CHAPTER ONE
‡
“Excuse me.”
Camryn Novak managed to squeeze herself in between the numerous people lining the busy street hanging onto semi-opaque plastic cups brimming with various colorful fruity drinks. They were all lifting their arms to cheer the latest street performer, and not one of them had a care in the world.
She was lucky not to get drenched with spilled contents as she dodged yet another drunk offering beads for lewd displays of nudity. It wasn’t that she was a prude of any sort. Quite the contrary. She loved dressing sexy for the parade and having fun, but these guys were far beyond the pale. She’d been one of the party crowd herself not ten minutes ago—until she caught sight of him.
Loud music blared in the streets while the partiers yelled over the booming bass to make themselves heard. It was a typical evening in the French Quarter of New Orleans and though the boisterous atmosphere made it appear as if she wasn’t alone hurrying down Bourbon Street, that wasn’t the case.
No one here would ever notice if she were abducted and killed.
She would be left in some filthy alleyway off one of the major thoroughfares to be found by some homeless crustie’s dog hoping to find some food while pursuing their endless quest for a better place to sack out for the night.
Camryn didn’t slow down until she hit Conti Street, only then allowing herself to look over her shoulder. There was a small police station just over one block on Royal next to the courthouse. The proximity of a relatively safe haven amongst the din gave her false courage. She scanned the various faces of those within viewing distance, relaxing somewhat when she didn’t see him.
Would she even recognize him without the ever-present camera in front of his face?
At first, Camryn thought the ubiquitous man had been just another random member of the paparazzi who had interest in her as a B-list actress. The paparazzi were always looking for those elusive money shots, destroying more careers in their wake than drug use…and that was saying something.
Camryn had gotten used to the lack of privacy after her first starring movie role over three years ago. It wasn’t as if she were one of the A-listers who needed to travel with an entourage—cue the executive level assistant with the obliviously false pleasant demeanor.
As a matter of fact, even her perpetually harried yet well-meaning assistant hadn’t joined her for this visit because it was supposed to be a quick trip—in and out. Often, Dylan would act in both capacities as an assistant and as a male presence who would deter unwanted advances.
Sure, she was recognizable without her sunglasses and floppy hat, but she normally didn’t attract the truly crazy crowd of fanatics.
This was different.
“Watch where you’re going there, lady!” a man exclaimed, his drink spilling over the rim onto both of them as her shoulder jarred his arm.
“Sorry,” Camryn muttered, wincing when her apology fell onto apparently deaf ears.
The man was still shaking his head as he jogged ahead to catch up with his group of friends, leaving her there with a drenched shirt. She once again peered over her shoulder. Neon lights highlighted happy faces and caused rows of teeth to glow as laughter passed their lips and smiles adorned their faces.
Everything was right in their world. Nothing was amiss.
Had she overreacted? Had she conjured up a monster in this diminutive world of voodoo shops?
Camryn’s hands shook as she tried to wipe off the mixture of candy-flavored slushy, liquor, and hard alcohol that was starting to stick to her skin. What in the hell made these idiots buy those damned red Hurricane drinks anyway? Now she was both drenched in New Orleans’ stereotypical sticky goo and being harassed by a phantom stalker. She hadn’t realized how much adrenaline had been pumping through her veins at the thought of being a target for some random nut job.
She blamed her paranoid brother, who was constantly calling and texting with reminders for her to be careful and to not trust anyone who wasn’t in her inner circle. He always reminded her that people didn’t see her as the innocent young girl from the Midwest any longer, but rather a target to try and scam. She’d carefully chosen and vetted those who surrounded her in the business, though she had flown from Florida to Louisiana on her own. The only person besides her assistant who was aware of her trip was her overzealous agent, because she’d been the one to suggest it was time for her to switch from movies to television. It was a means which had invigorated several waning careers in recent memory.
Apparently, entering one’s thirties meant being put out to pasture in today’s market.
Once more, Camryn was jostled because she’d become stationary after stepping onto the sidewalk. She stumbled forward before catching herself from falling off the curb. The cream and white building of Latrobe’s on Royal grabbed her attention. She made a beeline for the open back door. The side entrance on Conti was often where smokers gathered to get their fix during obligatory social events.
Right now, she needed a well-appointed restroom and a quiet place to calm her nerves—though it appeared neither was going to happen. The upscale reception venue was currently packed with recognizable people celebrating another night of festivities in what the industry had dubbed Hollywood South.
Camryn made her way inside, past the small alcove on the left. The area always seemed to shelter certain cliques within any party’s elite. Unfortunately, the crowd made it hard to reach the posh lavatory with its exterior powder room and discreet couch.
Her best bet was to try and make a path through the gathered partiers toward the bar for a towel and some soda water.
Though the air outside had been relatively cool for this time of year, the inside of the building was somewhat stifling. The hosts obviously hadn’t opened the double doors just inside those two green and black marble columns adorning the front of the notorious locale.
Camryn had spent the majority of the evening hopping less ritzy bars with a fellow actor, who drank way too much to compensate for his addiction to prescription opiates for her liking. He’d screen tested today for one of the secondary characters for the television pilot. She hadn’t been all that impressed with her part, which was central to the show, or his performance.
