by Delta James
“Me, too. I can’t decide whether or not I’m happy she didn’t.”
There was a two-hour break for lunch. Sage spent the time with readers, allowing them to take pictures with her, introducing them to Terrance, and encouraging them to take pictures with him as well. She would have forgotten lunch if one of her readers hadn’t simply brought her some of the hotel’s famous soup and decadent bread. Sage ensured both her lunch and that of the reader went on her tab. When the reader protested, Sage had grinned and said, “Beat you to it.”
Sage excused herself, running up to her room to freshen up and change. Entering her room on a high note, she smiled when she saw a beautiful bouquet waiting for her. There was a card attached, but she didn’t take the time to open it. She stripped down and did a few yoga stretches before donning the outfit Gail had designated for the signing.
He watched as she stripped down to only her lacy bra and matching panties. While the bra was far more to his liking than those she had worn when he’d first seen her, the hip hugger panties still needed some work. She should wear a thong or better yet, nothing at all.
The next several hours were boring beyond measure. As usual, when he had the opportunity, he explored the boundaries of his prison and found no escape.
He heard her return, watching as she entered her room and walked to the table with the flowers in its center. Pulling the card out of the envelope, Sage shrieked and dropped it as if she had picked up a venomous snake. He watched as she backed away, never taking her eyes off the card,
scrambling backward toward the phone on the table by the bed. Picking it up, she asked for the manager.
“Ms. Matthews?”
“I think you should call the police and find out who delivered flowers to my room.”
“Flowers? No one sent flowers to your room, Ms. Matthews.”
Sage could never play poker. Her face was an open book and revealed all her emotions. She was confused, but confusion was quickly supplanted when a breeze ruffled her hair and she looked up. He followed her gaze as best he could but couldn’t see what she saw.
“Now… come now! The door to the terrace…”
Her sentence was cut off by the bang on the door and two of the security team coming through it.
He pounded against the barrier between him, but he couldn’t get to her.
“Ms. Matthews?” one of the guards said as the other opened the door.
“The flowers,” she said, pointing. “How did they get here? Who brought them? The note?”
God, why couldn’t he get to her! Damn it!
The manager of the hotel entered. “Ms. Matthews?”
“The note,” she whispered.
The manager picked it up and read it, pale as he handed it to the security guard, who took it by the corner. “It says, ‘Purveyors of Smut Must Die!’”
“We’re going to call the police, Ms. Mathews,” the manager said.
“No,” Sage said a bit unsteadily.
No? What the fuck did she mean by no? They needed to get the police and make them understand Sage was in danger. That Sage didn’t want to understand or accept she was in danger wasn’t all that surprising. Her publisher had been right—she needed a keeper.
“But this is the second threat…” the head of security said.
“I know, but the signing starts,” she said, glancing at her watch, “in a few minutes. I’m going to be in a crowded room here in the hotel, so I’ll be safe. Honestly, I really can’t let my readers down. Some of them have been planning for a year to be here.”
The manager smiled. “All the staff keeps saying how nice you are, and that you’re kind to your fans.”
“Readers. They aren’t my fans. They’re my readers.”
“I’ll send three of my men down—one on each entrance and one circulating. We’ll keep an eye on you. The police should be here any time. They’ll want to look for forensic evidence here in your room and will probably take a look at where someone took a shot at you last night. I think we can all agree that Ms. Matthews was the target last night.”
“Thank you so much. I really have to go. Can you take care of letting the police in and tell them I’ll be happy to talk to them afterward?”
“Of course we can,” the manager said, and allowed the security detail to take her to the ballroom for the signing.
“You don’t think this is some kind of damn publicity stunt, do you?” the head of security asked after she’d left the room.
How dare they think that about Sage? She would never do anything like that, and if that idiot doesn’t know that after talking to her and seeing the fear in her eyes, he isn’t up to the job.
“I don’t think so. Like I said, the staff all rave about how nice she is and that she’s a really good tipper without being showy about it.”
Sage, a bit rattled, was escorted down to the signing. Who would want to hurt her? The idea someone did was a bit unnerving, but she had a job to do—one of the best parts of her job. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair back, and entered the signing room.
Seeing her table made her smile. Gail had come down earlier to set it up so Sage would have time to change. Her new stand-up sign made her smile, and the table was well organized, showing her books to their best advantage. There was room behind her and underneath for additional books and swag, giving her space to sign books and talk to readers—both new and old.
The next several hours sped by. Sage was engrossed with readers, selling and signing books, and participating in various giveaways. Gail fluttered around, spending most of her time with Sage but also talking with other authors she wanted to bring over to her publishing house.
“I have a small group of newbie authors I thought we could have a drink with. They’d love to talk with you, and one or two of them I’d like to land as clients,” Gail whispered.
“Then why don’t you…”
“Sage, sweetie, they don’t want to talk to me. They want to talk to you. I could use your help.”
Sage noticed Gail rarely asked, usually told, and never said please, but Gail had been the one to take a chance on her, and they had taken the niche publishing world by storm.
