The Perfect Man

by Kristine Dexter

  Tasha shook her head. “Well, at least we got a DNA sample.”

  “Now if we can only get a match,” Lou said.

  “We’re a couple of steps ahead of ourselves,” Tasha said. “We need a suspect before we can even think of a match.”

  She stared at the office. Poor Rick. She had no idea how she’d break the news to him—and how she was going to keep him away from here.

  “We have another problem,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Lou asked.

  “Our perp’s mad, right?”

  “Right. He just found out that his dream lover doesn’t exist.”

  “Oh, no,” Tasha said. “He just found out that Rick’s been fooling him, and he thinks that she’s imprisoned somewhere else.”

  “Shit,” Lou muttered. “He’s going to go gunning for your pretty boy.”

  “Now more than ever,” Tasha said.

  “Chance can handle himself.”

  “Too well,” Tasha said. “Our problems of this morning just got compounded.”

  “Tell him and he’ll overreact to everyone. Don’t tell him and lose him, and we got lawsuits like the department’s never seen.”

  The idea of losing Rick made her heart ache. She didn’t even think of lawsuits. “Let’s see if we can get him protection.”

  “He’s not going to take it,” Lou said.

  “Let’s at least try.” She turned her back on the ruined office.

  “Hey, Tash,” Lou said softly. “I was wrong about your guy.”

  “He’s not my guy,” Tasha said reflexively.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Tasha raised her gaze to his. Lou was giving her his most sympathetic look.

  “I gotta learn to trust your instincts,” Lou said.

  She let out a small bitter laugh. “I wish it were that easy.”

  “Let’s catch this perp,” Lou said.

  “In a way that will stick,” Tasha added. With no bloodshed. No bloodshed at all.

  TWENTY-SIX

  RICK SETTLED ON the couch in the living room of his suite, and placed the MacBook on his lap. He would try to get some work done. It seemed to be the only thing he could do.

  His room was gorgeous, square wood beams, high ceilings, and designs in the molding that showed the hotel’s age. When he was a boy, the Old Multnomah Hotel had been one of the biggest, most beautiful hotels in downtown Portland.

  Despite several remodels, it was still beautiful, and it still had that old-fashioned look to the lobby—lots of pillars and fireplaces and upholstered furniture.

  Only now the lobby was filled with harried businessmen, most of whom worked for high tech firms. A lot of them, he had discovered, lived in the hotel during the week, and went home on the weekends.

  If Rick were traveling, he would be comfortable here. The bedroom was as large as the living room, and the bed had a soft pillowtop over the mattress. There were television sets in both rooms, phones and fax machines and data ports. Even the bathroom had all the comforts of home and the shower was high enough to accommodate his six-foot four frame.

  If he were traveling. But he wasn’t. All he kept thinking about was his home, empty and vulnerable to the Creep. The Creep gave him no good choices. Rick had to listen to Tasha on this one, even though he didn’t want to.

  He had only been in this situation once before in his life and it had nearly ruined him. It was amazing how much damage a single person could effect on another person’s life, given some focus and determination. He was still dealing with the aftereffects of Teri’s wrath, years later. Friday night, when he met with Jane, he’d deal with the rest of it.

  He shuddered, and stared at the computer screen in front of him. He’d opened the file for the third chapter of the novel, and he reread his notes.

  The book didn’t seem very alive to him at the moment. His heroine was a petite dark-haired woman who would learn, through the course of the novel, how to stand up for herself. But every time he thought of her, he saw a tall statuesque blond whom he would trust to guard his back.

  He bowed his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. If he wasn’t thinking about the Creep, he was thinking about Tasha. And neither would help him meet his deadline.

  Maybe it was time to be honest with his agent and editor, and ask them to push back the release date. He didn’t want to think about all the problems that would cause—not just for him, but for the publishing house.

