Virtually Perfect

by Samantha Hunter

  She grabbed the handle and opened the door, forcing herself to move and haul her work up the walk and into the house, finally getting it all inside and put away where she wanted it.

  She had to keep moving, to keep busy, and not let herself mope or dwell on the situation. Hopefully, Duane was right and whoever was bothering her would just go away. Maybe he would figure she had been fired from the magazine and be satisfied after his mischief with the reader e-mails. Maybe it was someone trying to get back at her for something, though she couldn’t imagine what.

  She sat down at her desk and spent a few hours writing out personal letters to each reader who had been affected, letting them know that there had been a problem on the computer network, and that she had not sent the e-mails they had received. She dearly hoped they would accept her apologies and continue to read the magazine and her column.

  When she was finished, she decided to walk to the mailbox to stretch her stiff legs. The sun was still up. It had been a bright winter day, and there was no biting cold at the moment—a perfect time for a walk. Closing the door behind her, she felt more cheerful, and set out down the steps.

  HE COULDN’T CONCENTRATE. He wondered what Raine was doing, if she was okay. He had hacked open those e-mails that were sent to her as far as he could, and he couldn’t trace anything. Everything led back to dummy accounts piled on to more dummy accounts, and finally he realized it was just useless.

  They weren’t going to find this guy electronically. He was either going to disappear, or they would find him when he tried something more aggressive. He hoped it was the former, but something in his gut told him it wouldn’t go away that easily. He looked at the clock. He could still get some work done, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  He wanted to see her; it was as simple as that.

  He couldn’t remember any other time he had missed a woman after just a few hours, or anyone he had worried about as much, except for his own family. But he would let her be for now, let her settle in, get used to the situation before he went knocking at her door. After all, it had only been a few hours. For now, he would go home, and try to relax and get Raine off his mind for a little while. Good luck, he thought as he grabbed his jacket and left for home.

  RAINE HAD RELAXED considerably by the end of the day. The walk had been pleasant, and she had come back and made herself a delicious salad and pasta, taking her time and making herself the kind of dinner she rarely had the chance to enjoy during the week. She called Gwen and filled her in on the recent happenings, and then spent a half hour convincing her friend that she was okay on her own, for now. It was nice to know that Gwen wanted her to come stay, but she didn’t intend to lead danger—if there was any real danger—to her friend’s door.

  Now she was stretched out on the sofa with a blanket, a glass of wine and a novel. The novel may not have been the best choice—a hot romance, the kind she secretly read and had boxfuls of in her attic.

  Ever since she was young, she’d loved escaping into romances for hours at a time, losing herself in the world of emotions and experiences she never had. She enjoyed seeing the heroines and heroes grow over the years as she herself had grown, the story lines became more daring, the women more independent, the men more sexy and complex.

  How was it that the men in these novels were so amazingly clued in to the needs and feelings of the heroines? She smiled to herself—because women created them, of course. But maybe there were one or two out there who really were like that in real life. Or maybe just one.

  She averted her thoughts, took a sip of wine, her eyes glued back to the page as the hero seduced the heroine for the first time, and she felt her own blood heat as the two lovers experienced the ultimate pleasure together. She smiled, squirming a little on the sofa, feeling a tickle down low.

  For once in her life, she could relate—she knew what a man could do for a woman—thanks to Jack. It seemed like aeons ago that they had made love, even though it was just last night, but her body remembered every single sensation vividly.

  She felt heat move up her face; she was incredibly warm from the book, the wine and the blanket. Fanning her face with the book, she decided it was time for a break, or sleep would not come easy tonight. Apparently, she couldn’t keep Jack out of her head for more than five minutes, though she had to admit that her reading material wasn’t helping matters.

  She looked at the phone. It was late, but he would be home. She could call. But what would she say? Their relationship was changing, but maybe not so much that she could feel comfortable calling him at this time of the evening. She had no idea how to handle these things.

  She wished she was brazen enough to call him as she had done that first time, to hear his voice on the phone, to seduce him with her words.

  But that was Nilla—it wasn’t really her. Was it? Her body was humming, she missed him, and she felt very alone in the house. It was late, but it wasn’t that late. Maybe she could just call to let him know she was okay, and they could talk, and that was all.

  Jack’s number. Where had she left it? Yes—the nightstand—she’d put it there. Running to the bedroom, she let out a small cry of dismay when she didn’t see the paper on the table, and got down on her hands and knees to find it. There it was! It had gotten knocked down under the bed. Thank God she hadn’t sucked it up in the vacuum, though in her mood, she might have gone digging through the dusty bag to find it.

  She reached for the phone, her hands trembling slightly. It was just a phone call, for goodness’ sake. She shook herself mentally, and grabbed the receiver, lifting it to her ear, and heard nothing. She dialed the number, there was no sound. Her phone was dead.

  She clicked the hook a few times, held the phone back to her ear, and nothing happened. But she’d paid her bill…she set the receiver back down in the cradle, and fear seeped through her, chilling her to the bone.

