Deadly Obsession

by Jaycee Clark

  "What?" Gabe asked, confusion clear in the word.

  "My Angel. The Phantom?" Drayson rolled his eyes. "Honestly Gabriel, you need to get out more. The Phantom of the Opera, the Broadway musical, the old 1940’s movie. Gaston Leroux’s book? The phantom and his angel." And on those words he immediately launched into the chorus of the Phantom’s song. His baritone voice carried throughout the kitchen.

  Christian normally laughed at Drayson’s antics, but now it wasn’t even remotely funny. It was too close to the truth.

  The past.

  "Josephine, you will be the best." Long fingers tapped on the piano. She hated his fingers. Hated his hands. Hated him. "Again from the top."

  And as she sang her pieces, his eyes watched her; burned with a fire she didn’t want to name, didn’t want to know. His was a look, a knowledge she feared and burned the pit of her stomach.

  Then he smiled and his fingers stilled, the last note of the piano stringing through the air.

  "Josephine, my angel. Like the production we saw the other night. Theatre isn’t exactly opera, and a high school production is hardly worthy, but I do have a fondness for pieces that spin off Leroux’s work. It’s almost seductive. Wouldn’t you agree?" She didn’t answer and he continued. "The phantom’s angel.

  Yes. I think I’ll call you my angel, my Josephine. Mine."

  "Christian. Christian!"

  She jerked back at her name.

  "You didn’t join in," Drayson said. "Luv, you need some rest. Why don’t you come over to our place and crash?"

  She shook her head.

  "Drayson’s right, I hate to think of you worrying over here all alone. Joke or no, this is hardly funny,"

  Geoffery agreed.

  Again, she shook her head. "Sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Or you," she added to Gabe.

  She patted Drayson’s hand. "Thank you for coming over. You’re great. Go on home. I just freaked out over that painting and that weird phone call. You’re probably right Dray, it’s just some flunky. I’ll talk to Gabe and see what we can come up with."

  His expression said he was trying to figure out if he should indeed go. But then he glanced to Gabe, to the gun and back to her.

  "All right, if you say so, but you call me. At this rate, you won’t even be rehearsing tomorrow."

  His brow furrowed in what she knew was his ‘I’m-about-to-lecture-and-be-the-director’ mode.

  Hurriedly, she said, "I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon like we discussed, just as planned."

  Still he watched her. Finally, he nodded and said, "Fine. But you’re riding with me. Then, we won’t have to worry about you getting notes on your car or something else."

  That probably wouldn’t work because she was spending the morning at the shop and then going to rehearsal. "We’ll see. Go on to bed."

  Drayson leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before leaving. As the door clicked shut, she could feel her nerves tightening.

  Gabe cleared his throat as he sat across from her. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she, they just stared at each other. He must be a nightmare in interview or interrogation. With that stare alone criminals probably admitted to fictitious crimes. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  "You know, I checked today, and there have been several stalkers reported by women. None of the reports were filed by you."

  She stood and walked to the counter. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Juice?" She fiddled with the canisters waiting for his reply.

  "Have you told the Kinncaids? The one you have a thing with?"

  "A thing?" Christian turned to face him and leaned back against the counter. "You mean Brayden?

  There’s not a ‘thing’ with him." Lie. Lie. Lie. Is that all she did anymore?

  Gabe only nodded in that ‘yeah-right’ kind of way. "I thought there was something between you two.

  Brayden’s the shop owner with the little girl, right?"

  His gaze was so intense, she could only hold it for so long. Nodding, she agreed. "Yes, that’s him.

  Brayden and Gavin are twins. Brayden owns the shop and Gavin is the doctor. I thought there might have been a ‘thing’ too. Maybe there could have been something." Shrugging, she gave it up. "I don’t know. I just don’t know and now it hardly matters."

  "Well, Brayden is one stupid guy." At his words, she cocked her head. "That shocks you, I see. I wonder why."

