Chapter Seven
“Do you remember Sharla Davidson?” Madison asked as she buttered a roll.
It’d been two days since she’d had dinner with Sangre, and Isla couldn’t get him out of her mind. She looked up from the menu. “Vaguely. Refresh my memory.”
“She was in our class at Jefferson. She’s the one who got most of the leads in the plays.”
Isla tilted her head back then snapped it forward. “I remember her now. I haven’t thought about her since I moved to California. What about her?”
“She was murdered this past Sunday. She was the lead in the local play, and they had a dress rehearsal that night. The janitor found her sprawled on the floor.” Madison took a bite of her roll and chewed while she darted her eyes all around before leaning over the table. “Her throat had been slit. Isn’t that horrible?” she whispered.
Isla’s hand clutched the top of her blouse. “How terrible. Do the police have any suspects yet?”
Shaking her head, she took another bite. “Nope. She’s the third one to be killed like this.” She shuddered. “It’s too creepy and awful. A few months ago, Lizbeth Kelly was killed in the same way. She was coming back from choir practice and someone grabbed her. At least that’s what the theory is. Then about eight months ago, Taylor Prentice was found in her apartment—throat slashed. It’s all too horrible.”
“Are the police saying it’s the same person?”
“Not officially, but unofficially they think the same person did it. Do you want to know what’s even freakier?” Madison paused for dramatic effect. “They all went to Jefferson and were in our class.”
A shiver climbed up Isla’s spine. “Are you sure?” The fan letters flashed in her mind. A sense of foreboding evil wrapped around her, squeezing her tightly as if to suffocate her. “Oh!” she cried out. A few patrons turned to look at her, and she grabbed her glass of white wine and took a big gulp.
“What’s wrong?” Madison said, buttering her second roll.
“Nothing. I’m just a little freaked by what you said. How do you know all this?”
“My sister works in the sheriff’s office. She’d kill me if she knew I told you. Don’t say anything.”
“I won’t. I thought small towns were supposed to be safe.”
“That’s the irony of it. Most people think that, so they become laissez-faire about locking their doors, windows, and cars. In a big city, no one would think of leaving their door open, but it happens all the time here, especially during the day.” She paused to look down at the menu. “What are you having?”
“I think I’ll just have a Cobb salad. I’m not that hungry.” Casually, Isla glanced over her shoulder and breathed out a sigh of relief when she spotted Mark. It made her feel so much safer knowing she had someone looking out for her.
“Now I’m going to feel like a pig if I have the pasta Alfredo. Do you want to split an appetizer with me? The potato skins are to die for.”
“That’s fine.” Looking around the small eatery decorated in pastel colors and bright ceramic accents, Isla reclined in the white wrought iron chair. “It’s so cheerful and cute in here. It’s packed too. I’m glad we came earlier so we didn’t have to wait in that long line.”
Madison looked behind her. “It is a long line. That’s why I said we had to come early. I don’t know why they don’t take reservations. I love it here. Vesta Grill opened about a year ago. They make killer cocktails. Are you sure you don’t want one? I’m going to try an apple martini.”
“I’m good with my wine. So how’s it working out with Miguel?”
“Good. We should double date now that you’re out of hiding. Maybe you could ask Steve.”
Isla frowned. “You mean Sangre? I’m not sure he’d want to go, especially if it’s labeled a ‘date.’” She shook her head, “Anyway, we’re just friends, and I’m going out with Benz.”
“Maybe he’d want to go. I’d love to meet him up close, but, I thought you were going to break up with him.”
“Me too. I caved in and am giving him another chance. It’s so strange with some guys. Benz pursued me for four years, and I kept pushing him away because I thought it would fuck things up if we crossed that line in the band. Then I started to see a side of him he kept hidden from the other members. After a bottle of vodka and too much coke, we ended up screwing the crap out of each other. The next day, we were a couple. It went fine for a while, but then he started flirting with all the girls who’d hang in the front of the stage at our shows. I swore I’d never forgive him when he cheated on me, but after spending two months at the crazy house, his constant calling after I’d gotten here, and all the flowers and poems he’d sent me, I relented.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Inhaling deeply, she blew out slowly. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“If you don’t know—then you’re not, and love isn’t complicated, it’s wonderful.”
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.
After they placed their order, Isla leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “I’ve never really been in love”—except with Sangre, but that was one-sided—“so I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like between two people. I mean Benz is an okay guy, but he wants too much from me. He’s always pushing me, and I feel pressured. It pisses him off, and he used that as an excuse for straying with a groupie. Men …” She rolled her eyes.
“Not all guys are cheats.” Madison put a potato skin on a small plate and handed it to her. “Are you glad you reconnected with Steve?”
