by Amy Andrews
Taylor shuddered at the thought of that night, at the thought of the letters she’d received in the days following. She considered herself fortunate as she smiled at her door man and entered her building, stopping to pick up her mail. Fortunate that the police had done their job and the man who had terrorized her was being prosecuted.
She didn’t know that she wanted him—Brady Williams was his name—to go to jail, but she couldn’t deny that she did feel safer that he was in custody, awaiting his court date. Taylor’s training told her Brady probably needed psychiatric help more than being locked away but the police had assured her, due to the nature of his crime, that he would receive evaluation and treatment as a matter of course.
The police had been excellent at keeping her informed and had even enquired if she’d wanted to be in court on the day. Williams was pleading guilty—after some back room dealings—to all charges now, so there was no need for her to be there and she’d declined. She never wanted to come face to face with him again and she had faith in system.
Taylor entered her apartment, dumping her handbag on the couch. It seemed so quiet now and twice as big without Rick filling it up with his presence. She crossed to the answering machine. Rick usually called on her cell but she hadn’t heard from him all day today so, like the fool she was, she held on to hope.
Two messages from the studio about a schedule change next week. One from her agent with another interview request from Bill Spencer’s magazine, Eye on Fashion. Taylor hit the delete button. Not going to happen. The paparazzi had given up on that story and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignite it again by doing any interviews. Especially as there was clearly nothing to tell anyway.
She wandered into her room, flipping through her mail. Bills mainly, plus an invitation to some gala charity ball. She threw them on her bed and shrugged out of her jacket before wandering into the ensuite. She put the plug in the bath and turned on the gilt taps. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to a nice long soak.
She headed back out to the living room to grab her cell phone from her bag and that’s when she heard it: a key being pushed into the lock on her front door.
Taylor froze, her chest pounding as her heart accelerated and she tried to figure out who would be entering her apartment without knocking. Thinking the worst, sudden fear sliced deep into her gut.
And then another thought trickled in and her heart leaped and did a crazy jitterbug.
Rick had a key.
Chapter Fourteen
The bubble of love that had threatened to suffocate her not that long ago floated light and free again then dissolved into a fizzing—just like champagne through her veins.
“Rick?”
He didn’t answer and she probably wouldn’t have heard him if he had, such was the volume of the excited buzz in her head. She crossed the living room, eager to meet him halfway, to throw herself at him the second he appeared.
Except it wasn’t Rick who stepped into the living room.
It was a man. But it wasn’t Rick.
It took Taylor a few moments to figure out who it was. White. Average height. Average build. Dark hair. Baseball cap pulled low.
“Surprise,” he said.
Fear returned in a rush then, hot in her veins and bilious against her tongue.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice high, heat suffusing her cheeks.
“You and I need to talk.”
“But you’re supposed to be in jail,” she said.
It wasn’t the most sensible thing to say given the circumstances but Taylor couldn’t compute how he could be here, in her apartment. Had he escaped? Surely if he had, the police would have let her know? And how did he get a key? That bit definitely didn’t make any sense. If he’d had a key all along, why hadn’t he used it that night a few weeks ago instead of attacking her on the street?
He frowned, looking genuinely nonplussed. “Jail? I’ve never been in jail in my life.”
Taylor blinked. What was he talking about? Had prison made him delusional? Maybe he wasn’t getting the help there that he needed. Maybe he was having a total psychotic breakdown.
“Yes,” she said, trying to gather her wits and conquer the fear hurtling through her system, rattling her ribcage with the frantic drumming of her heart. “For the letters you wrote me.”
“I haven’t written you any letters,” he snapped, his voice losing some of its evenness. Taylor could see the same hostility and wildness from that night taking over his eyes. “I’m here—” he pulled a familiar-looking knife out of his pocket and thrust it like a sword in her direction, “—to deliver my message in person.”
Taylor gasped and took a step back, more adrenalin flowing into her system as the feeling of familiarity hit her again. This was him. The man from the street.
“You turned Connie against me,” he said advancing on her, brandishing his knife. “She left me because of you.”
It was Taylor’s turn to frown. “Connie?” She desperately searched her brain for a connection as she took some steps back. The only Connie she knew was—“My cleaner?”
Suddenly Taylor remembered where she knew him from. She’d seen him briefly in profile one day a few months back when he’d come to pick Connie up. He must have got the key from her.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneered. “Surprised you even know the name of your staff. You Park Avenue types are all the same.”
Taylor blinked at the venom in his voice as he herded her slowly into the living room. She skirted around the side of the couch, putting it between them. He may have been average size and build but there was a manic look to his eyes that gave him menace. He looked coiled to strike and Taylor thought he seemed unbalanced enough to do it.
