by Lorin Grace
Adam took charge. “Meet Peter. Go with Peter.”
“But—”
“If someone is in there, you don’t need to be seen.”
Abbie followed Peter into the elevator. “Nice to meet you officially.” She stuck out her hand.
“Do ya want to put your Glock away before we reach the lobby?”
Abby turned her back to him, slipped her gun back into the holster, and fixed her skirt. “You must be the one from Texas.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They crossed the lobby to the guardroom. One guard was on his headset, another on the computer, a third monitoring the screens. The first turned to her, headset in hand. “Your brother wants to talk with you.”
“Thanks.” She held the headset to her ear. “What did you get?”
“It’s all clear. As soon as we get lights up in here, I’ll need you to come up. And I hope you didn’t spend all your clothing budget. Oh, and why didn’t Preston walk you up?”
Abbie didn’t want to answer. “The dinner at the mansion didn’t go well. Today’s TV appearance and the lawyers had the family on edge. It turned into a feud. A couple people even walked out. I told Preston to stay there and see if he could calm things down, and came back alone.”
“We have light. Bring Peter with you.”
Abbie stepped around the broken glass in the kitchen. The sofa had been slashed. “Ready to see the bedroom?” Alan came out with a camera around his neck. Abbie tried to step around her brother, but Alan stopped her. “It’s ketchup.”
Even having been warned, the blood-red words on the bed still caused her to stop. The clothes were slashed, top half on the hangers, bottom half on the floor. Her Canon was shattered in a thousand pieces on the bathroom tile.
Adam came out of the bathroom. “Looks like she took your butcher knife and sliced through them in a couple strokes. Quick and angry. She also left a high end set of night vision goggles in the kitchen. Maybe we can get some DNA or finger prints.”
“How did she get the lights off ?”
“Still working on that. Best guess is she found the breaker to the apartment. A master electrician will be here in an hour.”
“Hallway cameras?”
Alan stuck his head in the room. “Morph suit again.”
“We should report this to the police, shouldn’t we?” Abbie folded her arms.
Adam pulled her into a half hug. “A detective is on his way. You need to let Preston know.”
Two aspirin probably wouldn’t touch the headache, but Preston downed them anyway. The dinner had been a disaster. Why had Felicia started in on Abbie in the first place and then stalked out? Thankfully Mum and Dad hadn’t budged, but Abbie had still left before the dessert was served. She was right. Tempers had calmed once she’d departed.
He needed to call her.
Dead phone. Maybe seeing her in the dress before the wedding was a mistake.
He plugged the phone in and gave it a minute to spring back to life.
Seven missed calls. Three from Abbie.
Preston didn’t bother listening to the voice messages. He dialed her number.
“Preston?”
“Did I wake you? Your voice sounds—”
“Tired. Did you listen to my voicemails?”
“No, I realized my phone had died during dinner and saw your calls and one from Alan. What’s wrong?”
“My apartment was vandalized. It was bad enough we had to call the police. I told them about some of it, as they already knew about the website and opening-night mess. I wanted you to know before some reporter gets wind of this.” Something in her voice gave him pause.
“Have you been crying?”
“No, I’m just frustrated. She only had seven minutes before I got there. She ruined every piece of clothing I had in the closet. Thank goodness I had the dress delivered to Mandy’s and I returned your mom’s Dior. The couch, the bed, the mirror, the dishes. It looked like the Tasmanian Devil had been through there.”
Preston put back on his shoes. “Where are you now? I’m coming over.”
“I checked into a hotel. I’ll text you which one in the morning. Adam is in the adjoining room, so I am safe.”
“So I’ll see you at seven?”
“Yes, but be warned. My wardrobe is rather limited.”
“How limited?” Preston removed his shoes.
“I still have everything I wore to dinner tonight and an old set of sweats from Adam’s go-bag. But I think the sweats are not the thing for the morning show. I keep one of my business suits at Mandy’s, so I have four options. Most of my personal clothes are too casual or in Indiana.
Preston thought of the clothes in the sample room of their premier fashion magazine. “Actually, I think I know where to get you a few things before seven in the morning. Do you have shoes?”
“Only the ones I wore tonight. She dumped most of them in my tub and ran the water. I haven’t seen what is salvageable.” Abbie yawned.
“Try to get some sleep , and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Preston. Good night to you too.”
twenty-two
“You look like death warmed over.”
Abbie put in the second contact. “Wow. Thanks, brother. Just what every girl needs to hear an hour and a half before she goes on TV. She pushed Adam out of the doorway and closed the bathroom door. The makeup team at this morning’s station better be top-notch. Mateo was right. Her roots were showing. Hopefully spray color could cover them for the next couple days.
Abby twirled a strawberry lock around her finger. If getting her hair done regularly didn’t take so much time, she would be tempted to keep it this way. It had been fun wearing her hair down and dressing up this month. She would need to add a few more skirts and dresses to her wardrobe. If only the stalker hadn’t slashed her collection—there were three she especially liked, but they were out of her normal budget.
