Chapter 12
The stalker was ready to bite nails. Nothing was working here. Here he was, in the Philadelphia hotel where Morgan had rooms for this stop on the tour, and he couldn’t find them.
The longer he thought about it, the more enraged he became. It was very obvious that they hadn’t used the rooms registered under their names. Every registered guest was verified by his program. He began checking other hotels in the same city, for phony names or even a phony company name like they’d used in D.C. He’d check the suburbs if he had to. He couldn’t let them just disappear from him. They had to be staying somewhere in the city.
He’d dig into airline passenger manifests next, just to make sure they were still booked on their original flight to Cleveland two days from now and hadn’t changed their reservations. They couldn’t use fake names for that, thanks to Homeland Security. And finally, hotel clerks be damned, when he found the right hotel, he’d find someone to bribe who could tell him what fucking room Blake Morgan and his so-called bodyguard were in.
What he needed to do was shake things up a little. Maybe it was time to send that letter. He’d wanted to do it closer to the end of the tour but damn it, if they kept flying under his radar he didn’t think he could wait. Morgan had two interviews lined up in Philadelphia.
At an Internet café, he carried his coffee to a computer at the far end of the room and set himself up. It didn’t take long to find the emails for the people he was targeting. He had the letter all written, he only had to type it into the computer.
He proofed it twice to make sure he hadn’t made any errors or typos. He couldn’t expect them to take him seriously if he came across as unprofessional. When he was satisfied, he hit Send, waited until it was gone, then changed the address and did it again. When both emails had flown into cyberspace, he scrubbed them from the computer, sat back, and sipped from his coffee.
He wasn’t sure which would appeal to him more—seeing the faces of the media people when they read the emails or seeing Blake Morgan’s when he was nailed about the contents. He only wished he could be there in person.
At last he headed back to the hotel, hoping to get some rest. Tomorrow would be a big day. He hoped.
I’m doing this for you, my lovely. Soon the whole world will know.
* * * *
Sam’s cell phone woke them in the morning. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and grabbed the phone. The screen showed Avery’s name, so she hit the Accept button.
“Morning. What’s up?”
Blake had rolled over so he was spooning her, stroking her arm lightly with his fingers and giving her early morning thrills. She was rapidly getting used to sleeping wrapped up in the warmth of his body, looking forward to his tender caresses as well as the sex that was off the charts. Walking away from this was looking less and less likely, but there were things she had to get straight first.
“You’d better be extra alert, Sam,” her boss told her. “And I mean vigilant, like our name.”
“Why?” She sat up abruptly, holding up the covers in front of her. “What’s happened? What’s going on?”
“You know how we thought Blake’s number one fan had skipped D.C.?”
“Uh-huh.” She slid a glance at Blake.
“Apparently he was there, just not in a proactive mode. Probably just to spy on the two of you. It seems he somehow discovered which rooms were registered to you and got in there.”
Sam frowned. “How the hell did he do that? They weren’t even in our names.”
“We’re looking into that. Anyway, it seems he went into your rooms, discovered you weren’t there. When the maid went in to clean this morning she got quite a shock.”
“What happened?” Sam tried to keep her voice as even as possible. Beside her she could feel Blake tense up.
“He tore up everything he could with a knife, slashed the place up pretty good. Then he left sheets of paper with his usual message on it all over the place, just like at Blake’s parents’ home.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m glad we got you out of there when we did and made the changes in the hotel at Philly.”
“If he somehow has the information of our original rooms here in Philly,” Sam said, “let’s hope he doesn’t decide to do a slice and dice there.”
“I think he’ll be more careful this time,” Avery told her. “He’ll be expecting some sleight of hand. Be smart, Sam, and be careful. Watch yourselves. I think this guy is really off the rails.”
“No kidding.”
“What was all that with Avery?” Blake asked when she hung up.
“Shower first, coffee, and then out for breakfast. When we’re clean and fed I’ll lay it all out for you. Okay?”
