by Lexi Ryan
I shake my head. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Remember when we talked about having babies?” He tilts his head in that signature big-screen Tom Comer expression that makes all the fangirls swoon. “I’m ready for all of that. We’re meant to be together. The rest is logistics.”
“You’re married to another woman, and you’re going to stand there and talk to me about babies?” My voice cracks on the word, as if years of him alternately promising and denying me that dream broke the word itself.
“I can’t stomach the idea of some other man touching you, even if it’s just for show.”
“You need to leave.” I press a hand to the ache in my stomach. “You’ve broken my trust too many times. If there’s any future for us—and that’s a big if—it won’t start like this. Make your decisions. Do what you need to do, but do it without any expectation of what will happen between us.”
He tucks his hands in his pockets. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
“I hope so.” I step around him and open the door. “But forgiveness and trust aren’t the same thing.”
* * *
Cade
“Where’s Janelle?” Gormong asks, when I step into his office.
I slide a Starbucks cup across his desk. “At the hotel. I’ve got Davis with her, though. She’s covered.”
Gormong takes a long pull of his coffee and studies me. “Want to pretend you’re not in a horrible mood and get down to business, or do you need to take a minute to share your feelings and shit?”
I grunt. “I’m not going to honor that with a response.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Wife filled me in on the drama between your actress and her ex. And anyone with a pulse can tell there’s tension between you two. I’m just saying we can talk if that’s what you need.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No, you’re saying your wife will be on your ass for all the details the tabloids aren’t supplying.”
“Harsh!”
“You can tell her that Janelle and I are fine.” What a lie. We aren’t fine. We aren’t anything. Tom’s appearance this morning was enough to jeopardize even our fictional romance, enough to remind me why I need to keep my distance.
“Fine?” Gormong grimaces. “You’re sending me home with fine?”
“At least you’re admitting your ulterior motives now.”
The corner of his mouth twitches into a grin. “Hey, you can’t blame me for trying. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
I wouldn’t know. “So the case,” I say, changing the subject none-too-subtly. “Where are we with security footage at Janelle’s condo?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“It’s gone?”
“On the night before she returned—and the night Courtney went missing—there’s a gap of a few hours in the footage, as if someone went in and erased it. They’re giving us a list of employees who have access to the digital files, and we’ll start interviews.”
“The more people you talk to, the harder it’s going to be to keep this quiet. People will start asking questions. The media would love to get their hands on all the details of this story.”
“I know. And since the HiLo is requiring we get a warrant before they’ll share their security footage of the night Courtney disappeared, we’re at a bit of a standstill with that line of the investigation. In the meantime, the more we learn, the uglier this case gets.”
“What do you mean by that?” Then it hits me. The question I haven’t asked. The question I’ve put out of my mind because to stay sane I have to believe that Janelle isn’t in that kind of danger. But I know now. Even before I ask. “What were the results of the rape kit?”
Gormong’s mood shifts in an instant. He drags a hand over his face and studies his desk.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “What did they find?”
He swallows hard. “Her exam showed no internal injuries, but there were traces of semen. It can’t be from her husband, because he’d been out of town for the previous week. We have samples being analyzed now, and when we have DNA information, we’ll see if we can find a match in the database.”
I grab my phone. I want to rush back to the hotel. I was so pissed that she wanted to talk to Tom alone that I got out of there as fast as I could. I shouldn’t have left her. She should be with me. Until we have a suspect, everyone who glances at her is a potential rapist in my eyes—even a man she was once married to.
I don’t care if he was her husband. They can have their conversation with my guy in the room.
I dial Davis, and he answers on the first ring. “Yes, sir?”
“Is Tom Comer still there?”
“No, sir. He left shortly after you.”
I lean back in my chair and exhale, ignoring the questioning look Gormong throws in my direction. “And Janelle?”
“Safely in the room. Just ordered room service. She requested I join her for coffee, but I declined.”
“Take her up on it,” I say. There aren’t many people in this world I trust completely, but Davis is one of them. “I’d feel better knowing you were with her until I can get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
When I end the call, Gormong clears his throat. “Tom Comer was with Janelle when you left?”
“Butt out,” I mutter.
“My wife said that guy did a real number on your girl. Fucked around. Seemed to think he was entitled to do so. He did a couple interviews where he strongly implied that their marriage was falling apart because she was cold in bed.”
None of this comes as a surprise to me. The night of the Halloween party, she told me it was the first time she’d had an orgasm from a man going down on her. The next day, when I found out who she was, I all but accused her of lying about that. But now I know I was wrong, and I have no doubt that any and all of her sexual insecurities come from her asshole ex-husband. What Gormong’s telling me now only makes me regret that I didn’t punch him in the face when I had the chance. “Comer’s a tool,” I mutter.
“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
I scowl. “What did we find out about Courtney’s memory loss?”