  The phone rang.

  Jumping at the sound, she grabbed the cordless before the second ring sounded.

  "Hello?"

  Silence.

  "Hello?"

  Softly in the background music played, and she knew.

  "Josephine. Josephine. Josephine," his voice tsked over the phone.

  Ice pierced her heart and nausea greased her stomach. She turned her back to Gabe. "My name is Christian. Christian."

  His chuckle did an evil dance in her ear. "So many men this time of night? Shame on you. You know I don’t share. I’ve never shared."

  "I’m not yours to share or otherwise."

  Something clicked through the phone and she imagined him lighting one of those cigars he preferred.

  "Leave me alone." She cursed the tremor that was evident even to her, then stabbed the OFF button.

  A glance over her shoulder told her Gabe wasn’t ignoring her conversation. Carefully, she set the phone back on its stand, then turned to face him, just as the phone rang again.

  It rang again.

  The answering machine picked up.

  "I don’t like to be ignored," he bit out, his voice filling the air around her.

  She’d managed to get to him. When angry, his voice flinted to a fine edge.

  "But I suppose it’s all been a bit of a shock tonight." His words, like black oil, slithered from the machine through her kitchen and she started to shake.

  "Did you like the painting? Rather good I thought, considering. I know it’s hardly my best, but I think it served its purpose." Silence and a huff. She could imagine him blowing a stream of smoke out. "Those asthma attacks are pesky annoyances, aren’t they?" His gravelly laugh echoed.

  Asthma attacks? Her gaze still riveted on the answering machine, darted around the room. How did he know? How?

  Was he that close?

  His laugh trailed off. "Worried? You should be."

  The line went dead. He hung up.

  Her chest tightened and she bumped the table. She grabbed her inhaler and took another puff, fighting the constriction back before it started.

  Her hands shook and she couldn’t get past the realization that there was no privacy here. None. There never had been with him.

  "You should sit down," Gabe told her, walking to the machine and popping out the tape.

  The phone rang again, he picked it up. Christian leaned over and grabbed it out of his hand.

  She was tired of this. Tired of cowering. She just needed to figure out what to do without telling.

  The phone rang again.

  Anger and fear warred within her as she threw the phone to the floor. Cursing, she jerked the base away, ripping the cords out of the wall and heaving it across her kitchen. The plastic shattered, chips and wires exposed, like a childhood radio kit.

  "Why won’t he just leave me alone!" she whispered furiously.

  She covered her face with her hands, rubbing as if to wipe images from her mind. Sliding her hands back through her hair, she looked at the cop leaning against her doorjamb tapping a miniature tape in his palm.

  "Tell me," he said, crossing his ankles. "Why haven’t you reported this guy? All the pictures? And if you haven’t reported this, I’m betting the Kinncaids don’t know about any of it. I’m wondering why." He shrugged. "Maybe you think it’s Brayden or one of the others?"

  "What?" Christian propped her hands on her hips. Was he for real? His no-nonsense frown said he was.

  "This is not Brayden. Or any of the others. It’s not."

  "How do you know?" />
  Shit. "I just do."

  "Then you know who it is?"

  Praying he didn’t see more than she wanted him to, she held his stare. "No, I don’t who it is."

  "Then you have told Kinncaids about the photos? About the phone calls and notes? How long has this guy been calling anyway?"

  She only shook her head, and caught his mumbled curse. There was hardly any use in denying it. She had told no one. The only one that even remotely knew anything was standing, calm as you please, in her kitchen. And though the surface was unrippled, she sensed the currents that ran beneath the smooth façade. He wanted answers.

  "I’ll take your silence as a no. The question in my mind is that if you really care for Brayden and for this family, which you seem to be a part of more or less, I can’t help wondering why you’d keep this from them." His dark eyes narrowed in their study of her, until she looked away. "The Kinncaids all love you, from what I’ve seen. I’ve got two sisters, and I’d be pissed as hell at one of them for keeping something like this from me. Or my parents."