She could tell he wasn’t happy but he’d apparently decided to pick his battles. Still, his edginess that seemed to grow each day hadn’t been helped by the visit to Andrew Foley. Which was why, when he went to take his shower, instead of using the other bathroom as she’d been doing, she followed him.
Was this a bad idea? Was she giving him the sense things were moving faster than she’d intended? Maybe, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. With each day her feelings for him grew stronger, along with the intense chemistry that sizzled their nerve endings whenever they made love.
Yes, Sam, made love. You might as well call it what it is, even if it terrifies you. Because you know every sign from Blake is that he’s all in.
It had to be the situation, she told herself over and over. Living with danger at every turn tore down walls and amped up feelings. She’d seen it happen with other agents. She just hadn’t expected it to happen to her, not when she’d tried to lay down the ground rules in the beginning.
Yeah. Right. Look how well that turned out.
Steam had fogged the glass door but she could see a hazy image of his naked body. She still had no idea what was going to happen with them when this was all over, but she’d made up her mind to enjoy it while she could. Besides, right now he needed something to take the edge off his nerves so he could face the day’s schedule.
When she slid the door open he looked at her, startled.
“What—”
“Shh.” She touched the tip of a finger to his lips. “I know you’re about to jump out of your skin and I have just the prescription for you.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I want to.” And the thing was, she really did.
She poured the bodywash into her palm and worked it into a good lather before she began stroking it over the hard wall of his chest. She could practically feel his body vibrating beneath her touch, but she took her time, massaging the tight chest muscles. When she scraped her fingernails lightly over his hard nipples he sucked in a breath and reached for her.
“Uh-uh. This one’s for you.”
She shook her head and stood on tiptoe to place a light kiss on his wet lips. Then she went back to her task, sliding the slippery bubbles over his skin, down each arm, over his hips. More soap, more lather. When she began to trail her hands over his abdomen he sucked in a breath.
“Watch it.” His voice was strained. “That could be a problem.”
She grinned. “Not for me.”
Before she reached his groin, she eased around him and lathered up his back, rubbing his shoulders then slipping her hands down to his hips again and then to the tight muscles of his butt. When she squeezed the muscular cheeks he groaned, so she did it again. Tempted, she slid one soapy hand into the cleft, just teasing, then easing it back when he again inhaled a sharp breath.
Pressing her body against his, she slipped her hands around to his front, threaded her fingers through the crisp hair on his groin until she reached the hard, swollen thickness of his cock.
“Oh, God!” he groaned, and moved his hips back and forth.
“Put your hands out and brace yourself on the wall,” she told him.
“As long as you don’t stop.”
She stood on tiptoe and nipped his earlobe. “Not a chance.”
She slid her fingers up and down on his shaft, feeling the hard steel beneath the soft skin. She pressed her body against his as hard as she could, wanting to feel every muscle, every quiver, soaking up the heat of him.
“Aaahhh.” The sound rumbled up from his chest.
Sam rested a hand lightly on his shoulder as she squeezed his shaft and increased the pace of her strokes but just slightly.
“Relax into it,” she whispered. “Close your eyes and just feel. Forget about everything else.”
She didn’t rush it, varying the tempo of her caresses, moving her body with his as he rode her hand. She paused only long enough to squeeze more soap into her palm and work it into a rich lather. Then she picked up the rhythm again.
“More,” he groaned. “Faster.”
But she was determined to make this last as long as possible, to draw him out of himself so he focused only on one thing—release. So that everything else fell away and disappeared in the intense release of an orgasm. She took her time, never hurrying, until she could tell he’d about reached his limit of control. Then she increased the pace, stroked harder, and squeezed more, until he exploded, pouring himself over her fingers.
She never let up until she’d wrung the last drop from him. Then she caressed him slowly and softly, bringing him down from the intensity of the climax. Finally she turned him around, pressed herself against him, and wound her arms around his neck.
“Better?” She smiled at the expression on his face.
“I don’t know.” He grinned back at her. “You might have to do it again to make sure.”
