Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance

by Michelle Love

  “I was at the Teardrop with Chris…Lu, what’s wrong?”

  She looked at him, finally. “Cocktails? With Chris? That’s nice.”

  Billy reeled back from her sarcastic reply. “Lukia…”

  “I tried to call you, I tried to call you all evening.”

  Billy was sobering up now. Something was very wrong here. “Lu, tell me why you’re out here in the barn? What’s wrong.”

  Lukia stood up and walked towards her brother. As she came into the light, Billy reeled backward. She was covered in blood. “Jesus, Lu…”

  He rushed forward to help her, but she flinched away from him. “No. Please don’t touch me.”

  Oh god… “Lu?”

  “I’m out here because he dragged me out here. He dragged me out here and he beat me and touched me…oh god, oh god…”

  Oh no, please not that. Billy felt his heart sink. “We have to call the police. Are you hurt badly?”

  Lukia, her face pale, her eyes huge with terror. “No. He slashed at me, but he didn’t mean to kill me. Not tonight.”

  Billy helped his sister back into the house, into the kitchen. She was so shell-shocked, so fragile that Billy wondered if he should call an ambulance anyway. She had cuts and slashes on her hands, on her arms. Defense wounds. Billy made her sit down as he balanced his cellphone between his chin and shoulder, and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet. He told the police what had happened.

  “They’re on their way now, sweetie,” he told his sister. He cleaned the wounds on her arms and hands and dressed them. Lukia was so still, so out of it. Now he could see her properly, he saw her clothes were torn, the buttons on her dress ripped off. No wanting to disturb any evidence, he went to fetch her a blanket.

  He passed through the living room and stopped. The French Windows were open, and the room was in disarray. What Billy noticed the most was the thing that made his blood run cold was the writing scrawled on the wall.

  Next time, I’m going to kill you, beautiful Lukia…

  That was the moment Billy Cyprian threw up.

  A cheer went up as soon as Evan walked into the F.B.I. field office in Portland.

  “Teal! How was Italia?” Dieter Franks, a sleek African-American, clapped him on the back. Franks’ partner, a diabetic named Jim Halfacre, offered Evan a coffee, waving a tub of artificial sweetener despondently. Evan thanked him and enjoyed the wave of noise that swept over the entire office; chatter, shouting, fax machines, phones ringing. Work. He shook his head thinking of the quiet that echoed around Bodhi and Sailor’s farmhouse in Tuscany. He’d stayed a few extra days to help out when Sailor went into early labor on her wedding day.

  He’d loved every minute in Italy, but had wanted to return home and get back to work. Looking at the walls and the boards filled up with pictures of murder victims and missing persons, though, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. As if reading his mind, Dieter lowered his voice.

  “It’s been bad here, Evan. Really bad.” He sat on the edge of Halfacre’s desk, his handsome face serious, his eyes sad. “Someone’s been killing young women. We’ve had four attacks and murders in the last week alone. The last one, she was just a kid…man, I never want to see that again. Ever. We gotta catch this asshole soon.” He nodded towards the small office at the corner of the room. “Boss is taking it badly.”

  Evan knocked on Peter’s door. “Hey, boss.”

  Peter Marin looked up, his light blue eyes rimmed with red, with exhaustion, his expression haunted. He smiled at his friend. “Evan, it’s good to see you.”

  The walls were lined with photos – the dead women, the scenes of crimes. Evan knew most of them, cold cases and scenes of crimes. He tried not to look at the new ones but couldn’t help himself. The last victim was so young, her lovely face spattered with her own blood, eyes closed. Evan swallowed over the bile that rose in his throat.

  “Jesus.”

  Peter sighed. “Yeah.”

  “So, your investigation…” Evan prompted.

  “Is going nowhere,” answered Peter, in resignation. “Four women stabbed to death in the last week and nothing. No suspect, no motive.” He sighed heavily. “If I’m honest, it feels like we’re just waiting for the next one to die, in the vague hope the killer might make a mistake.” He shook his head. “It’s a sick world when things get to that.”