Adam knocked on the bathroom door. “Preston is here with clothes.”
Anything would be better than the oversized sweats. Preston stood next to the bed where a pile of clothing lay. He stepped forward and held her by the upper arms. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?” He pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry Abbie, I should have never—”
Abbie shook her head but stayed in the hug. Behind them, Adam cleared his throat. Abbie stepped back. “What do you think about going public with the stalker? My brothers think the publicity might help.”
Preston didn’t look at Adam, and he didn’t release her hands. “What do you think?”
“It can’t hurt. Sometimes hiding a problem only magnifies it. Also, if we mention the stalker this morning, we can beat any two-bit journalist hanging around their police scanners. Alan has some photos of last night’s damage, and most of the city has already seen the falsified photos of me. Pointing out they are fakes may help that story die. Who knows? Someone may know something and not realize it.”
“While you get dressed, I’ll call the producer and let him know about the change. I’ll also call the lawyer. After yesterday, no show is going to go off script without written approval.”
Abbie looked at the clothes on the bed. “Where did you find these?”
“I raided the sample room of one of the fashion magazines. After we are done with the interview, I’ll take you shopping and we can pick up a few new things for you. Most of the clothes on the bed need to go back to where they came from.” Preston followed Adam into the adjoining room and closed the door.
Abbie sorted through the clothes. The pale-blue sundress with its embroidered floral jacket looked particularly cheerful, which was just what she needed.
Adam accompanied them to the studio claiming no one would think anything of an extra bodyguar
d. Preston spent most of the ride talking to his lawyer, who finally agreed to come down to the set.
Abbie was whisked into hair and makeup. The makeup artist frowned a little. “Wedding jitters keeping you up? Don’t worry. I am used to covering up the too-early-in-the-morning look, which is much easier than the hung-over face some people show up with.”
Fifteen minutes later, the transformation was complete. Abbie studied her reflection. “You’re sure those are makeup brushes and not magic wands?”
The makeup artist laughed. “No, they are just regular brushes. Now go conquer the world.”
In the green room, which did have green couches, Abbie met Gordon, the lawyer, and the producer. Adam had left while she was still in makeup, having been replaced by other guards.
Preston took Abbie by the hand and walked her over to the far side of the room. “Are you sure about this?”
Abbie nodded, remembering not to bite her newly glossed lips.
“I wish—” Preston was interrupted by the sound technician and changed whatever he was going to say. “By the way, you look fantastic. I hope the dress is not one that needs to go back to where it came from. If it is, I’ll buy you one like it.”
“Thanks.”
The producer led them onstage.
The interview went according to the script. Preston had been interviewed by Michelle before and hoped for nothing less.
“Yesterday one of our rival stations showed some photos they claim to have received from an anonymous source. Our station also received them, but I understand this incident is one of many. Preston, is it true you have a stalker who is out to destroy your love life?”
“For the past three years, my girlfriends have been scared away by what both my security team and the Chicago PD believe to be the same stalker. The closer I come to the altar, the more the stalker escalates. Unfortunately, Gale has been on the receiving end of the stalker’s worst escapades yet. A week and a half ago, with the help of a hired man, she planted a faux bomb at the Boston Ritz. Images from a Boston affiliate station played on the screen behind them. Then the stalker created a fake profile for Gale on one of the more notorious dating websites. The profile was removed with the help of the Chicago PD. However, the stalker duped several news outlets into reporting this profile as newsworthy.”
The talk-show host directed the next question to Abbie. “Have there been other incidents?”
“A few mostly harmless things: black roses, nasty texts, a little green snake in my salad.” The audience gasped. “He was probably more scared than the rest of my table mates and has been safely returned to his natural habitat.”
“So why are you going public with this now?” asked Michelle.
Preston answered. “Last night Gale returned to her apartment to find this.” Photos of the apartment filled the screen. “The words on her bed, which are blurred out, thank you, are written in ketchup, not blood, but they still constitute a death threat.”
“Gale, what did you think when you saw this?”
“I was in shock. Even this morning I can’t understand the type of rage that would destroy almost everything I had in less than seven minutes, according to building security.”
A photo of Abbie’s closet filled the screen. Michelle gave the camera a wide-eyed stare. “Every woman out there is probably as shocked as I am to see this closet. Did she destroy everything?”
“I think most of the clothes I had were damaged in some way. I had to borrow a dress for the show this morning.”
“I don’t see a wedding dress in these photos. Please tell us it’s safe.”
Preston smiled at Abbie, she amazed him. “Gale’s wedding gown was spared as it was not at the apartment, but my bride would look just as gorgeous if she had to grab something off the rack this morning to replace the gown Mateo designed for her.”
The audience gave a collective sigh. Abbie blushed.
“If you think you know something about Preston and Gale’s stalker, please contact the Chicago PD. Preston and Gale, thank you for being in our studio, and we wish you felicitations on your wedding this Friday.”
