ELLA

 

I’m worn out from pacing back and forth across my living room, anxiously waiting for him to arrive. I know nothing about him, nothing more than his name and the company he works for, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to help me get to the bottom of what’s been going on.

I glance down to the coffee table at the pile of letters I’ve collected over the past forty days, each and every one of them written in red ink and with varying levels of creepiness. There’s five of them to be exact and because I can no longer pretend it’s a harmless prank, I’ve decided my best option is to bring in help.

I thought about contacting the authorities, but in my limited history with the police, I’ve got to be honest, I haven’t had the greatest experiences. Back in high school, for a very brief while, I ran on the opposite side of the law while I was dating the class bad boy. And then, later on in life, I had a friend in college who was suffering abuse at the hands of an ex-boyfriend. The police could never do anything about it except help my friend, Anissa, secure a restraining order.

Little help that restraining order did. Anissa was found dead in her apartment. The only thing the restraining order did was put it on record that her ex-boyfriend was stalking her and showed aggressive behavior. It helped throw him behind bars, but it didn’t save her life.

Before calling Luke, I performed a quick search on the internet for Ford Security. While I couldn’t find much information at first, I eventually found some information hidden deep in search results. It would seem that the personnel who work for Ford Security work just outside the law, and though their methods might not be kosher, they tend to get results.

I need results, but more importantly, I just need the peace of mind in knowing if these letters mean anything or not.

There’s a soft knock on the front door that steals my attention. It steals every bit of my attention to the point where I freeze in place while staring straight at the door. Another knock breaks me out of a daze, and I rush to the door and drop a sweaty palm to pull the door open.

The man standing there turns on his feet to face me fully. He’s dressed casually in a dark blue and plain tee shirt, fitted with boots and jeans. His brown hair is short and swept across the top of his head. He cracks a half-grin and chuckles lightly.

“Luke King, I presume.”

“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head, his eyes searching over me. “That would be, and I presume you’re the damsel in distress who rang me last night?”

“Damsel in distress?” I scoff and cross my arms defiantly, push my tongue against my cheek. “Not quite.”

“I apologize.” He clears his throat and reaches his hand forward to shake mine. “I’m known for making jokes at inappropriate times, so let’s start over by saying it’s nice to meet you.”

I nod at him before shaking his hand. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”

“Do you mind if I come inside?” he questions, but takes no time stepping right past me and then pivoting on his feet as I reach forward and push the door to a close. “Now, you were rather brief over the phone, so what exactly are the circumstances we are meeting under?”

I point to the letters on the coffee table before leading him over to the couch where I drop down to take a seat and gesture for him to do the same.

He shakes his head gently. “I’m good with standing.”

There’s something about him that’s almost intimidating, something about him that reeks of authority, but there’s also something oddly comforting in the way he carries himself.

“I’ve been receiving these letters for a brief while now.” I reach for the stack and pass them to him. “The first time I received one, I thought it was a prank or it was simply sent it to the wrong person.”

He shuffles the letters in his hands while he reads through each one. His eyes alternate between the letters and me, almost like he’s judging me. I wait impatiently for him to finish his quick review, all the while my feet tapping incessantly against the hardwood floors, creating a symphony of nervous monstrosity.

He finally finishes and drops the stack of letters back onto the table, his ice-blue eyes drift back to me. “Five letters don’t end up addressed to the same woman all by mistake, and if it’s a prank, it’s not a funny one.”

“So, what do you think it is?” I question and swallow a gulp. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

“It’s hard to say.” He shrugs and moves to stand against the mantle above the fireplace. “Different people have different understandings of a prank, but like I said, it isn’t funny. Maybe you’re in danger, maybe you’re not. I only have one question for you…”

“Which is?” I furrow a brow and narrow my eyes at him, my heart racing, feeling like I’m about to be put on trial when I’ve done nothing wrong.

“Would you rather be safe or sorry?”

“That’s the exact same thing my friend said.” I drop my head and chuckle lowly to myself. “But the truth is that I’d rather be safe than sorry, even if it turns out to be nothing and I end up looking like an idiot.”

“Who’s your friend?” he questions deadpan, his eyes burrowing a hole in me. “Is this the same friend that referred you to me?”

“Yeah.” I shoot him a narrow glare. “Why?”

“No reason.” He shakes his head and chews into his bottom lip. “While I can’t promise anything, I’m going to help get to the bottom of this.”

“How are you doing to do that?” I rise to stand and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Can you trace the letters?”

“We could lift fingerprints, but I’m not sure that’s our best course of action.” He points to the stack of letters. “These people have gone out of their way to hide their identity, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like leaving forensic evidence behind.” He thumbs his lips before pacing forward slightly, his tall, strong muscular body swaying towards me. “Instead, I think we should take a good look at anyone in your life who could potentially be doing this.”

