by Joanne Rock
The thought pissed him off.
“Warren?” Gently, she pried her coffee mug from his hand. “Are you okay?”
No doubt his black mood had registered in his face.
“Fine. Just worried about you staying out in the cold and—hell. I know this is awkward between us.” He probably owed her more than some half-cocked excuse. “You’re an incredible woman, Tabitha. The hottest female I’ve ever had the privilege of touching, but if I don’t keep my head on straight this week—”
She waited patiently. Quietly.
He dug deep, knowing she deserved a clue to what was going through his head, especially after she shared so much with him the night before.
“This would be a bad time for me to lose focus on this case and I have to confess, you’ve got the power to make me forget everything else.”
Eyes widening, she looked startled and he felt all the more the heel for not having told her that sooner. Somehow he thought she knew.
“Wow.” She smiled. “I think I’d like hearing your confessions more often.”
“Yeah, well…I’m not a man of words, but you can trust the ones I say are absolutely true.”
Nodding, she seemed to accept this, to forgive the things he hadn’t been able to tell her. Like the other reasons he couldn’t get too close.
“I’d rather be with a man who wrestles with what to say than a man who can spout anything and make it sound pretty. Thank you for that.” She toasted him with her mug and took another sip, making him feel like crap for not revealing the rest of the absolute truth.
Hell.
Time to get to work. He gestured toward the door to her room—a different door than the one he would use for an exit.
“Good. Excellent, actually. If we’re all clear on that point, why don’t you head in and I’ll see you tonight? I can make the drive in less than two hours so I should be back by eight.”
At which time he would damn well keep his hands off her—at least until he was ready to offer her the rest of his reasons for holding back. The deepest truth of all was that he was scared as shit of relationships.
“I’ll look forward to it.” Her eyes lit from within and her mouth curved into a sexy smile.
Heat rushed over his skin at just that small reminder of being with her and the subtle hint that she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Didn’t she recognize how far he fell short of treating her the way she deserved to be treated?
“I’ll probably work tonight so we can close this case and get you back home.”
He’d set better boundaries this time. And while it would be damn hard to resist the allure of Tabitha Everhart under normal circumstances, Warren had the benefit of an incredibly screwed-up past to keep him at bay. All he had to do was think about how much serving time as a teenager had changed him and how much a decade of abuse before that had robbed him of the ability to forge meaningful relationships.
“If you want to work, that’s fine with me.” She squared her shoulders and headed toward the door to her room, her breath leaving a trail of puffy steam in her wake. “Just don’t use it as an excuse to avoid me. I haven’t given you any reason to think I expect any more from you than a wild ride, Detective. And after the marriage from hell that I had, believe me, I don’t want any warm and fuzzy heart-to-heart chats after our refrigerator encounters, either. But if you’d like to join me tonight in the kitchen for strictly recreational purposes, then I can’t wait.”
She stalked away from him with a hip-swishing strut guaranteed to turn any man’s head and Warren could almost swear he felt a pang of regret in the region of his heart. Hard to believe after how much crap he’d waded through over the last fifteen years without involving much emotion.
And wouldn’t it be a hell of a note if he’d been so fired up to protect her from him when maybe it was him who was in danger of getting trounced by her?
He didn’t really believe it, but damned if the thought didn’t call up a rueful smile. He couldn’t meet Tabitha for any more midnight sex sessions, but after nightfall he knew that’s exactly what he’d be fantasizing about.
Until then, he had a killer to catch so that Tabitha didn’t have to think about stalkers and murderers anymore. She’d be able to focus on how to keep herself safe from another kind of predator.
Him.
CHAPTER 12
TABITHA RODE THE HIGH of her chutzpah for almost six hours.
She’d been direct and honest with Warren, speaking her mind in a way that felt freeing and healthy. The knowledge that she’d been bold propelled her through the morning while she researched some ideas she’d had for a documentary about the high cost of divorce on society—emotionally and financially. But she’d hit the wall a few hours ago when the realization set in that she was alone and isolated in the mountains and there wasn’t anyone she could call to confide in even if Warren hadn’t told her to stay off her phone.
Tabitha flipped through the address book she kept in her purse at about seven o’clock while she polished off a prepackaged salad Warren had bought at the local deli counter the day before. She turned the last pages quickly, knowing damn well she wouldn’t find anyone in the W-Z section but glancing through anyway. There was no one to call to commiserate with about being imprisoned in this beautiful house since her old friends were all in the business and she didn’t want them to think she was trying to draw them into the drama of her divorce.
Although, damn it, that had been a whole year ago.
Shoving aside the plastic container her meal came in, she readjusted her feet against Buster’s back where he lay curled up by her chair. What was she gaining by being so considerate of everyone else’s feelings when hers had been raked over the coals? Maybe her so-called friends were waiting for her to make the first move since she’d effectively fallen off the face of the earth after realizing she couldn’t get a legitimate acting job ten months ago.
Determined to confront some of those old contacts to see where she stood within the small acting community, she picked up Warren’s phone to make a few calls. Then set it back down.
