Two

“Please, take a seat, Miss Hodges.” I nodded at the couch as I took off my handbag and set it on my desk. I also took out my phone and quickly turned on an app to record our conversation. After I placed it next to my bag, I turned toward the couch.

I had intended to sit next to the worried woman, console her while gently coaxing out what was on her mind, but she'd walked over to the window. I couldn’t force myself to go stand by her. Even thinking about the tenth-floor view made my stomach flutter. Acrophobia—the fear of heights. All it took for that feeling of me losing my balance was standing too close to a high edge—which was anything over the first floor.

I sat on the edge of my desk as she studied the street below. “Do you think you were followed here?”

“I don’t know.” She set her computer bag on the floor and sagged against the windowsill. That simple motion sent a shiver pulsing through my chest. “I hope not.”

“How can I help you, Miss Hodges?” She looked over her shoulder at me. The ceiling lights cast shadows under her eyes, making her appear exhausted. Or maybe she really was tired. “You said that your life is in danger. Can you tell me why you think that?”

With a soft sigh, the woman wandered to the couch, falling into it like her strength had given out. There wasn’t a need for me to repeat my question. She’d come to me for help. Now all I needed to do was wait until she told me what she wanted me to do. I knew she was safe—at the moment—locked up in our polished stone and glass tower.

“Are you thirsty?” I asked, heading to the fridge. My appetite returned after I opened the fridge door. “Or hungry?” I leaned down and pushed around the leftovers. “I have something that looks like lasagna, or a half peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on white bread. There’s chocolate milk, two-percent milk, Coke, diet Coke, diet Mountain Dew—”

“The Dew.”

“Okay.” I grabbed the can of diet Dew, plus the sandwich I’d intended on eating earlier, along with a half-pint bottle of chocolate milk. Taylor took the soda without saying a word, popping it open with the tip of her finger. It was then I noticed how short her nails were, as if she bit them regularly.

I sat down within arm’s reach of her on the couch and went through the motions of opening my snacks, but watched Taylor reading something on her phone. She’d seemed so desperate thirty minutes ago. Now I had to wonder if she’d overdramatized her situation in order to get my attention tonight.

Finally, she set the soda down on the coffee table in front of her and leaned her head back on the cushion, but her hand still gripped the phone like it was a lifeline.

“So, Taylor, what are you doing here in Phoenix?” I asked, trying to prompt conversation. “I thought you worked out of California.” Her head snapped to look at me. She hadn't realized I knew who she was. “This last season’s Marry Me was set in LA, right?”

“Huh!” She nodded. “You’ve done your homework. That’s good, Maxine.”

“Call me Max.” I waited for her to answer me. When she didn’t, I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m in Arizona scoutin’ out a new location for next season’s Marry Me.”

“Did you find it?” I couldn’t help asking.

Taylor smiled. “I did.”

I was out of luck when she didn’t tell me the new location. I knew of several wonderful mansions that would work perfectly—if she’d needed that kind of assistance. I grinned and shrugged. “Okay. And?”

Her smiled disappeared, replaced by pinched eyebrows as she stared at the wall. “I flew into Sky Harbor last Wednesday in Matthew Burdette’s private jet—”

“He’s Marry Me’s producer, right?” I leaned closer to her.

“Executive producer, yes. His wife, Stephanie Grant—”

“The movie star?” I sat back and took a bite of my sandwich, enthralled at the news and only slightly embarrassed at my lack of knowledge of Hollywood interrelationships.

Taylor spared me a glance before continuing. “Stephanie knows a few people around Scottsdale with huge estates big enough to accommodate our show. I’ve been here for the past week tryin’ to find that perfect place, plus take contestant applications, and look for a new bachelor.”

I nearly choked on the last bite as I swallowed. “How can anyone compete against a royal prince?” I thought about Dante and Rafael. “Against twin princes?”

The slow smile that spread Taylor’s lips intrigued me. It went up through her eyes, lightening her face. “How ‘bout Hollywood royalty?”

My heart beat faster with excitement. I’d just been given a preview—of sorts. “Do you have him signed yet?”

