by RK Close
His shoulder-length hair has soft blondish-brown waves and screams to be touched. I catch myself as I start to raise my hand a bit before I snap it back to my side where it belongs.
“No trouble, Samantha. Running into you is always a pleasure,” he says with the slightest hint of a smile.
Was that sarcasm or flirting?
I don’t know how to take his comment, so I smile nervously and move quickly for the stairs before I make a bigger fool of myself.
***
Walking into the gym, I find Dayna warming up on a rower. I join her for a while before the CrossFit class begins. After an hour and a half of functional fitness that would make road-kill out of the typical gym bunny, we crawl to our favorite coffee shop a couple doors down.
Ugly Brew not only has amazing coffee but also serves a pretty mean egg-and-bagel sandwich. Comfy mismatched couches and chairs are tastefully arranged to create an intimate and cozy atmosphere.
After stuffing our faces, I cautiously tell her about my dream. I say cautiously because Dayna loves to make me blush, and she’s good at it.
“Wow! That sounds kinky. I need me one of those! How attractive did you say he was?” she asks, scooting her chair closer. You’d think I’m about to dish on a hot date or something.
I give her a disgusted look. “I think he was pretty high on the “hottie-scale” but that’s not the point. He acted like he was going to kill me, and I did NOT invite him into my dreams. Besides, it was more like a nightmare with some confusing emotional side effects. Only you would think it was erotic.”
I choose to leave out the fact that I believe he may have been in my condo last night. She would freak out on multiple levels and insist on moving in with me for the next month.
I love Dayna, but we do not make good roommates. She is a cleaning force of nature, while I have a more relaxed attitude on the subject. Cleaning happens when I’m in the mood or when it starts to bug me. Sometimes, I clean when I’m stressed. If I’m tremendously upset, I’ll rearrange furniture.
“It was totally erotic! Maybe I need to meet Tall, Dark, and Handsome for myself,” she says, pulling off a dreamy look.
“I still have to figure out how he’s involved with my case. If he should try to kill me again, I’ll be sure to give him your number,” I say, sarcastically. “Speaking of incredibly attractive men, I ran into Gabe today.” I can’t hide my smile.
Dayna’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Oh, do tell! This sounds promising. What happened?” she asks leaning forward again.
“I literally ran into him. As in, falling-on-my-butt, ran into him.” I take a sip of my coffee, waiting for the visual image to sink in.
Her mouth forms an ‘O’ before she raises her eyebrows and asks, “Did you capitalize on this golden opportunity by asking him out? Tell me you made a play.”
I make a face and nervously adjust myself on the seat. “I don’t even know how to speak when he’s around. Of course I didn’t ask him out. I made a fool out of myself. I’m sure he’s thinking, ‘Why can’t I meet a smart and sophisticated woman like Sam?’” I say, imitating a deep voice.
“You simply need to ask him over for dinner or out for a drink. I’ll bet he’s good in bed,” she says with a mischievous smile. I roll my eyes at her and turn bright red. “You know you’ve thought about it.”
“No, I’m pretty sure my fantasy hasn’t even gone that far with him. I’ll ask him out for a drink when I can actually form complete sentences in his presence,” I say, standing up.
Men are easy for Dayna. She’s always been beautiful. She’s had the perfect curves of a college cheerleader since eighth grade. Many girls didn’t like her for that very reason. What they didn’t know was behind that beautiful face and curvy figure was a heart of gold.
Dayna gives me one of her supermodel smiles and grabs her bag to leave. “I’m just saying…” she says as she gives me a warm hug good-bye. We make plans to meet up for drinks later in the week.
***
Rebecca’s neighborhood is gated with a security guard on duty at the entrance 24/7. I don’t have a good excuse to drive into the neighborhood, so I park a block away and walk my way past the security guard.
Tonight, my hair is piled on top of my head in a messy but stylish bun. I’m dressed in a light blue velour warm-up suit from Victoria’s Secret that hugs my curves and isn’t designed for the gym. A large ‘blingy’ handbag conceals my camera and telephoto lens. I give a little wave to the security guard as though I belong, and he waves back as I pass through. Sometimes, attitude is all you need to discourage questions.
When I parked my car, it was right before dusk. Evening has turned to full night by the time I reach Rebecca’s street. I pass another couple walking their dog and we exchange waves. They turn onto another street a few minutes later.
There is a small park-like area that sits in the center of the homes on this street. Making myself comfortable on a bench that provides the best view of Rebecca’s house, I pull out my camera.
This is a pretty nice neighborhood, and I can only guess how a secretary at a law firm affords to live here. She seems too young to have acquired it in a divorce, but I suppose that’s a possibility. All I know is that it’s not Rebecca or Mr. CEO’s name on the deed to this property.
Her car sits in the driveway, and I see lights on throughout the house. After a while, Rebecca walks through the living room, which has a large floor-to-ceiling window with sheer curtains pulled aside.
Tonight, Rebecca is wearing a long white silk robe. She’s carrying a glass of wine as she adjusts some cushions on the sofa before disappearing into another room.
I only have to wait about twenty minutes before Mr. CEO pulls up and parks his Lexus next to her Mercedes.
