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Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
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This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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To the reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns you about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from even as
you are drawn to them like a moth to a flame.
Each and every character I create has demanded that their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which the reader may not always agree with. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find; however, is dark passion. Often, my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional, but nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Prologue
“It’s just the flu—has to be.” I blush with embarrassment when I hear the tap on the door. Hopefully she didn’t hear me talking to myself.
I wring my hands in an attempt to soothe my nerves. I look up eyeing the door as it opens like it’s in slow motion. I’m relieved to see the OB/GYN doctor making her way into the exam room with my folder in her hand. She sits down on the stool and rolls her way over towards me. It’s evident she’s accustomed to using the chair as a means of getting around the exam room. I’m adept at reading people—it’s what I do and I can tell by the look on her face she’s going to tell me something very serious.
My mind immediately does the thing that we do when we know we’re getting serious news from our physician—in my mind I’ve gone from a bump, to a lump, to a stump, in a matter of seconds. Is it breast cancer, ovarian cancer? I’m not ready for this, please don’t let it be bad news. I brace myself for what I know is coming. Let’s re-word that… I brace myself for what I think is coming. My eyes dart in the mirror’s direction to see how I’m taking this cliffhanger the doc’s putting me through.
“You’re pregnant.” Oh shit! I wasn’t expecting that.
“I can’t be pregnant. I’m on birth control. Could it be a mistake?”
“We tested three times. This isn’t a case of a false positive.” She continues speaking as if she knows the questions rambling around in my head.
“One percent of women get pregnant on the pill. This could be a case of something as simple as not taking your pill at the same time each day. Have you been on antibiotics lately?”
“I had a sinus infection about a month ago and my primary care physician put me on them.”
“That’s probably your culprit. The pills are so low dose nowadays that antibiotics can affect their ability to stop pregnancy.”
I shake my head in disbelief. Why didn’t my doctor tell me that when he put me on them? Best to not throw the guy under the bus, I think to myself.
The doctor must be taking the action of me shaking my head the wrong way, judging by her next comment.
“If this is an unwanted pregnancy, I can refer you to a clinic that deals with issues like these.”
Unplanned… yes. Unwanted? No. I already know I won’t get an abortion. I immediately begin to think of ways I can raise this baby. Fixing things is just in my nature—it always has been.
I stand and straighten my jacket, grab my purse and answer my doctor, “I’ll deal with this just like I do everything else in my life. I’ll fix it.”
For the first time, the doctor looks at me, and the look on her face is unmistakable, it’s one of disbelief. It’s too late for her to say anything else because I’m already out the door before I can change my mind. Like I said: I’ll do what I always do—I’ll fix it.
Chapter One
Amaya
“I need for you to tell me everything you remember about that day. Any details—even if you don’t think it’s important. I watch my shell of a friend go back in time to the day her child was abducted. I quit believing the police were going to be of any assistance a month ago when the child was taken. They’re too busy blaming Shelda. It’s like they got it in their heads from day one that she had something to do with it, and they’re not looking any further. In a cop’s mind, it’s always the husband, wife, or mother, depending on the crime of course. In my line of work, I learned not to take anything at face value. Fuck looking for horses when you hear the sound of hoof beats—I look for any kind of animal there is. People keep secrets and I’m paid to make sure high profile people’s skeletons don’t come rattling out of the closet—I learned how to hide mine a long time ago. So, why not make a profession of it? It’s like these people love the adrenalin rush of doing things that can ruin them. I know in my heart of hearts my best friend didn’t do anything to her daughter. I listen as my friend goes back in time like she’s there again—a moment stolen to be with her daughter.
“Angelina,” I tried to console her as I looked in the rearview mirror eyeing my three year old daughter who was in the middle of a meltdown over having to leave the birthday party. It didn’t matter to my three year that the party was over; it did however matter that she wasn’t ready to leave”—she takes a moment to look at me—“you know how hard headed she can be.”
I stifle a chuckle as I think of her dishwater blonde curls and imagine them beginning to mat up onto her tear stained face. She was the light of Shelda’s life from the moment she’d known she exis
ted. She was perfect in every sense of the word, and there was nothing the both of us wouldn’t do for her. There’s nothing I won’t do for her now, and that includes making whoever stole her pay. My friend’s voice pulls my attention away from my vengeful thoughts.
