by Amelia Price
A moment later she felt her jaw tensing up and realised she was gritting her teeth. Dalton was her character and she was cross at herself for letting someone put her off writing about him. As if in rebellion against the idea, she pulled out some paper and a pen and started to write the opening scene. She could work out the plot issues another time.
By the time she arrived at the next destination she'd got several hundred words she was pleased with. In a moment of forethought she pulled out her phone and tweeted a good line about Dalton. Her publisher often told her she didn't use social media enough, and letting her followers know a new book was being written was always the sort of thing that got her network buzzing.
There was no bodyguard at her new destination, but she was pleased to see the shopping centre had security staff on duty, helping to keep the masses of people in order. Of the three authors, Amelia was the least successful but there was still a cheer of appreciation when she was introduced and shepherded along to the row of tables.
Giving her no time to do anything more than greet her companions, the first few people were ushered forward and allowed to work their way along the table. Amelia sat on the far end and waited as the readers stopped at the first man's area for him to sign books. He wrote under the pen name R. Fletcher and she didn't know his real name. He was by far the most popular of the authors, with most of the horde of fans there to see him. About half then also collected the woman's next to her, Shelly Brent, who wrote under S. Brent and regularly had fans being surprised she was a woman.
Amelia had to stifle a laugh when the third reader exclaimed about the gender difference. It made her feel a little smug that she'd got her full name on her book covers and no one got her gender wrong. The feeling soon vanished when she realised over eighty percent of the people were going past her without stopping. A few of them smiled sheepishly but most pretended she wasn't even there.
Occasionally Shelly also found herself unoccupied for several minutes while the fans wandered by them both. When this happened, they would make the odd remark to each other and soon found they could converse easily. It brought some relief to the awkward waiting, but Amelia could only talk some of the time, the rest she had to sit and watch the other two authors sign.
Trying not to be defeated by the lack of interest, when someone who was curious stopped, she asked them more questions than she normally would and took longer over the signing. If nothing else, it might make fans of hers more loyal than they already were.
After a particularly long run of no one stopping to see her she noticed a familiar coat near the front of the queue. Guy Thomas stood there looking in her direction. As soon as their eyes met, he waved. A smile appeared on her face automatically, giving her mind time to process her surprise at seeing the same awkward fan two days running in two very different cities. Especially as he'd mentioned he cared for his mother. He had the newest book tucked under one arm, but was wearing exactly the same clothing as the day before.
The nearest staff member soon realised that Guy was there to see Amelia and had a quick conversation with him. She could easily figure out what had been said when Guy was let past the rest of the queue to come straight to her. There was no point in him remaining in the line when he only wanted to see her.
“Hello, Guy. I didn't expect to see you today,” she said, deciding to control the conversation as well as she could. “How is your mother?”
“Not so great, actually. She's in hospital at the moment.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing too serious.” She tried to sound sympathetic but it was difficult, given how strange his appearance was. If Myron hadn't assured her that Guy couldn't be her stalker, she'd be convinced he was.
“I told her and my brother about meeting you yesterday and how I didn't get a photo. They both thought it made sense to see you again and get one, rather than wait around at the hospital with nothing to do.”
“Wonderful. Do you have a camera with you, then?”
He nodded and grinned as he pulled an old brick-like digital camera from one of the large pockets on the outside of his coat. The nearest shop worker offered to take it from him as Amelia got up and came around to the other side of the table.
Guy stayed where he was and looked at her, not sure where he should stand. To relieve the awkward moment, she positioned herself next to him and put her arm around his back, but it only made things worse as he fumbled with the hand closer to her and caught her side as he tried to reciprocate the gesture.
He coloured up again and didn't give the camera a proper smile, so Amelia deliberately shut her eyes as the picture was taken. By the time the girl taking the photo had checked the screen and noticed it wasn't a good shot, Guy was more relaxed and his cheeks had returned to their normal colour.
The second photo satisfied her and brought a smile to Guy's face when he saw it.
“Thank you, that's wonderful. Now I can show my mum and brother how nice you are.”
“Don't mention it. Do you want me to sign that book for you as well?”
He nodded and handed it to her. She paused for a moment with the pen in her hand to think of a message to write.
To Guy, thank you for coming such a long way to see me. Having such amazing fans means a lot to me and I hope your mother is well enough to come home and return to your expert care soon. Love and Hugs, Amelia.
It didn't take her long; she just said how she felt about the effort he'd gone to. She reminded herself that Myron didn't think he was her stalker and hoped she hadn't just created a new one as she handed the book back.
As he read the message, his eyes lit up.
“Thank you,” he burbled, and she saw the familiar awestruck look fans sometimes got. Immediately, she regretted being quite so nice. She never liked it when people looked at her that way, as if she was something more than a human, something god-like. It was far too easy to disappoint someone who thought you were better than human.