  Had someone messed with her phone? She felt panic skitter down her spine, and she tried to control her breathing. It was late, and she was afraid. She had her cell phone…. Frantically, she ran to her desk and dug through her bag, finding the small phone she only used for work. She had almost forgotten that she had it.

  Hands shaking, she dialed the number. She only got his office message. Dammit! Damn! She felt tears squeeze against the back of her eyes; this was his cellphone number, too, not his home number. She sat on the floor, wedged tightly to the wall, and tried to calm down.

  She called back, and left a message. Hopefully he would check. She willed herself to think. She could call the police, but if her phone was just dead and her lines not actually cut, she would look like a fool. What if this was another billing mess-up?

  She needed to take control. Running into her bedroom, she pulled on jeans and a sweater, put on her jacket and headed for the kitchen door. She grabbed a flashlight, keys and a sharp nail file. She would go see if her lines were cut herself, and if they were, she would call the police from the safety of her car—she wouldn’t go back in the house, just in case. All the women in the movies always went back in the house; it was always a mistake.

  Armed with her plan, she went out the back door, and kept the flashlight off until she got to the side where she knew the phone hookup was. She kept close to the house, looking all around her. The snow made it almost as light as day outside, and she took comfort from the fact that she could see clearly that no one was there but her. Her neighbor’s windows, only a few yards away, were lit. There was help nearby if she called out.

  She turned the flashlight on and searched the side of the house, and saw the phone connection—the wire was indeed cut. Swallowing down her fear, she forced herself to follow her plan—she walked quickly to the front of the house, her breath coming raggedly. In a wave of panic she realized that she had left her cell phone on the bed. Stupid!

  Now she would have to go back in. She turned around and headed for the door, when she felt a hand grab her from behind. She screamed, reaching for the nail file in her pocket and spinn
ing around, struggling away from whoever had hold of her arm, flailing the file in front of her.

  “Raine! Stop it! It’s me, Jack—you’re okay…stop!”

  Jack managed to get hold of both wrists, and held them tight, as her eyes, wide and blank with fear, finally focused in on him. Her face was deathly white, and he saw recognition dawn; she let the nail file fall from her fingers. It glittered in the light as it fell to the ground.

  Her teeth were chattering, and she stood, frozen, staring at him wordlessly. He released her wrists from his tight grip and pulled her close, walking her to the door. “It’s okay. I was on my way home and got your message. I tried to call back, but no one answered. Scared the hell out of me, Raine. Where’s your cell?”

  She tried to talk through great gulps of panic and shivering. “The…phone l-line…is cut…I checked…I left my…c-cell in the bedroom…I f-forgot…”

  Inside the door, he spun her around to face him. “You did what?”

  “I…I…l-left my…phone on the b-bed….” She was shaking from head to toe now, and he pulled her to the couch, warming her hands between his.

  “Raine, you went out to check if the phone line was cut? Are you nuts? Someone could have been out there.”

  She shook her head.

  “I looked around, it was bright…I h-had the file…I couldn’t ca-call the cops if the phone was just dead…and I didn’t know where you were….”

  Tears were starting to flood her eyes now, and he took her shoulders. “Okay, I’m sorry, baby. Hold it together, just for a while, okay? It’s okay. We’re getting you out of here.”

  She nodded faintly.

  “You get clothes together, I’ll call the cops. Go pack what you need. Don’t pack light—we don’t know how long this will be for.”

  She nodded and stood on trembling legs, unsure of exactly where he thought she would be going, but she knew she couldn’t stay home alone and feel safe. She went to pack, hearing him in the distance, calling the police.

  It didn’t seem like very long before she heard voices in the living room, and she came out. Jack was talking with two uniformed officers, and they were taking notes. She joined them, feeling steadier but no less afraid.

  “Evening, ma’am. Mr. Harris reported that you had some trouble here?”

  She nodded. “Someone cut my phone line.”

  “The phone is dead?”

  “Yes. Someone cut the line into the house—I checked.”

  The officer raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say a word for a moment. “Okay, we’re going to go out and check the premises. Just sit tight for a few minutes.”

  Jack thanked the officers and took in Raine’s face. She was still ghostly pale, but the trembling seemed to have stopped, and she was calmer.

  “All packed?”

  “Yes. I just need to get some work together. I suppose that I could see if the inn down the street is open, but it’s late…”

  She felt the sharpness in his voice cut through her fog. “Inn? You aren’t going to a damn inn, Raine—what the hell are you thinking? You are going home with me. You can stay at my place.”

  She blinked at him. “Your place? I can’t stay with you.”

  He stared at her. “Yes, you can, and you are. You said yourself you don’t want to go to Gwen’s, and this way, you have built-in security—me.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, I have enough room, and two beds, if that is what’s worrying you.”

  She felt heat invade her face, and her throat tightened. “No, that’s very kind of you, I don’t want to intrude. This isn’t your problem.”

  His voice was cooler now, his eyes glittering as they bored into hers.

  “Don’t do that, Raine. Don’t do it, not now. Not this time.”

  She just nodded, went quiet under his hard stare. He relaxed, and backed off as the officers came to the door, looking serious.

