really nice. Even invited both of us—you and me—to get together with him sometime. He’s new and looking for friends.”
“Yeah, well, he can find his own friends.”
“Stop.” J.T.’s jealousy secretly thrilled her, because it showed he cared. “You know I”—Cam walked in—“can’t talk now. My boss is here. I have to go.”
“I’ll swing by to get you at six. Stay there until I’m in your office, looking at you.”
“Yes, Landon. I mean, J.T. Funny how you guys sound alike, all authoritative and all.”
“Smart-ass.” He hung up.
Cam sat on the corner of her desk. “So, how’s the fake boyfriend?”
“What? Does everyone know about my attempt to annoy my mother?”
“You told me about your clever little ruse, remember?”
Only Cam used words like ruse in everyday conversation. “Oh, right.” She’d forgotten.
“Of course, your behemoth of a boyfriend has been coming here all week, sucking face with you and basically pounding his chest if anyone not a male relative gets near.”
“Isn’t he sweet?” She batted her lashes.
Cam grinned. “All good, then?”
“With J.T., yes.” She told Cam about the incident at lunch.
“Damn. Hope, I don’t like any of this.”
“Me neither. But J.T. had a friend of his consult with a policeman they know. Basically, he said what we all know. They can’t do anything unless we can prove it’s all related, and we can’t. But at least now we can take Steven off the list.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“I am.” Because of J.T. in her life. Otherwise, she’d be a basket case. “I admit I’m freaked out. It helps that I have a really hunky bodyguard.” And if anything else happened, she’d go to the police. Hope had had enough of it all.
Cam rolled his eyes. “Women. Vanessa seems to think he’s sexy. I don’t see it, but whatever.”
“Tell your greedy wife he’s mine. And I’ll fight her for him.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” Cam shook his head and walked back to his office.
The day passed quickly, and Wednesday turned into Thursday without much fanfare. J.T. had driven her to work in the morning, adamant that he be the one to pick her up and take her home, to his place tonight. They’d been going back and forth, and she loved how each night spent in his arms brought them closer.
He’d shown her a picture of his mother. Bridget Webster had been a knockout, no question. Back at her apartment, Hope had cooked for him, showing him what he’d be getting if they remained together. He’d gobbled up her sweet basil chicken and had not only seconds, but thirds.
Life kept getting better…except for her pesky stalker.
At nine fifty Thursday morning, Brad Wheeler walked in carrying flowers. “Hi, Hope. I found these outside your door, and your name is on the envelope. Pretty.”
She took them from him, dreading what she’d find inside. The card said:
You can do so much better than him. Roses trump pizza, milady fair.
“From your boyfriend?” Brad asked.
She frowned. “No. You didn’t see anyone put them there, did you?”
“No. They were sitting in front of the door.”
If it was Brad, best he know right now she was calling the cops on his sorry butt. “I’ve been getting small gifts. Flowers, a treat at a bakery, and some unexpected violence.”
Brad’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
“Two friends of mine have been affected. One got seriously hurt. The other had his car keyed. I don’t like it, and I think whoever did this has a serious problem.” She couldn’t believe it when Brad paled.
“What did the note say?”
Why? Do you want to see if you spelled my name right? “Here.”
She showed him the card. His brows shot up as he read, clearly concerned and surprised. She might have read him wrong.
He looked up, even paler. “Wow. I’m so sorry.” He handed the card back to her. “No one should have to be harassed like that.”
“No.” She sighed. “I’m sorry for sharing my problems. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A few weeks.” A glance at Brad’s several-thousand-dollar suit and expensive watch, and she wondered how she could have thought him her sweatshirt and baseball cap stalker.
“Again, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Cam appeared and welcomed Brad back. He spied the flowers but said nothing. Once Brad left, Cam took the flowers back to his office. “Hope. Go ho
me. I’m serious. I’m going to call the police, and I don’t give a crap what we can or can’t prove. This has gone on long enough.”
“But—”
“No buts. I only have a few more clients, and Alex will be in at two. He can help catch us up.”
“Cam, I’m not hurt or incapable of doing my job.”
“I know, but I’m feeling protective. Humor me, would you?”
“Fine.” She paused. “But I don’t have a ride.”
