Chapter 8
Despite the intensity of the night before, they were up very early in the morning. Sam was pleasantly sore in a number of places, and she’d discovered something besides the fact that Blake was an incredible, giving lover. Keeping him at an emotional distance was going to be a lot harder than she thought. She was uncovering the many layers of Blake Morgan, and each one pulled her emotions more than the other. If she wasn’t careful those emotions would blow up and she’d find herself in a bad place. But how did she learn to trust him after all this time, when her memories flashed a warning to her brain and her heart?
Carefully, very carefully.
She’d expected the shallow teenager to be the same as an adult, but things were exactly the opposite. The adult had little in common with the teenager except his good looks. She worried that her heart might be in real danger here.
First things first. We have a big day ahead of us.
They opted for room service again for breakfast. Sam wanted to keep Blake as relaxed as possible, and sitting in the open where their stalker might be right next to them was not the way to do it. Blake was edgy and jumpy, going through an entire small carafe of coffee himself, and Sam didn’t think it was because of the stalker. She was shocked to discover that he had a mild case of stage fright.
“Not with the readers,” he told her. “Not in bookstores. I love my readers, even in big crowds.” He chuckled. “Especially in big crowds. But the media scares the shit out of me.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Why? You’re so confident about everything else. What can some poor reporter do to you?”
“Some poor reporter who’s looking for a scandalous hook to make his story rise above all the others. Like some of the research I use is nothing but lies, or my publisher inflates my sales. Or, hell, I don’t know. I beat my dog.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
He gave her a weak grin. “I don’t. But you know what I mean.”
She straightened the knot on his tie and rubbed her hand against his smooth-shaven cheek. God. He always smelled so very good. She was in such big trouble here. How did she distinguish between the fulfillment of a teenage wish and something much more mature? How could she make herself trust this? It wasn’t like they were teenagers anymore, and Blake was doing his best to show her in every way how he felt.
Worry about that after you save his ass.
“Okay.” He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Lead on, Macduff.”
“Why don’t you wait for me in front of the hotel?” she suggested. “I’ll go and collect the car and pick you up. You should be safe inside.”
“You think there’ll be another message on the windshield,” he guessed. “If there is I want to see it.”
“You don’t need—”
“To see them all? But I do. I want to keep seeing everything this asshole sends.”
“But Blake—” she started again.
He shook his head. “It won’t be any worse that what I’ve already seen.”
“You don’t think you’ve been upset enough by them?”
He shook his head. “I know you think you’re helping me by keeping this shit away from me, but the cat’s out of the bag with the message shit, so let’s just go get the damn car.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a hint of a grin. “Anyway, maybe if I focus on him I won’t have such a bad case of stage fright.”
She gave up. He was, in fact, right. Hiding the messages from him wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all him. Better for him to see them and be aware.
“Okay. But if there is one, do not look around. Leave that to me. I can do it without being quite so obvious. And if he’s watching, we don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you react.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
She threw everything she’d need in her tote, including her small purse. Blake hefted his messenger bag and they headed out of the suite. In the parking garage, they took the elevator to the third level and walked to the car. She spotted the folded sheet of paper under the wiper blade at once.
“Don’t touch it,” she warned Blake and drew a pair of latex gloves from her tote.
“He’ll see you doing this,” Blake warned.
“Good. And while there’s slim to no chance we’ll get any prints, if he is watching I want him to see we have procedures in place.”
She unfolded the sheet of paper and held it so they both could read it.
I know what you did. Deny it all you want, but before long you’ll pay for your sins.
“I’m getting sick of this fucking shit,” Blake spat. “He’s knows what I’ve done? Why the hell doesn’t he tell me? Am I supposed to be a mind reader?”
Sam was beginning to think about squashing this guy herself. She didn’t know how Blake was holding it together, especially with the public appearances he was making. And in that moment she saw him as more than the high school hot jock, the teenage sex god, the man who had fractured her heart. He became a man suffering unnecessarily but holding his shit together. A man who seemed to have unbelievable inner strength.
So maybe he wasn’t that teenage asshole anymore. Maybe it really was time for her to give him a chance. Maybe the real Blake was someone she could depend on and…she choked…fall in love with.
Don’t jump in feet first. Remember your history.
But she might, in the end, have little choice in the matter.
“No,” she told him, “you’re supposed to be consumed with guilt about something and so not need an explanation.”