  His face was etched with weariness, dark lines across his forehead. Evan watched and listened as Peter talked about the case. It was evident to him that his boss had been deeply affected by the murders - compassion was a trait they both shared - but Evan had never seen him this distressed.

  “Pete, just say if you need me to take over on this. Just say the word.”

  Pete shook his head. “No, I’m in this now and to be honest, Evan, I don’t want you involved in this one. For all your innate professionalism, you get too involved. I’m saying this as a friend.” He tried to smile at Evan, who nodded.

  “No offense taken, but are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent. I actually have another, pretty high-profile case for you. You heard of Lukia Fleming?”

  Evan shook his head. “Well, she’s an actress, living up here in Oregon. About to make it big in one of the summer blockbusters. Her older brother is Billy Cyprian.”

  Cyprian, Evan had heard of – he was touted as the younger version of Bodhi Creed – personally, Evan didn’t see it. Bodhi was pure rock, pure talent – Billy Cyprian was a pretty boy with a decent song-writing team behind him. Not that Evan was biased…much.

  “So, what’s up?”

  Pete nodded for him to sit. “Late Saturday night, she was attacked and sexually assaulted in a home invasion. The attacker made it pretty clear that next time, he will kill her. Now, usually, this would be a local case, but they’ve kicked it up to us because she’s so high-profile and, well, because the brother is making a stink. Could you go talk to the girl, get some background? I understand there’s also a chance this could be an extortion opportunity – Fleming says her attacker filmed the assault.”

  Evan sighed to himself. What it amounted was a babysitting case. Peter half-smiled. “I see what you’re thinking, but Evan, a girl was attacked. Nothing to take lightly. Don’t go in with preconceived ideas because she’s an actress.”

  Evan smiled ruefully. “I’ll try not to.” He got up to go, stopping to study the photographs of the latest murder victims. “Jesus. What a world.”

  “Evan?”

  Peter looked ten years older than he had a year ago, broken-down, a husk of someone who once believed in goodness, of hope, of grace. His voice was an echo of the horror of the dead women.

  “I know you, and I know that while you’ll put everything into this Fleming case, you’ll be thinking about this one, coming up with theories. I want you far away from this case. One day you’ll take over from me as the head of this field office, and I don’t want you so jaded that it breaks you. Forget this case, stop thinking about it. Do it for me. Please, Evan. Let it go.”

  The weather was breaking, at last, the humidity easing. Fat raindrops spattered against the windows of Main Street, the sky a swirl of black, pink and bruise-yellow. Far off storms rumbled around the horizon, a cold breeze kicking up off the water.

  Lukia sat in the small coffee shop waiting for the F.B.I. Agent to meet her. It had been three days since she had been attacked and she still felt numb.

  And paranoid. Every time someone glanced at her or recognized her, she cringed inside. When it was a man looking at her, she wondered. Was it you?

  She hugged her cup of cocoa. Despite the late summer heatwave in Oregon, she felt chilled to the bone. She hadn’t slept since the attack, not trusting anything Billy did to try and make her feel more secure. She didn’t want to be in that house, but with so much of their money tied up in it, she didn’t have a choice.

  The attack had happened so suddenly, so viciously that she couldn’t believe it. One second, she was watching a dumb t.v. s
how, the next, she was being dragged, screaming from the couch to the floor, the knife slashing at her, then, as her attacker became more violent, he’d dragged her out into the barn…

  “And assaulted me,” she said to herself in a whisper. She had to keep saying it to herself to believe it.

  “Ms. Fleming?”

  She looked up into kind hazel eyes and a warm smile in one of the most handsome faces she’d ever seen. The man held his hand out. “Evan Teal, F.B.I. May I join you?”

  “Of course. Would you like a drink?”

  He grinned. “Clean forgot. Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.”

  Lukia studied him as he stood at the counter. He was chatting easily with the baristas as they made his coffee. He was tall, rangy, a good build, with short brown curls. His face was at once kind and gloriously handsome, but Lukia felt so dead inside, she knew she couldn’t appreciate him as a man just yet.

  Which, thinking about it, is a good thing, she told herself, the depression creeping over her. It would be really, really sucky timing to meet the man of her dreams right now. Lukia closed her eyes and sighed, waiting for him to return.

