Guarding Jess

by Shannon Curtis

  Jessica looked at him. “That’s great.” With a print, they could identify. Arrest. Hope rose inside her. The police hadn’t been able to find any evidence at her home, not even a footprint. But a fingerprint on the bomb… This could be over. That would mean Noah would leave. She ignored the flare of disappointment that thought ignited.

  He shook his head. “There aren’t any hits on AFIS.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Noah glanced at her briefly, before returning his eyes to the road. “It means that this guy hasn’t been arrested before. He doesn’t have a record.”

  Hope crashed as she digested the information. It wasn’t over. They had a clue, but it didn’t do anything to bring about her stalker’s arrest. They weren’t any closer to catching the guy. He was still a lurking shadow.

  “Oh.”

  She glanced out of the window as he drove her to KTFA, a local radio station. She had a regular guest segment on Thursday mornings with Hamish Stewart, a popular disc jockey. She sighed. At her insistence they’d fortified her home. She now had new security mesh grills on all of her windows. There was a security system that she was sure rivaled Fort Knox on all of her doors and windows, and Noah had ensured the point where her phone lines entered the house was inaccessible to intruders.

  She’d also invested in a private mailbox at a post office across town, and had informed all utility companies and creditors of her new address so that her home address no longer appeared on any documentation in the mail. Actually, that last had been Noah’s idea, and perhaps a little too late seeing as the stalker already knew her address. But if she did decide to move then it just made things more difficult for the stalker to track her down.

  She glanced over at Noah’s large hands on the steering wheel. Ever since their argument in her living room he’d kept her at a cool distance. Every time he spoke with her, it was in a painfully polite manner that her Aunt Jacquie would applaud. There was no repeat of the closeness in her kitchen.

  Heat suffused her cheeks. How embarrassing. She’d been making goo-goo eyes at the man, fantasizing about his “warm milk” moves, and he’d merely been offering to teach her to defend herself. What a gaffe. Of course he wasn’t trying to flirt with her. She couldn’t see him wasting his time with inane words and frippery. She imagined he’d be the kind of guy to just walk up to a woman and tell her he liked her. Not that she’d ever experience that. He’d made it quite clear what he thought of her. He’d even gone so far as to call her a too-proud fake, after she refused to move to a hotel. But her resistance to abandoning her home had nothing to do with pride, or false fronts.

  She blinked rapidly and glanced out the window. That had hurt. She’d lashed out at him, then. Ever since the death of her parents she’d been judged. Her appearance, her manner, her speech and her actions. Everything was under a microscope. She’d learned the hard way, at the tender age of twelve, that being “different” was something to be abhorred and ridiculed. It was better, easier, and less humiliating to conform to the standard. She’d learned the “right” way to behave. She’d opened up a business academy to teach others the same, to deal with their professional and social peers in the accepted manner. Her whole life now revolved around this code of behavior. Television and radio spots, as well as a weekly newspaper column, meant that she was constantly in the public eye, constantly under scrutiny. And now she had a stalker watching her every move and judging her.

  And yet, with Noah, she seemed to have lost that sense of propriety, of censorship. Perhaps it was because he’d tackled her to the ground at their first meeting, or that he’d risked his life to save hers a number of times already. Or maybe it was because he’d invaded every aspect of her life. Her work, her home—he was there, constantly.

  Raw. Honest.

  He saw her looking her best, and her worst. He’d seen her tired and upset. She’d argued with him. She’d raised her voice with him. For once, she hadn’t weighed her words, she’d just let out what was inside, things she hadn’t even admitted to Ollie—and she didn’t regret it either, no matter what her aunt would have said about “that kind of behavior.”

  Yet the one man who made her feel safe, secure and comfortable, the one man who seemed to look past the public image to the woman beneath, had also judged her. And his poor opinion of her had smarted.

  Funny, everybody else judged her by how well she presented herself. That very quality people so approved of was the same quality that Noah appeared to condemn.

