Distorted

by Christy Barritt

  She cleared her throat, determined to take her therapist’s advice. She needed to distract herself. “I’ve heard SEAL training is brutal.”

  “It has to be. It doesn’t come close to matching what you experience out in the field.”

  “I suppose that’s true. I’m kind of surprised you’re not a SEAL anymore. You’re still young. You had more years ahead of you.” He was probably just over thirty years old, if she had to guess.

  She sensed the air around him change, and she knew she’d hit on a sensitive subject.

  “It was time,” Tennyson said.

  “I see.”

  Before she could say anything more, the elevator jerked back to life. The lights flashed on—and stayed on.

  Mallory cleared her throat again and smoothed her jeans, desperate to do something to stay busy and cover the embarrassment over her panic. “Thank you, Tennyson.”

  “It’s no problem, Mallory. It’s never a problem.”

  Grant rushed into the suite fifteen minutes later, bypassing the bedroom doors and heading directly toward Tennyson and Mallory in the living area at the back. “Mallory, you’re going to want to see this. You too, Tennyson.”

  Mallory froze. Based on his demeanor, he had bad news.

  Grant held up his phone, the air crackling with energy around him. “I just got these photos in my inbox.”

  After a slight hesitation, Mallory took the device. She could feel Tennyson peering over her shoulder, and warmth spread through her. She scolded herself. All her life, she’d been defined by the men around her.

  She was going to stand on her own two feet. That meant no tingles were allowed. No racing hearts. No dreaming of a happy ever after.

  Those things were so far from her reality anyway.

  As the screen came into focus, Mallory’s gut clenched.

  There were pictures. Of Mallory.

  In one, she was sitting at a restaurant eating. In another, she was checking into a hotel—not this one, however. In the final one, she was standing in front of some large shipping containers, doing a PSA that would run on several TV stations.

  A tremble quaked through her muscles, strong and furious, and the phone slipped from her hands in the aftermath. Tennyson grabbed it before it hit the floor.

  Mallory wasn’t imagining things. Someone was watching her.

  “Are these from Nameless?” she finally asked, her voice cracking and giving away her anxiety.

  Grant shook his head. “I can’t be certain.”

  “I take it you had no idea someone was following you?” Tennyson asked.

  Mallory stepped back so she had a better view of both men. Then she shook her head, feeling a smear of guilt. That wasn’t the entire truth.

  “No, I didn’t see anyone who was acting suspiciously,” Grant said. “But someone is obviously stalking Mallory. I think we brought you on just in time, Tennyson.”

  “These pictures were sent to your e-mail, Grant?” Tennyson narrowed his eyes in thought. “Why not Mallory’s?”

  “I’m monitoring all of her e-mails for now. I forward her any that she needs to personally reply to.” Grant paced away, shaking his head still. “I’ll send these to the detective in DC.”

  Tennyson’s hands went to his hips. “You’re working with a detective in DC?”

  “We are,” Grant said. “As well as FBI Special Agent Turner.”

  “This seems like just as good a time as any to debrief,” Tennyson said.

  Something about the way he said the words caused anxiety to ricochet up Mallory’s spine. What did he mean by debrief? Perhaps they just needed to discuss the threat assessment?

  That was probably it.

  They sat down; Mallory in an armchair, Grant on the couch across from her, and Tennyson in the chair beside her.

  The two men exchanged a glance.

  What did that mean? Mallory knew: the two men had something to tell her.

  She rubbed her throat, fighting unease. Fighting the urge to run. To bury her head in the sand.

  Tennyson nodded at Grant, and Grant shifted, angling to face her better. “There’s something you should know, Mallory,” he started.

  Her body stiffened. “Okay.”

  Grant leaned toward her, his elbows propped on his knees. “Mallory, we got an e-mail from someone who’s claiming to be Torres.”

  The blood drained from her face. “It was a joke. Obviously. Dante’s dead.”