“Okay, but I promised the hotel manager I’d talk to the police before I left.”
“The police? About last night?”
“Partially. Someone managed to get flowers and a somewhat threatening note into my suite.”
“Oh my God, Sage.” Gail squeezed her arm comfortingly. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Nothing happened, other than I was a bit spooked, but the police want to talk to me in light of what happened last night. Let me just make sure they aren’t here. Why don’t you start, and I’ll join you as soon as possible?”
“I’ll get them started, then join you. I don’t want you to have to go through this alone.”
“I’ll be fine…”
“No, I want to be there for you.”
For all her nagging and bossiness, Gail was a good friend and had been there every step of the way. Granted, her business had grown alongside Sage’s, but she often went over and above what Sage felt most publishers would do.
As they left the ballroom, Gail headed toward the bar while Sage was met by the hotel manager.
“Ms. Matthews, the police are in your room and wondered if that would be a convenient place for you to speak to them?”
“That’s fine.”
They entered her room as a group of people, in what looked to be hazmat suits, exited.
“Ms. Matthews, I’m Detective Miller,” a man said, walking forward and extending his hand.
Sage was always surprised when she met real-life detectives, who only occasionally resembled the tall, good-looking men who portrayed them in film and on television. Detective Miller was short, round, and balding. His skin was pale and slack, and she thought he looked as though he was more interested in retirement than what had happened to her.
“Detective Miller, please call m
e Sage.” She looked back toward the door as the last technician left her room. “Should I be more worried than I am already?”
“Why? Oh, the protective gear? That’s their standard garb to keep from contaminating evidence, not because we think there are hazardous materials.”
“Good, I was a bit worried. I’m not sure what I can tell you, Detective, but I’m happy to cooperate.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Just today, or do you want me to start with last night?”
She wondered why he didn’t seem to be up-to-speed on all that had happened. Didn’t he see everything was connected… or at least it seemed to be.
“Do you think the two incidents are linked to one another?” the detective asked as he looked out the window.
“Don’t you?” Sage asked incredulously. “I’m sorry, Detective, but am I boring you?”
“No, ma’am, but the report I had said everyone agreed it was just kids who got out of hand…”
“Because that’s the way it appeared at the time,” she said, stressing the last three words, “but given that I’ve now received a threatening note, I would think the idea of rowdy teenagers would be in question.”
Sage was trying to quell her rising anger, but the idea that what had happened were separate, isolated incidents was absurd. She wasn’t a trained investigator, but even she could see that.
“The two aren’t necessarily connected,” the detective said defensively.
Sage stared at him. “I think you’re wrong, Detective. What’s more, I think you know it. I think you know you fucked up last night and are more concerned about saving face than ensuring nothing else happens.”
“I don’t appreciate you speaking to me that way…”
“And I don’t appreciate your cavalier attitude. Not to worry, though, Detective, I’m headed home today, so you can wash your hands of me.”
Gail breezed in as Sage and the detective squared off. “Problem?”
Sage shook her head and drew herself up. “None at all. The detective is leaving. I was going to ask the manager if he could have my things packed and taken down to my car. I’ll grab my computer, go down and meet with your authors, and leave immediately afterward.”
Sage turned to leave, but Gail restrained her.
“Detective, as I’m sure you can imagine, Sage has been upset by what happened… artistic temperament. I’m sure you understand. Sage, the detective is just trying to do his job.”
Artistic temperament? Since when did she have an artistic temperament? The idea that somehow she was blowing all of this out of proportion was absurd and was beginning to be annoying. Could it be that the detective was one of those people who thought that what she did for a living was wrong and that books like hers should be banned?
“No, the detective is pissed he got sent out here. Why is that Detective Miller? Do you not like what I write for a living?” Sage asked.
“You write smut, Ms. Matthews, and no, I don’t like what you write. I think you give women all kinds of wrong ideas about what they should expect and want. I could get past that, but what I can’t get past is the idea that both of these attempts, and I put that in air quotes, never even came close to hurting you, and you artistic types are fond of publicity stunts.”
Sage turned to him. “You think I staged this?”
The detective nodded. “I do. The shots weren’t all that close, and there is absolutely no evidence anyone broke in here…”
But there was. He’d heard someone enter when Sage was out of her room. He hadn’t been able to see who it was, but he was certain it wasn’t Sage. She was in danger, and the idiot they’d assigned to her case didn’t want to see it or was too dim to understand. He’d never resented the barrier between them more than he did at that moment.
“And with that,” Sage said melodramatically, “the artistic porn writer left the room.” She could hear Gail making apologies, then rushing down the hall to catch up with her.
“Really, Sage, that was not the best way to handle that.”
“The man pretty much accused me of arranging what happened. He has zero interest in finding out who did this, much less why.”
“You must admit, it would be good publicity…”
Sage stopped and looked at her.
“Gail, please tell me you didn’t do this,” she whispered.
“Of course not, I’m just saying it would be good publicity.”
Chapter 3
Several Months Later
Sage stopped at the quaint post office in town. Each time she entered the small building, she smiled as Betty, the local postmistress, greeted her.
