by Angel Payne
“How long does it take until the actual trial?”
Shit. He finally came up for air, and Taylor fired another question at him, sending him into a second lecture.
“That depends on the caseload of the court system. If he can’t afford an attorney and has a public defender assigned to him by the court, the case is typically tried sooner. Fancy-pants private attorneys typically file continuance after continuance to uncover additional evidence or drum up character or expert witnesses. There are all kinds of games the attorneys play with the system.”
“Detective, I have to say, I’m honestly concerned for my safety.”
She caught me completely off guard with the comment. I didn’t say anything but waited to hear his response with very interested attention.
“Has Mr. Busby contacted you again?” he asked without inflection.
“No, he hasn’t. But you were at my apartment, were you not?” Her tone was clipped, and I knew her patience with the detective was thin from conversations we’d had over the weekend.
“I was, yes.” He would mind the condescension if he were smart.
“Did you read the messages on the wall in my bedroom, Detective? They were very explicit, very graphic and violent. Not to mention disturbing and completely unhinged. How would you feel if you were in my shoes and a person wrote those things on your bedroom wall, and they were walking around freely among the general population? Free to just show up on your doorstep at any time?”
I reached across the island and touched her forearm. If nothing else, just to lend some support. She was getting riled up, and while I completely understood why, I also figured a man like Detective Johnson probably bristled when a woman became emotional.
What? she mouthed to me, bugging her eyes out to go along with it.
I held my hands up in surrender. She needed to believe I was one hundred percent on her side on this one. On every issue, actually. Every single time.
“Ms. Mathews, we’ve got this guy by the balls. Excuse my French. He was very sloppy at your apartment. He’s a rookie at this stalker thing, and for all of us involved, that’s an excellent thing.”
“Are you saying you have enough evidence to send him to prison?” I asked bluntly. I didn’t need another lecture on Criminal Law 101. I just wanted a straight answer.
“Well, nothing is written in stone. Ha! No pun intended. I mean, look at OJ Simpson, right? Of course, I can’t discuss particulars until after the evidence is revealed in the trial. But you have to trust me on this. I’ve been doing this for close to twenty years. This is as close to airtight as a case gets,” Detective Johnson blustered.
“One last thing before we hang up. I don’t really feel like we’ve gotten a solid answer. How can we be sure, if he posts bail, that he stays away from Taylor?” I pressed again.
“If he makes bail—well, let me rewind. I’m going to recommend to the DA that bail is denied in the first place. Of course, they do what they want, but I will impress upon them that he is violent and that you’ve expressed significant fear and such.”
“Thank you.” Taylor’s soft voice barely reached my ears, so if he heard her over the speakerphone connection, I’d be surprised.
“No worries,” he mumbled in response and then continued. “Like I was saying, if he makes bail, I suggest you file a restraining order at the station in the next few days. It can only help in getting your message across that you want nothing to do with him.”
“Really? That’s your suggestion?” I was outraged. “This jackass broke into her apartment and soaked her fucking bed in her own blood, and you think a piece of paper saying stay away is going to stop him? Wow. Just…yeah…wow.” I was furious. I had reined in my temper up to that point, but where Taylor’s safety was concerned, I couldn’t sit by and listen to such nonsense.
“Thank you for the information, Detective Johnson. Would you be so kind to text me when he’s in custody? It would just help me sleep better. Or I can call the station and confirm for myself?” Taylor’s saccharine-sweet question even rubbed me the wrong way at that point. Why was she so kind to the asshole?
“Yeah, if you don’t mind calling back. Once we bring him in, there will be a lot going on with the booking process and all. I’d appreciate one less thing on my plate.”
What a lazy asshole.
“No problem. Thank you for everything. Have a great afternoon.” Taylor managed to stay poised until ending the call, but when she pressed the icon on the screen to end the call, her hand was trembling with rage. As soon as the call was completed, she put her head down on her folded arms and hid her face from me. I wanted to throw that fucking cell phone out the plate-glass window that made up most of the west-facing wall of my living room and watch it sink into the three footers currently crashing to shore in my “backyard.”
“What a fucking piece of shit.” I really didn’t have anything else to add, and clearly Taylor was already upset. Me getting wound up wasn’t going to help her at all.
I walked over to her end of the island and touched her arm, and she looked up at me. “Come here.”
“I don’t need a hug,” she said quietly.
“I do.”
She stood automatically and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her head to my chest. Holding her against me was one of the most calming sensations I’d ever known. No matter what the situation, she made the perfect soothing balm.
“I’m so thankful they’re arresting him today,” she said against my T-shirt, and I could feel the warmth of her breath through the fabric.
“So am I. I kind of wish I was there to see it. I wonder if the hospital will apologize to me now?”
She pulled from my embrace and sank down onto the island stool nearest to where we were standing. “It will definitely be interesting to see how it plays out. They moved pretty swiftly when they punished you, so I doubt you’ll have to wait too long to find out.”