Amelia was saved from having to worry about it too long by another reader wanting to talk to her about her books. Guy said goodbye and was ushered out of the way so she could focus on the woman in her fifties who wanted to know what Amelia's books were about. It didn't result in her selling anything or even signing a bookmark, but it was nice that someone hadn't just walked right past her.
The rest of the evening hurried by, despite the patches when Amelia sat alone, and by the time the shop had to shut she'd found she got along so well with Shelly that she had an invite to a dinner party that evening. Wanting to at least appear sociable, she accepted and wrote down the address of the restaurant.
No one was surprised when the line of fans had to be turned away at the end of the session. It didn't look like it had shrunk much when Amelia left a couple of minutes later and got into her familiar car to head to the hotel. The publishers had been sensible and kept the night's hotel booking close to the late signing, while also scheduling her following signing for the afternoon the next day. It meant she was only in the car ten minutes. She spent the entire time letting her publisher know she was still safe and breathing and had been successful in selling books for both of them.
Once in her room she had half an hour before the dinner booking, and now had the opportunity to see if Myron had responded to her message. She pulled out the mobile and smiled when she saw the flashing light.
Good. Anything else to report?
She had hoped for something a bit more encouraging but wasn't surprised. There was a question, and that at least meant she could reply.
Guy Thomas showed up again, but otherwise I noticed no one else. Going out to dinner this evening but don't expect to see anything there. Unless you have plans for me?
While she waited for Myron to reply, she neatened her hair and re-did her make-up, brightening the colours so they created more of a party look. She didn't have time to change her clothes after that. As she looked up the location of the restaurant and pleasantly found it was less than half a mile away, her
phone buzzed with a response.
No.
Amelia laughed. It was just like Myron to be so short and to the point. After tucking the phone in the bottom of her handbag and grabbing the map she had open on her normal mobile, she headed back out into the city. The stars were out and the area around her looked well-kept, with street lamps lighting up the pavement at regular intervals, so she decided not to bother with a taxi and walked along the road.
Less than two minutes later she realised she could hear the sound of quiet footsteps behind her, heading in the same direction but not catching up to her. Up ahead, she noticed she would need to cross the road, and when she got there she paused and used the opportunity to take a look over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone dart behind a hedge.
Amelia's heart rate increased, but she knew she had to keep going and stay calm. Regretful thoughts popped into her head as she crossed the road, but she pushed them away. She couldn't change the decision she'd made now, and it was better to focus on getting to her destination. Next time she would take a taxi.
After studying the map open on her phone screen for a moment, she stuffed it into her pocket. Having to look at it repeatedly would slow her down. It would be better for her to keep going at a steady pace and appear confident. If she was worried or got lost and saw another pub or restaurant, she could always wander in as if it had been her destination all along.
Straining her ears, Amelia tried to listen out for the sound of someone walking behind her again but they were either gone or were being more careful not to make a sound with their footfalls. She even tried holding her breath to keep herself quiet, but too many cars came past to make any difference. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Amelia stopped and looked behind her.
There was no one there.
She shook her head at her own fears and chuckled. Whoever had been there must have stopped at one of the houses. They hadn't been following her at all.
Feeling lighter already, Amelia shoved her chilly hands into her jacket pockets and gazed at her surroundings. Her walk soon took her off the main road and down a quaint cobbled street with small old shops that lined both sides. All of them were shut at this time of night but she browsed the wares in the windows anyway.
She could see the bright, welcoming glow of the restaurant's entrance a hundred metres ahead when a car engine noise caught her attention. The deep purr of a slow-moving car came up close to one side of her, accompanied by the rumble of wheels on cobbles. She glanced at the car, but in the darkness she could only make out that it was a black Audi.
“Amelia!” Shelly's voice cut through the quiet night air and Amelia looked ahead of her to see the author standing to one side of the restaurant door, a cigarette in her fingers. With a large exhale, Amelia picked up the pace and hurried towards the friendly face.
“You're brave for walking in this cold. I took a taxi,” Shelly said as soon as she was close enough to talk without yelling.
“Yeah, I think I'll get a taxi back.” Amelia made no mention of the reason why. No one needed to know how scared she'd been. It wasn't the brightest idea she'd had, given the letters, but she'd made it safely.
Forgetting all her worries for an evening, she followed Shelly into the building and let her new friend introduce her to the rest of the writers there. Some she'd met at other events, but most were new to her.
They spent the entire meal talking about their careers, from contracts and advances to deadlines and genre tropes. Only one of the men there stood out to her as being particularly interesting. He wrote science fiction and had a good understanding of society's flaws, but she found herself less interested and more distant than she used to be around such clever people. The time spent with Sebastian and now Myron had spoilt her for intelligent conversation.
Despite that, she couldn't say the evening wasn't a success. She laughed, drank wine and ate plenty of good food. It was almost midnight by the time she and Shelly put their jackets on and supported each other's intoxicated bodies out to get into their taxi.