  She took a deep breath as Noah pulled into the underground parking lot of the radio station. The reason Noah’s remarks had hurt was because she cared what he thought of her. She’d been totally natural with him, and he’d rejected her. Well, no more. She would just keep her head down and do her job, and he would do his. And if she kept fantasizing about him and his sexy eyes and his fancy warm-milk moves, well, that was just too darned bad. She’d snap out of it. Ooze tranquility, and all that.

  Noah accompanied her up to the studio. His phone rang just as Julie Grimshaw, the segment producer, approached her with the segment schedule. Noah held up his phone.

  “I have to take this, it might be the psychologist,” he commented, stepping away.

  Her lips pursed as she listened with half an ear to Julie. Noah obviously valued the psychologist’s opinion. He didn’t seem to disparage her occupation. She shuddered. That last thought was unkind and unprofessional. This situation was bringing out the worst in her.

  “Is something wrong, Jessica?” Julie asked, concerned.

  Jessica quickly smoothed the line of worry from her brow. “No, no everything is fine.”

  Julie nodded. “Great. Well, if you’d like to go through to the studio, Irene is ready to test the mikes with you.”

  Jessica nodded and walked into the studio, leaving Noah to his murmuring over the phone by the elevator. Irene Chapman was waiting for her. She was tall and slim, and always wore her brown hair in a plaited bun. Jessica guessed her age lay somewhere in her late twenties. In the four months that Jessica had contributed to the show, the woman barely spoke. She rarely looked up from her work, but each week Jessica was determined to make her smile. It hadn’t worked. Yet.

  “Good afternoon, Irene, how are you?” Jessica asked.

  Irene glanced up from the leads she was untangling and nodded briefly before returning to her task.

  “The weather is quite nice out, for March, isn’t it? Are you managing to get out and about, or are you still working all hours here?” Jessica knew Irene often worked overtime, and Julie classed the woman as the best sound technician at the station. The woman was a whiz with the equipment.

  Irene’s brow furrowed slightly as she plugged in a mike.

  “Oh, Irene’s getting plenty of action, aren’t you, love?” A smooth male voice spoke from behind Jessica.

  She turned and stepped aside as a short, slightly rounded man walked into the room. He had hair that was once ginger but now a sandy salt color. His beard was neatly clipped, and he wore a tailored suit that seemed a little formal for the popular radio station.

  Irene’s cheeks reddened as she busied herself at the control panel.

  “She leaves at the end of her shift, now, and we don’t see hide nor hair of her until the next day.” He gazed, deadpan, at Jessica. “Methinks she’s got a boyfriend.”

  Irene’s hands stilled. Jessica saw the shuttered look creep over the woman’s face, the complete shutdown of any display of emotion as Hamish continued to crack jokes about Irene’s love life.

  “Perhaps we can discuss this afternoon’s topics,” Jessica interjected smoothly.

  “Sure, sweetheart. Why don’t we discuss a few other things. Over dinner?”

  “I’m sorry, I have plans,” Jessica answered automatically. Cleaning out the kitty litter. Sorting her cutlery drawer. Anything but dinner wit
h Hamish.

  His jaw clenched. “You know, one of these days you’re going to say yes.” His stare was intense, almost fierce. “Don’t think you’re too good for me, princess.”

  Jessica dropped her gaze to the running sheet she held in her hand. He always asked her, and she always declined, but usually he accepted her refusal with a semblance of grace.

  Hamish may be the second most-listened-to DJ for that time slot in the whole San Francisco Bay area, but he was also a pig. It was the prime reason the studio management had offered her such an exorbitant amount of money to work with him. They loved the “dynamic polarity” of the shock jock and the mannerly miss. Clearly Hamish’s remarks were causing both Irene and herself some embarrassment, but he seemed to delight in toying with them, harassing them.