  “Are you alright? I mean, in the circumstances.” Evan frowned as he sat back down at the table. Pete had been right to caution him not to judge; this girl in front of him, despite her fame and her beauty, was broken. Her dark brown hair hung in limp strands around her sweet face, there were violet shadows under her blue eyes, and her olive skin was wan and yellow.

  Poor damn kid, Evan thought, his heart going out to her. She looked like she might run away from him at any moment. He’d seen this kind of trauma before, and it never got easier to deal with.

  “Ms. Fleming, this has to be hell for you, but would you be able to talk me through what happened?”

  Lukia Fleming hunched in on herself as she spoke as if hearing the words aloud, even from herself, would bring another attack. She told him in a monotone what happened, her voice only breaking when she got to the last.

  “And do you have any idea of anyone who would wish to harm you? I’m sorry if you’ve had that question ad infinitum over the last few days?”

  Lukia gave him a half-smile. “I have, but you’re the only person who’s used Latin, so you’re forgiven. The answer is no. Honestly, my fame is overrated – I’ve been in a few independent films and done some stage plays, but until the publicity for this latest one started, hardly anyone had heard of me. You probably hadn’t heard of me.”

  Evan grinned wryly. “Guilty. Sorry.”

  His smile was cute. “Don’t be. I only agreed to this big summer blockbuster because my agent harangued me into it. It’s not my thing at all, and I regret doing it. At the moment, I regret acting, at all.”

  “Who is your agent?”

  “Maurice Winston. He’s down in Los Angeles.”

  The name rang a bell with Evan, but he couldn’t drag whatever it was from the back of his brain.

  “One question bothers me. Why threaten to kill you next time - and I’m sorry about this - because why not kill you then when you were alone and defenseless?”

  Lukia shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. He had a knife, and the opportunity was there. It’s all just so strange.”

  Evan nodded, chewing his lip. “Do you think maybe it was done to scare you?”

  Lukia smiled sadly. “For what reason? And if so, why attack me? There’s a risk of DNA evidence then.”

  “Do you know if…”

  “He left none,” Lukia interrupted him, looking away from his searching glance. “He was careful. God.”

  She looked like she might throw up and Evan wanted to take her hand, to comfort her, but he had enough sense to know that it would neither be appreciated or appropriate.

  “Ms. Fleming?”

  She looked up, and he smiled at her. “I want you to know I’m going to do everything to find out who this was and to keep you safe. Now, your home…have you arranged security?”

  She nodded. “Billy – that’s my brother – he brought some people my agent recommended. They’ll even have to clear you before you come onto the property.”

  “Good, that’s good. Do you feel secure there?”

  Lukia hesitated, sighed and shook her head. “I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

  Evan’s jaw clenched. “I am sorry about that. Look, I’ll be staying in town, working from the local county sheriff’s office, so I’m just a call away, okay?”

  Lukia’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Thank you. Look, I know this must seem like special treatment – after all, millions of women get attacked every year, why should I get an F.B.I agent? I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t apologize. From what you’ve told us, this is a very dangerous man. And we have reason to believe, that there may be more to it than meets the eye.”

  Lukia went very still. “What do you mean?”

  Evan tried to give a reassuring smile. “You said the attacker filmed the attack? It could be that he intends to blackmail you, or your brother, that the threat to kill you was merely a scare tactic. We’ll be keeping an eye on whether he makes contact and makes any demands.”

  Lukia’s body was tense again. “God, really? I’d pay any amount of money for this go away, I really would.”

  “Well, we’re not there yet, believe me.” Evan drained his coffee. “Now, would you like me to accompany you home? I could meet the security team.”

  Lukia nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “And Ms. Fleming?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want you to start practicing asking for identification.” He smiled kindly, but there was an edge to his voice. He got out his wallet and showed her his F.B.I. credentials. “I could have been anyone.”

  Lukia smiled, a little sheepish. “You were testing me.”

  Evan nodded. “Next time, I’ll use my outdoor voice.” He grinned to show her he was kidding.

  She actually laughed then, her blue eyes a little less sad. “I understand.”