If one of Manny’s friends or associates—or even Manny himself—was the person stalking her, she shouldn’t contact anyone from her old life. Even if she did forego the cell phone to use the safer land-based connection that wasn’t listed in her name.
The doorbell rang while she debated making a list of friends to phone next week. Buster barked, immediately alert, although it seemed strange the animal hadn’t warned her of the newcomer’s approach.
Panic surged through her veins and she froze, waiting to discover what the evening visitor would do. Had they seen her through the curtains even though the blinds were pulled? Certainly the house looked occupied with so many lights on inside. Did Warren have friends nearby who would stop in?
She didn’t see any vehicle headlights through the window. Buster’s barking increased in volume, the hair around his ruff standing straight up as he sneered a dog warning through the door. Tabitha didn’t hear any footsteps walk away or any sounds of the visitor retreating, but after five minutes, Buster had settled down enough to sit by Tabitha’s chair again so she assumed anyone who’d been out there was long gone.
Probably the visitor was just a neighbor and she was getting spooked for nothing. Still, Tabitha moved to a window overlooking the front step to make sure all was quiet. It seemed funny to have someone ring the bell this far out in the countryside when she’d never heard a car approach.
The porch lit half the front yard while a lamppost near the driveway illuminated most of the rest. Whoever had rung the bell obviously hadn’t minded being seen. And—even more soothing to her worried mind—a plain brown package now rested on the front mat where none had been before.
Relieved the visitor had just been a late delivery, Tabitha opened the door to pull the box inside. Only when she picked up the feather-light package did she realize the brown wrap lacked a label. If the box had been heavier she could have convinced herself
a thoughtful neighbor had dropped off cookies or a pie to the local bachelor. Instead, Tabitha reached for the landline to call a phone number Warren had given her that very first night they met.
She didn’t miss the irony that the one man who was wary of getting close to her was the only person she could call right now.
* * *
“YOU DIDN’T OPEN IT YET, did you?” Warren charged into the house, grateful to finally get home after Tabitha’s call to the precinct. He’d debated taking an undercover car with a light to put in the window, but settled for speeding in his own vehicle the whole way instead.
“No. You said I shouldn’t.” She still sat in a living room chair, feet tucked under her while reading a book as if the son of a bitch following her all over the state was no big deal.
Memories of his mother’s unnatural calm after his father’s death floated through his consciousness. She’d been quietly seething underneath, something Warren hadn’t seen until later.
But no. That wasn’t the case with Tabitha. He could gauge her emotions better as he reached the foot of her chair and saw the way she dog-eared a corner of her page back and forth, back and forth. He’d bet she had been reading the same page of that book for the last hour.
“I shouldn’t have left.” He’d let his libido cloud his judgment and screwed up by going to work today and God only knew what key information he might have caught if he’d been here today instead of in the city.
“Did you find out anything?”
“A couple of Manny’s associates could fit the stalker profile.” The news that her ex’s name kept turning up in association with both the murder and the underage porn films could keep until he inspected the package.
“But nothing definite?”
“Not yet.” He pulled on a pair of gloves to protect the evidence. “Let’s take this out in the kitchen first and see if we’re freaking out over nothing or if our guy has something new to say.”
She nodded, tossing her book into the chair as she stood. Buster stood, too, as if wise to the fact that Tabitha was his charge for the week. The mixed breed was a damn good dog, proof that a creature could be abused within an inch of its life and still turn out honorable. Strong.
Jesus, how could he identify with a dog more than anyone from his own species?
“I don’t understand how anybody could have found me.” Tabitha’s voice sounded far away even though she walked right next to him as he dumped the lightweight box onto the kitchen island beneath an overhead light.
“Maybe he hasn’t found you.” He still held out some small hope that the unmarked package was someone delivering a personal item to the wrong address or some other kind of mix-up. “But if he has found you, I have an idea how he did it.”
“Assuming it’s a he.”
“Stalking is a predominantly male crime. Women might follow a former lover to do property damage or to have a confrontation, but by and large, the huntlike quality of the crime is something that appeals to men.”
“Huntlike?” Her skin appeared unnaturally pale under the harsh task lighting.
“Sorry for the vivid picture, but that’s the bottom line here. Somebody wants to scare the hell out of you first, but once that’s done, I think our guy wants you out of the way.” De Milo’s death suggested their suspect didn’t play around.
The thought churned protectiveness in him every bit as fierce as her stalker’s hunting mentality. Warren’s ability to visit the dark side had given him an edge as a cop and he’d gladly go there again to keep Tabitha safe. His awareness of her was keen even now as she waited, body tense, beside him.
Knife slashing through the tape on the brown paper wrapping, Warren exposed a crisp new postal box. He worked carefully to open it, knowing forensics would inspect every inch of the package to find any hint of their perp.