  Jessica took her seat in front of her mike. Her Aunt Jacquie always said, quite sternly, if you couldn’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Hamish’s mother had apparently failed to pass that lesson on to her son. His enjoyment of another’s discomfort always had Jessica’s hackles rising. He received self-gratification at the expense of others, just like a bully would. She blinked. Could Hamish be the stalker? He seemed to suit the mold. She’d been working at the radio station for about four months—roughly the same time she’d been receiving the calls and letters from her stalker…

  Hamish guffawed as he took his seat. “Oh, come on, princess, I’m just joking.” He settled into his chair and reverently placed his “lucky” toy microphone on the table in front of him. Jessica was sure it was something he’d picked up from an adult shop, but the man insisted it was a golden microphone. Pig.

  “Two minutes ’til air time,” Irene said quietly.

  Jessica sat, staring at the man. Had he crept up to her bedroom and photographed her sleeping? Had he thrown a rock at her bed?

  Sound checks completed, Irene left the studio and closed the door behind her.

  Jessica swallowed. She glanced over at the glass panel that separated the producers from the announcers. Julie was already in her swivel seat, giving them the thumbs-up. Jessica could see a big, broad shadow at the door. Noah. He was still on the phone, but just about to enter the producer’s studio. He’d be on the other side of that glass. He was only a couple of feet away from her. He would keep her safe.

  She was alone with Hamish.

  The man gave her an impassive glance as he slid his earphones on over his head. Jessica swallowed. She could do this. She looked over at the door. She so wanted to run out that door. But that would be cowardly, and Penningtons weren’t cowards, her aunt would say.

  The red On-Air sign flashed, and Jessica picked up her earphones with hands that were trembling. She slid them on as the segment theme song swelled.

  “Goo-ood morning, San Francisco,” Hamish sang through his mike. “Well, it’s top of the hour, and we have our regular guest, Jessica Pennington, sitting here. On my lap.” Hamish paused, staring at Jessica across the desk, before snorting. “Just kidding folks. I’ve managed to fend her off for the next few minutes. Tell us, Jessica, what are we talking about today?”

  She was on. She swiftly put aside her suspicions and worries and focused on the task at hand. She was a Pennington, a polished, poised professional. Her eyes glued to Hamish, Jessica leaned closer to the mike. “Well, Hamish, I thought we could talk today about assumptions.”

  Hamish waited. He looked at her expectantly. “What about assumptions?”

  Jessica took a deep breath. She had to keep it together. “Well, when we assume—” she began, until Hamish interrupted her with his trademark guffaw.

  “I know, it makes an ass out of you and me,” he said, before laughing. “Get it? Ass. You. Me.”

  Jessica’s eyes flitted up to the window. Julie made a rolling motion with her hand. Keep talking. Jessica looked at Noah. He was in the studio, now. Focused on her. Keeping her safe.

  Her eyes turned to Hamish. This man was vulgar, rude and brutish, but was she going to let him threaten her? Terrorize her? He was a bully. And she could handle a bully. She’d had lots of experience at school. Just that thought had her squaring her shoulders.

  “We’ve talked in previous shows about the importance of first impressions, and how people will form a judgment of us depending on how we present ourselves—what we wear, what we say, and how we carry ourselves. I wanted to talk today about how sometimes, forming those snap judgments can be wrong.” She lifted her gaze to Noah. She’d initially thought he was a hotel operations manager needing work on his handshake, and then just a bodyguard, but she’d come to realize he was much more. A strategic thinker, a keen observer, selfless in his protection of her, and a very sexy protector, at that. If only she could convince him she wasn’t the selfish society belle he seemed to think she was.

  “Sometimes we think we know a person. We look at their outfit. We look at their personal grooming, we listen to their speech, maybe even learn of their job, and sometimes we’ll form an opinion about that person that is far from the truth.” Noah straightened in the booth next door.

  Jessica turned to pin Hamish with her gaze. “Let’s take you, Hamish. With the way you interact with people, how do you think they perceive you? And is their perception accurate?”

  Hamish’s eyes flashed. “What would I care?” His eyes darted to his mike. “I mean, I’m a confidant man. What does it matter what others think of me? It should be what I think of myself that counts.” He leaned closer. “And I think I’m pretty awesome.”