“I sat waiting for the light to change when all of a sudden a woman’s frantic voice startled me. She was yelling and waving her arms. I didn’t even think about not helping her—she seemed so desperate when she yelled out to me.”
“‘Oh God, you’ve got to help me, my baby isn’t breathing.’ I slammed the car into park and followed her running back to the van parked behind me. The last thing I remember is a blow to the back of my head that rendered me unconscious.”
I see the guilt in her eyes as she asks me the next question. “How could I have been so stupid?” It’s a question she’s asked a million times, and I don’t have the answer. With kids it’s always the same: the guilt runs deep and the pain is relentless and unforgiving—I should know.
The accusation in her voice spurs my drive to find whoever did this. I’ve never told her, but whoever did this was organized. They knew the ruse of a baby in a desperate situation would make any mother be willing to help. They also had sense enough to know that using a woman would be less of a threat. It tells me there’s more than one culprit. It also tells me it was premeditated. The question is why? I can’t shake the thought that her past is coming back to bite her in the ass. Those skeletons we try so hard to keep shut up in the closets of our minds have a way of rattling when we least expect it. If I’m dealing with my best friend’s past, I’m dealing with some very ominous people.
Cases are always harder when a kid’s involved. Revenge kidnappings… well, that’s just a whole ‘nother beast. I’m going to need help on this one. I’ve spent years trying to avoid the only man who has ever been successful in getting under my skin…Trace Channing. He’s the best in the business, and whether I like it or not, he’s my best chance of getting this kid home alive. I can already hear the skeletons rattle in the distance.
Chapter Two
Trace
“Get against the car motherfucker!” I twist the guy’s arm behind his back, right to the point of breaking it. “You made me run, and I don’t like running.” I purposely bang his head against the hood of the car when I put him in the backseat of my vehicle. “Woops. Watch your head.”
“This is police brutality, man,” the guy cries out, hoping someone will hear and tape it on their cell phone.
“Quit selling drugs on the school yard, dumbass.” Somebody in the crowd screams out.
“You won’t get any sympathy from these people. They’re the ones who called it in. I don’t like people who victimize kids.”
“Damn man, man’s gotta make a livin’.”
“Then get a job like the rest of us.”
I jump in the car and put it in drive. The precinct is only a couple of blocks away and my partner has been blowing my phone up. I jerk the guy out of the car and lead him into my office when we arrive, and my partner immediately addresses me.
“You gotta visitor.” I look in the direction of where he’s nodding his head.
I eye my partner skeptically. “I didn’t like her four years ago when she blew my case all to hell with that PR propaganda bullshit she put out on my bust, and I don’t like her now. What makes you think I want anything to do with this case?”
Caine looks up at me with the side glance he always gives me when he feels like I’m jumping to the wrong conclusion.
“There’s a kid involved.”
“Oh, that’s a low blow, dude. Since when did the fixer start caring about things that really matter? Anytime I’ve seen her at work it was on something that’s political—you know, like getting people who are high profile out of trouble when their vices catch up with them.”
“I guess the fact the kid who was abducted is her best friend’s kid might have something to do with it.”
“So that’s how she rolls.”
“What do ya mean?”
“I mean she had no problem making me look like a dumb ass but she’s all moral when it comes to working for somebody she knows.”
“Like I said: there’s a kid involved.”
“Yeah. You damn sure know how to hit below the belt.”
“Just talk to her, Trace—it can’t hurt.”
“I’d like to do more than talk to her. Are you gonna do the paperwork on this jerk?”
“Always one for an angry fuck aren’t you? Yeah, I’ll do the paperwork on him. Now, go talk to her.”
My only reply is to his angry fuck statement, “A guy has to have some way to get rid of the stress.” I notice the guy I arrested listening intently to our conversation.
“Damn, dude you is a player aint ya? Now I got mad respect for ya.”
I look at the White kid with multicolored hair and just shake my head. I know he did his hair like that to get kids pulled into his little drug scam he has going on, and it disgusts me. He’s a predator as far as I’m concerned. “Like I care about having respect from the likes of you.”