“It’s in…negotiations.”

“And?” I took a long drink of chocolate milk, waiting for more.

Taylor stood up and made her way back to the window. Pterodactyls beat their wings in my chest when she leaned against the glass. “Everything seemed to be fallin’ into place. But then as I was downloadin’ a new contestant application, it was filled with vile threats—personal threats to me, sayin’ that I was never goin’ to see the end of the show—that I would be dead.” She turned around and faced me. “I really didn’t think much of it. Internet trolls are everywhere.”

“Since you’re here, you obviously changed your mind. Tell me what happened.”

Taylor moved to the leather chair near the door and sat down with her arms folded across her stomach, like she was cold. I didn’t keep the office air-conditioning down low enough to warrant that kind of reaction.

“The first…incident…happened Saturday mornin’. Room service had brought my breakfast tray while I was in the shower. As I ate the omelet, my fork clicked against somethin’ metallic.” She hugged her arms tighter. “Someone had put a piece of broken razor blade inside the omelet.”

“Oh crimany…” I set the bottle on the coffee table. “You didn’t see who actually brought in the tray?”

Taylor shook her head. “I called the desk and immediately complained. The manager came up personally and documented the tray, and apologized. He offered to give me my room free for the whole duration.”

“You’re not still there, are you?”

“Yes—well, not in the same room. I was upgraded to a presidential suite.”

I let out a soft groan. “That’s not good,” I muttered. “You said that was the first incident. Go on.”

“On Monday, I went out to my rental car to look for locations where our bachelor can take the contestants for their one-on-one alone dates, and a picture of a slaughtered cow was under the windshield wiper. It had my name scrawled across the bloody belly,” Taylor said, her voice softening as she came to the end.

“That’s pretty creepy,” I told her. “But that’s not enough to even report to the police.”

Taylor stood up and started to unbutton her shirt. “Today, I went to a horse ranch northeast of Scottsdale—it was pretty remote. I had to park on a dirt road and walk a good distance to get a good feel for the place. When I got back to the car, the back tire was flat. There wasn’t a spare tire in the trunk, and the cell reception was weak enough that I had to walk a ways up the road before I could try to make a call for a tow.

“While I was walkin’, a pickup truck came barrelin’ down, and—I swear on my nana’s grave—it swerved at me. I had to jump out of its way.” She slid her shirt off her shoulder and turned, showing me the back of her deeply bruised upper arm. “The side-view mirror still hit me.

“Oh, Taylor…” I got up and moved closer. Touching the bruise made it more real, even though I could see the injury with my own eyes. “You need to see a doctor.”

She shook her head. “Nothin’s broken,” she said, pulling her shirt up again.

“Is this why you called me?”

As she buttoned up, she dropped back down onto the chair. “I didn’t want to believe anyone would be so sick as to really try to hurt me—”

“Or kill you?”

Her hands stilled. “Or kill me. But how many more chances should I give this person to do just that before I try to stop him?”

“You’re right.” I sat on the coffee table, facing her. “Could you see inside the cab of the truck as it came at you?”

Taylor’s mouth pushed into a frown. “No. The sun was shining on the windshield, making it impossible to see the driver. Besides, it happened so fast.”

“But you can identify the truck if you saw it again?”

She shrugged. “A white pickup? I’ve noticed in the week I’ve been in Phoenix that pretty much all the blasted pickups are white.”

She was right on the target with that. Finding that truck may be impossible. There were many more questions that I needed to ask, but I felt sluggish and tired. I glanced up on the wall, above the door to where the clock hung. It was nearly one in the morning. No wonder I wasn’t thinking clearly any longer. “Let’s pick this up in the morning, and then I’ll get my people started on finding your stalker.”

Taylor hugged herself again. “I’m scared, Max. I don’t know if I can go back to the hotel.”

“I’m not letting you go back there tonight.” I stood up and went to my desk to retrieve my handbag and phone. “I’ll let you hide out at my house until I can find you a safe place to stay. I’ve got plenty of room. Let’s go.”

