by Livia Grant
Ryder approached the counter separating them, forcing Natalie to step back with alarm. "I know your type. Throwing in digs. Trying to make her doubt herself. But, Khloe is the real deal and you know it. She has brains, looks, and talent. The whole package. And she's just getting started. Losing her as a client would be a huge blow to your reputation. So knock off the threats. Hangers-on like you are a dime-a-dozen in Hollywood, so straighten up and remember... You work for Khloe and not the other way around. If you don't, you're out of here."
"Why I never!"
The muffled ring of Ryder's cell phone in his pocket interrupted the fireworks. He dug the cell out and answered it with a gruff, "Axe?"
She couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but she knew his friend was sharing upsetting news by the angry frown on his face.
"Hold on a sec." He pulled the phone away from his ear long enough to dismiss the Kaplans. "We aren't through here. I'm watching you."
His face softened as he turned towards her. "I need to take this call, and then I'll be back to eat with you."
"But..."
"No, buts. We'll eat first and then you can get ready."
"Ryder..."
"Khloe." It was his forceful Dom voice. "You don't get to pick and choose when you want me here. You'll eat."
"Yes, sir." She hadn't meant to add the 'sir.' It just sort of slipped out, but the feral look that leapt into his eyes at the sound of it made her glad she'd tacked it on.
The lovers lost themselves in their visual connection until Trevor cleared his throat behind her. "Well then. I'll go let the gang back in. We need to keep moving. It's getting late."
Ryder gave her one last predatory grin before he put the phone back to his ear, walking away as he added, "Talk to me, Axe."
Chapter 23
The sound of gunfire filled the darkened theater. Even seeing the smoking weapon on the mammoth screen didn't calm Ryder's racing heart completely. His brain knew that the loud crack had not been the work of the Volkovs, but instead, the effort of a good sound technician working on the movie, Dirty Business. Standing in the back, out of the way to be sure he wouldn't be connected to the star of the show, he'd allowed himself to get lost in the spectacular drama playing for the full house of movie critics, press agents and other bigwig VIPs.
He'd seen many of Khloe's movies even before he'd met her. But he'd made sure to take in those he'd missed in their time apart, using the films as a small way to feel closer to her, if even for a few minutes. Yet he was angry that today, when he should be paying attention to everything but the film, he'd allowed himself to be drawn into the suspenseful story on the big screen.
Her performance was magnificent. He was no industry expert, but he had a unique way of judging her skills as an actress and that was that despite being madly in love with Khloe Monroe, her performance was so realistic that even he had forgotten for long moments that the gritty heroine who'd just shot her husband's killer wasn't really Stella Wade, widow, but Khloe Monroe, talented actress.
He'd never felt such pride as the entire theater jumped to their feet to give Khloe and the rest of the cast a standing ovation as the credits started scrolling. As the lights came up, he panicked when he lost sight of her. She remained humbly seated, surrounded by the cheering accolades of her peers. When she finally stood, he could see the adorable blush on her face, reminding him of how unpretentious she was compared to other leading ladies who'd be milking the limelight for all it was worth.
A throng of well-wishers started crushing around Khloe to congratulate her on the film's success. A pang of jealousy sliced through his heart as Jaxson and Chase flanked her closely, keeping the crowd from crushing the star of the moment.
That should be me. I should be protecting her right now.
The enormity of their impossible situation was starting to sink in as he watched the woman he loved being hugged and kissed by dozens of people uninhibited by the dangerous baggage he would drag around with him like an iron anchor every day of his life until either he or the Volkov brothers were dead.
When he caught sight of the pimpled coffee boy from the studio trying to press to the front of the throng surrounding Khloe, Ryder used the small two-way radio to alert McLean.
"Peter's moving closer. You have eyes on him?"
Trevor's voice was clear in his left ear, courtesy of the tiny speaker he'd had sent over from Langley.
"Yeah, I've got him. He's holding something that's wrapped up. I'm moving in closer."
