Stephen jerked his head in the direction they were going; Whitney continued walking. “GPS isn’t 100% accurate,” he said. “But obviously accurate enough that he’s kept pretty darn close to us.”
Outside the security office, Whitney stopped in her tracks and took Stephen’s arm. “Why didn’t he find us at the park? Sure, we were hiding but—”
Stephen grinned. “But you left your purse by the fence. It was by enough of other people’s stuff that he probably thought it belonged to someone else. He knew we were in that area, but he didn’t see the purse or us and had to rely on searching visually. No wonder he was so upset. The signal didn’t make sense; he knew we were nearby.”
“So glad this one’s is boring old black; he would have recognized it if I’d brought my red one.”
“No kidding.”
Whitney nodded with excitement as the pieces fit together. “He picked up our trail again as soon as we moved the purse and headed for Battery Park.”
“Let’s destroy that phone,” Stephen said, anger lacing his voice. “Throw it into the water. Or tie it to a bird and let it fly away…” Seeing Stephen get all worked up made Whitney want to throw her arms around him and hold him tight. He was upset for her.
But getting rid of the phone wouldn’t be the solution. “He’ll still find us eventually, maybe here on the island. But if not here, at home, and then what? No, we need to stop this. Besides, this phone could be evidence the police will need.”
“So what do we do?” Stephen asked.
“I have an idea.” Whitney walked into the security office, Jeremy’s tracking phone in hand.
Chapter Five
Whitney walked straight to the security officer sitting at the desk, an Officer Adams, judging from the name plate. He wore a green uniform, and his hat, resting on the desk, looked like it belonged to Smokey the Bear. He was a national park ranger? She supposed the island was a national landmark. But did this guy have the ability to help them?
He has to.
“Sir, someone is following us,” Whitney said, abandoning all pleasantries; they didn’t have time for any of that. “He’s on the way here to hurt me.”
“Whoa,” Officer Adams said, raising his hands. “What makes you say all that?”
Whitney could now see a weapon at his side, and instantly felt better about getting his help. She pulled out her own phone and brought up Jeremy’s text messages. She held out the screen so Adams could read them. “His name is Jeremy Stoddard. He’s a recent culinary school graduate who lost a competition. I judged it, and he’s mad at me personally about it. He’s been chasing me and my colleague Stephen here for most of the afternoon, ever since we left the New York Chocolate Show around…” She checked her watch, trying to remember. What time had her shift ended? The day was blurring together.
“Noon,” Stephen filled in. He nodded at Whitney’s phone. “As you’ll see there, he’s sent threatening text messages, including one death threat. Plus, we found that he’s been tracking us using the GPS on that other phone.”
Whitney held it out and showed the dots on the app. “The blue dot shows this phone’s location. The purple dot is him.”
“Wow. That’s…” Officer Adams shook his head. “That’s messed up. And he’s close.”
Stephen nodded. “Exactly. Is this enough to arrest him? He’s made a clear threat against Whitney’s life.”
“I don’t think so,” Adams said. “He could argue that it’s a joke, or that someone else sent the messages. Now if you had eye witnesses to an actual threat...”
Whitney leaned forward, palms against the desk. “Get backup so we’re ready for him. Stephen and I can be the bait. Let’s get some witnesses.”
For a few minutes, they debated the best location— somewhere with plenty of people, but less of a chance for Jeremy to destroy history. But also somewhere not too crowded, or he wouldn’t make a clear threat.
They settled on a hallway leading to exhibit rooms in a side wing. On the way, they walked along the railing above the huge hall that was used for registering millions of immigrants, some getting their hopes dashed, others allowed through to America. She wanted to take a moment to really look at it, but they didn’t have time.
Maybe with Stephen after next year’s show.
The thought let her smile even though her insides were sour and her heart was jumpy.
“I’ll be right inside that room,” Officer Adams said, gesturing toward a door. “Backup should be here any second, but they’ll wait out of sight until they’re needed.”
“Thanks.” Whitney pulled out the iPhone and checked the dots. “He’s approaching the building. Oh, I’m going to throw up.”
“It’ll be okay,” Stephen said. He reached over and tapped to the voice memo app to start the recording. It would catch anything Jeremy said. Stephen slipped the phone back into her purse and put his arm around Whitney, which helped her take a few deep breaths.