A huge smile spread over her face. “That I didn’t plan. I mean, I toyed with the idea of contacting him or his family when I first got here, but my head was in a different place, and I didn’t want to deal with it.” He never tried to reach me after I left so I couldn’t face him, but he seems cool … like nothing weird or anything ever happened between us. “His name is Sangre now. The strange part is that he looks like Sangre and not like Steve anymore.” She took a sip of her wine.
“I see him sometimes around town on his Harley. He looks mean and scary. Once I found out he joined the Night Rebels, I kept my distance any time I saw him. He looks so different from high school, but I can’t say I’m shocked he hooked up with that biker gang. Remember how he used to get in so many fights? He came off as being angry a lot. I wonder why?”
“He’s a rebel like me. We don’t like to live in the world society dictates.” She took a bite of the appetizer. “You’re right about these potato skins. They are fabulous.”
“I always thought you guys would’ve hooked up. You both seemed into each other back in high school. I used to tease you about it.”
“We were only friends. Enough about me. Tell me more about Miguel.”
Madison grinned, took a drink of her martini, leaned forward, and began to talk. Isla let the words fall around her, absorb into her brain, welcoming the respite from thinking and fantasizing about Sangre. He was dangerous territory, and she couldn’t let her heart be broken by him again, but she also didn’t want to lose his friendship. I’m just going to have to focus on the band and not on him. Easier said than done.
* * *
After engaging the alarm, Isla kicked off her stilettos, sighing blissfully when her feet sank into the rug, and picked up the mail from the foyer table. For the past couple of days, she’d let the mail pile up without even glancing at it. Her psychiatrist in LA told her that she should take mental health days, times when she didn’t deal with the everyday tasks that made her anxious, such as reading through volumes of emails, opening up mail, or listening obsessively to the news. Since she’d implemented his advice, life had been calmer, and her nerves were less frayed. Before settling in on the couch, she went upstairs to change and wash off her makeup.
Encased in a soft cotton night shirt and fuzzy socks, she poured a glass of wine, turned on “Caribbean Blue” by Enya, and stretched out on the couch. Enya was her go-to for grounding her, taking her out of the busyness of her head and letting peace flow through her.
Picking up the mail, she quickly perused it, her body freezing when she saw the now all too familiar handwriting on the envelope. With shaky fingers, she ripped it open, and a single notebook sheet of paper fell out. The printed words mocked her as the room spun around. Closing her eyes, she focused on taking steady, deep breaths while exhaling even more slowly. A friend of hers in LA had taught her that calming technique, and for the most part, it seemed to work on relaxing the whirlwind of anxiety that constantly threatened to overtake her. Opening her eyes again, she read the letter:
My sweet girl,
I fuckin’ love you. My body is yours as yours is mine.
You seem to have a lot of men hanging around you. Are you trying to make me jealous? It’s working. You know you belong only to me. I will love you for infinity. I’ll never lose you, sweet, sweet girl.
You will always have my heart and my soul. Our day to come together is nearing. Soon it’ll just be us and no one else.
I’m watching you, so you better fuckin’ behave. Don’t make me mad. I don’t want to hurt you. Only love you. I can’t wait to be inside you, fuckin’ you the way you deserve. You know what I mean.
I’m coming for you.
♥♥♥Your Best Fan♥♥♥
A rush of blood filled her head as icy fear gripped her nerves, squeezing hard and strangling her. The letter dropped from her hands, and instinctively, she looked around the room, scared to death she’d see him lurking in the shadows. What the hell am I going to do? He’s watching me. I’m like a sitting duck waiting for the hunter to kill me. This is insane!
Leaping up from the couch, she knocked into the table, spilling her glass of wine. “Shit!” she yelled out loud, rushing to the kitchen and grabbing a handful of paper towels. The lilting sounds of Enya’s voice coupled with the swaying tune of her music that had relaxed her minutes before, now grated on her nerves. She cleaned the table then turned off the music. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. She ran around her house checking doors and windows, making sure the alarm system was engaged. Looking out on the quiet dark street, she saw Mark’s vehicle and the outline of him in the driver’s seat. But wait … what if it isn’t Mark? What if this fuckin’ loon killed him and is pretending to be him. Oh my God. He’s here. He’s going to kill me.
Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and tapped in Sangre’s number.
“Hey, I’m glad you called,” he said, voice low and deep.
“I think the psycho killed Mark and is pretending to be him in the SUV. He’s going to kill me. I know it. I got a letter from him, and he said he’s coming for me. He’s here. He hurt—”
“Slow the fuck down. Mark’s cool. I just talked to him. I’m coming over, so just calm down. I swear you’re safe.” She tried to muffle her sobs. “Damn, Isla. Please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.” Sobs escaped from her throat, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the shaking, the tears, or the unraveling of her nerves.
“I’ll call Mark and tell him to come inside until I get there. I’m walking out of the clubhouse right now.”
