by Cora Kenborn
“Right.”
“Well, Faith is the one to ask about how to catch this bitch in the act. If anyone is going to know, it’s her. We can hack her, Julian. Catch her red-handed and then turn her over…easy-peasy.” Her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Easy-peasy, huh?” No way in absolute fuck was she getting involved in this. “And you seriously think I’m going to let you put your and our baby’s life at risk to do this?”
Shooting me a look that had me covering my nuts, she reached over the nightstand and grabbed her phone. “Seriously, Julian? Just shut up and let me help you. If you think I’m gonna play the little woman to your hero, you can just keep covering your dick, because I’ll get B.I.P. and stun your junk until it’s wrapped around the ceiling fan.” She placed the phone between us and hit a button on the screen. “I’ll even put it on speaker so you can hear too. Aren’t I sweet?”
“As apple pie.”
“Asshole,” she said, scrunching up her nose.
“Hello?” A second Southern accent rang out from the speaker phone.
“Faith?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
“Phoebe Ry—Dalton. It’s Phoebe Dalton.”
“Phoebe?” the voice squealed from the line. “Oh my god, is that really you?”
“Yeah, it’s really me. How’s Tinseltown?”
“Fake-ass bitches on Prozac and vodka twenty-four seven. How’s home? I miss home.”
I could totally see how these two were friends.
Phoebe giggled like a co-ed. “I’m actually living in New York now.”
“No way!”
“Faith, I know this is strange, me calling you out of the blue after three years, but I was hoping I could ask you for a favor?”
“Pheebs, you could call me after ten years. What’s on your mind?”
Phoebe twirled the bed sheet around her fingers and chewed her lip. “Can you still do that thing you used to do in school? The one that got you in trouble all the time?”
“You mean borrow some cyber?” There was a mix of laughter and pride in her voice.
“Yeah.”
“Hit me up, sister, and make it snappy—I’m late for hot yoga class.”
Phoebe giggled and shot me a triumphant look. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Faith’s voice took a serious tone. “I’ve missed you, you know. I don’t mind doing anything for you, Pheebs. No matter how long it’s been. I just didn’t know how to talk to you after your father—”
“Stop!” Phoebe screeched, jumping back from the phone like it had bitten her. “Don’t say his name.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Right, I get it.”
“Thanks, Faith. I’ll owe you big.”
These two together did not make me feel any better about this.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Phoebe
“I don’t know about this, Phoebe.” Julian paced the tight quarters of my bedroom the night after my big revelation to him.
“Relax,” I said as I put the finishing touches on the code Faith had given me to set up the blog page. “This is going to work, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know it,” he said, pacing again. The pacing was starting to make me insane. “How can you be sure this is going to work? Maybe we’re just wasting time and are going to give ourselves heart attacks with all of the stress.”
Scooting my chair away from the laptop, I crossed my arms over my belly and looked up at him. “For god’s sake, will you stop pacing? You’re the one who’s stressing me out. This is going to work. Faith is a pro, trust me.”
He paused and widened his stare. “How do you know that? You haven’t talked to the woman in three years. She could be a fugitive with a rap sheet a mile long.”
I laughed. “A rap sheet? Do you hear yourself? Now who’s acting like Billy Batts?” Standing up for the first time since working on the fake website and blog, I stretched and walked over to the window where he stood brooding. Slipping my arms around his waist, I kissed his shoulder. “C’mon, Julian, she’s done this kind of thing most of her adult life. This is going to work. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t trust some crazy-ass bitch who’s already broken into your apartment and office, trying to kill you. What if this backfires? Security obviously hasn’t prevented shit, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t be with you twenty-four seven. I can’t concentrate knowing you’re vulnerable.”
He looked ready to throw up at any minute. It was the most nervous I’d ever seen him, and it knocked me a little off-kilter. Julian was so self-assured and cocky that the anxiety-ridden basket case standing before me unsettled me.
Vivian’s funeral was in two days, and he still hadn’t made any mention of wanting me there or not. I sure as hell wouldn’t invite myself. If he wanted me there, I’d be there to support him. However, there was no love lost between that woman and me, although I would never wish for anyone to die. I shuddered harshly—especially not like that. I lived that horror every night in my dreams, that was bad enough. Julian had been officially cleared as a suspect but the police had no other leads to follow up on. Vivian’s murder was a classified dead end. The killer was free to come after me now. The thought sent chills up my spine.
But this wasn’t the time for emotions; I had to use analytics and keep a level head. I couldn’t count on Julian to do it. Ever since I told him about the baby, his caveman panty-twister vibe had been amped up to an F5. Earlier, I’d been called into the NYPD for questioning about Vivian’s murder since witnesses also saw me standing near her at the Ralston party. Julian hit the roof until I assured him I’d been cleared with Gage verifying my alibi at her time of death.
He still hadn’t calmed down, and his anxiety almost had me second guessing myself until his phone rang, commanding our attention. He shot me a disapproving look and hit the speaker button so we both could listen.
“Detective Hough, you’re on speaker, just wanted you to know up-front.”