Her laugh was soft. “I would but there’d be nothing left of you. Now I think you’re ready to meet the day.”
“I should make you promise to do this every morning.”
She tensed at the implications of his words, but then forced herself to relax. This wasn’t the time or place for a discussion about where they were headed. Or not. Was she hiding behind the past? Maybe. She knew she should be strong enough to face this head on, but her emotions seemed to be the one place where her strength failed her.
God, what a fucking mess she was.
“But then it wouldn’t be special, like this was.” She reached around and gave his ass a light smack. “Now we have to shower for real and get dressed. Your day is about to kick into high gear.”
She might not have done her own need any good, but Sam smiled to herself when she saw the difference in Blake. Maybe he wasn’t completely relaxed. Who would be, considering the situation? But the lines around his eyes weren’t as tight and he wasn’t gripping the mug like a club when he drank his coffee.
“Ready?” She put her own empty mug down and picked up her tote.
“As I’ll ever be.” He took one more swallow before shrugging into his sport jacket and picking up his messenger bag. “We have a morning flight for Cleveland, right?”
She nodded. “But if you’re up for it, I’d like to leave after the signing tonight. Just in case, Avery is going to try and book us last minute on a very late flight. You can sleep in tomorrow.”
“I need to get some writing in, too. I’m way behind.”
“No problem. You’ll have two days and we’ll just block off the time.”
“Just as long as that asshole doesn’t disrupt things.” He shook his head. “I’d love to get my hands around his neck.”
She laughed softly. “I’ll put it on the list.”
* * * *
The drive to the television station was accomplished without incident. This time Blake was scheduled for a spot on the noon program, which was news and interviews. He still had the feeling someone was constantly watching him.
“I know telling you to relax won’t help,” Sam told him. “But we took a different flight, got here two days early and we’re staying at a different hotel. I think we’re good.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’ll be damn glad when this tour is over.”
She reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “At least the signings themselves are successful.”
“Thank God for that.” He blew out a breath. “That’s one thing he hasn’t managed to fuck up, although I’m sure that’s what he wants.”
“When I talked to the manager for tonight’s event, she echoed what the others have said. Tons of phone calls, lots of customers asking about it. And a hefty order of presolds for you to sign.”
“Yeah, I can’t complain about any of that.”
Sam turned into the entrance to the television station parking lot. Blake was glad to see that it, like all the others on this tour, was gated and guarded. And the guard had a list of guests to approve. At least the stalker wouldn’t be able to get in here, thank the lord.
As soon as they entered the lobby, a tall man who had been leaning on the reception desk came forward with his hand outstretched.
“Roger Buchanan.” He shook Blake’s hand. “I’m the producer of Noontime News and Views. We’re very pleased to have you with us today.”
“Thanks so much for inviting me.” He introduced Sam to the man.
“Nice to meet you. If you’ll just follow me?”
Buchanan led the way through double doors and down a corridor. The room he ushered them into was almost a carbon copy of the other guest lounges they’d seen on the tour.
“We have coffee, tea, ice water, and juice.” He pointed to a buffet against the wall. “Also some pastries, so feel free to help yourselves.”
“Thanks, but we’re good.”
Buchanan studied him for a long moment, a look that made Blake fidget.
“Is there a problem?”
“What? Oh, no. This show is a little different from some of the others you’ve done. We ask readers to email us with questions ahead of time and we got a lot more than we expected. You’re a very popular man, Mr. Morgan.”
“Blake. Please. And questions are fine. Good, even. I’m happy to answer them if I can.”
“Good, good. Well, we’ll be to get you in just a few minutes.”
As soon as Buchanan had left the room, Blake turned to Sam.
“Did he seem a little fidgety to you?”
She nodded. “He did. Do you think there’s a problem?”
Blake shrugged. “I have no idea. The more of these I do, the more I realize how much hosts like to blindside their guests. But other than my stalker, my life is an open book.”
“And I don’t think he knows about the stalker yet. Vigilance has kept it all under wraps.”