“No! Don’t tell him to come in. I know it’s not him. Just please hurry.”
“I just started my bike. Hang on, babe. Don’t melt down on me. It’s all okay.”
“Just hurry,” she whispered. She looked out the window again and the figure in Mark’s car appeared to be watching her. She gasped and moved away, flattening her body against the wall. A line of coke right now would really do the trick. I can’t relapse. I just can’t. Sangre’s on the way. He said everything’s okay.
She stayed glued to the wall for what seemed like a lifetime until she heard the heavy footsteps on her porch, followed by a tentative knock then the doorbell. The chimes shot through her like jolts of electricity during a shock treatment.
“Isla? It’s me. Sangre. Open up.”
What if it’s him?
“Look, I’ll call you on the phone now.”
Her phone buzzed and she stared at the screen, Sangre’s name flashing over it. “Hello?”
“It’s me outside your door. Open up. I checked on Mark and he’s good. Said it’s been super quiet.”
“It’s really you outside my door?”
“Yeah. Look out the peephole. You’ll see my fuckin’ good looks.”
She laughed. It is Sangre! She turned off the alarm and swung open the door. Sangre stood on the porch, the red in his strawberry blond hair vibrant under the porch light. He walked in and she collapsed in his arms, relief coursing through her. I’m safe.
He held her tight, rubbing her back in circles as he told her she was okay. But she wasn’t. She’d freaked out and imagined all sorts of crazy shit. I thought I was getting better. If this made me almost go over the edge, how can I tour again?
Sangre pushed back and held her at arm’s length, his gaze fixed on hers. “Better now?”
She nodded sheepishly. “Sorry for making you come out here for nothing.”
He placed his fingers on her lips. “Don’t ever apologize for calling me or needing me.” He looked at her clenched hand. “Is that the note?” She nodded and gave it to him, and his eyes scanned the crumpled piece of paper. “This shit is scary. This wacko’s playing some serious mind games with you. I’m gonna have Mark come up to the porch so you can see that he’s all right.”
When she was convinced that all was good and her fears had simply gotten the best of her, she looked over at Sangre, who was at the door speaking with Mark. She overheard him tell the guard to go home, and she opened her mouth to protest but decided against it and settled back into the sofa’s soft cushion. The truth was she didn’t want him to leave, and the fact that he rushed over to her, concern etched on his face when she saw him, made butterflies flutter inside her.
After closing the door, he came over and sat on the other end of the couch. “I told Mark to head out. I’m taking over.”
“I hope I didn’t screw up a hot date for you.” She laughed, but her stomach muscles tensed as she waited for his response.
“No date. Where did you come from? Mark said that you went out with a friend.”
“Madison and I went to Vesta Grill for dinner. It was very good. Oh, by the way, she’s scared of you since you joined your outlaw club.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“She should be.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you’re a badass.” She poked him in the side, chuckling.
“Is that the way you want to play it?” he teased, snagging her around the waist. Then he started tickling her and she howled. Eyes watering, face red, words sputtering out of her mouth, she tried to push him away. One autumn afternoon when she was eleven, he’d found out that she was ticklish and had used it as a weapon whenever he wanted his way. That day, she’d help him rake the leaves in his backyard, and they’d both jumped in the big pile after they were done. He tried to stuff leaves around her, and she’d started laughing, telling him to stop. His eyes had sparkled with mischief when he’d found her weakness.
“Sangre! Stop!” Panting hard, she pushed her hands against his hard chest. He had her on her back and he hovered over her, his warm breath ghosting her face. Her hands dropped from his chest and she locked her gaze with the intensity of his own. Desire burned in them, and she held her breath as he lowered his head.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, breaking eye contact to stare at her mouth. “So beautiful.” She had to strain to hear him.
Closing her eyes, her lips tingled in anticipation of his kiss. Nothing. Her lids flew open just as he straightened out and slid down to the far end of the couch. What the hell? I thought for sure he was going to kiss me. Her body tightened in anger.
Smiling weakly, he wiped his hand on his jeans. “You’re still ticklish. That’s good to know.”
“Yeah.” Disappointment laced her response. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go to bed. Are you staying inside?”
“If that’s cool with you.” He avoided looking at her.
“Sure. Are you going to stay down here?”
Nodding, he stood up. “I don’t plan on sleeping. I’m doing a job.”
I’m only a job. Just forget about it. I should be working on my relationship with Benz instead of lusting after my friend. I’m pathetic. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in the morning. Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge and cupboards. Night.”
“Night.”
Isla trudged up the stairs wishing like hell that Sangre was with her, but she knew he’d never cross that line. He’d always liked her just as a friend, so why was she surprised?
With a heavy heart, she pulled down the covers and crawled between the sheets.