Camryn peered ahead into the small room that contained the bar area and looked for a path. This fashionable spot was much nicer than any of the dives one block over and farther down the street. She’d eaten here at an industry reception yesterday, having been roped into attending by one of the producers she’d come to meet on this trip. The food was delicious and the staff was courteous. Tonight, it was a little too overcrowded with people in such a small area, thus making the interior rather oppressive.
The live jazz music had the customers in a good mood and these patrons were more easygoing than those partiers out on the streets. Camryn finally made it to the dark red and mahogany wood bar where she spotted a white bar towel hanging on the back of the counter. She reached between two men waiting for their orders and snatched it up to wipe the liquor from her arms. Unfortunately, the damp cloth did nothing to eliminate the obvious red stain on her blouse.
“You look like you could use some help.”
Camryn glanced up to find an attractive male around five years her junior standing before her. He had a beer glass in one hand and was holding up his other arm to grab the attention of the bartender. In seconds, another hand towel was tossed their way—this one damp with soda water. It didn’t take a genius to figure out from the man’s southern drawl, or the immediate attention he’d garnered from the staff, that he was a recognized face here.
“Thank you,” Camryn said, raising her voice so that he could hear her over the conversations around them.
She had her long, dark brown strands pulled back at the base of her neck. She’d purposefully chosen a pair of sunglasses that were too dark to wear casually, which was why she’d flipped them up onto her head earlier this evening.
Camryn used the sunglasses earlier to prevent people from recognizing her and hadn’t given it a second thought upon entering this establishment. She should have taken Aiden up on his offer to walk her back to her hotel, but she hadn’t caught sight of the man taking pictures until she’d started strolling down the infamous Bourbon Street.
“You look familiar.” The man had somehow magically exchanged his beer for a glass of soda water and was offering it to her so that she could dip the towel into the cleansing liquid. His curious gaze never left her face. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Camryn replied with a small smile to hide her convenient lie. She took the towel from his hand and quickly wiped the coarse material down her arms and chest. She was now wishing she’d worn a light jacket. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and bumped into someone with a fresh Hurricane, of all things. Needless to say, it spilled on both of us.”
“It sounds like you could use a drink yourself,” the man surmised, holding up his hand once more to signify to the bartender that he wanted another round of whatever he was having. “Bourbon Street tends to be a bit crowded during this time of night. It’s rare anyone goes home without a set of beads and in desperate need of a shower.”
“Speaking of home, I really should be moving along.” Camryn pressed a now clean hand against the back pocket of her jeans, confirming that her phone, identification, and credit card were still in place. She hadn’t wanted to carry a purse with so many people milling about. “I have an early business meeting.”
“Do you live in the Parish? Like I said, you look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen you around socially.”
“I’m from Illinois,” Camryn automatically replied, having learned long ago never to reveal the location of her current address to a stranger. Technically, this time she wasn’t actually lying. Her mother still resided in Chicago. “Thank you so much for the towel and soda water. I—”
Camryn had just tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear when she caught sight of a black camera—the same one she’d spotted leaving the last bar. Large hands were busy adjusting the lens as the man zoomed in on her, most likely modifying his focus due to the dim lighting between the front room and the side area where the bar was located. She forced herself to really examine the figure behind the camera, noticing right away he didn’t carry a bulging case like the typical paparazzi.
He also didn’t have any type of identification badge hanging around his neck like most of the press photographers, not that it was a prerequisite for independents. Something told her this man had nothing to do with any gossip rag or reputable magazine.
He was just shadowing her.
“Oh, shit,” the man exclaimed excitedly, having turned to see who had caught her interest. The camera must have triggered his memory. “You’re Camryn Novak! Guys, come over here! Camryn Novak is right here!”
This wasn’t the type of attention she was hoping for at the moment, but it was almost impossible for her to just up and leave now that a crowd began to form around her. The only benefit of her present situation was the fact that she was no longer visible to the man who’d once again tracked her down.
Who was he?
Granted, he might just be an obsessed fan who wanted to take her picture and was too shy to ask her to strike a pose, but that wasn’t what her intuition was telling her. He had an aggressive manner about him.
The next fifteen minutes inched by as she spent the time getting her photograph taken by the patrons and signing napkins for those who sought an autograph. Camryn was mystified why anyone would want a picture with her wearing a red-stained blouse, with her looking all windblown and just one hot mess.
Camryn still managed to paste a smile on her face, all the while doing her best not to panic at the thought of leaving here unaccompanied to walk to her hotel.
Where was he now?
He had to be nearby waiting for her to leave. Unfortunately, both exits were visible from the corner.
She could always call her brother’s friend. He would certainly deter any unwanted advances. He also just happened to be in town on business. She immediately discarded that thought after a single moment of reflection, refusing to let word get back to Brody that his baby sister couldn’t take care of herself while strolling down Bourbon Street on a typical November weekday evening.
Camryn had fought very hard to get this far in her life, and she wouldn’t ruin it now.