"Roger that."
Knowing McLean was there to take close protection of Khloe, Ryder scanned the crowd for other threats, still uncertain who was at the heart of the stalking activities. Axel had uncovered several hot leads, though. Like uncovering that the errand-boy wasn't actually a relative of any movie executives as Khloe had been assured. It was certainly very curious how a kid working part-time for less than minimum wage somehow had the money to travel across the country to attend every opening. Someone was paying for those trips and Axe was working on getting to the bottom of the money trail.
And while that was suspicious, and it was true the young man seemed obsessed with the actress, something felt fishy about it all. His gut told him there was no way the kid had the intelligence or means to pull off the threats against Khloe Monroe, which meant he was a dead end, or worse, a distraction. Until he could ferret out the truth, they'd have to keep a close eye on him.
Ryder scanned the room until he locked gaze with a staring Natalie Kaplan who was leveling him with a glare from the edge of the room where he'd arranged for her and her husband to be seated far from their client. He grinned at her just to piss her off.
By the time he glanced back at Khloe, she was watching him intently, waiting for him to see her. Despite the hundreds of people crowded into the room, within seconds they renewed their tenuous connection. He was struck with an almost uncontrollable urge to go to her... to hold her... to kiss her. Not being able to do any of those things made him physically ache as if he were coming down with a bug.
Khloe finally broke their visual connection to chat with the next wave of well-wishers pressing forward to her location, presumably offering up their congratulations. He watched as Peter got outwardly agitated at being continuously pushed farther away from the actress he was not so patiently trying to talk with. When he rudely elbowed an older woman in a formal gown, pressing to get physically closer to Khloe, Ryder moved into action, skirting around the edge of the room to get closer in case he needed to intervene.
Trevor, who wasn't bogged down with the same anonymity concerns, moved to stand directly behind Khloe, leaning in to talk into the ear of the only man in the room as tall as him, Jaxson, who listened and then nodded.
It took another five minutes for Peter to make it to Khloe. Knowing Ryder would want to hear, Trevor turned on the two-way communication between them so he could listen in from across the room.
"Hello Peter. I'm surprised to see you in Washington." He could hear the edge of anxiety in her voice as she addressed a possible suspect in her stalker case.
"I will follow you everywhere, Khloe. I am your biggest fan." Before she could respond, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and Trevor and Ryder both moved into action simultaneously. Trevor, being much closer, got to him first, stepping between Peter and Khloe and pushing the kid until his back crashed into Ryder's chest.
The two men sandwiched Peter between them as Ryder spoke softly in his ear. "I'd like to speak with you in private, Mr. Martinez. Come with me quietly and don't make a scene."
He clamped down, holding Peter's elbow in a firm grip as he started pulling him away from Khloe and towards one of the side exits to the theater.
Unfortunately, the kid wanted to do things the hard way and started flailing and shouting, "Let go of me. I need to talk to Khloe! I need to give her my gift!"
His shouting was drawing attention and that was the last thing Ryder needed in a room full of photographers and report
ers. He hustled them faster, almost dragging the suspect along behind him as Peter stumbled to keep up. Trevor grabbed his other arm and together, they wrangled him through the side exit and into the back hallway of the theater.
Ryder had done a thorough security sweep before the movie had begun. He recognized their location and knew they weren't far from the security office. They headed in that direction as Peter put up a half-ass attempt to free himself from their grasp, uttering nonsensical sounds as they went.
Only once they had Peter in the security office did Ryder bark at Trevor. "Go back to Khloe. I'll handle this."
McLean looked like he might argue to stay, but then thought better of it. One of the two uniformed guards sitting in front of the wall of security cameras stood and took Trevor's spot helping to subdue the flailing young man and letting Ryder know, "I called my boss. He's on his way."
"That's good. Thanks."
Ryder pushed Peter into the hard-backed wooden chair next to the small table in the back of the room. When the kid tried to stand to leave, Ryder pressed his palm against his chest, forcibly detaining him.