He sorts through a stack of papers on his desk and shakes his head. “Blood test was negative for Rohypnol.”
“GHB? Ketamine?”
“Both negative,” he says. “There were traces of Ambien in her system, but since she has a prescription for that and takes it regularly to help her sleep, it’s not clear that it was administered by the perp. It’s gained popularity as a rape drug, so that’s our best guess at this point.”
“How’s she holding up?”
Gormong lifts his hands, palms up. “As well as should be expected. She’s spooked and shaky. Emotional. The doctor gave her something for anxiety and let her go home with her husband. We’re having patrol officers keep an eye on all the girls’ residences, but there’s been no suspicious activity that they’ve noted.”
“So we know that her last memory is at the HiLo. But at some point after she arrived at the club, or possibly after she left, she was abducted without anyone noticing, tied up, causing the ligature marks on her arms, and then raped. The rapist leaves behind DNA evidence, but is able to execute every other part of his plan without a trace.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t add up.”
“Which part?” Gormong asks.
“Let’s remember that we’re presuming this is the same guy who was able to get into Janelle’s building undetected. Why would someone so careful in every other aspect be careless enough to leave behind DNA evidence? What does he want with them? Why send out all these letters? What’s the end game?”
Gormong taps his pen on his desk. “All very good questions, but I don’t think we should rule out the possibility that this is some basic sicko with a sexual fetish for these girls. Maybe all his caution went out the window when he actually had Courtney. He got too excited and careless.”
I shake my head. Everything else i
s too calculated. Carelessness doesn’t fit his MO. My stomach knots hard. “Or maybe it wasn’t carelessness at all. Maybe this sick fuck wanted to make sure we know what Courtney can’t remember.”
“You think he wants the police to know he’s a rapist?”
I shake my head. “Not the police.”
Gormong’s jaw goes tight. “The girls,” he mutters. “Maybe this isn’t about getting them. Maybe it’s about the chase. He wants them to be scared.”
I stand. “I have to get back to Janelle. We’re going back to Indiana today.”
Gormong nods. “That’s a good idea. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
There’s a knock on the door, and we look up to see a uniformed officer entering. “Sir,” he says to Gormong. “The TV. You’re going to want to see this.”
Gormong and I follow him to the break room, where the TV is playing the local news. “And tonight,” the newscaster says, “more about actress Courtney Ferguson’s shocking and inexplicable abduction, and the details the police have kept secret until now. You’ll want to know all about the trouble that has this actress, as well as the other actresses from the show Roommates, fearing for their safety. Tune in for all the details in the case of the Flower Stalker.”
“I want to know who in this precinct has talked to the press,” Gormong says, scowling at the screen. “And I want to know now.”
* * *
Janelle
“Thank you for coming in.” I pour two cups of the coffee I ordered from room service. “When you were in the hall like that, I felt like I had a guard dog.”
Davis grins. “That’s my job, ma’am.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black, please.”
I add cream to mine and then hand over his. “So how do you know Cade?”
“We were in the military together,” he says. “And he worked for my security firm for a couple years before leaving LA.”
I sip my coffee. “So you probably have some good stories, huh?”
His normally stoic expression cracks with his grin. “None he’d want me to tell you, ma’am.”
“He’s really a good guy. Isn’t he?” I don’t know what Davis knows about my relationship with Cade. Maybe he thinks we’re a couple like everyone else and my question seems strange, but he takes it in stride.
“The best. I’d trust him with my life, my family’s life. Not many men I can say that about.”
“Do you know his family at all?” I ask, but before he can answer, my phone dings. My sister-in-law is requesting a video chat.
Davis nods at me to take it, so I swipe the screen to accept.
“Hanna!” Just saying her name makes me smile, or maybe it was last night with Cade that’s responsible for the grin on my face. Even Tom’s stunt this morning can’t take away that kind of glow.
“So, you got a really creepy delivery this morning,” Hanna says.
“Where? At your place?”
Hanna glances off-screen and nods. “Yeah. I found these flowers on the front porch.”
“Flowers?” In the corner of the screen, I see my face go pale. “You got a flower delivery for me? At your house?” Oh God. Please don’t let this be what I think . . .
“Does this mean anything to you?” Hanna asks. “The card says, ‘Loves me not.’” She swings the phone around and suddenly my screen is filled with the image of a bouquet of at least a dozen dead and withered daisies.
Chapter 11
Cade
When I return to the hotel, someone calls my name. My old friend Patterson, the hotel’s head of security, stands in a suit by the registration desk, hands tucked into his pockets.
Seconds ago, I was fantasizing about going back to the room. Janelle would tell me she told Tom to fuck off and then I’d get her naked. But the fantasy fizzles away when I see Patterson’s tense expression. “What happened?”
“She’s fine,” he says. “Come with me.”
I follow him to an office down a back hall, and when he opens the door, my gut turns to ice.
