Only Obsession (Rogue Security Book 3)

by Marissa Garner

  He immediately grabbed the binoculars again and glared at the Mercedes. Within five minutes, Carmichael did a U-turn and headed down the road toward town. Luke watched until the car disappeared. Hopefully, the charade had convinced the jerk that Elle wasn’t hiding in his house.

  Elle? Frowning, he lowered the binoculars. He hadn’t heard a sound from the kitchen since coming inside. “Elle!”

  * * *

  So dark, so damn dark. No moon. Most streetlights shot out. This gang-dominated neighborhood of DC sent shivers of fear down Elle’s spine.

  Richard’s face floated overhead, scowling down at her. “Your Thursday night visits are too dangerous,” he shouted.

  “I’m not stupid. I’m fully aware of the risks,” she yelled back.

  Her parents’ faces appeared beside his. “Why must you do this?” they chorused.

  “My confidential informant is such a reliable source. I can’t just refuse to meet him here.”

  The familiar faces and the dilapidated neighborhood disappeared. Now she sat in a shabby, dimly lit room, across the table from the guy who always provided her with critical intel. He handed Elle photographs of a married US senator paying a hooker and ushering her into a hotel room.

  “This will be the final example in my current investigation of illegal Congressional vices. Another story sure to make more high-powered enemies,” she told him.

  Then she was back on the dangerous street. Elle swept the area with her phone’s flashlight, her can of pepper spray stuck in the front waistband of her jeans. She clutched her keys in her other hand with three of the metal shafts poking out between her fingers.

  A rustling noise in the bushes. She gasped and jumped. She aimed her phone at the spot. Rats scavenging in the dead leaves. Beady eyes glowing red in the bright light. She shuddered with disgust.

  “Only two more blocks and I’ll be safe inside my Beemer—assuming it’s still there,” she muttered, increasing her pace.

  She approached the entrance to an alley. A muffled pop. The nearest streetlight shattered. She spun around, closed her eyes, and splayed her hands above her head to protect against the shards of glass raining down. Her phone and keys dropped to the sidewalk with a loud clatter.

  A large body pressed against her back while a muscular arm clamped around her raised arms like a vise. A wet cloth plastered over her nose and mouth stifled her cry.

  She couldn’t pull her arms down to defend herself, but she kicked backward and stomped on her attacker’s feet. The pepper spray slipped from her waistband to the ground with a metallic clunk—useless. She tried to scream again and again and again as darkness engulfed her.

  “Elle, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  Warm fingers brushed stray hair from her forehead and then cupped her cheek. Rough calluses but a gentle touch.

  “Elle, it’s Luke. C’mon, wake up.”

  Slowly, she raised her leaden eyelids. “Hmm?”

  “You were having a nightmare. I know you’re exhausted, but this table is no place for a nap. You can…uh…sleep in my bed.”

  She sat up and rolled her shoulders. Bending her head from side to side, she tried to get the kinks out of her neck. Luke was right: His kitchen table made an awful bed.

  But she didn’t have time to sleep anyway. There was too much to do if she was going to get her life back.

  “I’ll sleep better tonight if I don’t nap more now,” she said.

  As she yawned and blinked away the drowsiness, she surveyed the kitchen. She liked the rich wood grain of the cabinets and the shiny new appliances. The colors in the granite countertops coordinated well with the cabinets and tile flooring, which included an intricate inlaid design. A bright red toaster, blender, and canisters added cheery highlights. Stylish light fixtures hung from the high ceiling over the breakfast bar and center island. Framed photographs of people and a huge wooden clock decorated the walls. Luke had obviously spent much time and money on this room. Everything exuded pride of ownership and homey warmth.

  “I’d love to see the rest of your house, and then we can get to work.”

  She glimpsed a brief grimace before he said, “All right. It’s not a luxury Georgetown condo or an extravagant Washington mansion. Not much to see really, but c’mon.”

  He led the way down the hall to the foyer. No flooring had been installed, and she could feel the coldness of the concrete through her shoes.

  Luke motioned to the room on the right. “Dining room. I’m pretty much redoing the whole thing from floor to ceiling. The samples of the crown molding, paint, and carpet I’ve chosen are over there by the ladder. And the new chandelier is in that box. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find one I liked and could afford.” He shrugged. “Someday I might even be able to buy actual dining room furniture.”

  She started to step off the raised foyer into the room to get a closer look at the bold, warm paint swatches on the wall, but he snagged her arm and pulled her back. The strength of his grip contrasted with his gentle touch when waking her.

  “Not safe in there. Too much demolition shit lying around. Rusty nails, splintered wood. An accident waiting to happen,” he said, turning her toward the opposite side of the bare landing. “More of the same in the living room, but I was able to leave space for a couch, table, and small TV. Still best to stay out, though.”

  “What about upstairs?” she asked, pointing up the curved staircase.

  “Three bedrooms and two baths. But it’s a disaster I haven’t tackled at all yet.”