  Evan followed her car back to the Fleming/Cyprian compound and introduced himself to the security team. Their chief, Vic, shook Evan’s hand. “Glad to meet you, sir. Maybe we can talk about best options?”

  Evan nodded and turned to Lukia. “Is that okay with you? I don’t want anything done which isn’t run past Ms. Fleming first. Obviously, if it’s risk critical, then I will have final say, especially if your life is at risk, Ms. Fleming. Agreed?”

  Lukia nodded. “Can we agree one thing? My name is Lukia, please call me that. Ms. Fleming sounds like a diva, and I assure you, despite the stories you may hear in the tabloid press, I’m no diva.”

  Evan smiled at that. “As you wish…Lukia.”

  “And yes, of course, let’s go inside and talk.” Evan Teal had done a good job of making her feel more secure, Lukia pondered, as she went into the house. Billy had arranged for the living room to be cleaned and repainted within twenty-fours of the police giving permission, but she steered away from it anyway and led the two men into her kitchen.

  She listened to them talk, occasionally getting up to make more coffee, but she couldn’t help but feel a little better. She had been shocked when Billy had insisted on the F.B.I. getting involved, but now Evan Teal had explained it to her, she knew why. Being attacked and threatened was bad enough, but to think someone might actually make the tape of it public – it made her feel sick.

  She studied Evan again, noting the gray at his temples, the lines under his eyes. He was undeniably gorgeous, but, she guessed, maybe a little straight-laced. She could help him loosen up, have fun, make him laugh, maybe – she pushed the thought away. That’s not why he is here. God, her mind was a mess. The assault on her body had been nothing to the effect the violation had had on her psychologically, and she was surprised how deep the hurt went.

  She felt the tears coming again and struggled to keep them tamped down. Evan glanced at her.

  “Okay, Vic, well, that sounds like a plan. Why don’t we leave Ms. Fleming �
�� Lukia, sorry – alone now so she can get some rest?”

  After Vic had gone, Evan put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  “Here, sit down,” Evan sat opposite her and took her hands. “I think you could use some counseling, sweetheart. I have no doubt you’ve been through hell, but, from now on, I promise it’ll get better. We’ll make it through, okay?”

  Lukia gazed at him, this kind, gentle man, and nodded, thanking God silently for Evan Teal. She knew instinctively that she could trust him – goodness radiated from him. She had to admit, she felt a little better knowing he was dealing with her case.

  When she’d said goodbye to him, she went back into the house, hovering at the entrance to the living room. She took a step in, then another, then, steeling herself, deliberately walked toward the bookcase.

  No, I can’t do it. She backed up and skittered upstairs to her room, angry with herself. Pull yourself together. But when she looked in the mirror, all she could see in her eyes was pain.

  Evan dumped his bags in the motel room and looked around. The small hotel on the edge of town was clean and functional and so, after a hot shower, Evan took his paperwork, stuffed it in his pocket and headed out to find somewhere to eat. The place Lukia Fleming called home was set along the Columbia River, and had a small town feel he appreciated. She was an enigma, though.

  As he settled down and ordered a steak and salad in a small diner, he pulled out his files and read through them. Lukia Fleming, aged twenty-four, Oregon girl born and bred. Her brother Billy Cyprian (neé William Fleming) was older by nearly fifteen years, had been an international superstar for a straight decade now, earning millions but still staying true to his Oregon roots. Lukia was a graduate of Brown and RADA in London, majoring in Drama. She’d been snapped up by agent Maurice Winston – Evan shook his head – where had he heard that name before? – as soon as she graduated and film roles started to be offered to her almost straight away.

  Evan studied her photo, obviously taken before the attack. There was a wide-eyed innocence to her, her make-up light and natural, her startling blue eyes her stand-out feature. She is beautiful, Evan said to himself, but there was a darkness to her. Maybe even before the attack, he thought now, looking at that photo. There was something about her expression. He checked the files again. Both parents were dead, killed in a road traffic accident when Lukia was eight years old. God. What that did to a kid…Evan himself had lost his parents early, when he was nineteen, to cancer within three weeks of each other. It had broken him for a time – even now he didn’t really think he was over it.