She knew she had to keep her wits about her, keep him talking. And, as a psychiatrist, she knew she was more equipped to deal with this situation than most people. She just wished her chest didn’t feel like it was about to explode and her legs didn’t feel like wet noodles. She didn’t know if she could get past her fear to defuse the situation—if it could be defused. Or worse, if he’d already made up his mind about the outcome.
She tried to think past her fear as she kept the couch between them. Draw on her training. What was the first rule? Establish a rapport.
His name. What was his name? She thought hard, back to her brief conversations with Connie. Something starting with M. Mitch. Mick. Michael.
Mike.
“I never talked to Connie about you, Mike,” she said.
He reared in surprise and Taylor wasn’t sure if she’d just made it worse for herself. “You must have,” he said. “You know my name.”
“Sure. I also know your kids’ names are Deanna and Samuel.” Taylor knew bringing his kids into it could be risky but she also knew that reminding Mike of the stakes could play in her favor. “But we didn’t talk about anything that was troubling her.”
It was the truth. Apart from the usual pleasantries, she hadn’t spoken with Connie much at all—she wasn’t normally home during Connie’s hours.
“It’s your damn show,” he growled. “Mind Matters.” He spat the name at her like it tainted him just to speak it. “Glued to it, she is. I work for her, she’d say, whenever you came on. Told me you made sense. That you said she deserved better than me. That she didn’t have to put up with me.”
Taylor felt a spike of concern prickle down her spine as a sudden sickening thought took over. “Is Connie okay, Mike?”
“No,” he snarled. “She’s with her damn mother, of course. Took the kids. My kids.” He beat his chest hard with his free hand to emphasize his ownership. “Refuses to come home.”
The prickle dissipated. “You know, Mike, if you put your knife down and hand yourself in now, this doesn’t have to be any worse for you.”
“Stop it,” he yelled, slashing the knife through the air. “Quit the pyscho babble, don’t try to head shrink me.”
Taylor held up her hands
in a placatory manner. They were shaking, though, almost as violently as her legs. Little wonder, with Mike unraveling before her eyes.
“Okay. It’s okay,” she soothed. “I won’t. I just want to understand why you’re doing this.”
“Because you have to pay,” he snapped, taking two strides toward the couch. Taylor’s insides started to quake now too. There may have been a couch between them but he was too close for comfort. “You ruined my marriage and you have to pay.”
She took a step back but he roared at her: “Don’t move!” And she froze.
“Mike, just th-think about this.” She dragged in a quick, steadying breath. She needed to sound calm even if she was terrified inside. “You think Connie’s going to want you back after you’ve done something terrible here? Something you’ll never be able to take back? And what about your kids? Think about Deanna and Samuel. How are they going to live with what you’ve done? How will you live with yourself?”
He shook his head and Taylor was dismayed to see his anger turn to apathy. “What makes you think I care about living when my whole reason for living won’t even talk to me?”
Everything turned to jelly inside her then and it took all her willpower not to crumple to the ground—she couldn’t afford the luxury. Mike sounded suicidal and she knew in that mindset he wouldn’t have any compunction in taking her with him. And unless some superhero was tuned into her mental distress signal right now and smashed straight through her windows, Taylor was going to have to defend herself.
Rick had told her not long ago that she’d be surprised what she could do if she needed to and he was right. If she had to fight for her life, she would. And if she got out of this alive she was hopping on a plane to LA because life was too short to let anything get in the way of being with the man she loved.
“I’ve lost everything,” he said, shaking his head, the hand with his knife going slightly limp as tears shone in his eyes. “Everything. Nothing else matters now.”
Taylor felt sorry for him in that moment. He was desperate and defeated. He felt cornered. She understood. He needed help. Help she could give him.
And then he lunged, roaring at her with crazy eyes.
Taylor wasn’t prepared for the instant change, was shocked by the sudden transformation in his demeanor and frightened by his mad leap onto the couch, toppling it to the ground. She jumped back but he snagged her wrist. Not tight enough, though, as she slipped out of his grasp, bolting around the couch to the front door.
But he caught up with her—tackled her. The lamp table was upended in their fall and his knife nicked her thigh. She was barely conscious of it, the warm trickle of blood not even registering.
“Get off me,” she screamed, kicking her legs at him as he grabbed them. He roared when she connected with his hand, the knife flying from it. He reached for the ends of her hair and yanked her head back.
Taylor screamed as pain ripped through her scalp and she lashed out in all directions.
“Shut up, bitch,” he hissed, struggling to contain her and reach for his lost knife. He clamped a hand on her shoulder and reefed her onto her back.
Taylor was shaking so hard now she was surprised she could coordinate anything. Her heart was so loud in her ears she was practically deaf with the roar of it. But she fought, she fought hard, her breath sawing in and out of her chest. No way was her life ending like this.