“These were delivered this morning,” he says. He points to the giant arrangement of daisies on his desk. The ones that seem to be laughing at me. “I’m told the delivery man gave your room number and left. Since I have you and Miss Crane registered under an alias, the front desk thought it was a mistake when he saw the card. He was calling the flower shop when I happened by.”
I part the flowers to read the card.
For Janelle. She loves me.
“Would your employee be able to identify the delivery guy?” I ask.
Patterson points to the wall of computers at the back of his office. “I’ve already pulled up the security footage.”
I pull my phone from my pocket to call Gormong. I can’t get Janelle out of this fucking town soon enough. But even as I start to dial, it rings in my hand, and Davis’s face pops onto the screen.
“Hello?”
“What’s your ETA?” he asks.
“I’m downstairs.”
“You might want to get up here. Janelle got a delivery at her brother’s house in New Hope today. She has her sister on video chat now. You’re going to want to see this.”
“On my way.” I end the call and look at Patterson. “Get Gormong over here.”
* * *
Janelle
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is thick and my thoughts are scrambled. I need to tell Cade about this. I need to call him and get him back here as soon as possible. I need to tell Hanna and my brother about the stalker and the investigation. But mostly, I need to find out what this guy wants from me, because I won’t allow him to torment my family.
“Hanna, don’t touch it, okay?” I say.
The lock on the door clicks, and Davis returns from the hall with Cade by his side.
“What is it?” Hanna asks. “You’re freaking me out, and so are these flowers. What’s going on?”
“Probably nothing.” I hate lying to my sister-in-law, but I can’t do much more until I’m allowed to talk about the investigation. I motion Cade over as I tell Hanna, “But we should take it seriously. Just in case it’s a threat or something. Will you put it on the screen again so Cade can see?”
Hanna’s eyes go wide, and she smiles. “Cade’s there?”
“Um, yeah. He came out to be with me.” I have to keep my explanation simple because I’m such a shitty liar. People say actors are great at deception, but when I act, I become someone else. I see the world the way they see it. Feel the way they feel. Acting and lying to your family aren’t even in the same hemisphere.
“So, he’s forgiven you? Because when I saw him at Brady’s, he seemed pretty—”
“Hanna,” I say firmly.
“Right. We’ll talk later.” She bites back her grin and adjusts her phone so the screen is filled with dead flowers.
Cade stands behind me and mutters a curse.
“What?” Hanna says. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Janelle has a stalker,” Cade says, and I spin on him in surprise. “The daisies are his calling card.”
I cock my head at him. “I thought we couldn’t . . .”
“It’s about to be all over the news,” he says, his face grim. “Someone leaked the details of the investigation.”
“A stalker?” Hanna says. “Do you know who it is?”
“I promise to fill you in later, okay?” I say.
“I’m going to send an NHPD officer to the house to get those flowers,” Cade tells her. “He’ll probably need to ask you a few questions about the delivery, too.”
“Okay.” Hanna’s face is pale. “If it will help.”
Cade nods. “Thanks.”
“Talk soon, Han,” I say, and before she can reply, Cade taps the screen to end our session.
“Fuck,” he growls.
I sink into the couch. “You can say that again.”
“I’ll be in the hall,” Davis says.
Cade lifts his chin in Davis’
s direction. “I’ll debrief you in a few.”
As the door clicks closed behind Davis, I try to figure out which Cade is pacing in front of me. The tender, warm lover who spent the night touching and tasting every inch of me? Or the cold, robotic bodyguard who finds me more an annoyance than an object of affection?
“He’s screwing with our heads,” he mutters. “Fucking psycho wants us to know you can’t hide from him. Screwing with our heads.”
I reach for his hand, and he flinches. Okay, then. Hello, Mr. Bodyguard.
“How did Tom know where to find you this morning?” he asks.
I shake my head, trying to keep up with the change of subject. “Tom?”
“He showed up at the fucking door to the hotel room where no one is supposed to find us. How did he know?” he asks between clenched teeth.
I cross my arms. This isn’t just cold bodyguard Cade. This is asshole Cade. I stare at him, trying to figure it out. Last night was good. We were talking and touching and there wasn’t all this weirdness between us. It’s like he’s not even the same guy who held me and kissed me and made me feel special.
“He knew because I told him. He texted me yesterday, worried about where I was staying. I told him.”
“You gave him the room number?”
“He offered to bring some clothes for me—something you never bothered with—but then I decided Jamaal could help with that and told Tom not to come after all.” And I decided I didn’t want Tom, of all people, coming to my rescue.
“Who else did you tell?”
“No one.”
“You’re sure about that? Because if your precious Tom is the only one who knew where you were, that’s pretty damning.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I’m not interested in trying to get an explanation out of him when he’s in this mood. I turn on my heel, done with this conversation.
“Where are you going?” Cade calls to me.
“I need a shower.”
“Good. We should get to the airport.”