  Best-selling authors were carefully positioned so that they had a chance of hitting the Times list at the highest possible point. Currently he was scheduled for his traditional May—the beginning of the summer season. If he delayed the book, he might get a worse date, or be delayed an entire year. His sales were good, but not good enough to go against the big guns of the fall.

  Rick closed the MacBook. Maybe he was worrying about this too soon. If they caught the Creep tonight, he’d be able to get back to work. He’d finish in plenty of time.

  His phone rang, startling him. He hadn’t given the hotel room number out to anyone. He’d instructed everyone he’d contacted to use his cell phone. The only people who knew he was in the hotel were the police.

  A shiver ran through him. The phone range again and he picked it up. “Yeah?”

  “Lou and I are in the lobby.” It was Tasha. Her voice sent a different kind of shiver through him. He ran his hand on the back of the MacBook. “We’re coming up. What’s your room number?”

  He gave it to her and she hung up without saying good-bye. He set the MacBook on the table, picked the complimentary USA Today off the couch, and glanced around to make sure everything was in order.

  Then he grinned at himself. She wasn’t here for a date. She was here on business.

  That thought sobered him immediately. She had some kind of news, and he hoped it was good.

  Three crisp raps on the door made him turn. He peeked through the hole, saw Rassouli shifting from foot to foot, Tasha behind him staring down the long hallway. Her distorted features did not look happy.

  Rick undid the chain lock and the deadbolt, pulling the door open. “Come on in.”

  They did, Rassouli first. Tasha closed the door behind her.

  Rick couldn’t stand the suspense. “What’s happened?”

  Tasha glanced at Rassouli. Rassouli raised his brows at her, as if encouraging her to speak.

  “Just tell me,” Rick said.

  “He got in,” Tasha said. “But he got out before we got there.”

  “There’s a team going through the house now.”

  Rick went very still. He wanted to slam his fist through a wall. Instead, he clenched his fingers. The anger welled up quickly and powerfully. It was ten times worse than what he felt when he attacked the delivery guy. “I thought you said this would work.”

  “I said it was the best shot we had,” Tasha said.

  “Great.” Rick turned around, and headed for the window. The hundred year old brick buildings across the street looked sturdy and secure. Below him, the narrow tree-lined sidewalks of downtown Portland were filled with pedestrians, probably heading to a performance at the nearby Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.

  “He got into your office,” Tasha said.

  Rick let out a small breath. “Then he at least knows that Jessamyn doesn’t exist.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her voice was soft.

  Rick felt his shoulders stiffen. “What do you mean you don’t think so?”

  “There was some damage.”

  Rick stopped breathing. His place. His private place, damaged. “What kind of damage?”

  “It looked like he went into a rage.” Rassouli spoke with a lot more authority than Tasha was. Rick recognized the tone. It was the we-have-bad-news-and-I’m-going-to-get-through-it-fast. “He smashed some things.”

  Rick turned to them. “The art?”

  It was the only irreplaceable stuff in the room. He had his novels backed up off premise and
the current work was in this room. He could live without his files, and get duplicate copies of the published books, but the art was all one of a kind.

  “Anything that looked like it belonged to Jessamyn, he didn’t touch,” Tasha said.

  “That’s not entirely true,” Rassouli said. “He got the computers.”

  “Jesus.” Rick sat down. “Is there any part of my life this asshole isn’t going to ruin?”

  They didn’t answer him. Both cops stood awkwardly in the center of his hotel room, looking like they wished they could be somewhere else. Hell, he wished he could be somewhere else. Somewhere with the Creep’s neck between his hands, somewhere where he could legally choke the life out of the man and not suffer any consequences.

  “I suppose he didn’t leave a business card,” Rick said.

  “We have people canvassing the neighborhood,” Tasha said.

  “Shouldn’t you be doing that?” That sentence came out harsher than he intended. Or maybe not. Maybe he was even angrier than he thought.