Sam refolded the paper and slid it into a pocket of her tote. As casual as her attitude was, she still scanned every bit of the area she could see. She was mostly trying to see if anyone was sitting in their car and watching—or pretending not to watch. She couldn’t spot anything, but the itch at the back of her neck told her the stalker was somewhere in the vicinity.
“Get in the car,” she told Blake. “Just nod your head at me. Don’t say anything or look irritated. Pretend it doesn’t bother you. Can you do that?”
“Of course. I’m a great actor. I was in the senior class play in high school. Remember?”
She actually smiled, which she hoped would irritate the crap out of the stalker.
“I sure do. Taffy McDaniels was the heroine.” She snorted. “Who names their daughter Taffy anyway?”
He tried to match her humor. “People who like candy?”
“I guess.”
As they drove out of the parking structure, circling from one floor to another, she kept a sharp eye out for anyone following them. But a car had pulled out in front of them and two joined the line in back of them as they reached street level, and it was hard to tell if any one of them was the stalker. She turned on the GPS on her phone, entered the address of the television station, and edged into traffic.
“I’m glad we left early enough to give us some leeway,” she said, trying to ease the tension radiating from him. “You never know how bad traffic in a city will be.”
“We’ll be there in plenty of time.” He sat looking straight ahead through the windshield, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
“I’m curious.” She moved over a lane to get away from slow-moving traffic. “If you hate this so much, why do you do it?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “My agent and publicist say it’s good for my image. And when it airs the day of a signing, statistics show it increases the crowd.”
“The price of fame?”
“I guess.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked after a minute.
“Just centering myself. Digging up the public version of Blake Morgan.”
She left him alone for the rest of the ride, only nudging him when they pulled into the station parking lot. The lot was gated and guarded, which pleased Sam.
“I guess he could always bluff his way in here,” she said, “but let’s hope the setup deters him.” She parked in one of the visitor spots close to the building. “Show time, kiddo.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Okay, let’s do this.”
Sam was fascinated watching the process once they got inside. She’d been security for a number of people, from politicians to rock stars to people of great wealth. Somehow, though, even with the rock stars, she’d never been part of a visit to a television station. Everything they’d done had always been on site of a performance.
When Sam gave their names, the girl at the reception desk smiled so wide Sam thought her cheeks would crack.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Morgan. We’re very excited about you being here today.” She looked at him shyly from beneath lowered lashes. “My boyfriend is a huge fan of yours. If you wouldn’t mind, I have one of your books here. Before you leave could you sign it to him?”
“Sure. Let’s do it now.”
“Oh! Oh, thank you.” The girl lifted it from the shelf beneath the desk. “His name is Scott.”
Blake scrawled a message and signed his name, then handed the book back. “Did you want a picture?”
“Oh, my God!” Her eyes widened. “That would be so wonderful.”
By the time she’d used her cell phone to take two selfies, a man was heading out into the lobby.
“Bridget, you wouldn’t mind sharing Mr. Morgan with the rest of us, would you?”
“Oh!” Bridget blushed bright red. “Of course not. I am so sorry, Mr. Moretti.”
“That’s okay. But I need to claim him now.” He held out his hand. “Alan Moretti. I’m the station manager.”
Blake did the polite greeting thing, introducing Sam as his personal assistant. Then she and Blake followed the man out of the lobby into the bowels of the building. Sam did her best to look as if this was all routine to her while they herded Blake through makeup, introduced him to several people on the set, and made them comfortable in the guest waiting room.
“Fifteen minutes,” Moretti told them. “Someone will come and get you. Would you like coffee or anything in the meantime?”
They both refused politely.
“Okay, then.” He turned on the television set against one wall. “You can monitor us from here. We do some news items first, the weather, a rundown on what’s happening today. Then you’re up as our first guest.”
“Good enough.”
Sam watched Blake, admiring him. He looked so relaxed you’d never know he considered this one of the seven major kinds of torture. But when Moretti left the room, Blake’s posture immediately became rigid and he cracked his knuckles. He avoided looking at her and appeared for all the world as if he’d withdrawn into himself. He might have been going to an execution instead of an interview.
Then the television show came on, the opening graphics filling the screen with the theme music playing behind them. She reached over and touched Blake’s arm.
“They’ll be coming for us any minute,” she reminded him.
“I know. I’m ready.”
She only hoped he meant it. “Just remember, I’m right here with you.”
Then the door to the room opened and a young man in a polo shirt with the station logo on it greeted them. Blake was out of the chair, all smiles and shaking the man’s hand. She wondered how in the hell he did it, and made it look so easy. Her admiration for him continued to grow.