Stephen managed a chuckle. “He’ll be so pissed when he finds out that the very thing he used to track us will record the evidence we need to get rid of him.”
Whitney nodded, but the reality of what they were doing began to hit her. What if Adams didn’t come out fast enough? What if Jeremy acted normal in public and didn’t make a threat? Where would she and Stephen go for help then? How would they get off the island safely?
She didn’t have long to wait to find out.
“Whitney! I’m here!” Jeremy’s voice boomed through the huge building, echoing off the old walls.
Her first reaction was to run. She forced herself to stay put, but she had to grip Stephen’s arm with both hands to ground herself.
They waited a minute or two, but Jeremy didn’t show up. Confused, Whitney pulled the iPhone from her purse and clicked back over to the GPS app. “He’s over there somewhere,” she said, pointing.
“I think the café’s in that direction,” Stephen said. “Odd.”
“Never mind. He’s heading back.” Whitney bit back a whimper and slipped the phone into hiding. “Here we go.”
They pretended to study pictures hung along the wall, but both of them were really keeping an ear and eye out for Jeremy. Sure enough, they heard his heavy tread.
“Whitney, where are you?”
His voice still sent shivers through her. She went through the plan— act scared, not friendly, so he’ll continue to threaten her. That wouldn’t be hard. She’d just show what she was really feeling.
“Go away, Jeremy,” she called, knowing he’d hear her.
Crap. I shouldn’t have done that.
And there he was, standing at the end of the corridor with the big registration hall behind, making him backlit. Shoot. I can’t see his face.
Jeremy stepped forward, one step, two, three. The closer he drew, the more of his features Whitney could make out— including his disturbing grin. He still had crusted blood around his nose, which was swollen now.
“Please leave me alone,” Whitney said, her voice trembling. She took a step back. Stephen did the same, staying with her. She’d told him not to get between her and Jeremy. This time, for the sake of getting a clear threat, it had to be just her and him. But she was glad Stephen remained close. His presence helped her stay calm when she wanted to scream and run.
Without answering, Jeremy pulled something out of his back pocket— a steak knife. It glinted under the lights.
“You got that at the café,” she whispered.
“Very good,” Jeremy said. His voice sounded made her skin crawl. “I needed a way of making my point, but I couldn’t bring along my own tools.” He moved the knife back and forth; Whitney stared at it, unable to take her eyes away, and swallowed hard.
“What are you going to do with that knife?”
Good job. You’re making sure the important information is recorded.
“What do you think?” Another step forward.
She and Stephen each took another step back.
The few
tourists from the hall had gasped and run into side rooms. The three of them were alone now— but they had witnesses to some of it. And they’d have more hard evidence soon.
“Maybe I should use this knife to make a sculpture out of you, the way you do with chocolate. You could be my masterpiece.”
This time Stephen spoke up. “You’re sick.”
“Am I? Maybe so. But who’s the one chasing whom? I’m also the one with all the power now. Let’s see how you feel after I’m done with you.”
He continued to ramble. At first, Whitney couldn’t keep her eyes off the knife. Not until she realized that he was holding it like a chef would. Hand high on the handle, thumb to the side of the blade, fingers wrapped around the bolster. Of course he’d learned that hold in culinary school— a hold great for control in cutting onions or chopping chocolate.
But probably not so great for stabbing a person.
If she could stand to let him get a little closer…
She lifted her chin and whispered to Stephen. “Let go of me and take a step back. I’m going to try something.”
At first Stephen stayed put. “You aren’t going to try to be some superhero. Not on my watch.”
The protectiveness in his voice warmed her. “I’ll be okay.”
“Love birds saying their goodbyes?” Jeremy tilted his head and held both hands out as if admiring something adorable. “Isn’t that sweet?”
This was her chance, before he shifted positions. Whitney stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her so he’d keep his eye there. “Please, Jeremy,” she said, getting close enough that he couldn’t close his arms without stepping away.
“You really think that a simple please changes everything? I flunked out of culinary school. My girlfriend left me. My parents kicked me out of the house. And then you add the cherry on top by giving me the lowest score. No, please isn’t enough. You’re going to pay.” He put his head back and laughed.