“Told ya, I gotta make a livin’ too.”
“And I told you, get a damn job.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. How ‘bout you let me go so I can look for some apps to fill out.”
I groan as I make my way into the room to talk to her. “For the kid, this is only for the kid,” I mumble to myself. Why is it I have to be attracted to a woman I can’t stand?
Since I don’t plan on being here long, I set the coffee down and pull up a chair turning it around backwards and resting my arms on it. She’s still turned around looking out the window. When she turns and looks in my direction, I feel like I’ve been gut punched with a heavy dose of primal lust. I can’t for the life of me figure out how I forgot she was this good looking. Maybe it’s because the last time I saw her she was doing a press conference. Damn… I gotta say, the woman’s a hell of a lot hotter in real time than she is on TV.
I attempt to muster up the anger I was feeling towards her just moments ago, but my cock is having none of it. Damn her.
Chapter Three
Amaya
One look in his direction is all it takes to confirm this guy’s still an arrogant ass. The words that come out of his mouth only confirm what I already know.
“You owe me an apology Miss. Tristen.” He leans in and raises a brow like he’s willing to go into more detail if I need any reminders. “Yeah. After that little romp in the hay you and I shared you never called me again. I can only assume it was because you decided to make me look like an incompetent ass on television—I mean really, by the time you were finished with me, I looked like a real insensitive jerk. I’d be willing to bet you knew you were setting me up when you were fucking me. Do you always sleep with the people you victimize?”
“You bastard! That’s a low blow. Well, at least I got one part of it right.” I can feel myself getting angrier by the minute. My voice is coming out as a hiss between clenched teeth.
“And what would that be?”
“The ass part,” I answer with no hesitation. “You’re still as arrogant as you ever were.”
“And yet… you found your way here to ask for my help.”
“Well… you are sensitive when it comes to kids.” I can tell he isn’t finished with me yet. I already know the sheepish grin on his face is all for show.
“You know what I think? I think you’re all pissed off about the fact we slept together. Your way of trying to get past it was pissing me off—it worked.” I watch in horror as he grabs his coffee and starts to get up.
“I’m sorry—you’re right—kind of.” The smug look of satisfaction doesn’t make me mad, it gives me hope. This guy is the best in the business, and whether I like it or not, I need him.
“Look. I didn’t like the way you handled that last case. You almost made it look like it was that woman’s fault she got away, and her husband was killed.”
“No. I
nailed it when I said the gold digger was after the insurance money. You’re the one who let her feed you a line of bullshit—you’re also the one who looked like a dumbass when I proved you wrong. The next time you go after someone you might want to make sure you’ve got a leg to stand on. The woman had her husband killed to get his money. She set it up to look like a home invasion gone wrong. I knew that she was in on it when her gunshot wound was no more than a flesh wound and his was fatal .”
Now he’s pissing me off. “You’ve made your point! Now get over it, and let’s find this kid that’s missing.”
“Finding the kid, I’m okay with that. But getting over it, that might take some work. Of course another little triste like the last one might just heal my broken ego.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am—I most certainly am. Now do you want to be a good girl and tell me what’s really going on here?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” I tilt my chin up as if it will solidify the lie I’m telling.
“See… that right there is your tell.”
“What?!?”
“You always get defensive when you’re holding back information, or in this case... lying.”
“Look. I haven’t told anyone.” The impassive look on his face clearly reveals he has no intention of cutting me any slack. “Okay already!”
“Like I said: it’s your tell.”
I reach into my purse grabbing the envelope that looks like something from an old spy movie. I plop it in front of him. I have to say, I’m impressed when he reaches in a pocket and pulls out gloves.
“You shouldn’t have touched this.” This guy took a lot of time to cut out words from a magazine and glue them on paper—kind of old school.” He gently removes the piece of paper and reads it aloud.
“You ruined my life you bitch. Now, I’m going to ruin yours.” He breathes in like he’s thinking about the threat he just read.
“I’m not going to water this down. You’ve got a lot of enemies in high places. What I can’t figure out is why this guy is going after your best friend and not you.”
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