“What makes you think it’s someone that I know?”

He raises a curious brow as he reaches forward and grabs the first of the five letters and shifts backwards to take a seat in the chair opposite me. “First things first, the letters are addressed to you by name. Secondly, they know what you look like based on the newest letter, and finally, the biggest reason I believe this to be the case…” He leans forward, locks his eyes with mine. “There’s this look on your face that’s half-torn between fear and uncertainty. Something tells me you might know exactly who’s doing this to you.”

“I don’t,” I scowl. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Maybe you can’t recognize it on the surface.” He shrugs, pushes himself back into his chair. “But somewhere deep down, I think you know who’s doing this and you need to reach inside and figure that out.”

I purse my lips and look away, somewhat annoyed at the prospect before turning back to him with a flat, forced smile. “Maybe you’re right, but for the time being, all I’m drawing are blanks so let’s work with what we have.”

“And what do we have?” he questions a slight cock of his head. “Do you have any enemies?”

“This isn’t high school,” I say flatly. “I make a living from home—”

“Doing what?” he interrupts.

“I design web sites.”

“Why do you work from home?”

“Am I on trial?”

“Of course not.” He rises to stand again and steps back towards the mantle before twisting back to face me. “But your life is under scrutiny until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “To be honest, I’m not much of a team player. I’ve been that way for as long as I can remember, and I have anxiety that at times. It can be crippling.” I shrug with apathy. “It’s easier then, I suppose, to work from home and work alone.”

“Is your industry competitive?”

“In what regard and what does it matter?”

“I’m trying to ascertain if you have any enemies,” he points out with a wry grin. “I’ve never met a saint, and I’ve never met anyone without enemies.”

“Sorry.” I rise to my feet and shrug. “But I left all that childish crap behind in high school, enemies I mean.”

“What world are you living in where you seem to conflate the issue of enemies with high school?”

“I would just assume that I don’t live in the same world as you.” I cock my eyes to him. “You live in a dangerous world, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He chews into his bottom lip again, and it’s oddly seductive. “But I’d wager that we both live in the same dangerous world, and I probably see more of that danger, but then again, you called me because on some level you’re afraid of someone or something.”

I exhale sharply and move to change the uncomfortable subject. “Would you like something to drink?” I move past him, towards the open kitchen just off the side of the living room. “A beer, tea?”

“Water’s fine.” He pivots on his feet and follows me into the kitchen, watching me intently as I reach for a glass cup and fill it to the brim with ice-cold water from a filtered pitcher. “Although I do enjoy the occasional drink off duty.”

“Interesting.” I push the glass into his hands. “Is someone like you ever off duty?”

“I don’t work a typical schedule if that’s what you’re inquiring.” He takes a long gulp, and I take notice of the way his throat swells as the liquid swims down his esophagus. He wipes his lips clean and sits the glass onto the marble counter with a clink. “But again, we’re getting off topic.”

“Right, you want to know everything about my life,” I roll my eyes and brace each hand against the edge of the counters. “It’s kind of invasive.”

He drops his head and scratches at his cheek, chuckling playfully under his breath. “You seem to have a lot of secrets, Ella Gold.”

“What would make you think that?”

He glares at me. “Because of your refusal to answer a question directly.”

“Right.” I sigh and push my tongue against the inside of my cheek, avert my gaze so I’m not looking at him, but rather right on past him. “I’ve never quite been an open book.”

“That much I can assess on my own.” He reaches to palm the glass in his hand once more, raises it to take a sip, and then sits it back onto the counter without ever breaking eye contact with me. “Would it be false to say that people would consider you cold or closed off?”

“People who don’t know me, sure.” I grit my teeth, gripping my hands tighter against the edges of the counter. “But it’s different with the people who know me, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Motive.”

“I see…” I muse out loud. “Are you trying to imply that I deserve this?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions.” He begins a slow, deliberate pace towards me. “If someone perceives you one way, it doesn’t matter if that image matches your true self. It only matters that that someone sees you that way. Perception is everything.”

“Then fine,” I relent, break away from the counter just before he can approach me. “Then maybe I’m cold and closed off.”

He grabs at my arm as I shift past him, forcing me to look directly at him and make eye contact. I swallow nervously just before he breaks away from me. “Sometimes, being guarded is the easiest way to survive in this world. Trust me, I get that more than anything, but when it comes to me, I need to see you for who you really are and I need you to dig deep and be vulnerable.”

“Right…” I say lowly, cocking my head just slightly. It’s like those words are enough to trigger something inside of me. It’s like he gets me, and in the silence that follows, there’s a quiet understanding between the two of us. “So what do you need to know?”