"You aren't going anywhere until we have a little chat."
"I don't want to talk. I need to give my gift to Khloe!" The kid's voice was high-pitched and panicked. He was reaching for his pocket, but Ryder swatted his hand away, not letting him reach a possible hidden weapon.
"Put your hands on the table where I can see them."
The suspect's eyes widened, suddenly taking note of his surroundings and looking frightened. Ryder would turn the fear to his advantage.
He made a show of sitting next to him at the table as if they were going to sit down for a friendly cup of coffee together. He then offered, "I can get your gift to her, but you need to help me first."
"Help you how?" Peter's voice quavered, matching the nervous twitch of his left eye.
Ryder slipped into interrogation mode, although he was normally interviewing hardened criminals, not mentally challenged coffee-runners. He forced himself to take a softer approach with his suspect.
"Chat with me for a bit. Tell me how you got to know Khloe so well." He watched Peter's face carefully as he added, "She talks about you all the time. It's clear she cares about you."
The lopsided grin on Peter's face betrayed how innocent and naive the kid was. "I love Khloe. I want to marry her."
In your dreams, kid.
"You do realize most men around the globe would love to marry her, right?"
That doused the smile. "Yes, but they don't love her like I do. They only know the actress, but she is my friend. She is nice to me."
"I can see that. Is that why you traveled to New York and now D.C. to attend her release parties? How is it you got invited to the studio galas?"
"I'm not supposed to talk about it, but Khloe invited me herself."
Knowing that was false, Ryder pressed him. "She did? When did she do that?"
He looked conflicted, but eventually leaned in to talk softly as if he didn't want anyone else to hear. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but she sent me plane tickets and money. All she wanted was for me to bring her sweets in exchange."
Either the kid was truly delusional or someone had paid for him to fly across the country multiple times which made no sense. Trusting his gut, Ryder asked, "You wouldn't have one of the tickets by chance, would you?" When Peter seemed uncertain, Ryder added, "I sure would love to touch something that Khloe had touched."
His comment placated Peter who reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope full of papers. The block handwriting on the front caught Ryder's attention. It looked suspiciously like the same writing in one of the threatening letters left behind in Khloe's trailer at the studio.
"I like your handwriting." He fished. Peter was confused so Ryder pointed at the front of the envelope.
"That's not my handwriting. That's Khloe's."
Any idiot would know that the unsightly block letters were not the script of the elegant and feminine Khloe Monroe. Still, he used it to his advantage, holding the edges of the envelope in a way to preserve any fingerprints that might be found. So far, the police forensics hadn't discovered any new clues using fingerprints found on the messages, but that only meant that the stalker had never been arrested or didn't have a job where their fingerprints were on file with authorities.
Ryder had been collecting and sending fingerprint samples of all of the people close to Khloe to Axel and the private forensics team he'd hired to work outside of the police limitations. One of Cathy's makeup brushes. A bottle of Randy's hair product. He'd even nabbed an empty soda can from the director on the set, and various other odds and ends for as many of the people who regularly interacted with Khloe as he could.
So far, the tests had turned up nothing of interest, but he was waiting on a call back from Axel with results from the latest evaluation on the samples of Ricky, the Kaplans, and Dean Reynolds that he'd collected at the Marriott and transmitted over images of earlier that day.
Being careful not to touch anything but the edge, Ryder pulled out the packet of papers in the envelope, laying it out carefully on the table.
"Be careful. I don't want you to hurt anything that Khloe gave me," Peter pressed nervously.
Ryder didn't bother looking up, but responded. "Kid, I wouldn't dream of it."
At first, the pile didn't make a lot of sense to Ryder. It was an odd collection of old plane tickets from the past mixed with cards with simple words like 'ECLAIR,' 'FUDGE' and 'CHOCOLATE BROWNIE,' scrolled in the same block writing. Mingled in were candid photos of Khloe in private moments, unaware she'd been photographed.
