Vengeful Shadows

by Bronwyn Green

  “Yeah.” She’d given him a chance, and he’d given her nightmares and flashbacks. “Didn’t work out.”

  * * * *

  Tessa parked in front of the police station and vaguely wondered if her stalker had followed her. She glanced around. If he had, it wouldn’t really matter since she had no clue who it was. Resentment surged, tasting bitter. She hadn’t felt helpless since her freshman year in college, and she refused to succumb to it again. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the walk and entered the Oakdale Police Department.

  A young man with buzzed hair sat behind the front desk. He looked barely old enough to shave. The fact that he was a cop taxed her sense of reality.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Ma’am? “Yes, I need to file a report.” She withdrew the stack of envelopes from her bag and laid them on the desk along with the baggie she’d used to hold the ribbon from her coat pocket. “I’ve been receiving unsettling mail.”

  “Threats?” he asked, pulling a form from a filing cabinet.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “Let me take your information, and I’ll see who’s available to speak with you.”

  Afterward, he directed her to a cramped waiting room, filled with uncomfortable chairs. Sunlight beamed through windows, highlighting the dust motes that floated through the air.

  She stifled a yawn. Memories and the conversation with Zander in the car had followed her to bed and kept her up most of the night. As a result, she’d overslept and arrived late to work. The morning had gotten worse when she’d found another message shoved under the front door of the library.

  You didn’t wear it.

  The simple declaration had stopped the breath in her throat. When she’d left for the day, she’d found another on the windshield of her car.

  I’m very disappointed in you, Tessa but I’ll give you another chance.

  Inside the envelope, she’d found a pair of sheer, white panties.

  She swallowed hard against the tide of panic that rose in her throat. It’s just a scrap of fabric, she reminded herself and tried to calm her breathing. She was in a police station. She couldn’t get much safer. However, she’d felt far less vulnerable with Zander last night.

  Sighing, she shifted on the hard plastic chair. She needed to stop thinking about him and figure out who was behind the messages and gifts.

  She desperately tried to think of someone, anyone, who would want to frighten her. He immediately sprang to mind, but she dismissed the thought. She hadn’t had any real contact with him in years. Besides, she reminded herself, anonymous wasn’t his style. He preferred his intimidation and abuse to be up close and personal. He got off on watching a woman’s worry turn to fear. He liked to be close enough to smell it, taste it. For a moment, she felt his whiskey-scented breath against her neck. Her senses clouded with the memory of designer cologne mixed with sweat and sex and, later, blood.

  Forcing herself to think about anything else, she shook off the past and watched the people wandering through the police department. Several of them looked as dazed and exhausted as she felt. Nearly half an hour later, someone directed her to Detective Duritz’s office, waiting while he scanned through the pages of forms the desk officer had completed.

  She glanced around his cubicle while he read. It looked like a bad set for every cop show she’d ever seen. Piles of grease-stained papers warred with empty cups and half eaten Danishes. The main décor theme seemed to be week-old coffee. He poured a cup from the grungy pot behind his desk and offered it to her.

  “No thanks.” Why mix stalking with food poisoning?

  He rubbed a big hand across his face and turned to the second page of her report. Without looking, he grabbed a pastry took a bite and winced. The Danish hit the bottom of the trashcan next to her with a hollow thud, and Tessa jumped.

  Detective Duritz eyed her over the top of the paper before focusing on the page again. She studied him as he read. He was handsome in a rugged sort of Neanderthal, Me-Tarzan-You-Jane kind of way, but he was no Zander.

  A sense of peace wrapped around her at the thought of the man who lived next door, and she considered telling him about the notes. She dismissed the idea quickly. Zander was a good man, the kind who’d feel obligated to protect her. It was bad enough their friendship was getting complicated by feelings she barely wanted to examine, let alone admit. She didn’t need the added difficulty of Zander somehow feeling responsible for her safety.

  She watched as the detective placed the envelopes and her documentation on the cleanest spot on his desk. With latex gloves and a long metal tweezers, he sifted through the pages, examining them and the ribbon. To his credit, his expression didn’t change when he pulled out the panties.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, Ms. Maycroft, it appears you have a stalker.”

  Ya think? She kept the thought to herself. It probably wasn’t in her best interest to antagonize the police. She settled for nodding.

  “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  She’d been trying to figure it out for days and still had no clue. “No.”

  “Do you know anyone who would wish you harm?”

  Tessa shook her head.

  “Ex-boyfriends? Ex-lovers? Co-workers? Family members? Neighbors?”

  Mr. McFeely creeped her out a little, but she couldn’t believe he’d written the messages. But, she supposed, an incompetent moron could also be a stalker. And, of course, him. She sincerely doubted he was involved, but she couldn’t afford to dismiss him out of hand.

  “There was a guy in college,” she began, “but I don’t think it could be him. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “We need to investigate all possibilities.”

  Tessa took a deep breath and met Detective Duritz’s gaze. She insisted to the women she counseled that no woman asks to be raped. But now, she couldn’t keep that tendril of shame from again trying to take root in her soul.