“I’ll call you a cab.”
Ten minutes later, she stood downstairs in broad daylight, in the safety of a wide sidewalk with a minimal crowd, waiting for the cab to pull up.
A dark-gray BMW sidled to the curb. A window rolled down. “Hope, get in.” Brad Wheeler looked worried. “I need to talk to you.”
“Um, I don’t think so.” She fiddled with her purse, and her phone fell out. Damn.
“I know who’s been bothering you.”
She froze in the process of picking it up. “Brad, you’re a nice man, but you’re married. Remember? Jennifer?” Though had anyone ever seen his wife in person? Or had he made her up?
“Hell. It’s not me. Hope, get in the car.” He was staring over her shoulder.
She turned to see a slender figure in a ball cap and sweatshirt standing by the building, just steps away. He had his right hand tucked into his sweatshirt pocket, his features hidden from her by his brim. She still didn’t recognize him.
“Get in,” Brad insisted. “You don’t want to talk to him. Trust me.”
She noted the stranger’s height at close to six feet. Several inches taller than Hope, at least. Then the man pulled what looked like the hilt of a hunting knife from his sweatshirt pocket and started toward her.
Brad insisted. “Hope, please.”
Torn between wanting to get to sure safety and away from the stalker almost upon her, she did the only thing that made sense and darted into Brad’s car. And left her friggin’ phone behind.
* * *
J.T. had a bad feeling. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason why, but something was wrong. He called Hope’s phone, but she didn’t answer. Uncaring of Cam’s business hours, he dialed the man’s number.
“Hello?”
“It’s J.T. Is Hope there?”
Cam grunted. “She got more flowers, so I told her to go home and called her a cab.”
“Oh.” J.T. let out a relieved breath. “Okay.” Pleased to know she was all right, he still would have liked to talk to her. He worked on some touch-ups for a client, cleaned up his station, then did some mock-ups for the woman coming in at one.
Twice more he tried to call Hope, and she still hadn’t answered.
What the hell?
Then he received a text. Am fine. But I need to talk to you. Come to my apartment when done work.
Will do, he answered.
Now able to get back to work, J.T. turned to the dragon eating the demons plaguing Margery Salton. Therapy through skin and ink. Go figure. The artwork looked fantastic, but it needed some tweaking before he could go over it with her. But not today.
By eleven thirty, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He called Margery and rescheduled her for tomorrow during his lunch hour, which she was able to make.
“Yo, Grim. I need to bail. I’ll be back later, maybe.”
Grim nodded and continued inking an amazing rendition of the client’s mother in black and gray.
J.T. needed to see Hope. Now. His ribs had been protesting all morning, and he missed her.
After sitting in craptastic traffic, as usual, he arrived at her apartment complex in half an hour. A pretty brunette held open the door and gave him a come-hither once-over.
“Thanks,” he said absently and hurried, as best he was able, to Hope’s apartment. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob, he sensed someone behind him.
Acting on instinct, he ducked and missed getting knifed in the back by inches. Instead, a large hunting knife stuck to her door.
“Hope,” he yelled. “Call the police.”
A slender man in a blue sweatshirt and hat came at him again, the knife once again in his possession. J.T. felt like shit. His ribs protested, adrenaline flooded his body, and a headache blossomed out of nowhere.
“You’re done here.” It was the only warning J.T. would give him. He ignored his ribs and lunged at the guy, tackling him to the floor and pinning the hand with the knife. The door opened behind him, and he yelled at Hope to close it.
“J.T.!” she cried.
“I’ll help him,” came an unfamiliar voice, followed by a woman saying, “I called the police.”
A man in a suit joined J.T. to help hold down the thrashing attacker, who started yelling.
“Jennifer, you’re mean. I’m going to tell Mom and Dad what you did.” His words and high-pitched tone suggested someone much younger than a grown man, a dose of crazy that unnerved J.T.
“Who the fuck are you people?” He turned his head to the man in the suit. Glimpsing Hope, he was relieved to see her healthy and scared, but unharmed.
She nodded at the suit. “Brad Wheeler is a client of Cam’s, and he’s a friend. He’s helping you hold his brother-in-law, Jennifer’s brother. This is Jennifer.” J.T. saw an older woman regarding the scene with concern. She wore a dress and heels in addition to diamonds on her ears, fingers, and throat. She screamed money, as did the suit next to him.