Ryder's blood boiled that someone had been spying on her. He held up a vaguely familiar photo of a jogging Khloe on the boardwalk at the beach.
"When did you take this photo?" he pressed Peter for answers.
The kid looked confused. "I didn't take it."
"Then who did?" Ryder snapped.
"I don't know. I do know Khloe wanted me to have it. It came with the plane ticket to New York City."
Ryder forced his voice to stay calm. "What else came with that delivery?"
When Peter sat silently, he added a stern, "Show me."
Peter fumbled with the materials in front of him. Ryder hated that any fingerprints other than the kid's might be getting ruined, but since he suspected Peter had handled them dozens of times already, it probably didn't matter.
He pulled out several more photos from the packet. The card with the word ECLAIR on it. A photo of Khloe's Chelsea apartment, the address clearly displayed. A snapshot outside of the Lincoln Square Theater where Peter had shown up.
Ryder held up the photo of her apartment. "Did you go here? Is this how you knew where she lived?"
"What? No. I didn't go to her apartment. I went to the theater." He seemed genuinely flustered.
Ryder looked down at the spread out pile of materials on the table and the glint of metal caught his eye. Infuriated, he reached out and picked up a keyring with two keys on it.
"Is that why you have the keys to Khloe's apartment right here?"
Peter shrunk back, throwing his hands up as if to shield himself from Ryder's forceful interrogation. The kid melted into a pool of nervous tears. "The keys came in the same package, but I didn't know what they were for!"
As he reviewed the materials, Ryder remembered where he'd seen the photo before.
He pounded his fist on the table, making Peter jump. "You expect me to believe that? You just happened to have keys to the very apartment that was broken into while she was away? The very apartment where a copy of this same photo was found hanging on the mirror in her house?"
He shoved the picture into Peter's face, forcing him to look at it. It was one of those in the shrine that had been set up in Khloe's bathroom––the break-in that had scared the woman he loved half to death.
Peter had dissolved into a full-blown panic attack, rocking nervously as he covered his ears with his han
ds as if he could block out Ryder's questions.
That was the minute he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Peter Martinez was not the stalker. He wasn't mentally capable of planning and pulling off the break-ins and threats. The coffee-runner was a patsy at best, setup to deflect any suspicion from the real stalker. A victim. Maybe not in the same way Khloe had been, but a victim nonetheless.
The head of security chose that time to make his entrance, raising his eyebrow as if to question what was going on. Ryder stood and gave him instructions.
"Call the police in..."
At the sound of Ryder's instruction, Peter howled, afraid he was in more trouble. Ryder sat back down to speak to Peter again.
"Hey, that's enough. How would you like to help Khloe?"
Peter's crying reduced, proving he was listening so Ryder continued on.
"You want to help her, don't you?"
"Yes." His reply was pitiful.
"Okay then. We're going to have the police come in and look through the packet of information that you say Khloe sent to you. We need to check for fingerprints and clues because, Peter, Khloe didn't send this. Someone who is trying to hurt her sent it."
"But why would anyone want to hurt Khloe?" He was so fucking naive.
"I don't know the answer to that, but I sure as hell am going to keep digging until I find out. And that's where you can help. There are clues in this that we need to evaluate."
"You won't take any of it away, will you?"
"I don't know. Maybe, but I'll talk to Khloe and make sure she can replace anything that is missing, okay? Can you help?"
"I guess."
Ryder pushed to his feet again, as his phone started ringing in his pocket. It was the call he'd been waiting for from Axel. He was about to answer when Peter called out to him.
"Wait!"
He turned back, unsure until Peter picked up the small package wrapped in wrapping paper as if it were a gift. Ryder tried to make sense of it all.
"Please take this brownie to Khloe. She loves chocolate."
Ryder reached out to take the small package from Peter's outstretched hand. He didn't want to tell the kid that the chances of Khloe Monroe eating the calories in the huge dessert were slim to none, but he didn't dash the kid's hopes.