Shelly let go of her arm to get into the waiting car first just as Amelia felt someone approach her from behind.
“Amelia?” a familiar voice said as she turned. Guy stood, looking a little sheepish but with the same hero-worshipping light in his eyes. She couldn't keep her body from shivering. “Oh, are you cold? Would you like my coat?”
Without waiting for her to respond, he tugged one sleeve off, and would have done the other if she hadn't regained use of her voice in time to stop him.
“No, that's fine. I'm going back to my hotel now. Sorry, can't chat. Bye.”
Hoping it wasn't too obvious that she wasn't sober and felt wobbly on her own legs, she quickly turned and followed Shelly into the car, pulling the door shut behind her. She heard a meek goodbye follow her and winced, hoping he hadn't thought her rude.
“Are you all right?” Shelly asked once the taxi had pulled off.
“Yeah, fine,” she replied, checking out the window. Guy stood where she'd left him, staring at the vehicle as it pulled away. As she swept past, she also noticed the same black Audi was still sat where it had parked and scared her earlier in the night.
“Was that the same person from the signing?”
Amelia nodded, not wanting to talk about it. Although Myron had assured her Guy wasn't the stalker type, she wasn't convinced anymore. Not now that he'd shown up outside the restaurant and she'd thought someone had followed her from her hotel there. It could have been him, and he'd just been good enough at hiding from her that she'd not noticed him again. She knew she hadn't checked the road behind her as she walked inside the restaurant.
As soon as the taxi had pulled up outside her hotel, she handed her travelling companion enough money to cover her share of the cost and hurried into the building, not even hesitating in the reception area. She wanted the safety of her own room.
Once the door was shut and locked behind her, she relaxed. It finally registered with her mind that her shoulders and neck ached from being tensed up. She was scared.
Chapter 5
The grandfather clock in Mycroft's study let him know it was midnight. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd instructed his men to watch out for foreign people arriving at the site they'd found, and since then the only communication he'd received had been from Amelia.
He'd been trying not to think about her. Doubts gnawed at the back of his mind. It was more than possible she'd cause him trouble and he didn't know if the diversion was worth the mess she could make. The stalker business only made problems more likely. If anything happened to her while under his tutelage, their secret was more likely to get out, and it had been tiresome enough having to explain her involvement when the last incident had occurred. A second would create more questions about her than he wanted to answer.
Despite assuring her that Mr Thomas was safe, Mycroft had looked into the man's background. The man did spend his full time caring for his mother and had told her the truth. If his half-brother, a soldier in the British Marines, was the brother he'd referred to, he could well have left his mother with him. Although he noticed their common parent was their father, not the mother. Either way, it was still highly unlikely the man wrote the threatening letters. He couldn't have delivered them, with the type of care his mother needed, and his brother was often busy with training and had only recently come back from an overseas tour.
The final conclusion was that someone else was following her, someone she'd not spotted. He also knew he couldn't take the time to find them for her, but it would be a good lesson for her to have to protect herself and figure out who had sent the letters without his help. While she was solving her own problem, he could keep an eye on her and continue his own lessons. It was the simplest way to proceed.
As the time continued to trickle past, Mycroft considered getting some sleep, but he expected something to happen soon. The cache of food at the marshland had fruit, bread, and other perishable i
tems that wouldn't last much longer. Whoever had left it there wouldn't stay away past the night.
Settling back in his armchair, he picked up his book again, almost hoping he wouldn't get to read many pages before someone contacted him.
When two more gongs sounded from the clock, he considered going to bed, but a few seconds later his phone let out a shrill noise from the small table beside him. He picked it up and saw what he'd wanted. A man had returned to the cache and looked like he would be there long enough for Mycroft to arrive.
He buzzed for Daniels to get the car ready and walked briskly upstairs to get changed into more suitable attire for his task. It didn't take long as he'd already had his housekeeper lay out the necessary garments for him to don at need.
Daniels already waited by the car, and the quiet noise of the running engine came to his ears as Mycroft walked out of the front door.
“Get there as quick as you can,” Mycroft said as he got himself into the back of the car and pulled the door shut. Daniels was efficient enough to be behind the wheel and ready to go as soon as he was. There had been several chauffeurs in Mycroft's employment before he found Daniels, but the search had been worth it. His household ran well thanks to him and the housekeeper.
Mycroft looked over the preliminary information as it was coming in from one of the observing agents. Just before two in the morning they'd heard the sound of something rustling the grasses and reeds on the marshland. A few seconds later a tall man with a thin build had appeared, striding over the land. He'd dressed in black but the agents all had heat scanners and could see his outline as it made its way to the food.
At the moment they were watching him eat and rest, which helped Mycroft feel more relaxed about his decision to wait at home. If the man, probably a Russian, wasn't in a hurry, it would give Daniels time to get him there. At least London this late at night was nowhere near as busy as during the day.