We made it out of the building and down to the parking garage at the end of the street without event. I’d watched out for any white pickups loitering at the curb. There were none. Nor were there any other cars at all in the garage.

My heels tapping on the concrete echoed too loudly around us. Taylor’s running shoes hardly made a sound. That difference gave me pause. Jace and Bullet always wore athletic shoes at work. While no one told me how to dress—what not to wear—Jace, in particular, would always give my attire a once-over all the way to my coordinating heels. Now I wonder if I should dress down to blend in more. The change in shoes alone would keep from announcing me in the garage when I walked.

We climbed inside my sixty-seven Chevy Impala, our movements quicker than normal, it seemed. An unfamiliar feeling prickled the back of my neck. Fear. Taylor’s story combined with my wicked imagination amped those feelings into throat-clawing paranoia. Once I had the engine started, I quickly shifting into reverse. I needed to get us out of that confined space.

Too bad I didn’t feel any better out on the street heading for home. There were still other cars driving in downtown even after one a.m. on a Wednesday night.

“Are you okay?” Taylor asked me. “You look nervous.”

I kept looking in the side view mirrors, expecting someone to be following us. “I’m just being cautious.” That’s what I told Taylor, but my head told me not to ignore the headlights that pulled up in back of us. I took a right at the next corner—a one-way street—to see if the car in back of us would go straight. No such luck. It turned after us. “Crimany.”

“What is it?” Taylor twisted in her seat, looking out the plastic back window. “Are we being followed?”

“I don’t think so.” Actually, I wasn’t sure one way or the other, so when the next stoplight came up, I took another right and pressed on the gas a little harder. My heart pounded with excitement and fear.

“It turned after us,” Taylor whispered.

Not only did it turn the same way we did, but the headlights quickly grew in the rearview mirror. I took one more turn, to the right, down a one-way, just to make sure we were being tailed and we both weren’t being super paranoid. While I made it through the intersection just before the light turned red, the car behind us blew through it.

“I think he knows we know he’s following us,” I told Taylor, as I stood on the accelerator. The Impala’s three hundred horsepower engine revved higher. “Can you see if it’s a pickup truck?”

“No—no, I can’t tell! Where’re we going?” she asked, her voice loud and demanding.

“I know these streets better than anyone who might be after you.” I turned south on First Street. “And we’re only six blocks away from the police station. Let’s see if he wants to keep chasing us there.”

“I said I don’t want the police—”

“We’re not stopping there—just passing through it.”

A loud boom sounded as a hole snapped though the windshield under the rearview mirror, spraying bits of glass at us. It left a jagged hole with spider web cracks radiating around it.

“He’s shooting at me!” Taylor screamed.

“Get down,” I yelled, grabbing her shoulder and pushing. In the next instant, another shot blew through the window. We both screamed this time.

“Get down on the floorboard—now!” I shouted louder. Adrenaline flashed through my body in a heated wave of fear, making me shake harder than a 5.0 trembler. She slid off the seat, folding her body into an area usually meant for feet and legs. I hadn’t made it easy for her to get there as I jerked the car from one lane to the next, trying to dodge any more bullets being shot at her.

I skidded around the corner onto West Washington Street, a road that went straight to the police department. The car stayed two lengths behind us, weaving from one lane to another and back again. Washington was a one-way street, so no oncoming traffic to interfere with my crazy driving. Seeing was a different matter. The overhead streetlights refracted off every crack, making it harder to look through.

Within two blocks of the police department, a cruiser fell in line behind us with his siren blaring and lights flashing. A mixture of relief and terror made my heart beat faster. We could get caught in a deadly shootout. But having the police involved made a difference to the car behind us. It immediately broke off its chase and took off up Fifth Avenue. The pursuing officer had a decision to make: follow me or the other car.

He sped up behind me, his spotlight hitting my rearview mirror, blinding me. Now I was relieved we weren’t being shot at any longer, and angry that the shooter was getting away.

I knew better than to go any farther, even though I didn’t like the idea of stopping and letting the other car find a hiding place to wait for us to take off again. I pulled over to the curb and hoped whoever shot at us didn’t have a good view; or my newest client could be dead before I ever started her case.