  “Of course that’s what we think. But we need to take every necessary precaution, just in case.”

  Her gaze shot to Tennyson. “You saw him die . . . right?”

  He nodded stiffly. “That’s correct.”

  “So this is all for nothing. It’s someone playing a cruel joke.” Images of Dante flashed into her mind. All those times she felt like she was being watched. Almost like Dante would never let her get away that easily. She was his property. His death was the only thing that had kept her safe. If there was any chance he was alive . . .

  Her hands began to tremble.

  “We take every threat seriously,” Tennyson said, glancing at her twitching muscles and frowning. “Though this is most likely nothing, we want to explore the possibility. Plus, there have been those odd messages from Nameless. You have to understand that your safety is of utmost importance. I’d like to bring on a security team—”

  She swung her head back and forth. “No, I don’t want a team. That’s overdoing it. All of this is probably for nothing.”

  “Mallory, we hope that’s the case, but we need to examine this from every angle first,” Grant said.

  She shook her head again. “I only want you, Tennyson. I actually didn’t want anyone, but if I have to have a guard, you’re the only one I trust. Being around too many strangers . . . well, it’s kind of like being in an elevator with people I don’t know. I don’t handle it well.”

  Tennyson shifted. “How about at least one other guard? A woman.”

  A woman? Mallory might be able to handle that. Better than a group of testosterone-pumped men, at least. “I’ll consider it.”

  “There are some events I may have to bring in more guards for,” Tennyson continued. “But there could be two of us traveling with you.”

  “If that’s what we have to do.”

  “And Mallory, you shouldn’t go anywhere alone. There always needs to be a guard with you. Do you understand?”

  The reality of the situation was hitting her . . . hard. Too hard. Her mind was reeling, hardly able to keep up. “I understand.”

  “Wherever we go, there will be plans in place.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t all overkill?” she asked.

  Tennyson and Grant exchanged another look.

  “I wish it was,” Tennyson said. “But my job is to keep you safe, and I plan on doing just that.”

  Grant let out a long breath and stood. “Mallory, I’ve got to go make a phone call. It’s Ashley’s birthday today.”

  “Tell her I said happy birthday,” Mallory said. Ashley was Grant’s daughter, and he didn’t get to see her very often because of his divorce.

  “I’ll do that. And maybe you and Tennyson could get to know each other since you’ll be working so closely together. Are you okay with that?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll have dinner sent up then.” He started to reach for her arm but stopped. They’d been through this routine before. Touching wasn’t something she was comfortable with. She didn’t know if she’d ever be comfortable with it again.

  Grant settled on a nod, and then disappeared into his bedroom.

  Mallory glanced at Tennyson, whose eyes had followed Grant. Perceptive. He was the kind of guy who was always watching, observing, calculating. All desirable attributes for a bodyguard.

  “Grant comes across as a little flippant or self-centered sometimes, but he’s really a nice guy,” she finally said.

  Tennyson’s gaze flickered toward her, but he still didn’t look convinced. “I’m
sure he is. How’d you meet him?”

  “Right after my rescue, my life was in turmoil.” She stood and paced over to the window where drizzles of rain formed rivers down the glass. Her mind went back in time to that day. “Everybody seemed to want a piece of me, including some relatives who wanted to profit from my supposed death. The media had been knocking on my door. Numerous managers had approached me, and I wasn’t impressed with any of them.”

  “Smart girl.”

  She offered a faint smile. “Then I met Grant. He asked me to meet for coffee. I only agreed after I’d done some research on him and seen that he’d done good work in the past.”

  “Coffee sealed the deal?”

  She glanced outside again, shrugging—though barely. “Over lattes, Grant listened to me tell my story. He asked questions. He was interested in what I had to say. Most of all, he didn’t bring marketing schemes with him . . . or contracts for me to sign.”

  “That was . . . considerate.”