“Nice, Bale. Always a good thing to let the police know that they’re being recorded by dual parties.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Hough. Nobody’s recording shit. I just have Phoebe here so she can fill you in on what we discussed earlier.”
“I still can’t agree to any of what you two are doing,” Detective Hough said, sounding serious.
“No one said you had to agree,” Julian said, nodding to himself. “You just have to help with the processing.” He frowned, as if staring at the phone would make Jaxon Hough agreeable to our idea. Finally, the voice on the other end of the line sighed.
“Fine. As long as you both know that legally I can’t approve of what you’re doing. But, because you have a stalking file on case with us, Julian, whatever information you gather, I’m able to run as evidence.” Then his voice dropped an octave. “As long as it’s on the up and up. Don’t do this illegally. Otherwise, it won’t hold up in court, and we’re back to square one. Except she won’t be the one in jail—you guys will. Am I clear?”
“Very.” Julian looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“Run the logistics by me one more time,” Detective Hough said in a tired voice.
I’d run the logistics so many times I wanted to run myself into a brick wall. After a lot of prodding, I’d convinced Julian that setting the entire thing up at his house was impractical. People came and went at all hours of the night and we needed complete privacy. Gage stood by his pledge to never leave me alone in the apartment, but I assured him that Julian would be by my side. After an intense argument, I’d convinced him to stay at Parker’s. Going to my place was the logical thing to do.
Julian was quiet during the entire ride to my apartment. I could see in his eyes that he blamed himself for what happened with the pills. He wouldn’t even talk about it. He wouldn’t talk about Vivian either. We were a lot alike in that respect, so I couldn’t get mad. He shelled up and tigh
tened the lid on his pain. I knew the trick well. I’d mastered it.
“Faith thinks that Julian’s stalker is someone close to him. From everything that’s happened, from getting into my apartment and office, following him and trashing his car, knowing we were at the shooting range, to knowing his private cell number—it’s all too coincidental. She said she sees it all the time with her clients in Hollywood.”
“She’s exactly right,” Hough said, his voice tempered.
“To keep Julian off-balance, she’s exploited every fear he has. Every time he’s reacted, so has she—especially where I’ve been concerned.”
“Not to mention Vivian Hart,” Hough broke in. “The night he took her to the publicity party, she was murdered. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”
“Neither do I,” I agreed, my eyes still on Julian. He hadn’t moved during the whole conversation, remaining uncharacteristically stationary. “She was eliminating the competition.”
“I caused all this.” Julian’s mouth turned downward as he whispered the words, his face slightly pale from lack of sleep.
“Bale, most stalkers start off just like yours, with little jabs here and there meant to provoke you,” Hough explained. “When you finally lose your shit, they’ve got you. They’ll keep doing the same things over and over until they get what they want. You did everything right by not making a big fuss, believe it or not.” Julian’s eyebrows rose, his first sign of emotion since the call started. “Where you went wrong was in hiding it from the police. We could’ve found the missing link by now and nailed her.”
I could see a downward spiral of blame start to form that would suck Julian in again, just like it did when Billy Lamee died. I wasn’t about to let that happen. It was time to get this show on the road.
“Faith said the way to flush her out is through her favorite way of hiding, which is in a crowd. This woman loves to make her presence known in front of our faces, as if to say, ‘Here I am, but you’re too stupid to know it.’ She posts on all of Julian’s fan sites and Circa Record’s group message sites, blog chat pages and Chatter pages.”
“How does all that factor in?” Hough asked impatiently.
God, are all men this impatient?
“I’m getting to that,” I explained. “I researched the new stalker laws for New York and New Jersey, and they clearly state that even one incident can get a conviction if there’s enough evidence proving intent to harass.”
Julian interrupted with a quizzical look. “But couldn’t the letters and texts serve as evidence for that?”
“No,” Hough and I said simultaneously.
“There’s no proof there,” Hough finished for both of us. “There’re no prints, and theory would state anyone could’ve sent those.”
I steered the conversation back to the task at hand and tapped the laptop screen, bringing up the website I’d been working on. “The point is to catch her in the act. I’ve bought a fake domain name. I worked all night on the design. It looks pretty damn professional, if you ask me.”
“It looks amazing.” Julian cracked a smile.
I grinned back at him. “When I designed it, I set up a blog page. I got the C-panel webhosting and installed WordStory on it to host the blog page. I set the blog comments on moderator mode, so whatever comments are made aren’t published to the public unless I approve them. Everything stays private if she starts getting psycho on us.”
“I’m still not following, Phoebe,” Hough said, getting frustrated.
“Okay, let me try to break this down for you. I had Helena post the link for the new, fake super fans only page on Julian’s real, official website. I sent out a welcome blog earlier. Now, we just wait for AngElmie to take the bait and start posting harassing messages via the fake blog page. WordStory records and panels all IP addresses of users who submit comments. Once she comments, bam, we’ve got her. I’ll print out the harassing messages, along with the IP address, and save them. I’ll scan it and email it over to you. You can do your thing to track her ass down.”