“Jeff Groman,” the man said. He shook Sam’s hand, too. “We’re ready for you, Mr. Morgan.”
He led them down a hallway and into the studio. Sam took in the cameras stationed at different positions and the number of people moving around, doing whatever it was they did. Bright spotlights lit the set, half of which was the familiar news desk set up, the other half a conversation area with a couch and two chairs.
“Miss Quenel?” Jeff touched her shoulder and pointed to a director’s chair. “We’ve got a seat for you over here. Or if you prefer, right here is a good place to stand. We find that most of the people who deliver our guests prefer that.”
Good, because she had no intention of sitting someplace where she might not be able to move fast if needed. Not that she expected this nut job to attack Blake here in the studio. First of all, he’d have to find a way in. But her motto was “alert, always ready.” It had never failed her.
She watched as Jeff Groman guided Blake to the conversation area, situated him in the armchair, and fitted him with a microphone. People moved around, speaking into their mics, changing the lighting, getting ready. Then Dan Gilardi, the host who’d be interviewing him, joined him, sitting at the end of the couch closest to the chair, introducing himself. Getting him comfortable.
And then it was time. The director cued them, counting down from five, and they were live.
Sam had been holding her breath, although she wasn’t sure what for, and finally released it when she saw things were going well. Gilardi asked Blake all the usual questions: where he got his ideas, what kind of research he did, how he put his stories together, if his characters were based on real people. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought this was a walk in the park for him. He was relaxed, smiling, friendly.
God. The man was incredible. Stressed out, upset about Grant Kennelly, never knowing when the stalker was going to strike again, yet there he sat, cool as a cucumber, relaxed as if he was chatting with a friend. She’d seen the behavior of a number of other high-profile figures and her admiration for the man Blake had grown into took a giant leap forward. She wasn’t ready yet to hand over her heart by any means, but she was seeing a side of the man that surprised her.
Finally Gilardi talked about the book signing that evening, the location and the time.
And then they were finished. The lights over that part of the set went off and Gilardi rose and shook hands with Blake. Alan Moretti, who had come on to the set to watch the segment, moved forward.
“Great interview,” he enthused. “I can see why your fans love you.”
Blake grinned, relaxed now that he was out of the torture chamber. “Thanks, but I think it’s my books they love.”
“Speaking of books, we brought some into the guest lounge. Would you mind signing them for the staff?”
“Of course not.”
Half an hour and another round of handshakes later they were done and back in the car.
“Whew!” Blake leaned back in his seat. “I’m always worried I’ll put my foot in my mouth and say something that will give my agent or my publisher a fit.”
“I don’t know why. You did great up there.”
“Thanks. Hope this afternoon’s interview goes as well.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and scrolled through his notes.
“We’re meeting this guy for lunch, right?”
“Yes. Henry texted the info to both of us.” She edged into another lane of traffic.
“Anything from Avery today?” he asked.
“Not much, but I’ll bring you up to date on what we do have. How about if we grab a cup of coffee someplace and I can go over it with you?”
They found a small coffee shop that suited their purpose and carried their drinks to a table at the window. Sam had tried to park close enough so she could keep an eye on the car and see if anyone approached. Unfortunately, the sidewalk was crowded with people, so periodically it was lost to view.
Blake blew on his coffee, took a sip, and leaned forward. “Okay, give. Does she have anything new? And anything else on Grant’s beating?”
Sam took a hit of her own coffee, black with an extra shot, and scrolled through her phone for Avery’s message.
“They collected a ton of prints but we don’t know yet if any of them belong to your stalker. Vigilance is running them through our system and Sheri’s detective is running them through IAFIS, the national fingerprint database, but so far nothing. We do know that he’s a large man, so that’s something.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Grant Kennelly is pretty heavyset. This guy carried him from your parents’ back door to the Kennellys’ hedges.”
“Oh, right.” He swallowed some coffee. “So I should start being careful of heavy men with big feet?”
She swallowed a smile at his grumpiness. There was nothing funny about this at all.
“Avery’s got them combing through every part of your life since high school, especially once your first book was published. You never know who’s jealous of your success or what triggers something like this. I do have to say you’ve had a lot of interesting people in your life.”
He barked a short laugh. “No kidding. Get after Henry, too. I was lucky enough to sign with him in the beginning. He could probably tell you about some idiots who might fit the bill.”