“I don’t understand why. I’ve taken pains not to make enemies this year. I’ve busted my ass to be no trouble, not calling friends, not auditioning for parts that I won’t get—”
She stopped abruptly, prompting him to turn and look at her before he opened the box. She bit her lip so hard he knew she fought to hold back something more. Emotions? Or did she hide secrets she wasn’t willing to share?
He regretted that he wasn’t the kind of man she felt she could take into confidence.
“It’s not fair.” He couldn’t touch her without the possibility of contaminating evidence now that he had his gloves on.
“No one said life would be, but I guess you hope—” She waved away the thought, focusing on the box. “So what’s inside?”
He slipped the tab out of the slot and opened the package to find an envelope. Not good stationery, just a run-of-the-mill legal-size envelope with the kind of seal that looked like it came pre-glued. No DNA evidence for this guy, although Warren would have it tested anyhow.
His hope that this package could have reached Tabitha by mistake diminished as he noted the careful attention to making the box as inconspicuous as possible. He used his knife to slice open the envelope, holding the piece over the bag that he’d send to forensics just in case a hair fell out or who knew what.
“Looks like a letter.” He unfolded the paper—generic copier style—and read the short, typed missive.
The more you talk to your boyfriend, the faster I’ll come for you. Sleep well, Ms. Everhart.
Yours, Red.
She sank into a seat at the island, a high bar stool that caught her before she dropped too far.
“What the hell does that mean?” Her hoarse whisper seemed to speak his thoughts aloud, her soft perfume reminding him of her vulnerability. “And how did the bastard find me?”
“I’ve got an idea about that.” He stashed the evidence in airtight containers but left his gloves on for another kind of search. “I talked it over with some of the detectives at the precinct and the best we came up with was a tracking device.”
“As in an electronic thing?”
“Exactly. The technology is readily accessible with the popularity of cars that have Global Positioning Satellite capabilities. Some cell phones come equipped with the same tracking technology so parents can tell where their kids are calling from or spouses can check on each other’s whereabouts.”
“You’re saying someone rigged my phone?” Her breath came in short gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly in a way that shouldn’t draw his eye but did anyway.
“Not necessarily. There’s a better chance our guy dropped a device in your suitcase when he broke into your apartment to post the newspaper clippings. If he’s been watching you a lot, he might have known which bag you were apt to take if you opted to leave town.” He didn’t spell out that if the guy stalking her was her ex, he probably knew damn well which items she’d bring with her if she tried taking a trip.
Nodding, she rose to her feet.
“What should we search for?”
“No offense, but I’d rather you let me do the searching. I can bring fresh eyes to your belongings while you might overlook items that are more familiar to you.”
Her mouth twisted into a small frown before she agreed.
“Okay.”
Setting aside the package, he started toward the stairs to her room.
“Warren?”
He hadn’t realized she wasn’t coming with him. Pivoting on his heel, he watched her twist a strand of hair around one finger for a moment before releasing it. She straightened.
“You don’t think he could be listening somehow, do you?” Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. “How do you think he would know if I talked to you?”
The stalker had suggested the more Tabitha confided in him, the sooner he’d hurt her. And wouldn’t that do a hell of a lot to help his already stilted relationship with her? Bad enough he felt as if he shouldn’t pour out his guts to her, but now the guy on her tail was trying to make her think that she shouldn’t talk to Warren, either.
“I’ll keep an eye out for listening devices, but I don�
��t think our perp can hear your conversations or else he would have referenced something specific to wig you out even more. He obviously gets off on letting you know how freaking clever he thinks he is.”
He could tell she didn’t totally buy it. The follower had her scared and Warren couldn’t blame her. Warren needed to distract her or reassure her somehow and he wasn’t quite sure how to do either. Unless…
Shit. Unless he gave in and started the conversations he didn’t want to have. But what right did he have to be selfish when her life might be on the line? It wouldn’t help her cause if she sat around and worried herself into a dark place about this guy. He needed her alert and informed, ready to react if the watcher showed up again. And if that meant sidelining her worries with a few stories from his past, he’d do it because damn it, he owed her that much. Especially after the way he’d checked out on her this morning.
This creep was bound to start making mistakes with all the activity in the past two days and Warren would be right there—in the house with her every second—to make sure he caught the bastard when it happened.
* * *
THE SENSE OF BEING ALONE had eased tremendously when Warren walked through the door two hours ago, but Tabitha was uncomfortably aware of the heated exchanges that had gone on between them earlier that day. They’d reached a standoff of sorts when she suggested she’d be ready for another sex-with-no-strings encounter in the kitchen tonight and now they were forced to deal with one another on a more business-oriented level.
If you could call her getting stalked business. It was for him maybe, but it wasn’t the type of pastime she cared for.
She watched him now as he sifted through her possessions. He’d strewn everything out on the bed from her suitcase and went through each item one by one. The empty suitcase was next. He’d saved the purse for last since it had been with her all the time, unlike her suitcase, which had been in her apartment when the sicko who was following her broke in.
“Actually,” she spoke up from her spot on a white pine bench at the foot of the bed, “my purse would have been out of my sight while I was on camera the other day.”