Blake rubbed his chin. “What about news reports of Grant Kennelly’s assault?”
“Avery told me Sheri and the sheriff have tried to keep a lid on that. It still hasn’t hit the major news outlets and they’re trying to keep it that way.”
“Let’s hope.”
At that moment the door opened and Roger Buchanan entered.
“You’re up,” he told Blake. “Miss Quenel, if you’d like to watch in the studio, come on ahead.”
“Thank you. That would be very nice.”
Today was a repeat of the other studio visits. Someone found a director’s chair for Sam to sit in. Blake was set up at the news desk, rather than a conversation area.
“We’ve taken to doing all our interviews like this,” Buchanan told Sam.
Then it was show time and he gave her his public smile. Ditto with the producer who walked them out to the lobby. The host introduced herself and welcomed Blake. They discussed his career and the rise to best-seller status of the last three books. The host read emails from several fans, simple questions such as “When is your next book coming out?” “Which was your favorite to write?” and “Do you have a favorite author you like to read?”
Blake was finally allowing himself to relax when the host pulled a sheet of paper out of the pile, skimmed it, and looked across at Blake.
“This one’s a little different,” she said. “Let me read a line or two if I may?”
Blake tensed, but nodded.
“Mr. Blake, can you tell us what secret you’ve hidden about your career? What did you do that’s so bad you refuse to discuss it? Did you steal someone else’s work? The person who wrote this said you’ll know what you did.”
Blake froze in place, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. You know want you did.
What the hell? What the fucking hell?
“Excuse me.” He smiled at the woman seated across from him. “Is someone saying I plagiarized their work? Is that what this is?”
“Mmmm, I think maybe copied from it might be more what they’re hinting at.” She looked down at the email. “This person is saying your whole career is based on a lie.” She looked back up at him. “Do you have any idea why someone would say that?”
Blake was stunned and for a moment unable to move or speak. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to get himself under control. He was, after all, on television.
“I’d have to say,” he told the woman slowly, “someone should check their facts before floating something like that out there.”
“So the answer is no?” she persisted.
“Absolutely. Completely. No and no.” He drew in a steadying breath. It would not do to let his anger take over here on television. “All of my work is original and it’s my own. I keep all my original notes, even my late-night scribblings.”
“That’s a good habit to have.”
He turned to face directly into the camera, doing his best not to show how hard his heart was hammering. “Whoever sent in that question, ask me anything about my work, my planning, my outlines, anything at all. I think you’ll see every book I’ve written is mine without question. I’m sorry something made you think otherwise. But plagiarism just isn’t in my vocabulary. The work and the research? All mine. And thanks to all of you who keep buying my books.” He looked back at the host. “If we have time, I’d like to tell you a little more about my latest release.”
The host, who apparently had expected a much more volatile reaction from him or else an angry one, was shuffling her papers to give herself time to pull it together. Blake stared directly at her. She’d probably thought she had a bombshell. Too bad to disappoint her, but he’d hang on to his control no matter what.
The rest of the interview was almost an anticlimax. They reviewed the details for the signing tonight, he spoke a little about the book he was signing, and then they were done. He wanted to rip the mic from his clothing and toss it to the floor, but he sat patiently waiting for the studio grip to unhook him.
Samantha came forward at once, taking advantage of the break, and touched his hand.
“We’re good.” She smiled at him. “Let’s just get out of here.”
He shook hands with the host and thanked her very much for having him. Did the usual book signing in the guest lounge, then walked out to the lobby with Buchanan.
“Hope you didn’t mind that we threw that little curve ball in there.” He threw his arm around Blake’s shoulders in a fake gesture of camaraderie. “We don’t want people to think we’re hiding things or burying controversial emails.”
“Understood.” He eased away from the man’s arm and glanced at his watch. “I’d love to hang around and chat but we have another appointment to get to.” He looked at Samantha. “Right, Sam?”
She nodded. “And we need to get moving.”
