Smiling to myself, I hastily look through the scattered papers on my desk trying to find where it is hiding. When I find it under a few files, I look at it expectantly, hoping to see the cute picture of Olivia making a kiss face on my screen, but instead it says “Blocked”.
I slide my finger across the bottom and answer, “Hello, this is Luke.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I freeze and the breath leaves my body; my heart one second so normal, starts pounding in my chest like I’ve run ten miles – at a sprint. I may have only talked to him on the phone one time, when he was yelling at Olivia and I took the phone from her, but I would recognize his voice anywhere.
“Deacon? How did you get this number?”
He laughs, “You should really think about telling people not to share your personal information. With a little charm and alcohol, some people really are willing to divulge anything.”
My mind races trying to guess who would have done such a thing, but really, it could be anyone. All of my employees have my number. It wouldn’t really be that hard.
“What the fuck do you want, Deacon?”
“You know what I want. It’s only a matter of time before I have her back with me again.”
“Listen to me clearly, you son of a bitch. You will never get near her again. I won’t allow it. You stay the fuck away from her. Do you understand me?”
“You listen to me. I’m watching. I’m always watching. And I will take what I want, when I want. I just haven’t pushed her yet. I’m giving her time to recover from her fall. Did she tell you about that?”
“About how you made her fall over a railing, you bastard?”
“Did she tell you what she was doing before that? How she was kissing me? Had her hands on me? Where she touched me?” I hear him chuckle to himself, “Mmmm, she tasted so good. I can’t wait to taste her again.”
My heart feels like it trips over itself at the thought. Blood races to my face and saliva and bile fill my mouth as if I’m going to be sick. I swallow it back and take a deep breath. Through gritted teeth, I spit out each word, “You. Aren’t. Going. To. Fucking. Touch. Her.”
He laughs again, the sound making me want to punch something, “Oh I’ve already touched her. And I’m going to do it again.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That could be arranged. If you know what’s best for you, you will back off. The right moment will come, and when it does, I will take care of you and get my princess back once again. She wants me, I know it. I still remember the way she kissed me that last day. I know she’s forgiven my mistakes and if she hasn’t, I’ll make her.”
I’m breathing heavy and I want to yell into the phone and tell him what a complete lunatic he is, but somehow a rational part of my brain knows that you can’t talk sense to a mad man. “You will never lay another fucking finger on her again.”
“Oh, I laid more than a finger on her, and she loved every second of it. She fucking begged for it. For me. And I can’t wait to hear her scream again.”
I see red. Nothing but red. I know this asshole likely forced himself on my girl, and here he is, acting like she wanted it. I can feel the edges of my sanity wavering - my vision is blurry and spotted with rage, and I would give anything to be able to wrap my hands around his neck. Anything. “There are so many people searching for you. It’s only a matter of time before you’re found. When you are, I will make sure that you pay for what you did to MY girl. Do you hear me ASSHOLE? I said MY GIRL!”
“SHE’S NOT YOUR FUCKING GIRL AND SHE NEVER WILL BE! SHE IS MY WIFE!” His yell is so loud the ear piece of my cellphone literally vibrates from the sound. I can’t help but smirk - I can hear he’s breathing heavy on the other end of the phone and I know my words have affected him. Luke-one, dickhead-zero.
I can’t help but rub it in a little more, “You couldn’t be more wrong. I had her first douchebag, and I will sure as hell have her last.”
Somehow he’s managed to calm himself, because his next words are spoken in a tone so calm and steady; I never would have known he had just screamed at me seconds before. “We’ll see about that. I’m watching, and I’m waiting. You remember that.”
I hear a click, indicating he’s hung up the phone. I put my phone down on my desk, and put my head in my hands. This is a nightmare I just want to end already. The adrenaline high from talking to him makes my body shake, and it’s a few minutes before I’m able to pick up the phone. When I do, it’s to speak one sentence, “Max, this is Luke, get over to the club now.”
I hang up without giving him a chance to respond. If he’s smart, he won’t waste any time getting his ass over here.
While I wait for him to arrive, I am thankful, not for the first time, that I have a mini bar in my office. I pour myself a glass of scotch and knock it back, reveling in the smooth taste. I pour a second glass immediately and take it back to my desk, intending to drink this one slower.
Looking at the papers on my desk, everything fades in front of me and my mind flashes to the way Olivia looked in the hospital when we were reunited. She was so bruised and hurt - desperate to shield the people she loves from the ramifications of her kidnapping. The worst moments still are when she looks off and becomes trapped in the memories that hold her hostage. She tries to hide it, but I can tell. She loses focus on everything around her, and her eyes become glassy while she gets a far-off look on her face. After the second time it happened, I started having dreams at night occasionally about murdering the son of a bitch responsible for making her look that way.
A knock at the office door startles me out of my unpleasant thoughts, “Come in.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Brian, one of my newer staff members, stands at the door with an apologetic look on his face. Brian is a nice guy that has done a good job taking Kevin’s place when I sent Kevin to help get a new club off the ground. “There is a Max Helms here to see you?”