  “Before he left, he gave me his card and asked me to call him if I ever needed help. Since that moment, he’s taken care of me and given me guidance. I’ve had no reason not to trust him.”

  “Good for you.”

  She finally looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, I’m not complaining.”

  Mallory’s gaze went back to the window, and she watched the people moving down below. Even though it still rained, people scurried back and forth, most of them walking quickly in an afternoon rush.

  One person in particular caught her eye. Mallory blinked, certain she was seeing things.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the thought. Her eyes were tricking her. Or it was the power of suggestion.

  That’s what it had to be.

  Because otherwise, she’d just seen Dante Torres on the sidewalk.

  CHAPTER 5

  “It’s nothing,” Mallory finally said, raising her chin. Her eyes shifted before Tennyson could see the truth there.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing.” Tennyson rose and moved closer, wondering exactly what had spooked her. “You look frightened, like you saw a ghost.”

  “My eyes were playing tricks on me.” She crossed her arms and turned away from him. “I thought I saw someone, but I was mistaken.”

  “Who?”

  She pressed her lips together. Swallowed hard. Shook her head again. “No one.”

  “Mallory . . .”

  She pressed her lips together again, and Tennyson was sure Mallory was going to make up another excuse. Instead, she said, “I thought I saw Dante, okay? But it wasn’t him. It was simply someone with dark hair who looked like him. It was just a by-product of our conversation. I’m thinking about Dante, so now I’m starting to see him. I’m sure there’s a word for this type of thing.”

  His shoulders tightened, and he stepped closer to the window. “Is that right?”

  “I mean, I know he’s dead. It doesn’t matter that someone sent that e-mail. It was just a joke. Believe me, if Dante was still alive, he wouldn’t have waited two years to reveal himself again.” She let out a fake laugh that quickly faded into a frown. “Sometimes the past just tries to pull you back. You know?”

  Tennyson peered into the downtown street below. The rain had eased into a drizzle as the storm moved away. Numerous people moved across the sidewalk, but no one who looked like Torres.

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Mallory said softly.

  “No, I don’t.”

  The truth was, Tennyson still thought he saw Claire sometimes, too.

  But besides that, there was the fact that Torres could still be alive. There was the fact that someone was stalking Mallory. And there was the fact that a dead body branded with Inferno’s symbol had washed up on Tennyson’s property.

  He waited until Mallory went to bed before having a heart-to-heart with Grant. Tennyson motioned for the man to join him in the living area, away from Mallory’s bedroom. Grant followed, seeming hesitant and slightly exhausted. The two of them needed to talk about their plan for the rest of this tour, though.

  “Have you received any more e-mails from the person claiming to be Torres?” Tennyson kept his voice low as he sat across from Grant. “Did it come to your inbox or Mallory’s?”

  Grant looked over his shoulder, toward Mallory’s door. “No, just the one. And it came to her inbox, but like I told you, I’m monitoring those e-mails.”

  “Who else knows about that e-mail?”

  “Agent Turner. He tried to trace the IP address, but it was untraceable. He had a whole bunch of technical language he used as to why, but that’s what it boiled down to.”

  That didn’t surprise Tennyson. “Did that e-mail have any of the same markers of the e-mails Nameless sent?”

  Grant released a slow breath before shaking his head. “No, the wording didn’t have his usual flair or sentiment. The all caps, for example. Agent Turner didn’t indicate it was from the same person.”

  Tennyson had replayed Torres’s death over and over again in his mind, more times than he’d wanted to. “That dead body resembling Mallory that washed up on my beach was no accident. If this is a game, then the stakes are high. Too high.”

  Grant sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “None of this was supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a victory tour to show that Mallory had overcome her ordeal. Now it appears someone wants to make her go through agony again. That’s why it’s so important that you’re here.”

  Tennyson shifted, trying to think everything through. “I’d like to see those e-mails you said Mallory received. I’d like to figure out if there’s any connection between them and Torres.”