“Good morning, Sage. Lots of mail waiting for you. How’s the new book coming?”
“Roark is being his usual self… but that’s what my readers want.”
Betty had been the postmistress for as long as anyone could remember. She reminded Sage of a small bird with her silver-white hair, colorful earrings, and bespectacled eyes that missed little to nothing. When Sage had first moved here, she’d been worried if the proper little lady, born and raised in Bible belt, found out what kind of books she wrote, she’d be run out of town. Contrary to her fears, Betty was a voracious reader and loved Sage’s books. She’d become one of Sage’s ARC readers and a part of her online focus group.
“We adore Roark. He’s such a bad boy… but he’s so good at being one. He always saves the damsel in distress and,”—she looked around to ensure no one else was there— “he gives them so many orgasms. I tell you, my dear, Wendell has upped his game since I started reading your books.”
Sage laughed and opened her post office box, removing her mail. She stood by the trash can, tossing the junk mail, then placed all but one of the remaining pieces in the large tote she carried as her purse. She looked at the envelope and frowned—nothing really notable about it other than the fact it had no return address and a postmark from Hilton Head, South Carolina. She didn’t know anyone in South Carolina, at least not anyone who’d have her post office box address.
“What’s wrong, Sage?” Betty asked.
“I’m not sure. There’s an envelope with no return address and postmarked from Hilton Head.”
“Reader?”
“I wouldn’t think so. Nobody but close friends know this address, and I don’t know anyone from there.”
“Still worried about what happened at the Huntington?”
“I don’t know that I’m worried, but it’s a bit unsettling. I had my security system upgraded after I found the hole in the back fence. I’d feel better if someone took it seriously, but Detective Miller is convinced it’s just a publicity stunt.”
“Well, it didn’t help when Ms. Vincent put the word out to the media. I’ve seen several of the interviews you did…”
“I know. I made Gail tie the interviews to new releases after the first one, but each time I do one, someone wants to know about the shooting and the flowers. I wish Gail had never said anything.”
“Hey, Sage!” a deputy said.
Sage turned and looked at Betty. She wouldn’t put it past the wizened postmistress to have alerted the local sheriff’s office about the letter. With anyone else, she might have thought it was invasive, but she knew Betty cared about her and knew the incident at the signing and the break-in had spooked Sage.
“Charlie, it’s nice to see you. Let me guess… it’s not a surprise you’re here.”
“Betty did mention you got a suspicious letter. Why don’t we take it over to the office and open it there? We can dust it for prints and look for other clues.”
“So, you don’t think it’s a publicity stunt?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t know if it is or isn’t,”—he held up his hand to stave off her argument— “but I know if it is, you aren’t behind it. I wouldn’t put it past that pushy New York publisher of yours.”
“You know, just because she isn’t from the South doesn’t make her the bad guy.”
“Charlie, I’m not a local…” she started.
“You are now,” Betty asserted.
“Yes, ma’am.” Charlie grinned. “You may not have been born in these parts, but you’ve become a part of the community. There’s not anyone in town who doesn’t think of you as one of us.”
Sage smiled. “Thanks, Charlie. That means a lot to me.”
Charlie escorted her back to the office and carefully opened the envelope after dusting it for prints.
“I don’t think we’ll find anything.”
“There seem to be lots of prints,” Sage said.
“Yes, but I suspect they’re postal employees. Luckily, they’re all fingerprinted, so we can eliminate them. I’m just hoping whoever he is got sloppy.”
“Why do you think it’s a guy?”
“Two-thirds of the women stalked are stalked by a past intimate partner, most of them male.”
“That should narrow the pool. Not a lot of guys in my past.” At least not a lot who know who I am.
Charlie finished his examination, and they went to lunch. He was sweet, charming, and a little shy. Sage thought he was NGB—Nice Guy But—absolutely nothing wrong with him, a perfectly lovely guy, yet she couldn’t imagine getting involved with him. She might be wrong, but she was fairly certain if he was anything other than straight vanilla, it was only vanilla with a few birthday sprinkles.
Sage had found to truly experience and revel in sex, she needed more. Not pain for pain’s sake, but dominance, so she could shed her own need for control, relax, and just enjoy. She often wondered if Gail might benefit from the same. Sage had found it was better to frequent high-end kink clubs where everything was negotiated beforehand and confidentiality was assured.
Sage was certain no one from any of the clubs would be stalking her. She felt safer in most of the clubs than she did anywhere else.
The new Roark Samuels book wasn’t coming along as well as the ones that had come before. The fact was she had an alpha wolf shifter who kept growling at her to tell his story, and she was trying to ignore him in order to finish Roark’s new novel. Sometimes, when she found a sex scene wasn’t coming along the way she wanted, she’d slip into a sexy corset and thong to write. If that didn’t work, she’d turn up the music and take a break, singing and dancing in her solarium. She couldn’t dance and was an awful singer, but she enjoyed it, and sometimes, the break from the grind and the endorphins from moving around freed up her creativity.