  “Usually.” Tasha pulled out the other chair beside the table and sat down, resting her elbows on her thighs. It was a masculine way to sit, a way he’d never have any of his heroines sit at all, and yet he found it attractive—and he didn’t want to.

  He didn’t want any of this.

  “So what’s different?”

  Rassouli took the final chair, and leaned it back on two legs. “What’s different is your guy’s escalating.”

  “Now that we provided him opportunity.” Rick took a deep breath, stifling the rest of what he wanted to say. The blame, the vicious words. Tasha didn’t deserve it. Neither did Rassouli. They had warned him that this might not work.

  Rick had understood it intellectually. Apparently, he hadn’t understood it emotionally. Or he hadn’t wanted to.

  “No, Rick.” Tasha leaned toward him. “All of today was an escalation. The flowers, the first break-in, now this one. He seems to be feeling some time pressure.”

  “I don’t see how it would matter now.” Rick looked at her. “He’s got to know Jessamyn doesn’t exist.”

  “No, that’s not what he believes.”

  “Come on, Tasha. The evidence is there. Anyone with half a brain would know.”

  “It’s not his brain that’s the problem,” she said. “It’s his obsession. That’s what I was trying to explain to you before. Just because Jessamyn wasn’t in that room doesn’t mean that she hadn’t been there before.”

  “Oh, come on,” Rick said. “I understood it when the room was blocked off, but it’s clearly an office. No one could live in there. There isn’t even a bathroom.”

  “I don’t think he saw it that way,” Rassouli said.

  “He saw the office,” Tasha said, “where she writes her books.”

  “Then why would he destroy the computer?” Rick asked. “It would be her computer.”

  “No. It’s the computer you made her use.”

  Rick shook his head. “That’s crazy.”

  Tasha just stared at him.

  Rick stood up and went back to the window. The traffic was thinning. The downtown had settled into its quiet evening mode. All the nine-to-fivers were home, and the concert goers were happy in their theatrical worlds. The diners were eating something wonderful and discussing their petty problems.

  Not thinking about how quickly—and easily—they could lose it all.

  He sighed. “He thinks I’ve got her somewhere, huh?”

  “Yes,” Tasha said.

  “Or worse,” Rassouli said. “He thinks you killed her.”

  “Why would I do that? It makes no sense.”

  “We’re not dealing with a rational man.” Rassouli’s voice was quiet. This was the kindest the man had been to Rick. Was it because he perceived Rick as a victim now? Or because he finally believed him?

  “So he’ll be looking for her, right?” Rick said. “He’ll leave me alone.”

  “On the contrary,” Tasha said. “He’ll be going after you.”

  Rick leaned his forehead against the cool glass. “Why? Jessamyn’s the one he wants.”

  “And you’re the barrier toward getting her. Only you know where she is.”

  “Okay. I’ll watch for someone following me.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Rassouli again. Were they doing a subtle good-cop/bad-cop? Was Rassouli playing the kind role just because it was unusual?

  Rick stood and slipped his hands in his back pockets. “You just said he’s going to use me to find her. Well, he can’t do that without following me.”

  “He can torture it out of you,” Tasha said. “And given the condition of your office, I wouldn’t put it past him to try.”

  “But I am Jessamyn.”

  “And if you tell him that, he’ll flip,” Rassouli said.

  “He’ll think I’m lying?”

  “No. Because deep down, he might know you’re telling the truth.”

  “Jesus.” Rick sat down again. He had always thought the Creep hazardous to his work and his peace of mind, but never to his health. He knew the Creep had threatened him, but he’d seen that as a way to get to Jessamyn, more than anything else. He’d even thought the Creep might try to hurt him, but Rick knew he’d be able to take most anyone in a fight.

  He hadn’t expected something lethal.

  From all the reading he’d done, he thought stalkers only got lethal with the object of their obsession, not with someone who got in the way.

  But that was what Rassouli had just told him. The moment the Creep figured out—even subconsciously—that Jessamyn was Rick’s pen name was the moment Rick’s life was in danger.