He goes around to an entrance that I can’t see. He must have let himself in, because they greet each other in the middle of the living room. Maybe he has his own key.
They embrace and kiss before he presents her with flowers and a bottle of wine in one hand and a small gold colored bag in the other. He pats her on the butt as she walks away with her gifts. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.
I’ve already started snapping pictures since his arrival. It’s dark enough that no one can tell I’m here unless they’re within fifteen or twenty feet of me.
She enters the living room again, and they start making out right there, for me and all the neighbors to see. I don’t think he’ll be able to convince a judge that their relationship is platonic.
He unties her robe and slips it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. It pools around her high heels in silken waves. She’s wearing a red bra and panties, or maybe a bathing suit. It’s hard to tell these days. Victoria’s Secret has made sure they all look the same.
Oh, look at that, she’s wearing a small scarf that looks out of place with her skimpy attire.
I called that one.
She takes his hand and pulls him out the back patio doors. I can tell she has a pool because the reflected lights from the water cast a moving glow across them and the walls.
I need shots of the backyard activities, so I creep up to the driveway and move along the side of the house to see if I can find a safe spot to shoot from.
Sometimes, I feel like paparazzi.
***
Many incriminating photos later, I can finally call it a night. This is the job I was paid for, but I can’t help feeling disappointed that Blue Eyes wasn’t the one to visit her tonight. Rebecca was my only shot at finding out who he is.
The temperature has dropped, causing me to feel chilled as I walk out of the neighborhood and back toward my car. It’s particularly dark tonight with no moon and no streetlights. That’s Phoenix for you; we don’t want the city lights to interfere with our star gazing. No worries about being mugged or murdered, though.
My car is parked on the dark street ahead of me. I can barely make out a dark figure leaning against it. Nervously, I look around to see if there i
s anyone else to call out to, but there’s no one around.
Slowing my pace, I look back toward my car, but the shadow is gone. Was there anyone there or was the darkness playing tricks on my eyes? The street is quiet as I cautiously scan the area. Since I seem to be alone, I walk briskly to my car, my keys ready. My hand shakes as I fumble to connect the key with the lock. I finally manage to get the key in and I’m relieved when I hear it click.
I’m unable to open the door before a silky male voice next to my ear says, “Ms. Lewis.”
Chapter 5
Before I can scream or do more than drop my bag, a gloved hand is over my mouth and an arm like a vise grip is around my waist, pulling me against a firm body. Oh God! I don’t know the voice, but every fiber in my body says it’s Blue Eyes. My screams are muffled behind a leather glove.
I’m pinned between him and the car so I’m unable to raise my knee and bring my heel down on his foot. I can’t move an inch within his grasp. My hands claw at his arms with no effect. After a few moments I stop screaming and struggling. He seems to be waiting for something.
Once I stand completely still and cease my screaming, he speaks. “If you remain calm we will have our discussion in a civilized fashion, but if you continue to scream or try to run, we will have this conversation somewhere more private.” He has a faint accent that I can’t identify. “Do you understand me, Ms. Lewis?” His lips are at my ear and I can feel his warm breath as he speaks.
I try to control my trembling as I nod my head. As soon as he removes his hand I consider screaming, but wait to see what he will do next. Even though he has removed his hand from my mouth, he still holds my body tightly against his.
My voice is so shaky; I can barely get the words out. “What do you want, and how do you know my name?” Those seem like logical questions to me, even if the situation is not.
“I’ll be making the inquiries,” he purrs in my ear. “I know a great deal about you, and what you do for a living, Ms. Lewis. What I would like to know is, why did you follow me last night?” His tone is conversational—more curious, maybe.
“You seem to know so much, why don’t you tell me?” His arm tightens around me enough to make it difficult to breathe. He releases the tension as quickly as he added it, but I get the message.
“I was following the woman you were with. She’s having an affair with a married man,” I say with a hint of sass that I can’t hold back.
He lets out a soft breath, “Ah, I see. Unfortunately, when you take photos of me it becomes my business. I’m a painfully private person, Ms. Lewis. Tell me, what did you see while you were spying on me?”
It’s unnerving that his mouth is so near my ear, causing his lips to brush against it when he speaks. I can’t contain a shiver, and his body stiffens in response.
Oh crap!
My involuntary movement seems to have caused him to pause. That can’t be good. I need to keep him talking. “Who are you?” I blurt.
At first he doesn’t answer, and then he says, “My name is Adam. My last name won’t do you any good. You might say I’m a ghost.”
He seemed to have moved his mouth higher, and is now speaking into my hair, which is an improvement, but still too intimate.
I try to push away from him, but still can’t get his grip to loosen. It’s a completely wasted effort. He’s like a stone wall that won’t budge. “Can you let me go so we can talk without you glued to my backside?” Way too much sass. I’m going to get myself killed.
To my surprise he slowly releases me and steps back almost enough for me to turn around and face him. I lean back against the car, trying to gain inches between us. His hands are on the car and I’m pinned between them. I’m not going anywhere.
He looks at me like a puzzle that needs to be solved. His face is so handsome it almost hurts to look at him—even more so when I think he must mean me harm. How many women have fallen victim to that face? I’m starting to think that having my back to him was the safer position.