“Brad, huh?”
“Yes.” He stared down at his brother-in-law, who had stopped struggling. “Casey, Hope is her own person. She has her own friends, and you can’t keep her.”
“I can if I want.” The guy shot Hope a sly look. “Especially if she’s a whore, just like the one you married.”
J.T. pulled back and slugged him. Broke his damn nose and knocked the guy senseless.
“Watch who you call a whore, asshole.” He turned to Hope. “Grab me something to tie him up with, would you?” His ribs started protesting. Big time.
Hope darted away and returned with some duct tape.
“Perfect.” He and Brad rolled the psycho over and tied his wrists, then his ankles. J.T. left him on his belly, then slowly stood, with Hope’s help, and glared at her. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”
She nodded. “I was waiting for a cab when Brad pulled up looking nervous. He acted kind of weird when he found out I’d been getting flowers.”
“When she gave me the note to read, I knew. Casey likes the phrase ‘milady fair.’” Brad shook his head. “I wish I had known about this. It’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Jennifer said.
“It’s not,” Hope agreed.
“Would someone get on with the explanation and save the blame game for later?” Before my brain explodes? The fact that a man with a knife lay outside Hope’s door freaked him the hell out. He wanted to end the guy, to permanently get rid of the threat. But there were witnesses, and he didn’t know if Hope could handle that much violence.
A darkly amused thought struck. Where was Grim when you needed to make a body disappear?
The suit extended a hand toward him. “I’m Brad Wheeler, a client of Cameron’s.”
“Yes, I know. I’m J.T., Hope’s boyfriend.”
“What you don’t know is that Jennifer’s brother, Casey”—he nodded to the trussed-up creep—“doesn’t think the way normal people do. He’s been institutionalized for much of his life, but he’s been doing so much better lately. He was recently released to us with prescribed medications, under our supervision. He’s always been a little obsessive, but never with a person. And never to the extent that he’d try to hurt someone.” Brad looked on the verge of tears. Jennifer was already crying.
Casey muttered something against the floor.
Jennifer wiped her eyes, clearly distraught.
“The medication helps. It leaves him groggy but less destructive. God, he was doing so well I probably didn’t pay close enough attention to his meds. Casey, have you been taking your pills?”
“Hate the pills. No more pills.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Oh, Casey, you know you need them. They help regulate your moods so this doesn’t happen.” She shot Hope a sad, apologetic look.
“Wait. Why me?” Hope asked.
A good question. J.T. wanted to know how Hope tied into this as well.
“It’s my fault,” Jennifer said. “Casey’s been living with us, so he overhears a lot. I asked Brad if he knew someone we could set my brother Wyatt up with. Brad mentioned you. Then one day he took Casey with him to the office. You don’t remember seeing him?”
Hope frowned. “I… Wait. I think I remember a young man waiting for Brad. But he was buttoned up and so quiet.”
“Sometimes Casey is lucid and calm.” Brad studied his brother-in-law with grief and resignation.
Jennifer said, “Casey doesn’t understand that just because he wants something, that doesn’t mean he can have it. But like I said, this is the first time he’s ever considered a person his.”
Brad left Casey to hug his wife. “It’s not your fault, honey. He’s got to go back where they can monitor him.”
“I know. Perhaps that facility in Switzerland. It’s quiet and aboveboard.”
“And secure,” Brad added with a nod to J.T.
“I’m not going. Mom won’t make me,” Casey bragged. “Hope wants me to stay. Pretty Hope. She can be my girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry, Casey. But I have a boyfriend. J.T. loves me, and I love him. We’re getting married and having babies.”
“Yeah, all the works,” J.T. added, pity warring with the need to do this grown man violence. Yet he didn’t know if the guy would really understand why he was so pissed. What a sad mess.
“Wait. Really?” Casey stared at Hope. “But I thought you were Wyatt’s.”
Hope shook her head. “I’m not anybody’s. I don’t even know Wyatt. I choose to be with J.T.”
J.T. frowned, something still bothering him. “Hold on. You’re telling me this guy hired those jerks at Ray’s to beat on me?”