Julian was the first one to speak after my self-assured pat on the back speech. “How can we even be sure she’ll take the bait? What if all of this is for nothing, and we just get a bunch of groupies posting a lot of stupid shit we have to sit through?”
“It’s a possibility.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Putting doubts in Detective Jaxon Hough’s head was not what I had on the agenda. “But she’s using a screen name that’s a variation of her letter signatures, Julian. She wants you to know it’s her. She wants you to see her. Unless you have a better idea, I don’t know anything else to do to flush her out except put on a white dress and place myself on an altar.” I tilted my head and leaned back in the chair. I knew the image would make him wince.
And it did.
“Fine,” he said, pacing again, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. “But once we get it, and the log is emailed, this is done. You’re done—are we clear?”
“I’m doing this for you, Julian,” I said tightly.
He paused mid-pace. “So am I.”
“If you two are done, I have a few miles of red tape to slice through so this little stunt of yours doesn’t end up costing us a conviction—and me my job.” Hough’s tired voice boomed through the speaker phone. “I’ll be waiting by the computer. Bale, send me a text right before the email is about to come through, all right?”
Julian’s stare was still piercing through me. “Yep, sure, no problem.” Without another word, he disconnected the call and threw the phone on my bed, stalking toward me on a mission. Once he reached my desk, he placed a hand on either armrest and leaned in until our noses almost touched. As usual, his nearness started my heart racing. When he spoke, his voice rumbled with the ferocity of a possessive man.
“This will be the last thing you do concerning this situation, am I understood?”
“Julian—”
“When this is done, you will dismantle that website and shut that fucking computer off. You will never breathe in this bitch’s direction again, or so help me, I will handcuff your ass to the headboard. Is that clear enough for you, princess?”
God, he’s hot when he’s domineering.
“Yes.” It was all I could manage.
“See how much nicer we work when you’re agreeable?” He leaned in closer and ran his nose up the length of my neck.
“I hate you, Julian.” I groaned as he flattened his tongue along my collarbone.
“I know, but there’s such a fine line between love and hate. Just like there’s a fine line between here”—he hooked a finger underneath the top of my tank top—“and here.” He pulled it slowly down my arm. Throwing my head back, I cursed as his mouth trailed behind his finger. He’d just gotten the strap past my elbow when a sharp ping from my laptop signaled the blog had become active.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, pushing him off me. I slipped my strap back in place and swiveled the chair around to face the screen. Julian bent over the back of the chair, his breath fanning over the top of my head.
As the typing began, I inhaled a sharp breath and every hair on both arms stood on end.
“It’s her,” I announced, never taking my eyes off the screen as the typing continued.
AngelMia: Finally, a place for Julian’s true fans.
“It’s not her screen name,” Julian said behind me. “How do you know it’s her?”
“It’s a variation. It may not be AngElmie, but it’s the same concept. Faith said stalkers are a lot like hackers. They’re loyal to one online name. They couldn’t give a shit about real names, they toss those away without issue. She said if you want to find a stalker, you need to pay attention to their online name. That’s what they have a hard time changing.”
“You scare me,” he said, half laughing.
I shook my head. “Not me—Faith.”
AngelMia: Anyone hear about Julian’s old girlfriend, Vivian? Shame really.
“Here we go,” I said while rubbing my pa
lms up and down my arms.
Hang yourself, bitch.
AngelMia: Of course, the way she slept around, it was bound to happen eventually.
I heard Julian suck in a deep breath. My arms ached to hold him, but I didn’t dare move.
AngelMia: I just hope that bitch he’s with doesn’t OD again. That would be a tragedy. I think I have some Palladone I could lend her.
I’m going to be sick.
“It was never reported they pumped my stomach or that they found Palladone, Julian,” I whispered. “Even if it was leaked, the official report stated the cause was poisoning, not an overdose. We’ve got her.”
“Wait.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let her run with it. Make it solid.”
AngelMia: His career is going to be amazing, I don’t understand why he wants to drag himself down with low-life whores like her.
“Who the hell is she calling a whore?” I blurted out, ready to start typing back a response.
“Phoebe,” Julian warned. “Don’t give her what she wants. Those were your words, remember?”
I grumbled and stared at the computer screen.
AngelMia: Everything will fit perfectly step by step. This is my step. My beginning, her end.
“Oh my god.” Julian’s ragged voice shook, and I swiveled the chair around as his expression went from sultry to catatonic.
“Julian? Jesus, what’s wrong?”
His face paled. “No, it can’t be.”
“What? For god’s sake, what the hell is going on?” I demanded, slightly shoving his shoulder to snap him back into reality. He blinked and shook his head.
“AngelMia.”
“What?” I gripped the chair. I had no idea what he was saying, but from his face and body language, I knew I wasn’t going to like it.
He sank onto the bed. “AngelMia,” he repeated again.
“What’s AngelMia?”
“Not what…who.” He ran a palm across his face. “AngelMia was the screen name of a girl named Mia. I met her in a bereavement chat room I visited right after Lam died. Ty found it and thought it would help to talk to people who were going through the same thing. Especially since I could be anonymous.”