We stare at each other. Tonight he’s wearing jeans and a cream colored sweater that fits snugly across his broad chest. His build is more impressive out of a suit and his striking blue eyes do seem to almost glow.
My dream comes slamming into me with crystal clarity, and I inhale sharply. This is too familiar. He notices my response and narrows his eyes at me.
“What do you want from me?” I blurt to cover my reaction.
“I need to know what you witnessed last night.” Our faces are mere inches from one another.
“I saw the two of you making out like teenagers. Can I leave now?” I glare at him with a confidence I don’t possess at the moment.
I have the sense that if I show him my fear again, he will pounce. I’ll play the tough girl.
“I think you saw more than that, Samantha,” he says, making my name sound like silk.
I feel as though he’s taken things to a whole new level by the intimate way he uses my name, as though he’s said it often.
His eyes leave my face and wander down to my heaving chest, and then up to my neck, where he becomes preoccupied. He’s so focused on my neck that I start to wonder if he remembers what’s going on. I’m more freaked out now than when he first grabbed me.
“Can you back off and give me some space? I can’t breathe with you in my face like this.” This comes out harsher than I meant, but I need space between us quickly.
Instead he leans in closer, drops his head, and places his lips to my neck. Reflexively, my hands go to his chest. Once again, he doesn’t move. I’m frozen. I don’t know what to do. I feel like any wrong move could be my last.
After what seems like an eternity he inhales deeply, raises his lips to my ear, and says, “You interest me, Samantha Lewis.”
This is not good. “I’m here on business for a while. May I call on you?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.
How did he get my real name? I’ve used Samantha Chase as my alias for six years.
“No, you can’t call on me! What do you think this is, a dating service? You’re holding me here against my will!” I fume. He pulls back to look at me again, but this time a slight smile touches the corners of his mouth.
Oh my…! I thought he was attractive when he was all broody and angry. If the circumstances were different that smile might be my undoing.
I hate my hormones right now!
“I’m inclined to question your honesty, and I refuse to take no for an answer. I’m accustomed to having my way, Samantha but you are free to leave.” We stare into each other’s eyes.
Those eyes.
He’s not going to let me go. This is the moment he murders me, or worse. My heart is racing a million miles an hour and I fight the feeling of lightheadedness that comes before passing out.
He takes a step back, and I quickly grab my bag from the ground and turn to get into the car. I’m still waiting for the hammer to drop. I hold my breath, hoping beyond all hope that I’m allowed to get in my car and drive away. But I don’t truly believe it.
Once in the car, I reach for the door and look up, but he’s gone. I quickly lock the door and look all around.
He let me go.
My mind can’t process this thought. Still not trusting that I’m free, I rev the engine to life and press the gas pedal to the ground. Even the satisfying sound of tires peeling out doesn’t give me relief from the fear that grips my heart. I drive several miles from the area before I allow myself to slow down. I’m shaking so violently I’m forced to pull over and stop the car.
I look in the rear view mirror for the hundredth time to make sure no one is following me. I turn the heater on high and sit there until I can get my body under control. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel and finally, my emotions give over to tears.
Once my self-pity moment has passed, I wipe my face with a tissue and stare straight ahead for a while.
What just happened?
Back on the road, I decide to drive to Dayn
a’s house. I’ll tell her that I had a couple too many beers with a friend and sleep in her spare room. I can’t be home alone tonight. I’ll face my demons tomorrow.
Chapter 6
I don’t know how anyone else deals with stress, but for me, I get busy. Usually I get busy with work, but it can be organizing a closet, throwing myself into a good novel, learning something new, or anything else that keeps me busy. There’s healing in work. It helps me stay grounded, and my mind preoccupied.
I stayed at Dayna’s Saturday night, but I’ve slept at home the last three. I hung bells on the patio doors to warn me if anyone should decide to pay me a late-night visit. Pretty smart, if I do say so myself.
This week is flying by, and thankfully, no more bizarre meetings with blue-eyed, pushy stalkers. Nice normal days. Still, I’ve been waiting for someone to grab me around every corner.
Besides my crazy weekend, it’s been business as usual this week. I’m currently working two cases, so I’ve had leads and paper trails to follow. My workload has kept me somewhat preoccupied, but my mind keeps wandering back to Adam.
I’ve been trying not to think about him, especially the feel of his lips on my neck and ear. That brings to mind all sorts of other inappropriate images, and feelings that I refuse to have for a possible psycho. I must need therapy.
I haven’t told a soul about our encounter, and I’m wondering if this is a mistake. If I mention this to Dayna or anyone else, I’ll be under lockdown for sure. That would most certainly cramp my style.
On the other hand, if I file a report with the police, what am I going to report? I don’t even have a name for him. Ultimately, it would cost me my current job, and bring me unwanted attention.
So far, Blue Eyes has been sneaky, and careful about the lines he crosses. No witnesses, only my word against his. I’m sure his fingerprints would not be found on my car or in my condo. Certainly not after I’ve rearranged the entire living room, vacuumed, dusted, and sterilized the hell out of this place.