  “We dated—until he assaulted me. But, like I said, I don’t think he’s responsible for this.”

  “Do you want to take that chance?”

  She shook her head, registering the concern in his eyes.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Weston Bridger.” She’d half-expected her voice to shake, but it remained strong and steady.

  “We’ll run a check on him. Any other ideas?”

  “I volunteer at a women’s shelter, and we sometimes get threatening notes there. I can get you a list if you want.”

  He picked up the baggie with the ribbon and scanned her notes. “You say this found its way into your coat pocket last night?”

  “Yes. I was at a gallery opening—Gallery Sixty-Seven.”

  The detective made some notes. “I’ll check out the guest list. Anyone else?” He tapped the pen against his chin while he waited,

  Frustration clawed at her senses. She gave him McFeely’s name. “Other than that, I can’t think of anyone who would send these.”

  He shoved everything into a large file folder and opened his desk drawer.

  “Aren’t you going to try to get prints off those or something?”

  “Contrary to what you see on cop shows and movies, it’s nearly impossible to get prints off paper. And fabric? Forget it.”

  Her heart sank. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this wasn’t it. She thought the police would attempt to find the person responsible.

  “Continue documenting anything else you receive,” he said as he removed the latex gloves. “Remain alert at all times especially near your place of employment and your house. Always be aware of your surroundings.”

  “That’s it? No pepper spray? No ‘get a big dog’?”

  “You can get those things if you think they’ll help, but the most important thing is to be alert and aware.”

  Although she’d known what sort of advice to expect, the lack of concrete assistance still surprised her.

  “We’ll be in touch as soon as
we run a check on those names.” He stood and offered his hand, her signal to leave.

  Tessa hadn’t really expected him to take one look at the notes and be able to tell her who had sent them, but disappointment twisted her stomach. “Thank you.”

  “Ms. Maycroft?”

  The tone of his voice held her motionless. “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  Chapter Five

  Tessa climbed the stairs to her apartment, glad to be home. Outside, she felt too vulnerable. Too much like a target.

  The moan of creaking wood above her slowed her progress. Either Zander was home or her stalker was waiting for her.

  “Hello?” she called, willing her voice not to shake.

  Zander stepped into the stairwell, and her worry fled.

  “Hey, angel. How was work?”

  “Fine. You know, the usual boring Saturday.” She didn’t think it was wise to mention the extracurricular trip to the police station.

  He waited by her door, seeming on edge, almost anticipatory. Her pace slowed further, and a shadow of unease crept into the back of her mind. He could have easily placed the ribbon in her coat pocket last night.

  She shook her head. Stress was making her paranoid. She knew without a doubt Zander wouldn’t stalk her. He was probably waiting for her to get home in order to talk her into another insane idea. Reaching the top step, she skirted him and slid her key into the deadbolt. He followed her, and she turned to face him, sandwiched between the door and his body.

  There were worse places to be.

  His chestnut hair drooped across his forehead, and she imagined sliding her fingers through the silky strands. She met his gaze, and his focused concentration held her immobile.

  Without warning, he lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips across hers and again with more purpose when she didn’t resist. Warm and firm, his mouth moved over hers, coaxing and caressing,

  Her pulse beat like hummingbird wings against her throat, and she lifted her hands to his chest. Heat rose from his body, along with the subtle scent of soap and something that was entirely Zander. Liquid heat flooded her body as she fought the urge to drag him against her and wrap her legs around his waist. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this empty, and she wanted nothing more than for him to fill her. To ease this ache and chase away all the fear and uncertainty swirling around her. She raised her hands and drove her fingers through his hair angling his head and parting her lips, welcoming him inside her mouth like she wanted to welcome him inside her body.

  Reality came crashing down as he pressed her against the door. Zander. She was kissing Zander. Why was she kissing Zander? She pushed against his chest. Slowly, he raised his head, and Tessa took a great gulp of air.

  Rational thought returned without the distraction of his lips against hers. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

  He grinned, and she tried not to let her bones melt at the sight of it.

  “Desensitization therapy. The answer to our problem.”

  “What?” She blinked, trying to get her mind to catch up with her mouth. It was nearly impossible when she could still taste him on her lips. “What problem? What are you talking about?”

  “When a client has an aversion to something, often a therapist will introduce the stimulus in small increments until the client becomes comfortable. Desensitized. The increments increase until the aversion no longer exists.”

  “Are you insane?” she snapped. She wasn’t as angry with him as she was with herself. She’d wanted more. Even now, her body tried to betray her by inching closer to him. Her pulse pounded in her head, and her nipples ached in frustration. Her clit throbbed, and she’d bet her underwear were damp. All from a single kiss. She was pathetic. She leaned back. “So you’re planning to spend the next twenty-four hours kissing me until I don’t jump when you touch me?”

  “That was the plan.” He was serious.

  Shaking her head, she turned from him and finished unlocking her door. “On what planet could this possibly be a good idea?”