  He motioned for her to move down the hallway. The first door was closed. After a hesitant nod from him, she swung it open. An unmade king-size bed, a chest of drawers, a nightstand with a lamp, and an armchair filled the room decorated with a color scheme of mahogany and forest green. A dozen framed photographs of people—probably his family—monopolized one wall. A large ceiling fan with an elaborate light fixture hung overhead. The air held the faint scent of his cologne.

  “It’s the only downstairs bedroom. Once I get the master bedroom and bath done upstairs, I plan to make this my office,” he said and reached from behind her to close the door.

  With pride, he showed her the remodeled bathroom next to the bedroom before they walked back to the kitchen. The stark difference between the original house and the redone rooms was remarkable.

  “Early Construction isn’t my favorite decorating theme, but I love what you’ve done with it so far,” she said.

  He laughed and seemed slightly embarrassed by her praise. Then he busied himself with throwing away the beer cans. “Are we going to get to work now?”

  “I’d like to, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s why I’m taking time off.”

  “About that…” She cleared her throat. “I…I will pay you for your help.”

  He spun around, scowling. “You think that’s why I’m doing this? For money? Or to be mentioned in one of your famous reports? Bullshit.” He stomped across the room to the large built-in desk that was covered with computer equipment and yanked open a drawer. “I just want the asshole caught.”

  Elle lifted her chin. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Luke pulled two pads of paper and a couple pens from the drawer and slapped them on the table. “You don’t know me well enough to insult me. I’ll just chalk it up to journalistic elitism.”

  “Rather judgmental, don’t you think?”

  “As a deputy, I’ve dealt with the media enough to know it’s a fact, not just my opinion.”

  She huffed. “Well, you don’t know me well enough to insult me either, Deputy Johnson. For your information, I’ve fought against ‘journalistic elitism’ since I began my career. And that’s only one of the reasons I hate dealing with the media. Unlike my mother.”

  An awkward silence blanketed the kitchen. Unwilling to meet his gaze, Elle stared at the paper on the table. Finally, she dropped into a chair and pulled a pad and pen in front of her.

  After clearing h
er throat again, she said, “Since we at least agree that the asshole needs to be caught, let’s brainstorm for a few hours, and then you can drop me off at a hotel.” When he didn’t take a seat, she forced herself to look up at him. “This is my fault. I’m sorry. I should never have lied to Richard about hiring you and your friend as bodyguards. I just wanted him to go away and leave me alone.”

  Luke crossed his arms across his chest. “Sean and I aren’t stupid. We knew you didn’t mean it. Besides, I’d already told my boss I wanted time off before you said that. So neither your lie nor your money has anything to do with why I’m going to bring down this bastard.”

  His intensity surprised and puzzled her. There was more to this handsome deputy than being easy on the eyes, and she intended to learn as much as she could. Starting with a simple question.

  “Then why?”

  Chapter 7

  Well, shit. Me and my big mouth. How was Luke supposed to explain what he had started feeling? How was he going to tell her that since he’d been the one to find her, he now felt responsible for her…for some inexplicable reason? How could he answer her question when he didn’t understand it himself?

  “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe just because I’m a cop,” he lied.

  Elle arched her eyebrows and stared at him for several moments. “Well, okay then. How about another beer?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, he grabbed two Coors from the fridge and sat down across the table from her. He slid a beer to her and the other pad and pen to himself.

  Hoping to appear more casual than he felt, he leaned back in the chair. “Want to tell me about the abduction itself?”

  “No,” she said instantly. “It’s still…raw.”

  He studied her reaction. Despite the fighting spirit he had witnessed in the hospital, Elle was still scared and vulnerable. “Understood. Let’s talk enemies.”

  Her expression brightened, and she straightened in the chair. “Good idea. I have plenty of those.”

  He hesitated and then laughed. “I bet you do. Comes with the territory?”

  “Definitely. And believe it or not, sometimes fans can be as dangerous as enemies.”

  “Stalkers? That type of fan?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thankfully, I have far fewer of those than the good ones.”

  “Okay. Let’s go with the short list. So, you have a stalker?”

  “Two, actually. One physical, one cyber.”

  He made a note of the information. “Physical first.”

  “Okay, but I’m not saying I think this stalker is the kidnapper. He seemed…shorter.”

  “At the beginning of a criminal investigation, it’s best to keep an open mind about suspects and to consider all possibilities. For example, your stalker could be the kidnapper’s accomplice,” Luke explained.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She exhaled a long breath. “It began about two months ago after I’d given a lecture to journalism majors at George Washington University. I noticed this guy in a black hoodie.”

  “Lots of black hoodies out there.”

  “Yes, but after the second time I spotted him, I was sure it was the same man. I made a mental note of his height and build.”

  “Which were?”

  “Definitely under six feet and probably close to two hundred pounds. And he seemed really jittery both times.”

  “Still pretty vague. Anything unusual?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Okay, let’s keep going with the basics. Race? Hair color? Eye color?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “He always had the hood pulled forward, so I couldn’t see his face or hair. And his race?” Frowning, she closed her eyes. “Wait a minute. I remember noticing something on the back of his right hand when he shoved a guy who’d stepped in front of him. Honestly, I was so taken aback by his rudeness that I didn’t pay much attention to his skin or what was on it.” She shook her head. “But I’d guess he’s Caucasian, and the mark…could be a tattoo.”

