A couple of girls came out of the stables and jogged toward the fields where horses grazed. An older man rounded the corner of the house and got into a beat-up truck. Leonard frowned and lowered the binoculars. Too much activity. He’d have to conduct surveillance and note people’s schedules. Not a problem. He was very good at that. On leave from work, he had all the time in the world to figure out a plan. He’d get to Sarah when she was alone and bring her back with him.
The search was over. The hard ball in his stomach melted. Tonight, he’d go on his computer and change the color of her hair on his pictures to match her. She shouldn’t have dyed it without his permission, but he’d let that go for now. When they returned home, he’d make her change it back.
He drew out his tablet. Time to make some notes. Maybe he’d return after dark for a closer look at the house.
Chapter 22
Morgan pulled down the small fireproof box from the top of her closet and unlocked it. She took out a yellowed newspaper clipping and twisted her mouth into a sneer. The worst day of her life had been when Pete had called her five years ago with news about her sister.
Emily.
Morgan had been sitting by the pool, her ancient husband inside, napping as usual.
“I have an update for you,” Pete said.
“What?”
“Emily’s engaged. They posted an announcement in the paper. I’m mailing it to you along with my bill.”
Morgan bolted up. “Engaged? To whom?”
“Some rich physical therapist named Bruce Murphy.”
“Name doesn’t mean anything to me. Who is he? What’s his deal?”
“Comes from a wealthy, prominent family in Maryland. They owned a horse farm and won the Preakness a couple of times. Major money. Parents died and left him everything. He went into the Navy to become a SEAL and then came back after an injury to finish school for physical therapy. Met Emily at the hospital.”
Morgan’s belly roiled. Damn that Emily. Just when Morgan had her right where she’d wanted. Broke from school loans and living with their aunt in a small apartment. Emily never should have landed someone like Bruce.
“Check your email. I sent you a picture of them. I gotta go. Keep you posted.”
Pete hung up, and Morgan clicked over to check the message on her phone. She gaped at the image. Bruce was a woman’s wet dream. While her geriatric geezer husband pawed her every night, Emily had somehow managed to snag a filthy-rich, smoking-hot fiancé.
Morgan picked up a vase of flowers and threw it to the marble floor. A glass followed and then everything else within reach she could smash.
Five years and the rage still blazed. Morgan unfolded the newspaper clipping and laid it on the top of the box. Bruce’s smiling face mocked her. His arm wrapped around Emily, her left hand, sporting a huge diamond ring, rested on his lapel. A fairy tale come true. Bruce had married Emily, paid off her debts, and bought her a huge house.
She’d won again. Since Emily had died and couldn’t pay, Bruce would.
Morgan placed the wedding picture back in the box and slammed the lid shut. She planned to emotionally destroy him. Oh, he’d be fuckable all right. Nothing like the other men she’d tolerated. She’d seduce him and relish the fact that every night she’d be screwing her sister’s husband.
When the time was right, and Bruce had fallen for her, she’d hit him with her little secret. She licked her lips in anticipation of the shock and horror he’d feel. He’d earned it when he messed everything up and came in like a knight in shining armor to save the day. Emily, always the princess, even to the end. Now Morgan would have the last laugh.
Time to find out what Pete had uncovered.
Morgan drove to the PI’s office and pulled into a spot in front of a tired brick building. She entered the small hall and knocked on the first of three shut wooden doors. Pete called for her to come in.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the two brown upholstered chairs with gold buttons down the arms. She sat across from him and the medium-sized wooden desk with files stacked on both sides. Sun shined in from the window behind him, lighting a beam of dust particles to illuminate the otherwise barren, dark room.
The lack of décor didn’t bother Morgan. His office, like his looks, could be deceiving. Dull brown eyes that matched his hair peered at her from behind bifocals. He had the body of a mid-fifties, sedentary man. He wore a cream, button-down shirt with yellow stains under the arms and a tan tie that had served as a ketchup catcher in the past. No one would look twice at him. Probably how he wanted it.
“Like I said on the phone, I’ve found out who your missing person is.” He handed Morgan a flash drive. “You can access everything through this on your computer, but I have a paper report as well.”
“Good. Enlighten me.” She sat back and crossed her legs.
“Her name is Sarah Cooper. Facial recognition matched her to a picture from the missing person reports in California.”