  “You think he knows already,” Rick said.

  “As you said, how could anyone see that office and not know Jessamyn doesn’t really exist?” Tasha was watching him closely. “We’re pretty sure it’s not conscious.”

  “And that’s supposed to relieve me?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?”

  They didn’t respond, just watched him, as if he already knew what they wanted. And, in reality, he did.

  “Oh, for crissake. I already moved once. He followed me here. What’s to stop him from doing it again?”

  “Don’t use a forwarding this time,” Tasha said.

  “I didn’t the last time.”

  “Don’t buy a house. Don’t be visible. I’m sure you have enough money to live a peripatetic lifestyle for a year or so.”

  Usually, he would have been ecstatic that someone he was interested in knew how to use peripatetic in a sentence. Right now, though, it annoyed him.

  “I can’t live that way,” he said. “Ultimately I have to be trackable.”

  “Come on,” Rassouli said. “You can pretend to be a girl, but you can’t keep where you live secret?”

  Rick clenched his teeth. “First of all, I don’t ‘pretend’ to be a girl. And secondly, my job, while I do it at home, requires a lot of back and forth. Every day, it seems, I’m doing some piece of business, by phone, fax or e-mail. Not to mention all the mail and the UPS and the things that have to be done yesterday. If I am hard to find, then I lose control of my career.”

  “If you are easy to find,” Tasha said, “you may lose your life.”

  “We don’t have a budget for protection,” Rassouli said. “We’re a small department without enough manpower, and the threat on your life at the moment—at least according to department procedure—is mostly imaginary.”

  “It doesn’t feel imaginary,” Rick said.

  “It’s not imaginary,” Tasha said. “But we need something we can prove before we go the expense of 24-hour police protection.”

  “Why don’t you guard me?” He couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth. But they had—and he couldn’t take them back even if he wanted to.

  “I’m a homicide detective, Rick.”

  He glared at her. “You’re telling me it’s not your job?”

>   Rassouli had tilted his head toward the window as if the view of the building across the street had suddenly gotten very interesting. He seemed to be fighting to hold back a smile.

  Tasha opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I just told you that this case doesn’t fit our guidelines for protection.”

  “But you also told me I should be protected.”

  “I told you that you should move.”

  He let out a small breath. “I can’t just move tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I do, Tasha, he’ll come after me. Then he’ll be some other police department’s problem. I’ll have to explain to them who I am, what the scenario is, and why I’m letting this Creep follow me from place to place.”

  “There’s no guarantee he’ll do that.”’

  “There’s no guarantee he won’t.” Rick threaded his fingers together. “And if he’s tracking me through my job somehow—and I have to believe he is—he’ll find me again, just like he found me here.”

  “I agree,” Rassouli said, putting his chair down on all fours. “But he’s not too close. Otherwise he’d know who you are.”

  Rick nodded. He’d thought of that too. “If that’s the case, moving isn’t going to do me any good. In fact, it’ll put me in even more danger. Imagine how long it’ll take to convince another set of detectives that the threat is serious. You can’t even convince your department.”

  “That’s not what I said.” Tasha’s green eyes flashed at him. “I said we can’t get you protection. It’s a different thing.”

  “But you could offer me protection.”

  “It’s not my job, Rick.”

  He didn’t take his gaze off hers. “You’ll let me be a sitting duck?”

  She let out an exasperated breath and then looked at Rassouli. “Explain this to him.”

  “You’re on your own, Tash.”

  “Lou, we have the Pfeiffer case.”

  “It’s nearly wrapped and you know it.”

  Rick got the definite sense that Rassouli was enjoying Tasha’s discomfort. He wondered what had caused that. “I think having you as protection is a good solution.”

  “It’s a terrible solution.” Tasha frowned at Rassouli. Rassouli grinned and shrugged. Then she turned that green glare back on Rick. “Either I babysit you or I find your stalker. Which is it, Rick?”