Whitney reached for the knife. She grabbed the dull side of the blade with her right hand. Her other took the wood end. In one fluid movement, she popped the knife out of his grip and stepped back. Now it was her turn to hold the knife, only she left culinary rules behind and held it in her first, blade tip out.
“What the—” But when Jeremy saw the blade pointed at him, he didn’t dare step forward. “You little…” His nostrils flared.
“Adams!” Whitney called. “Now!’
“Roger. Backup, now!” Adams appeared suddenly in the doorway. “Turn around and put your hands up.”
Whitney held her breath, but the sound of feet pounding down the hall— and Adams snapping handcuffs onto Jeremy’s wrists— sent a wave of relief through her. As he was led away, Jeremy threw expletives at Whitney and Stephen, but they were too glad to care.
The side rooms were quickly cleared of tourists, who were ushered to the security office to give statements. Several had seen something and even more heard everything. Whitney handed over both her phone and Jeremy’s from her purse so the police would have all the evidence they needed from them.
Another officer approached Whitney and Stephen. “We’ve got most of this covered, especially with these phones. I’ll still need you to stick around to give your statements, but I can see you’re a bit rattled. You two take a break.”
“Thanks,” Whitney said. Post-adrenaline weakness overwhelmed her; she felt ready to collapse.
Stephen was there to hold her. “Maybe there’s a chair in one of these rooms,” he said, and led her into the nearest one. It had video clips showing actual footage of immigrants, and tons of objects from the period, including signs in languages Whitney could only guess at.
But no chairs. The room was half lit and empty, creating pockets of shadow; the room was silent save for their own movements.
“It’s over,” Stephen said, holding Whitney.
“We outsmarted him.” Whitney didn’t pull away even though the danger was past. She still trembled, and she felt far safer in Stephen’s arms than not. She could no longer imagine her life as it had been before, without him. Or, rather, with him as her enemy. Never again.
“You outsmarted him. And what was that ninja move you pulled?”
She grinned. “Just call me the Culinary Ninja.”
The quiet of the room descended on them. With no one to see— except the faces of aged photographs on the walls— Stephen leaned in, a question in his eyes. Whitney smiled, and in answer, drew closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. His lips hovered maddeningly close to hers; she could almost feel energy sparking between them.
“Know what? We make a good team,” Stephen murmured, eyes seeming to take in her features— her lips, her nose, her eyes, which he then gazed into with an intensity that nearly unhinged her knees altogether. “Maybe we can work together?”
Was that all he wanted? She swallowed. “In a kitchen? I suppose…”
“Well, sure, that,” he said. “But I’d like to give us a chance too.”
His lips hovered over hers for a second until finally, he leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers, soft and tender at first. With each movement of his lips, she gave an answering one. Her head grew dizzy, but she didn’t want to stop kissing him.
Perhaps he’d been polite by starting slow, but Whitney’s anticipation grew and grew, heating until she could hardly stand it. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.
He paused for just a moment with a smile of surprise before returning to kiss her again and again, deeper. Whitney would have been happy to stay there forever in the semidarkness, kissing Stephen and feeling his strong arms around her, smelling the scent she now thought of as Stephen.
He finally pulled away, and they both caught their breath. “That was better than Vahlrona.”
“And Amano. Combined.”
Annette Lyon is a Whitney Award winner, a two-time recipient of Utah’s Best in State medal for fiction, and the author of ten novels, a cookbook, and a grammar guide as well as over a hundred magazine articles. She’s a senior editor at Precision Editing Group and a cum laude graduate from BYU with a degree in English. When she’s not writing, editing, knitting, or eating chocolate, she can be found mothering and avoiding the spots on the kitchen floor.
Find her online at http://blog.annettelyon.com and on Twitter: @AnnetteLyon
Click on the covers to visit Annette’s Amazon page:
Coming November 2013
A Timeless Romance Anthology:
European Collection
Six Historical Romance Novellas
By
Annette Lyon
Nancy Campbell Allen
G.G. Vandagriff
Michele Paige Holmes
Sarah M. Eden
Heather B. Moore
For more information about our anthologies, visit our blog:
http://timelessromanceanthologies.blogspot.com/
Autumn Anthology Page 26