The Hunter (Orion the Hunter)

by J. D. Chase

  “Yeah, Einstein. I will ask on my way out to lunch.” I said. “Now I really must get some work done.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Angel almost screamed down the phone. “You can call down right now and then you can just call me straight back! Or I will come down there and find out myself.”

  “Argh!” I groaned, good naturedly. “I can see that I am not going to be able to work in peace until I do. I will call you back in ten.”

  “Five!” she argued and I rolled my eyes as I agreed.

  I quickly realized that I didn’t yet know the extension number of the guard’s station so I reluctantly left my office to take the elevator back down to the ground floor. When the car arrived, I was relieved to find the car was empty. I shook my head as I recalled walking up all of those stairs about an hour before - just to avoid the elevator.

  Within seconds, the doors opened out into the main entrance lobby. I was pleased to see that it was almost deserted; I didn’t particularly want this conversation to be overhead. I was a grown woman of 25, not a teenager, for goodness sake. Cursing Angel under my breath, I made my way over to the guard’s station.

  “Um, hi,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. “I have had some flowers delivered to my office. Did you happen to notice the name of the florist that delivered them?”

  “Hello, Miss Prince,” he said as he furrowed his brow. “I don’t know anything about a floral delivery.”

  Oh well, it was a long shot anyway. Why should he notice the name of the florist? He had far more important things to do, I was sure.

  “When was this?” he asked, looking down at his desk. “I can’t see a record of any deliveries for you or visitors for that matter”.

  “Um, yesterday afternoon or early this morning,” I replied, surprised to realize that all deliveries and visitors to the building were logged in a large leather bound book, which the guard was studying intently.

  “Then they aren’t from someone outside the building. Nothing and nobody comes in here without being recorded.” he said with conviction, and I thought I caught a slightly amused expression on his face before his professional mask returned.

  I thanked him for his assistance and then bolted back to my office. My cheeks were as pink as the flowers. Predictably, the phone was ringing. I picked up the handset and before I could even speak, Angel’s voice squeaked into my ear, “Well?”

  “It is a total mystery. Apparently, all visitors and deliveries to the building are logged without fail and there is nothing in the log at all.” I told her. “And thanks to your genius idea, I am sure the guard now thinks that I am sending myself flowers!”

  Angel giggled, “Of course he doesn’t. Why would you think that?”

  “Because he said, and I quote ‘They aren’t from someone outside the building’,” I hissed at her.

  “Oh come on, that doesn’t mean that he thinks that you sent them to yourself,” she said, and I knew that she was rolling her eyes.

  “You didn’t see the amusement on his face when he said it! I could have died!” I grumbled.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Angel said suddenly.

  “Yes, it means that you aren’t the best friend in the world and you’re not a genius? No shit, Sherlock.” I said sarcastically but she didn’t appear to hear me.

  “It means that they were sent from someone inside the building!” she exclaimed in delight. “Now who have you been chatting up while you are on your man ban?”

  I pushed the dark thought from my mind before it could settle and replied, indignantly, “Nobody. I have only met a few people so far. In fact, apart from my meeting yesterday, the only person I speak to is the guard.”

  Angel’s squeal forced me to hold the handset away from my ear before my eardrum burst. “No wonder the guard was amused when you asked him! I bet they are from him. Either that or you really do have a secret admirer. Bring the bouquet home tonight - I can‘t wait to see it.”

  I pushed the image of midnight blue eyes from my mind before it could fully form. “I think it is more likely that they were delivered to the wrong office,” I said finally. “Now, if you will excuse me, some of us need to earn a living.”

  I busied myself with inspecting samples that I had ordered before beginning to draw up designs for my office. In the rush to take up the lease before someone else took it, I hadn’t had time to make any changes to my office. I knew that my office needed to showcase my design skills so I engrossed myself in that. I was surprised to hear my stomach rumble and even more surprised when I realized that I had worked straight through lunch. It was too late for lunch now, I decided. I may as well go home and start dinner. I was idly wondering what to cook when I lifted up the bouquet to take it home. Anything to shut up Angel. My eyes widened when I noticed a small envelope that had been lying underneath the bouquet. My heart lurched and I almost dropped the flowers when I read the neat, bold handwriting. It was addressed to Isobella.

  Nobody called me that, not since … I never used my full given name, it was always Issy. The only references to that name were on my birth certificate, driver’s license and passport.

  I put down the bouquet and took a deep breath. As I slowly expelled the air from my lungs, I reached forward and picked up the envelope. With shaking hands, I opened it and withdrew the card. It read … Congratulations Isobella. P.S. I enjoyed watching your secret celebration.

  “What the …” I said aloud. My mind raced until it settled upon the embarrassing memory of my dream last night. “Secret celebration …oh, god. This is Travis’ idea of a joke.”

