by Dori Lavelle
Later that night we made love again before Miles fell asleep in my arms. I was about to close my eyes when I remembered the card Jolene had given me at work.
I got out of bed, careful not to wake Miles, and went to my home office. I stared at the envelope for a long time before I opened it. It was a card, but definitely not an RSVP. This one had the number 30 embossed on the front. I opened the card and something slid onto the polished wooden table. My gaze landed on a piece of lacey material, and my heart stopped when I saw the red stain.
Blood.
The card fell from my hands.
Chapter Three
I was panting by the time I reached Jolene’s office door. I raised my hand to knock, then paused and swiped the sweat off my forehead. It wouldn't be a good idea to make Jolene suspicious.
I took a deep breath before pushing the door open and pretended my heart wasn't in my throat, where it had been since last night.
Jolene glanced up from her computer and smiled. “Morning, Chloe. Are you here for your appointments? You received quite a few calls this morning already.” Jolene reached for a spiral notepad and started flipping through it. She located the page she was looking for, removed it, and handed it to me. I took it, forcing my hands not to shake.
“Thank you.” I swallowed hard. “By the way, who did you say delivered that card yesterday? The one you found on your desk.”
“I have no idea. I went to tidy the boardroom… and when I returned, there it was, next to my cashews.”
I eyed the ever-present glass bowl of nuts on Jolene’s desk.
“You didn’t leave anyone in your office?” Visitors who entered the premises always booked an appointment. No one showed up unannounced.
Jolene frowned. “No. The next appointment wasn’t due for another hour.” Jolene narrowed her eyes. “Is something wrong? What kind of card was it?”
I forced a smile and gave a small nod. “Yes, everything is fine. You were right… just an RSVP.”
“I'm sure you'll be getting a lot of those—” The phone rang and Jolene’s eyes darted to it.
I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “Go ahead and answer. Please hold my calls for the next thirty minutes, though. I have a few things to take care of.” I reached for the door handle and walked out.
Inside my office, with the door locked behind me, I sat at my desk for a long time, thinking. The person who had left me the card had not wanted to be seen. What kind of person would go as far as sending someone a piece of bloody lace? Then again, the nature of my job meant I had a few enemies. Beyond that, I was about to marry one of the wealthiest men in the United States. There could be lots of people who might want to sabotage my happiness.
Unable to think about work, I pulled out the envelope. I’d stuffed the card back inside last night. I turned the envelope over in my hands, feeling the weight of what was inside.
In the end, I picked up a sheet of paper and made a list of everyone I knew who might want to hurt me. But when the list of names reached twenty, I crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the bin. Furious at being left in the dark, I pulled out the card and the piece of lace and put them into the shredder.
Maybe someone was playing a tasteless prank on me. I decided to stop worrying about something that might be nothing at all. I wouldn’t mention it to Miles. No use worrying him unnecessarily.
I got to my feet and went to the decorative mirror hanging on one wall, where I ran a brush through my hair and refreshed my plum lipstick. I would be a professional and go through my work day under the pretense that I had never received the stupid card.
I called Jolene to tell her to allow my calls through. I was available.
Three hours later, I had my first meeting of the day. Although I did an amazing job of pretending, I was a total mess inside.
I could not stop picturing my own eyes when I’d looked into the mirror earlier. The fear in them had been unmistakable, fear of a kind I remembered all too well from long ago. The body could lie, and words could be deceiving, but eyes were the windows to the truth.
Chapter Four
If only a shower could wash away more than dirt.
I had been standing under the chrome shower head for almost an hour, trying but failing to scrub away the things that terrified me. As I walked out of the bathroom, followed by a cloud of steam, I felt the same as I had when I went in earlier. I’d thought a shower would do me good, but it did nothing.
I unraveled the towel from around my head, and my black hair tumbled down my naked back in ropes of silk.
Miles walked in, followed by the usual invigorating scent of cedar, citrus, and musk. He looked distinguished in a traditional black tux with prominent satin lapels. It gave him the kind of class and appeal only he could pull off. He was clean-shaven, and his medium-length chocolate-brown hair had been lightly gelled and combed back, the lines softened by him running his fingers through. He looked both clean-cut and ruggedly handsome at once, and my heart quickened as I watched him.
He glanced at his Rolex and then at me with a pinched expression. “I thought you would be ready by the time I got home.”
I sighed. If I didn't hurry up, we could end up having an argument over something as silly as being on time. I made a mental note: Don’t show up late at the wedding.
“The event starts in twenty minutes. Ed is already waiting outside.”
I dried my hair while walking into my wardrobe. “Come on, Miles. What's the big deal? It's just a fundraising event. We’ll get there on time.”
“It's not just a fundraising event, Chloe. You know how important these events are to me.”
One of the reasons I fell in love with Miles was because he cared so much about the less fortunate—the sick, the poor, the misunderstood. He not only went to philanthropic events to show his support; he left each one with his pockets thousands of dollars lighter. Sometimes he even got his hands dirty serving soup and handing out donations to the homeless.