“That’s fine, I’m expecting him. Send him in, thanks.”
Max hurries in with a flustered look before Brian can even say a word. “I got here as fast as I could, what is going on?”
Brian sighs and loiters near the door, unsure of what to do, “It’s fine, Brian, thank you.” He nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Before speaking, I take another sip of my scotch while staring at Max. He’s an average looking guy with brown hair and glasses. He’s got freckles on his nose, dimples in his cheeks and he’s skinny as a rail. If you passed him on the street, you likely wouldn’t give him a second look, and in his profession, I think he counts on that.
He looks nervous and I’m glad. He’s a smart guy and he knows I’m unhappy. I pay him well, and he should be worried about not meeting my expectations. Because he’s not. Although, I’m not so absurd that I don’t realize it isn’t entirely his fault.
“I just received a phone call from Deacon.” I pause, letting that sink in before continuing. “He basically threatened my life and told me he is waiting for the right time to take Olivia again.”
Max’s eyes widen, “Well, of course you need to call the police about this.”
“Yes, I know, and I wanted you to be here when I do that, since I want full disclosure. I want them to know you and your agency are working on finding him too.”
“They may not see too kindly to that.”
“I really don’t give a shit. Olivia is my priority, so you all can compare dicks another time.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant, Max. Look, I hired you because I know you’re good. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” I take another sip of my scotch, “Now then, before I call them, I want a status report right now. Please,” I throw in as an afterthought.
He starts shuffling through his files before grabbing a piece of paper and sitting back in his chair, meeting my eyes steadily. “The agency performed a complete background check on Deacon B
rooks and we have a complete list of all his previous employers, friends, relatives, schools he’s attended, even ones he applied to and didn’t get into. I know he donated blood when he was sixteen, and that he had tubes put into his ears at the age of three. I know he received a ticket at twenty-two for speeding and that he appeared in court a year after that for expired license plate tags. I know everyone he dated and pretty much anyone he ever even looked at funny.”
“So it sounds like you have a ton of useless information that isn’t going to do shit for us.”
“That’s not necessarily true, sir,” I can’t help but smirk at the title. “I’ve spoken to pretty much everyone he’s ever met in his life. Family that would talk with me, old neighbors, even old college roommates and pals.”
“And?” I’m impatient. I don’t have time for him to sit here and try to amaze me with his presentation and supposed thoroughness. “What has any of this information gotten you?”
“Apparently, Deacon was in therapy from the age of twelve to eighteen, at which time he could no longer be forced to attend sessions any longer and he quit going.
“Therapy for what?”
“Well as is the law, his psychiatrist wouldn’t reveal information due to patient confidentiality, but from the police reports we were able to obtain, combined with talking to neighbors and friends, it appears it started with vandalism. He even did a stint in juvie for shoplifting.”
“How do you go from shoplifting to kidnapping and sexual assault?”
“Well that’s just the thing. Everyone we talked to said the same thing about the guy. He was egotistical and bullied fellow classmates. He was unemotional, to the point of being callous at times. His temper is legendary. Several accounts of him flying off the handle, whether it had been at his parents with neighbors hearing arguing and him storming out of the house, to stories his buddies told about bar fights and how he would antagonize people to the point of purposefully making them angry just to start something.”
“But I just don’t see how Olivia would fall for someone like that. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well it does if we are dealing with what I think we are.”
“And what’s that?”
“A psychopath.”
I stare at Max trying to digest what he’s just said. “Well we all know he’s psycho. I mean, why else would he kidnap a woman?”
“No, I mean more than just the term you use to call someone crazy. I’m no psychiatrist, but I would bet money he’s been diagnosed as someone to have psychopathic tendencies.”
“Well, what exactly is a psychopath?”
“A psychopath is callous, impersonal, shows a lack of guilt, and is promiscuous, yes. But they’re also impulsive, extremely charming, irresponsible, possessive, deny responsibility and have the special ability to manipulate others. He has all the classic symptoms.”
“What does that mean for Olivia?”
“Honestly… it doesn’t mean anything good.”
I stare into Max’s eyes for a minute, seeing his sincerity and with a nod of my head, pick up the phone to call the police.
19.
WINE SAMPLES ARE THE DEVIL
Olivia
Leaving the boutique with a special purchase wrapped in tissue, one that I know Luke will love makes me excited for the dinner I’m preparing this evening. I found the perfect black, sheer babydoll nightie that should make his jaw drop. I can’t believe I’m going to attempt to cook dinner while wearing it. I stopped at another store and got a really cute apron to put over the top of it, in case I happen to splash or spill anything while cooking. He definitely won’t be expecting me in that getup, that’s for sure. Just thinking about it makes me smile.