“Good point. Still want to help with the garage? At least it’ll keep our minds off John-Boy.”
“Absolutely. Then we can get both cars inside. I don’t think the salty air is good for the paint. I’ve seen what happens to people’s cars around here.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of ruining either car.
“Yeah, me too. Isn’t that crazy?” We continued chitchatting as we went out into the garage—and throughout the next two hours while we reorganized. We threw a bunch of stuff away that I never really needed or understood why I was saving in the first place, and before we knew it, the two little white speed demons were parked side by side inside the garage.
My cell phone rang just as I was getting out of the shower after cleaning up the garage. I saw my cousin’s number on the display screen and thought it rather odd that he was calling me in the middle of a business day.
“Don’t you have a world to dominate? People to boss around at this hour of the day?” I jabbed.
“Good point,” he laughed in greeting. “Although, shouldn’t you be digging in someone’s brain at this very moment? Saving a life or two?” he poked back.
“Fair enough. Fair enough. What can I do for you, cousin? We got back from Thermal earlier. Taylor agreed to bring one of the cars back for her to drive, so we were just straightening out the garage a little bit so they can both fit inside.” I voluntarily filled him in on what I’d been up to.
“Listen to you. So domesticated.”
“I know, right? Loving every second of it, too.”
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything, my man. But listen, the reason I called… I have some ears to the ground down at SDPD, and I hear they brought your boy in a little while ago. Thought you and Taylor would want to know.”
“Yeah, we talked to the idiot detective earlier this afternoon when we first got home. He said they’d be making the arrest today. Glad he didn’t get stupid and try to bolt,” I said to Killian.
“Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you two have some celebrating to do.” His comment was heavy with innue
ndo.
“Not exactly in the partying sort of mood, you know? She’s still pretty worked up about the whole thing. If that asshole makes bail, I’m not convinced he won’t come after her again. I can barely sleep at night now. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to work wondering if she’s safe all day.”
“Why don’t you put someone on her? I have people who do that sort of thing,” he offered, as though he were offering to loan me a cup of sugar. You know, just another day, another bodyguard.
“Trust me, I’ve thought about it. But the moment I mentioned it to her…”
“Mistake number one. You don’t tell her, dumbass. She’s a very independent woman. She would never agree to have a bodyguard. Even I know that. Let me take care of it. She won’t suspect a thing.”
“Bad idea, Kil. I’m telling you. She’s way more street-smart than Claire. She’ll see through whatever harebrained idea you’re thinking of.” No one could say I didn’t try to warn him.
“I don’t have harebrained ideas.” He tried to sound offended.
“Duuuuddde. You totally do. Remember the time you put the potato in the tailpipe of your dad’s Bentley?” I reminded him with a chuckle.
“That was a classic. Not harebrained in the least,” Killian defended.
“Except when the whole family nearly coughed to death from the carbon monoxide that backed up into the car when he started the engine!” I laughed wholeheartedly then, and he joined in.
“Well…that part…maybe that wasn’t thought out so well…but you have to admit, we all laughed our asses off afterward!” he said when he could speak between laughing.
“Yeah, we did. Hey, my other line is ringing. Looks like the hospital. I better take it. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
I clicked over to the incoming call, chuckling at the memory I’d shared with my cousin. We’d really had a good time when we were kids.
“Hello? Dr. Stone,” I said, trying to transition into a serious tone of voice.
“Oh, hello, Dr. Stone. This is Mrs. Sanchez from human resources at Scripps Green Hospital. How are you doing? Hopefully well.” The woman’s professional demeanor sobered me quickly.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. How can I help you? I’m aware I’m due back to work first thing in the morning. My ten-working-day suspension ends today.” Honestly, at the moment, I couldn’t recall if I was supposed to call them or just show up to work. Reviewing the paperwork I was given when I was put on leave was next up on my agenda.
“About that…” She paused, seeming to measure her words carefully. “I’m afraid the hospital has a big mess on our hands, and we need to start with an apology to you. We’d like to do it in a formal setting, so the administration has asked me to extend an invitation for a face-to-face meeting with you first thing in the morning. Does that work with your schedule? Maybe eight o’clock?”
Since I had cleared my schedule completely when placed on leave, I had nothing pressing first thing in the morning. “Sure, that’s fine. May I ask what this is regarding? I’d like to be prepared for the meeting. The last time I received a notice from your office, it was an unscheduled vacation without any spending money.” I chuckled uncomfortably, trying to make light of my disciplinary action.
“Well, you may have heard by now—since the gossip machine inside this facility is a swift and well-oiled one, indeed—John Busby was arrested this afternoon. I haven’t heard what the formal charges are, as of yet, but we are having a meeting with the police department shortly, so I’m quite certain we’ll have more information for you in the morning.”