Many times, though, it did annoy me that he took these events so personally. And we were always going to one or another. We rarely went out just to have fun, not like we used to when we’d just started dating. I didn’t mind donating money, or attending a charitable event now and then, but two to three times a month seemed like a bit much. But then, I knew about this side of him when we got together. I signed up for this.
While I dressed, I heard him shuffling around in the bedroom. He was pacing. I’d have to do my makeup in the car. I got the feeling he was on the verge of walking out the door and leaving me behind.
Normally I didn't mind his strict adherence to time so much, but today I wasn't in the mood. I’d even tried to get out of attending, but it was important to him that we show up as a couple, to show our joint support to the community.
“I'm almost done,” I called out, massaging rich lavender lotion into my arms. I needed a massage badly; I’d have to fit one in soon.
Ten minutes later, I emerged dressed in a long, strapless silver and black evening gown with sequins that blinked when I moved. I didn't have enough time to do my hair the way I had planned, so I dried it and pulled it back in a smooth low bun.
By the time I put on my shoes and picked up my clutch purse, Miles was already out the door.
The drive to the Boca Raton Resort & Club was quiet as Miles read through emails and talked on the phone, all the while holding my hand. When we arrived, he kissed me on the lips and told me I was beautiful. My earlier annoyance dissipated as we stepped out of the car.
At least three hundred people were present at the AIDS Gala. Owen Firmin, Miles’s best friend and former business partner, was among the people in the room.
Both Owen and Miles had studied computer science and mathematics at the University of Florida, but they ended up developing Torp Mobile, a popular social app that made them both wealthy. They had gone on to grow what later became the company Torp Inc., a corporation that earned Miles—its president—the title of top businessman sever
al years in a row, according to Forbes magazine. The company had created several more apps since then, as well as other products. Miles was an amazing success and he wasn’t even thirty-five.
Owen, who was a year older than Miles, had fallen by the wayside. The money had gone to his head. He was a party animal, not a businessman. Soon after I started dating Miles, Owen—whom I had disliked from the get-go—had been voted out by the other board members. Now he was free to do whatever he liked—which meant throwing money around, partying, and breaking hearts. He’d already had his story in an issue of Sage. Miles had been pissed, but I told him it was a business decision, and Owen was the kind of guy our readers wanted to read about.
Owen was a jerk, though. The last time I saw him, he’d come over to our house for dinner, and when Miles left the room, he tried to flirt with me. I was furious and threatened to tell Miles, but Miles was protective of Owen. And frankly, I didn't want to be the one to come between them. The one thing that still infuriated me was his insistence on showing me that he didn’t think I was the right woman for Miles.
“Chloe, you look amazing, as usual. It’s great to see you.” Owen kissed me on both cheeks and I fought the urge to push him away.
He wasn’t wearing his usual flannel shirts and jeans. Instead he actually looked handsome, with his medium-length dark blond hair slicked back and none of the five o’clock shadow he was so fond of on his face. His bright blue eyes sparkled from behind his glasses.
“Thank you, Owen.” I forced a smile and reached for a glass of champagne off a tray carried by one of the waitresses.
We were shown to a round table near the front of the ballroom. Somehow, despite there being five people at the table, I was seated next to Owen. As the night wore on, I did my best to ignore him. Instead, I carried on conversations with Miles and some of the other guests at our table.
Speeches were made, and even Miles was called up to say something. He ended his speech with a heartwarming thanks to his fiancée for her endless support. He always did that—made sure everyone knew I was the lady by his side.
Dinner was served and I did my best to get through it with a smile on my face. Halfway through dessert, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I had to get away for a bit. Sitting for two hours straight doing nothing was exhausting. I wanted to tell Miles we should call it a night, but he was having such a good time. I’d wait another half an hour.
I used the toilet and refreshed my makeup. When I put my lipstick back into my purse, my spine chilled. Another ecru envelope was tucked inside my purse, similar to the one I received yesterday. The one I had shredded. This one was folded in half so it would fit inside the clutch. My fingers trembled as I pulled it out. Even though no one else was in the restroom, I locked myself inside one of the cubicles and sat on top of the toilet seat. I ripped the envelope open, knowing exactly what I would find, but wanting to make sure.
The card was identical. But this time, it had the number 29 framed by a gold border instead of 30. As I had expected, a piece of lace was tucked inside the card, complete with the red stain. This was no longer something I could sweep under the rug.
I pushed it back into my purse, feeling suffocated. The card had not been inside my purse earlier. That meant one thing. The person sending me the cards was at the event.
Chapter Five
The next morning, I continued trying to convince myself that the cards were part of a prank. Maybe the red stain on the lace wasn’t even blood. It could be food coloring or paint.
My hopes crashed when, during my lunch break, I went to the ladies’ room and did a test with hydrogen peroxide. I’d bought a small bottle on my way to work. I poured it on the piece of lace and it foamed up. My online research claimed it would if the stain was blood. But was it human or animal blood? On second thought, why did that matter? Sending someone fabric stained with blood, human or animal, was disturbing.