  She didn’t say anything, just turned around and busied herself with making coffee as she filled the carafe.

  "There is someone out there doing their damnedest to terrorize you." She heard his footsteps as he walked toward her. "He’s letting you know he’s watching you. He knows everything about you. He’s starting to send you gifts. He’s calling you. Cases like this only escalate."

  Escalate? To what? An attack? She already knew what this monster’s worst was.

  "Have you changed your locks?" Gabe asked her, the switch in topics momentarily catching her off guard.

  "The locksmith is coming Monday morning. I couldn’t get anyone sooner and had to pay extra to bribe my way to Monday," she admitted to him.

  Gabe ran a hand through his dark brown hair.

  He grinned at her then, a small, half-grin. And if she were interested in him, she might find it attractive.

  But she was only interested in one man. Had only felt safe with one man. Brayden. At least ‘that’ kind of safe.

  "You are a stubborn woman."

  Christian shrugged but couldn’t hide her grin. "So I’ve been told."

  He shook his head. "You need to report this. No one can help you if you don’t. And you’re going to hurt your family by keeping this from them."

  He was right. Brayden was already wondering what was going on and... Oh, hell. The computer.

  She hurried out of the kitchen. Brayden would be so pissed. The stairs were cool under her feet as she dashed up them. Her computer sat on her bed silent and waiting. She saw that Oldshopkeeper was no longer on line.

  Quickly, she scrolled back through his messages.

  Oldshopkeeper: "Don’t answer it."

  Oldshopkeeper: "Dammit Christian it’s three a.m."

  Oldshopkeeper: "Are you back? Who was it?"

  Oldshopkeeper: "If you’re not back on in a few minutes, I’m calling you."

  Oldshopkeeper: "You didn’t answer. I’m coming to town."

  That was the last message. Hell.

  Why hadn’t she gotten his call? Unless Brayden called while he left a message on her machine. What was the time of the last message? Well over half an hour ago. Hell, he’d be here soon.

  She whirled around and saw Gabe standing in her doorway. "Problem?"

  "Yeah, Bray’s coming. I went to answer the door and well.... I never got back to instant message him, so he’s coming."

  "Maybe he’s not so dumb after all."

  Men. She rolled her eyes. "Could you do something else for me?"

  "Well, I could wait around and piss off a wealthy powerful guy and his brothers because I’m here with you in the wee hours of the morning. That ought to be fun. Or I could let it slip some twisted man is staking a claim on you. But what did you have in mind?"

  Christian shook her head, brushed past him and hurried downstairs. She had to get rid of the painting. If it was here when Brayden arrived, there would be all sorts of questions.

  "I was wondering if you could use those muscles of yours to take that-that thing." She pointed to the entryway.

  He stepped beside her and stared at the object she was referring to. "You mean the artistic masterpiece?" Gabe scratched his jaw. "On one condition."

  "What?" She twisted the cuff on her sweatshirt.

  "You tell me what you see in the painting. Because you saw something the rest of us didn’t. And then I get to take it and do with it what I want, no questions asked."

  Christian met his gaze directly. Her muscles tensed and she thought about what it meant, what he wasn’t telling her. But then realized how hypocritical that thought was.

  "You want that in your house? What the hell are you going to do? Hang it over the stairwell?"

  His eyes narrowed. "No, take it to the lab."

  "Fine. Whatever. But not now, I’ll look at it later. Tomorrow or something. Or Sunday." She needed to get it out of here now.

  His brows furrowed and he only shook his head. "You are hiding something, Miss Bills. Or maybe even someone." He sighed and hefted the painting up.

  Hiding? If he only knew.

  She turned, opened the door for him and yelped.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "What the hell is going on?" Brayden asked, his voice tight. He looked from Christian’s shocked pale face to the man in her entryway.

  One Lieutenant Morris of the DCPD.