  “A tat of what? Words? Picture? Color? Size?”

  “God, so many questions. The mark was darker than his skin. Wait, you know, it might’ve been a scar. Hell, for all I know, the spot could’ve just been paint or dirt.” She smacked the table with her hand in frustration.

  He reached across and laid his hand on hers. “It’s okay, Elle. You’re doing the best you can.”

  “The frustrating thing is that when I reported him to the DC police, I gave them all this information and more. I’ve certainly forgotten some by now. If you contact them, would they give you copies of my complaints?”

  “I doubt it. If this was the Sheriff’s Department’s case, then I’d expect cooperation. But with the FBI involved, I’m sure the police have already shared the info with them. And if the Carmichaels are applying pressure, everyone will be playing it by the book.”

  “Perhaps Special Agent Holmes could get the information for us…for me,” she said hopefully.

  “Get real, Elle. With Richard breathing down his neck and the Washington office looking over his shoulder, he’s not going to take any chances.”

  “You’re right. I feel bad enough that he has to deal with Richard. I wouldn’t want him to get in trouble.”

  She glanced down at her hand, and he suddenly realized he was holding it. He gave hers a friendly squeeze before sliding his back across the table.

  “The hoodie guy…did you initially see him at the lecture?”

  “I don’t actually remember seeing him there. Of course, there were tons of hoodie guys and girls in the audience. After my speech, I met with the dean in her office for about an hour, and I first saw him when I was leaving the building.”

  “Did he approach you or say anything?”

  “No. However, I was sure he was watching me. I didn’t think much of it until I walked several blocks to my car and spotted him again, standing at the edge of the parking lot. Then, it made me a little uneasy.”

  “But still no contact?”

  “No.”

  “When and where did you see him next?”

  Elle sighed. “A few days later, outside the USA Report offices. I’d parked in a garage and walked the two blocks to our building. When he saw me notice him near the entrance, he strolled away. I still didn’t panic. Not until I caught him loitering across the street from my condo in Georgetown the next night.”

  “That’s getting awful close.”

  “Yes. I’m überparanoid about my home address. I get all my mail at a post office box in Arlington, Virginia, and packages are delivered to my office. I don’t put my residence address on forms…anywhere. In fact, I still use my parents’ address on some things like my driver’s license.”

  “He must’ve followed you home.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “Yes. I think he realized that I’d recognized him. When he jogged down the block, I ran into the other bedroom. I got to the window just in time to see him climb into a blue van and drive off.”

  “Did you get the make, model, or plate?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. It was a full-size van, though, not a minivan, and it looked like there was a sliding door on the passenger side.”

  “Any identifying marks?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know, damaged bumper, broken window, missing side mirror, peeling paint, stickers, dents, scratches, rust.”

  “Um, yeah, there might’ve been some of that stuff, but I don’t remember anything specific. The vehicle just looked…old.”

  Now Luke rolled his eyes as he made notes. “And you hadn’t noticed the old blue van following you home.”

  She huffed. “No, but the jerk must have…unless…”

  Luke cocked his head. “Unless?”

  “Unless someone told him where I lived.”

  “Who would do that?”

  * * *

  Frustrated with her inability to answer Luke’s questions, Elle splayed
her hands in the air. “I don’t have a clue.” She grabbed her beer and took a long drink. “That’s when I went to the police.”

  “About time,” Luke muttered.

  “Bite me,” she snapped.

  “Only if you insist.”

  Her eyes flicked immediately to his face. A mischievous grin failed to hide the heat in his mesmerizing blue eyes. She swallowed hard. “I-I was incredibly busy with an investigation. And it didn’t do much good anyway.”

  The playful moment ended as quickly as it had begun, and Luke returned to cop mode. “How so?”

  “I told them everything, but they pretty much blew me off. Said the guy was probably only an obsessed fan, and since he hadn’t broken any laws or exhibited aggressive behavior, they couldn’t do anything. So, they gave me a pat on the head like a child and sent me home.”

  “Did they try to identify him?”

  “Not to my knowledge. But shortly after I reported him, someone started cyber-stalking me.”

  “Same guy?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know, but I don’t think so. This person was a lot more aggressive. Not-so-subtle threats. Lewd comments. That sort of thing. He seemed upset by an ongoing series of articles I was doing about corruption among Washington bureaucrats.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “Not immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “Two reasons. First, I didn’t think it was the hoodie guy taking it to another level. The whole attitude was different. And second, I get a lot of…well…hate mail, so it didn’t seem like a big deal until…” Her throat tightened at the memory.

  “Until?”

  She exhaled slowly. “Until the threats escalated. They got more serious…more specific.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what awful things he’d do if he ever got his hands on me.” Just recalling the horrible descriptions sent a shudder through her. Her hands clenched into fists as she hung on to her composure. “But that’s also why I don’t think the cyber stalker was my kidnapper.”

  “Because he didn’t do any of those things?”

  She gulped and nodded.

  Luke’s changing expression revealed he was fighting an internal battle. She waited for the outcome.