Poor Pyper. I hope things are okay at the spa. She looked really concerned when she received the call that there had been an accident with a client. She made me promise to stay home and wait for her before running errands. And I did… for all of a half hour… but when she called and said it was still going to be a while yet, I got irritated, thought ‘screw this’ and left. With Luke working too, it gives me the perfect opportunity to escape – if only briefly - and be freed from their endless watching and waiting over me. I know Pyper and Luke are just trying to take care of me, but sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe. Besides, I don’t plan to be gone long. Just need to pick up a few things.
Finishing my self-talk, and reassuring myself that I deserve to be out on my own, I finally limp my way over to my car and get in. It feels good to drive again, even if it is a little awkward with my leg. Fortunately, the walking cast is not on my driving leg, so I can get around okay, and I even brought my crutches and threw them in the trunk in case I need a bit of extra support, but so far I am managing just fine without them. I adapted quickly to this new cast - I may not be a pro, but I am quite good. Pulling forward out of my parking space, a man in a dark SUV comes flying up the aisle, making me slam on my brakes. Fortunately, he slams his at the same time and I’m looking into his window, ready to scream at him through my windshield when his wave of apology makes me bite my tongue. He smiles and continues on his way and then so do I. Near disaster avoided.
I take a deep breath. I am not going to let anything ruin my good mood. This is going to be a great night! I may not have a clue about cooking, but I pored over recipes with Pyper that I printed off of the internet today, and I think I have it down. It can’t be that hard and besides, what’s the worst that can happen? If it sucks, we will order pizza, no big deal.
Next on my short list of errands is the specialty grocery store. I’m whistling a happy tune when I pull in and find a parking spot right in the front, like it was waiting for me. As I walk to the store entrance, I see the same SUV that almost ran into me drive down the front of the store. I stand there, waiting for him to drive by so I can cross the road and head into the store, but he stops and waves me across. My stomach drops and I can’t help but feel uneasy, but I’m sure I am overreacting.
I brush it off and head into the gourmet grocery store in order to get a few items we don’t have at home. Since we rarely cook, I find it fascinating that we manage to maintain a fairly well-stocked pantry and spice rack, though I sure as hell don’t know how. I should ask Pyper about that. I can’t help but stand by the carts for a minute and take in the rows upon rows of shelves. The food volume and selection could be overwhelming for a novice like me. Okay, I got this. Since I’ve moved here, this hasn’t been a place I’ve exactly frequented, but I have been to plenty of grocery stores. Just because I don’t have this memorized front to back like I did the old one in Boston, doesn’t mean I should be intimidated. I am a grown ass woman, I can put a meal on the table. I’m going to all out roar at my womanly awesomeness when this is over. It’s true, Pyper and I always order take out, or we heat up food from her mom, who has a tendency to keep us well-fed, now that I think about it. Anyway, there is always something around. Nevertheless, I can do this.
My list is simple, and hopefully cooking all of this will be too. I’m choosing to keep a positive attitude about it. This is going to work out and it will taste amazing. I nod my head, emphasizing my silent declaration and, having completed my pep talk, begin pushing my cart up and down the aisle.
I’m comparing two tomatoes for a salad when I notice a woman is managing a display consisting of samples of mini cheeses, crackers, and various types of wine for tasting at the end of the aisle. Hmm, what great timing! I don’t mind if I do. The wine may be a nice complement to the dinner I’m preparing. Her back is turned and she’s talking to a woman asking questions, so I grab a little plate and look around before taking three cups of wine. I should be ashamed, but I’m not – I mean how can I know which I may prefer? And besides, I didn’t eat lunch, so I’m starving.
I also sample some of the cheese and crackers without even really tasting them. I’m like a whale with a fish, just swallow, no lingering over it. I down all three glasses of wine. It leaves a pleasant aftertaste on my tongue,
but, I’m not really sure which was which. Did I like one better? It’s as though I really didn’t taste it, those damn glasses are so small. I look back toward the wine table and see that while I was swallowing my bounty, the sweet lady has replaced the glasses I took. I look left and right and make sure no one is looking, and I do another smooth walk by with my cart, acting like I’m very serious about getting to the lettuce across the way. I swipe a couple more glasses from her table while she is bent over throwing something away. My timing rocks.
I taste the wine, slower this time and realize I really do like it, both of them - and what a coincidence, I really do need some lettuce too! I grab a head of lettuce after looking it over, pretending that I can tell the difference and can choose the best one, place it in a plastic bag and drop it into my cart.
This time, I walk straight towards the woman with the tasty wine.
“Hello. Would you like to try a sample of Angel Kiss, a new white wine that just came on the market?”
“Sure, that would be great. I’ve never EVER tried this wine before. Especially not in a grocery store like this one.” I snort. Oops! Shut up Olivia! What am I doing? I’m such a damn light weight. I already feel the effects of the few samples I’ve had. How pathetic.
The woman gives me a strange look, but it quickly disappears and she’s back in selling mode, “Great! This is a great wine. It really complements chicken, turkey or fish very well.”
Pretty Little Dreams Page 16