  “On this one.” She heard the smile in his voice. With gentle hands, Zander turned her to face him again. He lowered his head, but his eyes remained locked on hers, like deep-green beacons, leading her toward shore. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to control her rapid breathing. He was so close each inhalation dragged her needy breasts against his chest. Pure torture but she couldn’t bring herself to move away.

  Cupping her cheek, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. That simple touch made her want so much more. He slid his fingers into her hair and tenderly angled up her face. “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  It was all Tessa could do not to close her eyes and lean into his hand. She inhaled deeply, drawing him in. His husky voice caressed her senses, and her stomach tightened in anticipation.

  She should walk away from him. Away from the danger he posed. If she let him, he could shatter her hard-won self-control in nothing flat. She needed to get out of there, but her body refused to obey. Instead, it waited motionless for Zander to make his next move, silently begging him to touch her. Aching to feel his hands on her.

  Still holding her gaze, he leaned forward, giving her every opportunity to back away, but she couldn’t. He hovered a fraction of an inch from her lips, and his warm breath feathered across her skin. Expectation built, a palpable force in her middle.

  He took her mouth, softly searching. Teasing. Tasting. Gentle but insistent. She responded, pressing into his kiss, wanting to push herself against his body. Every muscle trembled as she held herself back from what she really wanted.

  He raised his other hand and skimmed the side of her neck. The kiss grew more insistent, deeper, and she opened beneath his touch. She grew lightheaded as he explored her mouth, steadying herself with her hands on his waist. The warmth of his body seeped through his shirt and into her palms. Melting against him, she drew on his tongue.

  He broke away, his eyes glittering darkly. She wondered if he was as affected as she was. Just as quickly, his expression changed. He straightened and grinned.

  Obviously, not. But why should he be? Compared to his usual dates, she was as bland as they came. Vanilla. Just because she’d been into the kiss didn’t mean he had. He was just a guy trying to keep his job, and she was trying to help him. The kiss was a means to an end, not a declaration of attraction.

  And why would it be? He called her angel as if he meant it. As if he actually thought she was pure and innocent. Generally, he treated her as if she ought to be standing on a pedestal. But this kiss… For a moment, she felt as though he truly wanted her. She’d felt as though she were something other than his virtuous, next-door neighbor. Something more than a friend. Someone he could be interested in.

  “So what do you think?” he asked. He stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes, looking as though he’d just woken up. It was a good look.

  Thinking clearly had suddenly become more difficult, and heat curled low in her belly. “Of the kiss?”

  He smirked. “I was referring to the plan, but we can talk about the kiss if you want.”

  “Jerk.” She turned away and pushed open the door, not wanting him to see the blush that crept over her skin.

  He followed her into the living room and flopped on the couch, legs wide, arm draped across the back. The poster boy for casual sex. He sat silently, watching her pace. She had too much pent up frustration to sit.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He didn’t look any different than he usually did. He wore his weekend uniform—worn jeans and a T-shirt. As he shifted, she could make out the play of muscles beneath the soft fabric as she tried to ignore what lay beneath. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him dressed like this before. But her awareness was acutely sharpened, all because he decided to dabble with behavioral theory.

  So he’d kissed her. He was her friend. If it helped him keep his job, it wasn’t that big a deal. Right? It wasn’t as if she planned to sleep with hi
m. Besides, judging from his reaction when she’d returned his kiss, he obviously wasn’t as attracted to her as she was to him. Maybe, she’d been misreading his signals all along. What she’d assumed was mutual desire was nothing more than her wishful thinking.

  This was just one friend doing a favor for another friend. Wasn’t it just last night that she thought pretending to be his lover would allow her to satisfy her curiosity without the messiness of a relationship? Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? Her attraction to him made the situation far more complicated than it needed to be.

  Zander smothered a laugh as Tessa stalked to the kitchen and glared into the refrigerator. Pulling out a couple bottles of beer, she opened them and returned to the couch. Still frowning, she sank onto the opposite cushion. Her fingers grazed his as she handed him a bottle, but he wanted more than the innocent slide of her hand against his.

  He took a pull off the beer and watched her as intently as she watched him. She hadn’t slapped him across the face, which he supposed was a good sign. But she hadn’t really said anything, either. She raised the bottle to her mouth, and he couldn’t help but stare, remembering the sensation of her soft lips against his.

  Lowering the bottle, she cleared her throat. “So let me get this straight. You think randomly kissing me will make me less jumpy?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, taking another swallow. “You’ll be used to me.”

  “I’m already used to you,” she objected.

  “If we get accustomed to being more physical, the touching won’t come as a surprise. And when I kiss you, it won’t look as though we’ve never done it before.”

  He followed the movement of her tongue as she moistened her lips. Oh yeah, he would definitely be kissing her again. Every chance he got.

  Her brow furrowed, and she stared at him, clearly weighing her options.

  This had seemed like such a good idea when he woke up this morning. He still thought it was. Hell, anything that gave him the excuse to be close to Tessa was a fantastic idea.

  “Well…” She rolled the bottle between her palms, her ring clinking against the glass. “It’s not like it means anything.”