Morgan blinked. Well, well. A fake last name. No shock there. And she had been right about California. “What else?”
“She was a professional ballerina. Didn’t show up for work one day. Disappeared, according to the news.” He picked up a paper. His gaze scrolled down as he rattled off Sarah’s family history, education, and dance companies with which she’d performed.
Morgan tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
Pete adjusted his glasses and glanced back at the paper. “She’d been dating a guy for a while named Mark Sherman. He’s a stage-play producer. Some pics showed up of them together at various places. Don’t know if they’re still an item.”
“Maybe he was abusive.” And Sarah was running from him.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” Pete dropped the paper on the desk. “I did a quick check, and nothing came up as far as domestic violence or restraining orders. His record is clean as a whistle.” He leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. “But there is something you might find interesting.”
“What?”
“I had to phone a friend. This information wasn’t readily available.” He rolled his fingers together in the universal sign for money.
“How much?”
“Double.”
Morgan’s pulse sped up. He must have something good to ask for twice the price. She nodded. “Better be worth it.”
He shrugged. “Only you would know.”
“Go on.”
Pete shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “I know a guy, who knows a guy on the force—”
“Get to it.” Morgan snapped her fingers.
“He said Sarah reported being stalked.”
Now it made sense. That’s what had her so freaking paranoid.
Pete scratched his head. “According to what I could find out, it’s typical of a crazed-fan stalker.”
Not shocking. That stuff happened a lot in Hollywood. “Did they catch him?”
“Nope. At first, there was some talk about Sarah’s mental health. The police questioned some things.”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“She’d reported stuff had been moved around in her dressing room, and she’d smelled cologne in her bedroom.” He picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser on the desk. “She saw a therapist for a while.”
Sarah had been thought to be unstable or paranoid. Interesting. “And they never figured out who the stalker was?”
“Doesn’t look like it. The last report the police had was of her being attacked by him in her apartment, and then she disappeared.”
“Huh.” Morgan nodded. “Anything else?”
Pete held out his hands. “That’s it.”
“Very well.” She pulled out two envelopes, took some bills out of one, and added them to the other before handing it to Pete. “Feel free to count it.”
“I’d say I trust you, but in my business, I don’t trust anyone.” He picked up the envelope and thumbed through the
bills.
Morgan stood. “If you find out anything new, there’s more where that came from.”
“Nice doing business with you.” He raised his bulk out of the chair and shook her hand.
She smiled the entire drive home.
Time to cause some trouble for the Tutu-Tease.
Chapter 23
Sarah stared out the suite window, stalling. She’d managed to avoid Bruce the rest of the weekend, but that wasn’t so easy on a Monday. He had clients, so he’d be around all morning.
Anger coursed through her veins. She’d had it with his hot-and-cold treatment. One minute kissing her senseless, and the next, swatting her away like a pesky horsefly. No more. She’d told him the whole thing was a bad idea, and he’d still insisted they go on the hike. Mr. I-Make-My-Own-Decisions had failed to mention that they might change on a whim. Well, too bad. She wasn’t playing that game anymore. The ranch served one purpose for her—to stay safe. She hadn’t come there to find romance.
And now, with her and Bruce avoiding each other, she’d be just as safe somewhere else. She picked up her phone and dialed the number on the help-wanted ad for the produce farm. Before it rang, she hung up and brought a hand to her forehead.
Working somewhere else meant lying all over again, and Bruce hadn’t taught her to shoot yet. But they weren’t even on speaking terms, so she wouldn’t go if he asked. She’d figure out another way to learn.
Fluffy picked up his tug rope and bounced across the room. He nudged her hand.
She’d have to leave him behind. Her heart wrenched. She bent down and hugged him hard. “I’m sorry, guy. I’ll miss you.”
But she had to do this. She couldn’t stand being around Bruce with his cold-shoulder treatment. Not after she’d fallen so hard for him. Every time she looked at him, she’d remember how her body came alive when he kissed her.
She stood back up, took a deep breath, and dialed the number again. Her pulse quickened with every ring, but she firmed her resolve. She had to leave.
A man answered. “Hawkins Farm.”
“Hi. I’m calling about the ad in the paper for the job—”
“Sorry. We filled it yesterday. You can try back in the fall.”
Damn it. She’d waited too long. Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. Thanks.”