  He was a fool. All this time he’d been worried about her and....

  "Brayden?" Relief flashed across her features and he noticed the tremble in her voice. She leaned into the door.

  Morris only cocked a brow, and awkwardly carried a canvas toward the door.

  "What are you doing here?" Brayden asked the man.

  Christian opened the door further and motioned him in. He caught her scanning the darkness before she shut the door. And the darted look to Morris.

  Hell.

  She cleared her throat. "Well, my neighbors called him. Uh--yeah. My neighbors woke up to the pounding and saw all my lights were on. They got worried, me being a single female, so Geoffery called Gabe while Drayson made certain all was well," she said in a light tone.

  He wasn’t buying it. Nor did he look at her, his gaze was focused on the cop. Who didn’t look away, only smirked.

  Brayden wanted to wipe it off his face.

  Finally, the lieutenant looked at Christian. "I’ll call you later. I think you two need some time alone. And remember what I said."

  She nodded and reopened the door.

  What was with the painting? All he saw was the back of the canvas.

  When Morris was even with him, the man stopped. "It’s about time you got here. You might not be as dense as I was beginning to think you were. In this day and age, single attractive women living alone are just too tempting for some of the more twisted of our society...."

  "Goodnight, Gabe," Christian said tightly.

  The look Morris sent her was hardly lover-like. More like notched arrows. Then again, what did he know? Maybe he was a fool and they were in the middle of some fight. And....

  "What?" he finally asked, Morris’ words registering. "What did you mean, tempting twisted--"

  "Goodnight, Gabe," Christian interrupted and all but shoved the cop out with the door. "I’ll call you tomorrow about that appointment."

  The entryway echoed softly with the latch as the door closed.

  Brayden took a deep breath and tried to get his bearings. He’d broken several speeding laws to get here in the time he had.

  "Why didn’t you answer your phone?" he whispered.

  Christian didn’t immediately reply. Her hair was standing up in disarray, the way it did when she was frustrated or nervous and ran her fingers through it repeatedly.

  She’d lost weight. The pale skin on her face seemed taut, her eyes sunken, or maybe it was the dark circles beneath them.

  Finally, she shrugged, "I had some phone trouble."

  She walke
d past him and into the kitchen. Brayden followed. Christian was a contradiction. She sounded fine, played the situation as though it were the most normal event for him to show up at her door at nearly four in the morning to find another guy there. But he’d caught her relief and the tremble in her words. Her posture was seemingly normal, but it was almost too perfect, too coiled as if waiting to spring.

  At the kitchen, he followed the black cord like a dark snake and saw the phone lying shattered on the white tiled floor.

  Phone trouble?

  He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as she sat the coffee carafe on the machine and clicked the button. She was wearing those blue and gray pajama bottoms with a tight little camisole top, the striped top tossed on top of it.

  "Christian."

  Her shoulders stiffened.

  "What is going on? And don’t bother telling me nothing. What were you doing answering the door at this time of night? And why in the hell didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve called I don’t know how many times." He’d tried to keep the anger out of his words, but he’d been so damn scared at the idea of something happening to her. All the way into town, dark images danced in head. Then to find her whole and safe in her entry with another guy. Well, it was no wonder he couldn’t control his tongue.

  She didn’t say anything. He was tired of this. She’d scared the hell out of him.

  "You just type you’re going to answer the door in the middle of the night and then you don’t bother to call me or get back to IM to let me know you’re okay. Do you have any idea what was going through my mind. What is going through my mind? Damn it, Christian."

  She turned to him then, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Slowly, he straightened away from the doorway.

  "I want to know what the hell is going on. Now." His steely words left little room for argument.

  Sighing she said, "I’ve just been getting some weird phone calls. You must have called while he did."

  "Weird how? He, who?" He walked toward her, but she backed up and he stopped.

  Her tongue darted out, licked her chapped lips, and he saw the tremble of her hand as she raked it through her hair.