Well, that was a professional non-answer if I’d ever heard one.
“Thank you for calling me, Mrs. Sanchez. I’ll see you and the other administrators in the morning, then.”
“Great. I will email you a calendar invitation with the location when we secure a meeting room. Have a good night, Dr. Stone.”
I hung up and went to find Taylor to tell her the news. Everything was falling into place. Killian was going to handle her safety while she was at work, I was going to receive a formal apology at my place of employment, and John would be behind bars.
If the earth would open up and swallow both our mothers, we’d be living large.
“Uh-oh… What’s that smile all about? You look like you’re up to something.” She eyed me suspiciously over the top of her sunglasses. I found her lounging on the deck off the master bedroom. We both favored the location over any other in the house.
“I was picturing a giant sinkhole swallowing my mother and then yours.”
“I like the way your mind works, man. For many reasons, but that is an excellent one.”
“Guess who I just got off the phone with?” I asked, plopping down onto the lounge chair beside hers.
“Please don’t say your mother.” She rested back, eyes closed behind her shades, face pointed toward the late-afternoon sun.
“It would make sense that you’d guess that, but no. It was the hospital. They want to have a meeting first thing in the morning to formally apologize to me. I didn’t press for details, but the HR rep said the police came in to arrest John today.”
“Niiiicccee. Congratulations! Maybe after they apologize, they will offer you department head, after all?” She turned in her chair to face me again. This was everything we had hoped for.
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I cautioned.
“Ha! Get it? A ‘head’?” She laughed at her own joke, therefore making me grin too.
“Clever girl.” I tweaked the end of her nose and leaned closer to kiss her. “I love you so much, Taylor.”
“I love you too.”
“I think everything’s going to work out just fine for us. Our very own happily ever after,” I said, holding her hands in mine. I kissed her knuckles like I loved to do.
“And if it doesn’t? We’ll just keep fighting until we get what we want. Because that’s how we do things around here.” She leaned over and kissed me this time—officially making me the happiest man alive.
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Excerpt from Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend
Chapter One
I was Oliver Connely, for Christ’s sake! A household name—especially if the house had women living in it. For the past decade, my face had been plastered on billboards and buildings around the world and every magazine cover from GQ to Esquire. I’d walked for top designers in Milan, Paris, and New York. I was at the top of my modeling game.
But today?
Today I could barely pay my rent.
I’d heard of the proverbial “wall” from others in the industry but smugly laughed it off, never believing it would happen to me. After all, I was the most sought-after model of my generation. But my twenty-seventh birthday loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, and the blustery wind that blew in before the storm took all the modeling jobs out to sea with it.
And now I was the guy scraping together change to pay his fucking cell phone bill.
Well, my agent, Harrison Firestein, might not be calling, but my favorite lounge chair at the pool in my condo complex certainly was. I’d been setting up shop there a few times a week to perfect my tan, relax, and forget about the stress in my life.
Since I actually was expecting a call from Harrison, I made sure my phone was charged and then grabbed my backpack and strolled across the complex to the pool.
I usually had most of the place to myself during the week. Everyone in Southern California was so health conscious and worried about wrinkles that sun worshipping had fallen prey to self-tanners and fake ’n bake salons. But I’d grown up in rural Iowa, where the summer was barely a quarter of the year and not a decent four-fifths. I hadn’t yet given up appreciation for how the sun warmed my skin and gave me a sense of peace like nothing else in my regular routine.
The pool was particularly busy, and I questioned if I’d mistaken today for a weekday when it was actually a weekend.
No. Definitely not.
Skye Delaney, my best friend and amazing roommate, had been out the door at five thirty this morning like she was every workday without fail. Her punctuality used to annoy me, but I’d learned to admire her for her dedication to her career. I might not like the asshole she worked for, but she loved what she did and made a great wage doing it.
We’d been best friends since sophomore year at UCLA, and she’d been my rock when my family abandoned me for dropping out—and also through the crazy ride of my modeling career. It probably looked like we should’ve just hooked up and called it done. Been there. Tried that. We had less sexual chemistry than the leads in a bad rom-com. We could laugh about it now, but at the time, it was a disaster.
As I surveyed the crowd at the pool, a vacant lounge chair near the deep end called to me from across the deck. Three little shithead kids were screaming “Polo” in the shallow end while one of their pals turned in haphazard circles randomly shouting “Marco” to coax out their clap backs. Who was the sadistic bastard that came up with that game in the first place? I sent up a mental thank you to the ingenious creator of the AirPods in my backpack that were about to drown out the racket.
A cluster of empty chairs just a few feet from mine could pose a potential problem if those kids took a break and decided to camp out there, but a quick scan of the rest of the pool-goers yielded a view of their mothers across the deck. Two were absentmindedly watching the game in the water; the other two were huddled together, obviously talking about something they didn’t want the others to hear.