“Oh, rest assured, we had Henry send us a list right at the start. But the machine keeps chugging. Whoever this is, Vigilance will find out.” She checked her watch. “We’d better get going. You don’t want to be late for lunch with the reporter.”
“Yeah, because I’m really looking forward to it so much.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You know, every personality I’ve worked with eats this kind of stuff up. They can’t get enough of it. I thought celebrities craved the media.”
He nodded. “Most of them do. But twice I saw friends of mine crucified for the sake of a good story, hung out to dry for no reason at all. I can’t help wondering if I’ll be next in line. And with this stalker business? I’m gun-shy about everything.”
“One of the things Avery does is train her people to handle the media. We have a lot of high-profile clients, so there’s always a lot of media contact. I won’t let them set a trap for you. I know how to redirect the conversation.”
His lips curved in a tired smile. “Annemarie was good at that, too.”
“Annemarie sounds like a real paragon.” Oh, hell. She hoped that didn’t sound as waspish as she thought. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I gather she was an incredible help to you.”
“She was. That’s why I was shocked when she just left the way she did.” He ran a hand over his face. “And why I’m still struggling with the news of her death.”
“When we get to the car,” she reminded him, “don’t react to anything I do. The stalker is sure to be watching and I don’t want to give anything away.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Anything like what?”
“If there’s a new message, you’ll see.” When she bent down to pick up her purse, and she was out of sight of the window, she slid a folded piece of paper inside her sleeve. Then she led the way out the door.
Blake spotted the note first as they approached the car, a folded sheet of paper placed beneath the passenger side windshield wiper.
“Damn it to hell.” He gritted his teeth. “This bastard is all over me and we can’t get a smell of him.”
Sam wasn’t too happy herself. Whoever this was had to have waited for the right opportunity when a crowd obscured the view of the car to leave the message. But that meant that he was close to them, keeping an eye on them, watching them. The itch between her shoulder blades told her she wasn’t wrong.
“Don’t let him see you’re angry,” she told Blake in a quiet voice.
“What do you mean? Is he watching us? Where the hell is he?”
He started to look around but she put a hand on his arm and squeezed, hard.
“I’m sure he is, and he’s watching for your reaction. You won’t be able to tell who it is because he obviously does disguises well. And just looking for a large man won’t do you any good, because there seem to be a lot of large men walking around here right now.”
“But—”
“He could be in any one of these storefronts, looking out the window, glancing over people’s heads. Waiting. Watching. Do not give him the satisfaction.”
“If I see him, I’ll kill him,” Blake growled.
“And that would certainly make good material for our reporter friend who’s waiting for us, right?” She reached for the folded paper, then shielded her movement so she could switch it with the one in her sleeve. “We’re going to give him something to think about. Maybe he’ll get mad enough to make a mistake.”
Without unfolding it, she crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it in the trash can by the lamppost.
“What the hell?” Blake tried to retrieve the paper but she pushed him away.
“Get in the car.”
“But—”
“Get in the damn car, Blake. For once can you just listen to what I’m telling you? Please?”
She could almost see the steam coming out of his ears but he got into the car, snapped the seat belt in place with far more force than was necessary. She watched to see if any cars pulled out behind her and when none did, and they were away from that street, she slid the real note from her sleeve and handed it to Blake.
“Here. I’m not worried about fingerprints anymore. Vigilance has enough to work with between what you left them and what they lifted from your parents’ house. Open this and read it.”
“What is this?” he growled, unfolding it. “Sam? How the hell did you do this?”
“A sleight of hand trick Mike Pérez taught me my first month at Vigilance. He’d used it to smuggle a document out of a meeting. What does it say?”
“Shit.”
“It says shit? That’s all?”
“You know that’s not what’s on here. Damn it, Sam, he watched the television spot this morning.”
“Well, of course he did. He’s your number one fan right now. So read it to me.”
“You made a big mistake this morning. You don’t appreciate the right people. But you’ll pay. Soon everyone will know what you’ve done.”
Blake handed the folded note back to Sam.
“You’d think if what I’d done was so hideous I’d remember, wouldn’t you? Damn it, Sam. This is driving me nuts.”
“Well, pull yourself together, because we’re almost at the restaurant. Get through the interview then we can crash in the room until the signing tonight.”
The restaurant had a parking lot at the side. With no spaces available at the curb, Sam considered herself lucky that she scored a spot right against the wall. She made sure the front of the car kissed the concrete, which was the best she could do.
She slid her hand through Blake’s arm as they walked to the front of the building. “Okay, let’s go make you more famous.”