  Thrusting the card into my bag and grabbing the flowers, I turned to leave. I had my hand on the door handle when it occurred to me to wonder how Travis would have managed to get into the building unseen. And how would he unlock my door? The flowers were also undoubtedly expensive - that didn’t sound like Travis at all. Did he know my real name? I doubted that he did.

  Sighing that the mystery was still unsolved after all, I stepped out into the corridor. I was just about to put my key in the lock when I recalled a voice so deep and sexy that it was almost a growl. “It’s the master key,” it said. I froze as the visual memory popped into my head. He unlocked my door with the master key. He has access to my office! If he has a master key, he must work in the building.

  I forced my fingers to function and locked the door then I raced down the corridor, past the elevator and dashed down the stairwell, ignoring the continued protests of my feet. No way could I face getting in the elevator.

  I had intended to dash straight home but as I neared the revolving door, the guard stepped out from behind his desk and stood directly in my path.

  “Wow, they are beautiful. My wife would love them. Did you find out where they were from?” he asked innocently.

  “No such luck,” I forced myself to speak. I was just about to sidestep past him when an idea formed in my mind. “What is your name?” I asked him sweetly.

  “Clark. William Clark,” he said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr Clark,” I grinned. “I hate being new. There are so many people in this building and I am terrible at remembering names.”

  “Oh, tell me about it,” he replied. “That’s one of the reasons why I would hate to move on from here.”

  “There’s someone whose name I can’t remember and I have seen him a couple of times this week and it is embarrassing. I must learn his name.” I said, carefully.

  “Do you know which company he works for or which floor he is on? Can you describe him? I can try to help you put a name to the face if you like,” Clark said, as I’d hoped he would.

  “No, I don’t know which company or which floor but I saw him near to my office on the 4 floor and again in the elevator when I came down from the 15 floor to mine,” I said eagerly. “He has very dark brown hair that is almost black. His eyes are deep blue …” I paused, searching for more descriptive words that I could utter aloud, as Clarke shook his
head, looking blank. “Oh and he was dressed all in black both times and his voice was very, very deep.”

  Clark’s eyes fixed on mine and his mouth opened then closed again. He shook his head slightly, obviously changing his mind about what he’d been about to say.

  “What were you going to say?” I asked him sweetly. “Do you know who he is?”

  “No, sorry. The description matches someone but it wouldn’t have been him on your floor or in the elevator,” he said.

  “Oh, who were you thinking of? Elvis Presley?” I joked.

  He laughed. “No, now that would be impossible!”

  “So come on, who couldn’t it be?” I asked as I became aware that I was batting my eyelashes.

  “Your description sounds like Lucas Hunter but it can’t have been him,” he replied with conviction.

  “Who is Lucas Hunter and why can’t it have been him?” I asked. I tried not to sound as exasperated as I felt.

  “He owns this building. It can’t have been him because, as far as I know, he stays in his own part of the building. He wouldn‘t be on the 4 floor or in the elevator,” said Clark quietly, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  I found myself whispering back, “Why wouldn’t he? Is he based on this floor then?”

  “No, right at the top. He never uses the main elevator. And I mean, never,” he said and then, noticing my confusion, he dropped his voice even further. “He has a private elevator that is for his use only.”

  “He sounds … odd,” I murmured. Then a thought struck me. “Does he have a master key for the building?”

  “Yes, he does,” replied Clark knowledgeably, his eyes immediately narrowing. “Why, do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” I said with forced brightness. “Anyway, I must go - it is my turn to cook. See you in the morning Mr Clark.”

  “Just call me Clark. Bye, Miss Prince” he called as I shot entered the revolving door.

  As I exited, I turned and saw him shaking his head as he walked back to his desk.

  I walked back to the apartment with so many thoughts and emotions crashing around my head. I felt exhausted when I reached it but I made sure to make time for a quick chat with James because I felt bad for snapping at him that morning.

  I was so glad to be back inside the apartment. I closed the door, leaned against it and closed my eyes, breathing in the scrumptious scent of the bouquet. When I eventually opened by eyes, I found Angel smirking at me from the breakfast bar.

  “So, do I take it that you found out who your secret admirer is, then?” she asked smugly.

  “Yes … no … I don’t have a secret admirer,” I said in exasperation.

  “Oh, so he isn’t secret any more?” she asked, determined, it seemed, to get to the bottom of things.

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly,” I whispered. I placed the bouquet on the breakfast bar and placed my hands on the surface, bracing my arms.

  “I think you had better tell me all about it,” Angel coaxed. “But let’s open a bottle of wine first.”

  “I would prefer something stronger,” I said, hopefully.

  Ten minutes later we were sat on the sofa sipping cocktails. I glanced at her and she cocked her head to one side. I knew that she was waiting expectantly for an explanation but I really didn’t know where to start. I knew that she was going to freak out when if she learned that I had kept something from her. I also knew that she wasn’t going to give up until she knew all that there was to know.