  “Yep, the phone line is cut. We can look for prints but I don’t imagine we’ll find anything. There are a lot of footsteps in the snow, but some of those will be yours, from what you’ve said. You’re going to have to have your car taken care of. All four tires were cut. Maybe you scared off whoever did it when you went outside, but it isn’t safe for you to stay here alone.”

  Jack’s arm came around her shoulders, holding her fast. She couldn’t say anything, but she heard Jack tell them that they had already filed one complaint with Detective Delaney about a stalker, and that this was probably connected to that incident. The uniformed officers nodded, and looked at Raine.

  “The detective may want to talk with you again, ma’am. Do you know a place you can stay for the night?”

  Raine looked at them mutely, and Jack stepped in, giving them his address and number. Grabbing her bags, and shutting off the lights, they left the premises with the police officers, and went to Jack’s car.

  Raine looked at her car sitting lopsidedly in the driveway, and felt the panic surge up again. Who would want to do this to her? She had never hurt anyone. She kept to herself. She hardly even knew anyone.

  She felt Jack guide her into the passenger’s seat, and she let her head fall back against the headrest, closing her eyes, feeling a massive headache coming on. The car rolled forward, and everything dimmed to gray.

  11

  THE NEXT THING she knew, she was being shaken gently, and she startled upright, not exactly sure where she was. It was dark, there were comforting smells of spice and—Jack. They were in his car, he was leaning over, his hand on her shoulder; she must have fallen asleep. His voice was quiet, gentle.

  “There you are—I didn’t realize why you were so quiet for a while, you had me worried. I was talking to you and there was only silence. I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep, but I’m glad you got some rest.” He was smiling at her, but his eyes looked tired.

  She yawned, still groggy with sleep. “I’m kind of surprised, too. I guess it was just being in the car, warm, and I relaxed a little.” With you, she added silently.

  He nodded. “Well, we’re here. My place. If you want to go in, I can get your things.” He held his keys out.

  She blinked hard.

  “No, I can help.”

  She opened the door before he could argue, and felt the cold blast of air hit her in the face, waking her. She stepped out, and looked at the beach cottage in front of her. It was dark, but she could see the house was not a new construction, not one of the parade of characterless condos that had sprung up along the shoreline, but an old, square, two-story stone house, with a cobbled chimney.

  Brambly beach-plum hedges poked gnarly branches up from underneath a light layer of icy snow and little wooden tents stood duty under the windows, protecting the bushes from the weather. The place, glistening and shadowed under the moon, looked magical. It was set far back from the shoreline, but she could still hear the waves crashing behind the house, and salt hung in the air.

  The winds were frigid, and she shivered, turning to the car. Jack had already pulled her bags out from the trunk, and she grabbed one of the heavier ones and walked toward the charming wooden, cathedral door with a heavy brass knocker. The single, wide step was a large stone slab, and she felt the crunching under her boots where Jack had salted the slippery walk. A bright porch light in the shape of a lantern helped her see clearly as Jack slid the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

  As she walked in, she was enveloped in the scent that she had come to associate with the man himself, a heady aroma of wood, cloves and sea. She set her bags down and looked around the small entry that was simply decorated with some antique naval items on the walls and a straight-backed Shaker bench where she sat to remove her boots. The floors were all hardwood and gleaming, and colorful Persian rugs were scattered everywhere. Everything about the house seemed sturdy and square, but it was inviting as well. Cozy, she supposed, was a weak word.

  Secure. Solid. Safe.

  Jack’s voice interrupted her observations.


  “It’s a little chilly in here. It gets that way if I let the fire go out for a long time. Let me get it going, and I’ll show you your room. You can look around wherever you want.” He pointed down a narrow hallway. “The bathroom is down that hall, up the stairs to the left, if you need it.”

  She nodded, and stood up, feeling strange. The whole evening had been surreal, and here she stood now, in Jack’s house, feeling both incredibly at home and yet like a complete stranger. She just stood in that spot, and he walked up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  “Raine, I want you to feel comfortable here. You’re safe. No one except my closest friends and family have this address, and it’s not even listed in my name. I have lived here for a long time, but it is actually my grandparents’ property. I use a post-office box in town. No one can trace us here. No one could possibly know you are here.”

  She nodded and felt the warmth from his hands on her shoulders move across her skin, and she thought she might be safe from the stalker and even from Jack, but she wasn’t too sure about herself. Some of her thoughts must have shown in her eyes, since his eyes snapped in recognition as passion ignited between them.

  But he let his hands drop to his sides, smiling slightly as he turned and walked into another room. Raine went to find the bathroom, pleased but not surprised to find it very modern, offering every convenience including a large set-in tub with massage jets that made her purr with anticipation of a hot bath. She ran her hand along the edge of the cool, granite-textured porcelain. Tension had made her ache from head to toe, and she felt like a piece of raw meat.

  Pursing her lips, she walked back down the hall, where she was treated to a very nice view of Jack’s backside as he bent over, stoking a fire. The central room with the fireplace was as beautiful as the rest of the house, but she wasn’t really paying attention to the details at that very moment.