  “Of course.” Grant strode across the room and reached into a briefcase on the couch. He handed him a stack of papers. “I’ve printed them all out for you.”

  “When did this start?” He rose, taking the stack over to the small table against the window. Rain drizzled down the glass and a dark, overcast sky goaded on dreary thoughts of danger and gloom.

  Grant followed after him, some of his Hollywood facade fading under the fluorescent lights overhead. “After she appeared on Yolanda.”

  “All of these in a month?”

  Grant nodded, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge behind him. “She gets at least one a day.”

  “And you have no clue who’s sending them?”

  Grant downed a large gulp of water before answering. “Not one earthly idea.”

  Tennyson read the first one out loud. “Mallory, I think about you day and night. You’re always on my mind. You are exquisite. We’re meant to sail through this life together. I’m sorry you’ve been through what you have. I can rescue you before you drown. I can heal you. And I will. When the time is right.”

  Unease sloshed in his gut with each word. This man wasn’t asking to help. He was telling her he would help. Tennyson didn’t like the sound of that. And what was up with all the nautical references?

  He skipped ahead several more e-mails.

  “I saw you on Yolanda. I can’t believe how strong you are. I always knew you were.” Tennyson paused. Always knew you were? It almost sounded like this man knew Mallory before all this recent publicity. That wasn’t comforting. “You need someone to protect you and keep you safe before you fall overboard. You need me. When the time is right, I’ll let you know.”

  Grant sat back down, still nursing the bottle of water as if he was parched. “It’s disturbing, right?”

  Tennyson nodded. “Very. This man seems to be tracking her every move.”

  “That was my feeling also. I didn’t tell Mallory that, of course.”

  “Any idea why he’s using the references to the sea?”

  He shook his head. “No idea.”

  “Torres . . . ?”

  “As far as I know, he didn’t have a particular affinity for the water. Mallory’s never said anything.”

  Tennyson observed Grant for a moment. Th
e man looked like he needed some time alone to freshen up. His shirt was wrinkled. His hair, at one time gelled up straight, now flopped downward. This situation had drained him also, Tennyson realized.

  “Are you sure that Mallory is ready for all of this? The tour, the public appearances, the engagements?” Tennyson asked. “There’ll be time to do this later. There are other ways to get her message out, ways that don’t put her life on the line.”

  Sure, Tennyson had been asked to guard her physically. But he couldn’t help but think about her emotional and spiritual side. Who was guarding that?

  Grant stared at Tennyson a moment, something unsettled in his eyes, before he finally nodded. “I’m sure that now is the time for Mallory to do this. She would agree. This tour has helped her healing more than any therapy has.”

  But Tennyson thought for sure he could see doubt in the man’s shadowed gaze.

  Mallory lay in bed, praying for sleep to find her and for nightmares to stay far away.

  Very few people knew how insomnia had claimed her nights. Getting to sleep was one of the hardest things, and she refused to take sleeping pills. She’d rather be tired than groggy. Besides, when she finally got to sleep, night terrors claimed her rest, taking her back in time to a place she didn’t want to revisit.

  She lay on the luxurious sheets of the hotel bed. The bathroom light was on, spilling illumination into the room. Anything to ward off the darkness.

  She fluffed her pillow for the fourth time. It wasn’t the pillow’s fault she couldn’t sleep, though. Her thoughts bounced all over the place, finally stopping on the man she’d seen outside the hotel. For a moment—and just a moment—she’d been absolutely certain she’d seen Dante on the busy street.

  The man had been walking along with the throngs of businessmen and women. She wouldn’t have even noticed him as she looked down at the tops of people’s heads.

  Except he looked up. Seemed to look right at her, as if he knew she was there.

  Then he was gone.

  And she’d known she was seeing things.

  She thought she saw him often. At least once a week. It was always in a crowd. And just as soon as she thought she recognized him, he would disappear.