  I wished that the alcohol would hurry up and hit my bloodstream. I should have insisted on tequila shots, I thought wryly. Angel’s eyes widened in surprise as I knocked back the whole cocktail and then shuddered, thinking that, on balance, Angel’s cocktails were probably just as lethal as tequila.

  I placed my glass carefully on the coffee table and sat back against the sofa cushion.

  “Oh my god,” Angel announced when I had recounted my first strange encounter. Her blue eyes were huge.

  “Holy crap!” she said when I told her about the elevator encounter. “That’s why you looked like you had seen a ghost - you virtually had. I knew that it wasn‘t just because of your nerves. Why didn‘t you tell me?”

  I shrugged and avoided her gaze but I should have known that she would persist. I eventually confessed that I wasn’t sure that he was real. That I might have imagined him. Angel said nothing but she nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge my reluctance to share that information.

  I reached into my purse and then passed her the card that I had found underneath the bouquet. I heard her gasp as she read the salutation on the envelope. Her eyes flicked to mine and I shrugged. She quickly pulled out the card and read the message, and I watched her face cloud over in confusion. “What the hell …” she said eventually. The tension lifted slightly when I mentioned my suspicions that Travis must have sent the flowers. Angel chuckled as she passed me another cocktail.

  “So you know that whoever sent them works in the building, but you don’t know for sure whether it is the mystery man, right?” Angel asked, twirling her blonde hair around her finger, as she often did when she was deep in thought. “Although, it would fit, wouldn’t it? If he was in the elevator as you think he was, he would have seen your celebration after your meeting with Norman & Wilde - one that you thought you had performed in secret.”

  I nodded as the pieces continued to fall into place. It had to be him! I sipped the cocktail, feeling the liquid warm my throat. I felt myself relaxing, probably due to the effects of the first cocktail. Just then, Angel’s phone rang and she switched it off without looking was calling.

  “Angel, that could be important!” I said, but she just ignored me. Her head was on one side and she was still twirling her hair.

  “We need to find out who this phantom is,” she said eventually.

  “Well, actually … I think I might have discovered his identity,” I admitted, waiting for her predictable reaction.

  “What?” she shrieked. “Who? How?” She bounced up and down on the sofa as she spoke before grasping my shoulders and looking me straight in the eye, as if willing me to speak.

  As I told her about my conversation with Clark, her baby blue eyes grew wider and wider and her grasp on my shoulders grew tighter.

  “Ouch,” I said, rubbing my shoulders, when I had finished. Angel released her grasp but her eyes remained locked on to mine. I waited patiently for her to absorb all that I had told her.

  “Lucas Hunter?” she said quietly, after a few moments, almost to herself. “If he owns that building, then he must be loaded, yet I have never heard of him.”

  “Why would you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t know all the rich men who live in New York!”

  She raised an eyebrow at me before her questioning continued. “How old would you say he is?”

  I thought for a second and closed my eyes. “I don’t know. At first, I thought he was much older than me. But when his angry expression softened, I realized that he couldn’t be more than a few years older than me.”

  Angel’s inquisition continued. “So, around thirty? Without waiting for my reply she snatched up her phone and began to dial.

  “Who are you calling? You can’t tell anyone about this, not even Chad. No, especially not Chad.” I cried, hearing my voice going up at by least an octave.

  “”Don’t be stupid,” she shot back. “Of course, I’m not calling Chad. As if he would have any idea who Lucas Hunter is.”

  “Then who -” I stopped, suddenly realizing who Angel would call to find out more about anyone of significant social standing or financial means. This was confirmed a moment later.

  “Hi, Mom,” she purred. “Oh, I’m good, really good. You?”

  They chatted for a short while before Angel got to the point. “Mom, do you happen to know anything about a Lucas Hunter? All I know is that he owns the Orion Building where Issy’s office is.”

  I finished my cocktail, whilst trying to eavesdrop on Ang
el‘s call, suddenly realizing that I did want to know more about this gorgeous, sexy, unnerving and, let’s face it, downright weird sounding man.

  After what seemed to be an eternity, Angel tried to end the call, promising her mother that she would visit soon and that she would be sure to call if she needed anything at all. I had to resist the urge to grab the phone and end the connection myself. I waved my arms around to get Angel’s attention and made the universally understood gesture of dragging my finger across my throat. She rolled here eyes and shrugged.

  “Well?” I demanded, more harshly than I intended, when she finally got her mother off the line.

  Angel raised her eyebrows and folded her arms at my tone. Then she flopped down on the sofa and pulled me down next to her. “Sorry, honey, she doesn’t know anything about him. She thinks that she has heard the name but she can’t recall where or why. She even asked my dad, who couldn’t add anything.”