  Jessica nodded. “I’m sure you do,” she said smoothly. “But that’s a hypothetical. I’d like our listeners to call in with examples of when they’ve gotten it totally wrong. For instance, let me tell you about a real story.”

  Jessica hesitated. “I once knew a woman who didn’t speak much to others, would even ignore people when they spoke to her. She was accused of being hoity-toity, that she’d put herself above others and didn’t need to deal with them.”

  Jessica smiled. “We discovered she actually suffered from gradual hearing loss, and she wasn’t ignoring people, she just couldn’t hear them talking to her.”

  Hamish grunted. “Sometimes that can be a blessing.”

  A red light flashed on Hamish’s console. “Oh, look. We have our first caller, Susan. Go ahead, Susan.”

  “Oh, hey, I can’t believe I’m on the radio,” a high-pitched voice squealed.

  Hamish winced. “Yeah, we can’t believe it either. What’s your story? When have you gotten a first impression wrong?”

  “Oh, well, I’m really ashamed about this one,” Susan breathed. “There was a mother at my kid’s school. She disappeared for a while, and came back with, um, an enhanced figure. A really enhanced figure.”

  Hamish whistled. “I like this story already.”

  “Well, she also came with long blond hair, and I knew it wasn’t real. I mean, her hair grew about fifteen inches, and she’d only been gone two months.”

  “Hey, I can grow fifteen inches overnight,” Hamish protested, then guffawed. Jessica winced.

  “Well, anyway, I thought she’d gotten work as a stripper or something.”

  Jessica saw Hamish’s eyes light up and quickly intervened. “And you were wrong, Susan?”

  “Oh, boy, was I ever. It turns out she’s a breast cancer survivor. She was wearing a wig to cover up her hair loss, and her, uh, enhancements were um, replacements.”

  Jessica’s jaw dropped. “Oh, well, that’s a really good example of getting it totally wrong. Thanks for sharing, Susan. That’s a really good lesson for us all.”

  Hamish snorted. “I’ll bet. I’m going to start hanging out at elementary schools.”

  The red lights were flashing on the console, and Jessica settled in for a busy session.

  Fifty-five minutes later, Hamish interpreted Julie’s hand sig
nals through the window. “Okay, we have time for one more call. This one’s from Max. Hi, Max, you’re on the air.”

  “You think you’re so good, don’t you, Jessica?”

  The oddly deep voice paused. “But you should know all about falsely presenting yourself.”

  Goosebumps crept up Jessica’s arms, and her gaze flicked to Noah.

  “I beg yo—” Jessica began.

  “You are the big fake, here, Jessica,” the enhanced voice interrupted. “I know it, and you know it.”

  The blood drained from Jessica’s face. Noah whipped around and said something to Julie. The producer tapped furiously into her console while Noah yanked out his phone and made a call, all the while his eyes held hers. Irene burst into the producer’s studio, her eyes wide.

  “I’m not sure I understand what—” she said.

  “You sit there all coy and calm, but we both know it’s all a front. You don’t really belong there.”

  Jessica gasped. The voice held such aggression in its deep tones, such sinister promise, she momentarily forgot she was in a room surrounded by people. She was alone, with the deep voice in her ear. He’d found her.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. Her gaze flicked to Hamish. The man was staring at her, his expression mildly curious. She’d thought he could be her stalker, but he wasn’t the man on the other end of the phone. She’d thought she was safe, untouchable. She’d managed to hide her fear, her paranoia, but still, he’d found her.

  “You’ve fooled everyone, but you haven’t fooled me, you liar.”

  There was a click, and then silence.

  “Well, that was special. Thanks to Max, and all those who called in. We’ll be back after a short break.”

  Hamish whipped off his earphones and threw them onto the desk.

  “Who the hell was that?” He laughed.

  Jessica slowly removed her earphones with trembling hands. It had been him. The stalker. She was sure of it.

  “Have you got a secret admirer you didn’t tell me about?” Hamish shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Phew. He sounds nuts.”