More thank-yous and they were out the door. Neither of them said a word until they were in the car and driving out of the lot. Then Blake exploded.
“God fucking damn!” He slammed his fist on the dash. “Fucking, fucking, fucking damn.”
Beside him Sam quietly maneuvered through the streets of Philadelphia, clearly waiting for his rage to ease.
“We need to call Avery,” she said at last. “She needs to know that he’s upping his game. If he’s coming out of the shadows like this, we need to be prepared for anything. And I want her to ask Buchanan to forward that email to Vigilance so they can try to track the IP address.”
“I don’t know which is worse.” He ground his teeth. “Having him embarrass me that way, or the fact that someone might actually think I plagiarized my books.”
“Blake.” She did that quick hand squeeze that always seemed to calm him down. “No one in their right mind thinks that. You’ve been interviewed so many times. If the books weren’t yours, you’d never be able to answer a lot of those questions. But let’s think about this a minute. Who do you know that would think that?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea at all. It’s never come up. I can’t—” His cell rang and he looked at the screen. “It’s Henry. I gotta take this. Yeah, Henry, what’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s up? Who is this idiot accusing you of plagiarizing his stuff?”
“Damn, Henry. I just did the show. How did you get this so fast?”
“A friend in Philly watched it for me. What the hell is going on? Why didn’t you call me?” He could hear the anger in his agent’s voice. “There’s no truth in that, is there, by the way?”
“No, Henry.” Blake reined in his anger. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
“Then who the hell is doing this?” Pause. “Wait. Does this have something to do with your stalker?”
“We think so.”
“Okay, so now we might have a reason for what he’s doing. He thinks you stole his stuff.”
Blake tightened his grip on the cell. “He might think he has a reason, but there is no damn truth in it.”
“We have to find this guy and straighten this out.”
Blake actually laughed. “Yes, Henry, let’s make sure he tells everyone he’s lying. We don’t want to even worry about whether he’s going to kill me, right? Especially since he’s almost killed once.”
There was a pause. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right, your safety comes first. Of course.” Another pause. “It’s just…Christ, Blake. What the hell is going on?”
“Henry, if I knew I’d tell you. I don’t even know why he chose this particular stop to give us a hint of his motive. I thought he’d keep us in the dark as long as possible. On edge.”
“Are we all set—wait, hold on.”
Blake sat holding the phone, wondering where Henry had gone.
“More trouble?” Sam asked.
“Just Henry being Henry. A friend saw the interview and Henry got all freaked out.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’d think after all this time he wouldn’t pay any attention to assholes like this.”
“Blake?” Henry’s voice sounded in his ear, “you still there?”
“Where else would I be? What’s up?”
“You aren’t gonna believe this.” His heavy sigh carried across the connection “The store manager of tonight’s signing saw the interview, too, and got all freaked out. But then, she told me, she started to get the weirdest calls, from people asking if you really stole your material and if you’d answer questions tonight. She says the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
“You’re kidding.” Blake ground his teeth. “So now I’m supposed to get put on display like some criminal that people can harass?”
“Just be your charming self,” Henry told him. “You’ll wow them, you always do. By the time you finish they won’t care if you wrote the damn books or not.”
“But—”
“I gotta get back to her. Call me later.”
Blake just stared at the phone in his hand.
“What?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure you’d believe it if I told you.”
“You can save it for later. We’re at the restaurant where the reporter is waiting.” Sam wheeled the car into the parking lot. “Are you good to go?”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah. As good as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
She turned off the ignition and shifted in her seat to look at him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “You can do this, Blake. You’re a professional. I’ve watched you in action. The way you handled being blindsided on television? High marks for that, buddy.”
“I know I can do it.” He lifted her hands to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “It’s just a bitch to do.”
“Price of fame,” she teased. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. I’ll call Avery. Then I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“He’s in the city, Sam. I can feel it. And I know he was in D.C. He just changed up his game plan.”
“And we have our plan, too. Now come on. Let’s go back to the hotel. I think I have a way to help you chill until tonight.”