The mood in the green room was festive. The producer hurried in. “Thank you, Mr. Harmon, Miss Henderson.” He turned to the lawyer. “Is the segment good to go? I’d like to air the interview in ten.”
The lawyer waited for Preston’s nod before signing off on the segment.
Preston took Abbie’s hand. The action had become natural over the past few weeks. “Breakfast, then shopping?”
“I don’t need much—just a couple outfits.”
“I know, but shopping could be fun. We could make a game of it.”
“Like find a dress to match your ugly tie?” Abbie waited for the driver to open the door.
Preston straitened his tie. “It is not ugly.”
Abbie laughed.
The lawyer hurried up to them. “Mr. Harmon, a moment.” Gordon dropped his voice. “You haven’t asked us to write a prenup, and the wedding is only three days away. I need to meet with her lawyers.”
A prenup had never crossed his mind, not for a fake marriage.
Abbie took his arm. “Gordon, or is it Mr. Gordon? Let’s make this easy. If I get a divorce, I may only keep my clothing as Preston won’t need my skirts or heels. I am not marrying Preston for his money. If he chooses to give me anything more, it will be his choice. I will return the ring as it’s a Harmon family heirloom. Does that work for you?”
“What about children?” asked Gordon.
“Mr. Gordon, do you think Preston is an honorable man? I do. I will trust if we have children he will not let them go hungry or ignore their needs. If you need that in writing, I’m sure you can draft it.”
“Miss Henderson, it’s standard for the bride to ask for several million dollars plus alimony.”
“My mother taught me to never plan on a divorce. If our marriage fails, I don’t want Preston’s money.” Abbie slipped into the car.
“Sir, is that what you want me to write up? She gets nothing?” Gordon raised his brows in disbelief.
“Put some legalese in there to the effect that if I choose to give her a settlement, she can’t return the money.”
“Are you kidding, sir?”
“Nope.” Preston got in the car, shut the door, and closed the window between them and the driver.
“Sorry if I embarrassed you in front of the lawyer, but I don’t want there to be any questions if we are still looking for her on Friday.”
“Hypothetically, if this were all real, would you have asked for anything different?” Preston wanted to know if he was right.
“No, when I get married, it’s with the mind-set of celebrating my fiftieth and even seventy-fifth anniversaries with him. I don’t expect everything will be easy and hearts and flowers. Money or no money, making a good marriage is hard work. I don’t think having tons of money if the marriage fails will make me feel any better. If there are children, I hope I chose wisely enough that he would still support them. If not I have a career and a family that will support us.”
“You could take a nice vacation with the money.”
“Okay, call Gordon and add an all-expense-paid, two-week vacation to Bora-Bora.” Abbie rolled her eyes and laughed.
Preston looked out the window and hoped they would get to the restaurant soon. He was very much in danger of pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
twenty-three
If she hadn’t seen the damage to the apartment, she would never have believed it. The smell of new paint and carpet lingered under the lavender air freshener. But otherwise, everything was in the same place. Abbie opened the empty closet. Well, almost everything. The three pieces of clothing that hadn’t been slashed were with forensics.
She opened her bags from toda
y’s shopping trip. She had won the find-a-dress-to-match-the-tie game as Preston didn’t wear the same tie two days in a row. In the end, she convinced Preston she only needed four outfits for the rest of the week. After all, the black dress and a pale-green suit had been at the cleaners and spared. Shopping with him was fun. He would find something off the bargain rack and pair it with something outrageously expensive to see the look of shock on her face when she saw the price tags.
Her phone pinged. Preston.
— Gordon says he has the papers drawn up and we can get them in the morning after the show.
Sounds good. Don’t do anything too crazy tonight.
— Don’t worry. I won’t have a hangover in the morning.
Preston’s bachelor party. She doubted if any of his friends would be too upset to find out they’d celebrated for nothing.
Abbie thought of going to Mandy’s, but she wanted to be alone. The hen party was planned for Thursday, the knowledge that the get-together would be a how-do-we-distract-Mandy party was the only reason she hadn’t canceled it.
Her phone double beeped. The doorman. “A woman claiming she is your Aunt Betty is here to see you.”
“Can I see her on video, please?” Mom. “Please send Aunt Betty up.”
Abbie hung up the last of the clothing and went to answer the door. As soon as the door closed, she hugged her mother. “Why are you here?”
My baby girl is getting married in three days. I came to give her the talk.
“Mom!”
Melanie Hastings laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. But do whatever you need to so your brothers don’t hear us.”
The stereo speaker popped once before Alan spoke. “Leave the video on and know that if the feed goes dark, someone will be there in under forty-five seconds.
“Do they do that often?” Mom set a takeout bag on the counter.
Abbie punched the code in the phone. “Not too often, but this much surveillance brings the “Good night John Boy” routine to a whole new level. Which reminds me—if you need to use the bathroom, there is a button under the counter by the door. Push it to stop and start the video feed. They want the camera on 24/7 now.”