As he reached for the knife, his knees clamped hard against her struggling thighs, she groped behind her for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Her hand found the leg of the lamp table, then it found the lamp. The lamp with the heavy pottery base.
She didn’t stop to think then. In that moment, she didn’t care if she killed him, she just wanted him stopped. Needed him stopped, long enough for her to get away.
She wanted to live. She wanted to love.
She wanted Rick.
Mike grunted triumphantly as his hand finally connected with the knife and all Taylor saw as she lifted the lamp was him snatching the blade off the ground.
She screamed as she smashed the lamp into his head. Screamed so loud and so long she hadn’t even realized he’d slumped against her, unconscious, and it was all over until she heard someone calling her name and a man’s face looming over her.
“Taylor!”
*
Taylor didn’t let Rick go for the next two hours as a dozen different police, building security personnel and emergency services traipsed through her apartment. She’d clung to him, crying hysterically, when he’d dragged her from the floor. Her hysteria hadn’t lasted long and the shaking had subsided now too but she still wasn’t letting him go.
And Rick was glad of it. He never wanted to be let go again. He’d been chilled to the bone when he’d heard her screams through the door and when he’d raced inside, he’d been shocked and enraged. Every time he thought about how close he’d come to losing her today, he felt ill.
“How are you feeling now?” he whispered as they sat side by side on the couch, the door clicking shut behind the last security guy.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Numb.”
Rick nodded. He couldn’t blame her. She’d fought for her life tonight, it had to be a surreal feeling. He pulled the thick blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. “Do you want another?”
“No.” She looked down at the bandage on her thigh. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
Rick nodded. “Yes,” he assured her again. “He’s going to have a hell of a headache and a concussion but otherwise he’s fine.”
Lucky he’d been unconscious when Rick found them or there was no telling what Rick would have done to the man who had tried to kill the woman he loved.
“I can’t believe there were two people out there stalking me,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
“The police can’t either. You were just really unlucky that both incidents occurred at the same time, making it seem the work of one person instead of two.”
Taylor shivered in her blanket and shrugged deeper into it. “The other guy, the letter writer, they’ll drop the attacking charges?”
“Yes. They’re taking care of it.” Taylor had been told this all a couple of times already but clearly she’d been too shocked to take much in. “Are you sure you’re okay to stay here?” he murmured, his lips brushing her hair. “We can check in to a hotel tonight.”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Now that you’re here.” She looked at him and he saw fear shadow her eyes. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
Rick nodded. “I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
“Really?” she asked and it was good to see a slight smile touching her lips. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“I promised you I would.”
“And then you left me hanging.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand and kissed her gently on the temple. “I was hoping you’d see how much you really wanted me if I played hard to get.”
“Well, it worked,” she said. “I was convinced you’d moved on and I hated it.”
He grinned but it died a quick death. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would have just flown to her side and laid his heart bare the second he’d sorted out the supply crisis. “I’m sorry. I should have come earlier.”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m just pleased you came when you did. I don’t know what I would have done tonight if you hadn’t come along to rescue me.”
Rick frowned down at her. “What do you mean? You’d already done it. You didn’t need me to rescue you. You’d rescued yourself.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t think I could have gotten myself off the ground to run after that.”
Rick slid a hand into her hair, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Of course you would have,” he said. “You would have done whatever it took.”
She nodded. “But I’m grateful I didn’t have to.”
Rick kissed her lightly
on the mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He smiled. “Damn straight.”
She gave a half-laugh then and Rick was immensely encouraged by her returning humor. “We should probably talk about how we’re going to manage our … relationship.”
“We will,” he said, his thumb gliding back and forth over her cheekbone. “But not tonight.”
Taylor’s hand slid over the top of his. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said and she was staring at him so earnestly he didn’t doubt it. “Forget what I said last time about wanting something simple and easy. That was before all of … this. We’re complicated. We’re always going to be complicated and I don’t care any more. I just want to be with you and I’ll take you however I can get you. I’m not going to make you choose between the East and the West Coast. No more conflict between duty and desire. We compromise, okay? We make it work.”
Rick smiled. “Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
And when he leaned in to kiss her, Rick knew they were going to be alright. They would make it work.
She shivered again.
“Okay, that’s it,” he said pulling away. “I’m running you a warm bath.”
“Only if you share it with me.”
Rick stood and grinned down at her. “Consider it my duty and my desire.”
She smiled up at him. “Well that’s win/win for you.”
He nodded and offered her his hand. “Lucky, aren’t I?”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m the lucky one.”
And she took his hand.
About Sunset Love: The Bold and the Beautiful
By Shannon Curtis
Thorne has turned his back on Forrester Creations and headed for his Texas ranch.
Brooke is bereft. She is already feeling out of control and misses Thorne’s guidance.