Another napkin was pushed in front of her, but she didn’t sign it right away. There was already writing imbedded into the rough material. She froze as the black ink finally penetrated, though the indentions made no sense to her at first.
Why were there a series of numbers written on a napkin?
Her name was also etched onto the white square, right above the date…a date that wouldn’t occur for another two weeks yet.
It was then that a cold realization settled over her unlike anything she had ever experienced.
She had to be mistaken.
Maybe someone wanted to date her autograph and had just gotten the day of the month wrong. That was more plausible than the thoughts racing through her mind.
Brody Novak. Her brother—the same brother who was working for a privately contracted security agency. He and his team were currently searching for a notorious serial killer who had escaped from federal prison only a few months ago. Shepherd Moss had been the name of the bloodthirsty murderer, and he’d been convicted of killing eighteen women after torturing them for days on end, only to then carve the date of their death into their bodies while they were still breathing.
It was ludicrous to think that the same serial killer would target her of all people, just to get back at her brother, all because of who his employer was and what they were doing to hunt him down.
It was just a date written on a napkin.
It didn’t mean anything to anyone.
She should never have had that second drink she’d been offered. Her mind was starting to twist innocent facts. She was taking a relatively innocuous incident and making it into something it couldn’t possibly be.
Camryn scrunched the white cocktail napkin in the palm of her hand as she lifted her head and scanned the crowd. Her heart stuttered when her eyes landed on that same black lens, but she stood firm. She should have confronted this creep when she’d first spotted him.
There he was by the entrance of the wide-open foyer, the camera once again blocking the majority of his face.
Camryn couldn’t stop her brother’s voice from whispering all those casual warnings in her head repeatedly.
Shepherd Moss was a wanted man, listed on the FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted list. His picture had been plastered across the national media endlessly. She tried to make herself see reason and not get herself caught up in the moment. There was absolutely no way he could be walking around New Orleans without someone spotting him. She struggled to recall his features, but the image of his face wouldn’t surface no matter how hard she tried.
She’d recognize him if she saw him, right?
She watched in somewhat disbelief as he released the camera with one hand, reaching his arm out to her and pointing his finger at the napkin still hanging from her fingertips.
It hadn’t been a mistake. The date written in black ink had been intentional. There was no doubt he was responsible for the odd notation in her hand.
Camryn had seen a lot in her line of business—one of them being what stalkers could do to mess with a fellow actress or actor’s mind. It went both ways. It was as if they had some kind of perverse relationship.
She had no idea if this man was Shepherd Moss or just some random guy who’d grown an unhealthy obsession over her, but she’d be damned if she would sit back and play the terrifying female role when she had a trove of adoring male fans around to utilize in her defense. There were too many witnesses for this man to do anything violent to her. After all, the best defense was a good offense.
Her brother had taught her to take the initiative.
Camryn didn’t waste time as she elbowed her way through the massive crowd, ignoring the calls for more autographs as she drew attention to herself. All eyes were on her, but her sole focus was on the man with the camera who’d been following her for at least thirty minutes, if not longer. She didn’t miss his startled reaction when he hastily took a step back away from her rushing figure. He spun on his worn brown loafers and only then lowered the camera as he tried to get past the patrons standing in the entryway.
She memorized every detail she could of his backside, all the way down to the generic set of khaki pants he was wearing with a brown belt to match his shoes. He was distancing himself quickly and she tried her best to catch up to him before he left the building, but it was futile.
The man had vanished by the time her wedge sandals hit the black and white checkered tile floor of the entrance.
Camryn scanned the crowd passing by just outside the double doors, even though she was aware her search was pointless. She still stepped outside into the cooling night air, hoping to catch some glimpse of him. It appeared she’d scared him off by taking the offensive, but the question remained…would he linger behind and wait for another glimpse of her? Would he be able to detect her amongst the crowd when it came time to leave? If the answer was yes, then she would need to be prepared. That did not include a call to her brother, who would only put her in some sort of protective custody, most likely deploying the entire New Orleans Police Department in the meantime.
She had another trump up her sleeve, and she was willing to use it if she could get a guarantee that word wouldn’t get back to Brody. Before placing that call, she needed to finish what she’d started inside the pub. She didn’t seek out publicity, but she was never rude to a fan once she was recognized.
The shove at her shoulder was so unexpected that she immediately lost her balance.
Camryn frantically flailed her arms to reach out to the nearest person, but her fingers couldn’t grab ahold of anything.
Air.
All she caught was air and though she tried to brace herself for the impact of the street, she was unsuccessful.
Camryn’s head hit the cement curb and then…nothing.
*
She was so beautiful…lying there on the sidewalk with her lashes resting on her flushed cheeks. Or was that from the neon red light from the crosswalk sign? It didn’t really matter. People still surrounded her if they really cared whether she lived or died. Had her gluttonous heart stopped beating, her memory would vanish within days. As usual, it didn’t take long before a few of these strangers recognized her.
It was sickening.
Why was she so special?
He wanted to take a picture of her lying there prostrate at his feet so he could recall this moment in time over and over as he prepared.
After all, this was the magical moment both of their lives had changed.