He squeezed her hands. “I can get down with that plan. Any time.”
* * * *
The stalker sat in the lobby of the hotel with his coffee and a tablet. The morning had been exhausting and he was already in a foul mood. The damn interview hadn’t come off the way he wanted. Morgan had oiled his way around the question, just as smooth as could be, and turned it into a publicity push. How could he say he never stole anyone’s work? The stalker had the proof right here in his laptop. He couldn’t wait until the appropriate time to reveal it to everyone. He had just the time picked out, too. The big event that would close out the tour.
But meanwhile he had connected with his prey again. His souped-up software had done a massive search and located another fake company name, so he’d hotfooted it over to where they were staying. Hiding, was more like it. Vigilance no doubt thought they outfoxed him, but he had written software that they’d pay a fortune to have. It was his ace in the hole. He could find anyone anywhere any time.
Now if he could just find their room number he could create a little more mischief. That was the only problem with the program. It could tell you everything except what room numbers had been assigned. He didn’t want to take a chance running the program right here, but if he took his laptop someplace else, he might miss them. Watching for them was his only recourse.
Glancing at his watch he saw it was the middle of the afternoon. The man had to be coming back soon to get ready for tonight. As he sat there running scenarios through his mind, a woman entered the lobby and headed for the elevators. Something about her caught his eyes and when he looked, she was walking away from him. His pulse ratcheted up a little. He hadn’t seen her face, but the slender body and long braid were very distinctive.
It was her! The bodyguard!
He’d bet every penny she was more than a bodyguard, too. He’d heard all the stories about Blake Morgan and his women. The man just could not keep it in his pants. He had no idea where Morgan was but catching the woman alone might be a bonus. Dangerous game, buddy!
Yeah, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
With his cap pulled low over his face and his jacket collar turned up, he entered the elevator with her, slouching into a corner. She hadn’t even looked at him, just took out her cell phone and busied herself texting. When the car stopped at her floor, he followed her off, but pretended to be looking for a room. She still ignored him, only putting her phone away when she got to her room. A swipe of her key card and she was inside.
But where the hell was Morgan?
Never mind. He’d send a message to him.
He waited a few minutes, just in case Morgan was a little bit behind her, but when no one arrived he knocked on the door. She pulled it open.
“Did you forget your card—oh! I think you must have the wrong room.”
“No mistake.” He shoved her inside and slammed the door behind him. “I have a message for you to give your boyfriend.”
Her eyes widened with fear. “My what? I don’t have a boyfriend. You have the wrong person here. Please leave.”
She started toward the door but he grabbed her arms. “Don’t lie to me. I recognized you.”
“I’m telling, you, this is a mistake.”
“Didn’t Vigilance teach you to lie better than this?”
“Vigilance? What? Who?” She looked thoroughly confused. “Let me show you my wallet. Please. You’ll see that you’ve got the wrong person.”
He let her pull away long enough to grab her purse from the dresser and take out her wallet, but he still held on to her arm. She pulled out her wallet and flipped it open, her hands shaking. “See? This is me. Diana Roeden. I’m from Seneca, New York, and I’m here with my husband.”
He frowned. “Husband?”
“Yes. And he’ll be here any minute. If you just let me go I won’t say anything.”
“Yeah, right.” Five seconds after he walked out of the room she’d be on the phone to the hotel manager and then it would be the cops. Shit.
“Please.”
He saw the fright in her eyes and the tears rolling down her face. He’d made a colossal mistake here because his ego got the better of him. But just walking away and leaving her wasn’t an option.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly.”
She opened her mouth to scream but he clapped his hand over it, as he pulled the knife from its sheath and plunged it into her abdomen. Next came the slice across the throat, and in seconds it was all over. He wiped the blade on the bedspread and returned it to the sheath. Then he got the hell out, hoping he made it to the elevator before her husband showed up.
As he rode down to the lobby, he thought how astonishingly, unexpectedly good it felt to kill someone.