My eyes watered as I watched the liquid bubble up on the fabric. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my eyes away. Now that my suspicions were confirmed, what should I do? Could I tell Miles?
I’d tried to tell him last night, going as far as waking him up in the middle of the night, telling him I wanted to talk. But at the last minute the words froze inside my throat. I ended up telling him to go back to sleep, that I only wanted him to know I loved him.
If he suspected it was someone seeking revenge for an article published in Sage, we would end up in yet another argument over my job. I didn’t have the energy for that, and I didn’t want to make things complicated when we were about to get married. On our one-month dating anniversary, Miles had told me I was a breath of fresh air, that the women he’d dated before had been too complicated and had come with too much baggage for him to handle. During our year of dating, my job was the only thing we fought about. If I told him about my stalker now, I might also have to tell him about the skeletons in my closet. I had lied to him for a year, or at least withheld important information. And I had lied to myself, thinking I could lead a normal, worry-free life. I had reinvented myself, blended in with the crowd, and fooled people into thinking I had a squeaky-clean image. The cards I was receiving proved I had not run fast enough from my past. It would only be a matter of time before I came face-to-face with it.
In a moment of stupidity and denial, I tore up the card and flushed it down the toilet, along with the piece of lace. I was well aware of the fact that I was destroying potential evidence. I could’ve presented it to the cops. But cops were among the people I could not talk to about this. They would ask me who wanted to harm me, and they had the resources to dig into my past, to dig up skeletons I preferred to stay buried.
But keeping this information to myself was as damaging as letting it out. I needed to talk to somebody. Someone I could trust. The first person who came to mind was Kirsten Bannister. Since moving to Boca Raton, I had kept most people at a distance, never forming close relationships. If I wanted to keep my past out of sight, I couldn’t get too close to any one person. The more people I let in, the more ways I allowed myself to be exposed.
Apart from Miles, Kirsten was one of the people who managed to climb over the wall I had erected around myself, although she, too, didn’t know much about my past. I told her the same thing I had told Miles: I was born and raised in Misty Cove, Florida, but I had not gone back since I left for college. I did open up to them about my nonexistent relationship with my mom, but that was about it. I made sure they focused on the new me, and I brushed off as many questions about my past as possible. They thought they knew me, but they had no idea.
I first met Kirsten five years ago when I was out for a jog. We had bumped into each other several times, as we jogged the same route. We got to talking and met up for coffee, which led to many more. She was a good listener, and a good friend. The kind of person I needed right now.
***
“Are you okay?” Kirsten sipped her café au lait, her hazel eyes suspicious. “You seem preoccupied.” She stopped talking and waited for me to respond.
I was overwhelmed by the urge to back out at the last minute, to keep my troubles to myself. But bottling everything inside was unbearable.
“I think somebody’s stalking me.” I pinched my lips together.
The blood drained from Kirsten’s face. “What do you mean? What makes you think that?”
I drew in a long breath and told her about the last two days, the two cards.
Kirsten shook her head, her straight red hair swaying like a curtain. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I wish I knew.” My heart lightened. Sharing my predicament with somebody else helped a little, even though I couldn’t tell her about the possible connection to my past. I stirred my hot chocolate and licked the spoon. The sweet taste was soothing. As a child, Mom used to make me hot chocolate every time I was upset. That was before she withdrew from me. Before she became somebody else.
“I thought maybe it’s a prank.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “Maybe the person will get bored soon and leave me alone.”
Kirsten drained her coffee and put the cup down. She leaned forward across the table. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice was a furious whisper. “This is not something that will blow over on its own.” Her words were firm, and her hair swayed with each word. “This is not a joke, Chloe. When a crazy person sends you blood through the mail, you call the cops. You take the evidence to the police; you don’t destroy it.”
I understood. If I had been somebody else, with a different life, the police station would have been my first port of call. I would’ve filed a complaint the instant I discovered it was blood on the lace.
My earlier relief dispersed when it dawned on me I had made a mistake by telling Kirsten. She was my friend. Of course she would be worried and urge me to go to the cops. And I had no way of explaining to her why I couldn’t go, not without her becoming suspicious, and asking questions I didn’t want to answer. “I think I should wait. It could be nothing. Given the nature of my job, I’m pretty sure things like this happen all the time. We don’t hear about it often, because stalked people might not always run to the cops.”
“But you still shouldn’t have destroyed the evidence, just in case.”
Kirsten was two years younger than me, but sometimes she acted like a big sister. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I was just… scared. I thought if I destroyed it, it would go away.” I chewed the corner of my lip. “Do you really think the person is counting down to my wedding day?”
“It looks like it. I mean, what are the chances somebody would send you a card with the exact number of days before your wedding on it? I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Okay, I think I’ll wait and see what happens over the next few days. Then I’ll decide what to do. I promise not to destroy the cards. But maybe I won’t even get a card today.”