Hiking with Bruce had cost her the job. Now she’d have to deal with seeing him until she found somewhere else to go. And she still had the problem of a car she couldn’t drive far. She made a mental note to check with Joe on his progress finding a used radiator and tires.
She closed up the suite and headed to the barn.
When Bruce showed up, she focused on sweeping and kept her head down. Maybe he’d take the hint and leave her alone.
“I need to talk to you.” The sound of his voice reverberated through her bleeding heart.
She stiffened. Damn him. She swept harder, keeping her head down. “It’s not necessary. You were clear the other day. Let’s move on.”
“Not about that. I told you I was sorry.”
“Sorry for how it ended or sorry we went out?” She raised her head to meet his gaze.
“Both.”
Just twist the knife deeper. She couldn’t read his expressionless face. Those eyes of his that had blazed with heat and raw desire on the hike were flat and cold. She shivered. He might as well be wearing an iron mask. And as much as it hurt, she still wanted to reach out and touch his cheek or kiss him. Anything to break through, but there’d be no more touching. She had to protect herself.
“I need to know when and where to pick up your sister.”
Crap. They did need to work out the plan. It made sense for him to get Maddie, but she didn’t want any favors from him. Maybe she could ask Joe. “I’ll make other arrangements.”
“No. I said I would get her, and if there’s any trouble, I’m the most equipped to handle it.” He folded his arms.
She hated to accept anything from him, but Maddie’s safety and keeping the stalker at bay mattered more than Sarah’s pride.
Shit. He was right. If he’d managed to pull people out of covert operations while under fire, he could probably handle bringing her sister to the farm. She nodded. “Okay, for Maddie’s sake, but I’ll pay you for the time and gas.”
“Don’t insult me.” He shook his head. “You know I won’t accept that.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. She was being petty, but he’d earned it. “Fine. She’s supposed to arrive Friday. I’ll know more about times in a couple of days.”
“I’ll clear my calendar.”
She went back to work but glanced up as he walked away, his broad shoulders stiff. Her hands had gripped them when he’d held her in his lap. The hard muscles rippling under her touch when he moved. She shut her eyes and ignored the ache in her chest.
The rest of the day, he worked with his clients, and Sarah steered clear. Only, she couldn’t help but hear his voice in the arena or catch him from the corner of her eye as he passed by, causing every cell in her body to yearn for him.
As she mucked out a stall, Lynn rounded the corner.
“What’s up with Bruce?”
Sarah paused with the rake in hand. “What do you mean?”
Lynn shrugged. “He hasn’t been himself. I’m worried.”
Sarah shook her head. She forced a matter-of-fact tone. “Can’t help you. He really doesn’t talk to me much anymore.”
Chapter 24
Morgan parked in the lot by the arena and scanned the fields. Sarah and Greg were out with the horses. Perfect. She’d timed her arrival early enough in the morning not to run into Bruce. Unless he’d changed his schedule, Tuesday patients came later in the day.
She pulled a new bridle out of the trunk and made her way to the tack room. Should anyone ask, she’d say she came to check the size of the new one against the old.
Happy to find the room empty, she went to Sarah’s backpack in the corner. One day she’d passed by when Sarah had plucked out a set of keys from the front zipped pocket. Morgan glanced around and dug out the keys. She checked her watch. Sarah didn’t head to the house before noon most days, so Morgan should have plenty of time. She returned to her car and drove to the hardware store to make copies.
A short time later, she pulled back into the lot. With luck on her side, everyone was still out in the fields. She grabbed the bridle again and hurried to the stables. As she rounded the corner to the tack room, Joe came out. Her gut lurched.
He made no bones about his dislike of her. His gaze went to the bridle in her hand. As much as it killed her, she held her hostility in check. Couldn’t have him bad-mouthing her to Bruce.
She plastered on a smile. “Hi, Joe.”
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. Most times, he ignored her. He nodded, but his eyes narrowed. She strolled into the tack room and hurried to Sarah’s backpack to return the keys. Seconds later, Joe entered. Morgan pulled down Princess’s old bridle from a peg and made a show of holding it up to the new one.
Too close.
The lame-o fence fixer had almost caught her.
Too bad, old man. He’d never outwit her. She smiled. Now the real fun would start.
Leonard slid his binoculars down from his eyes to make a timed entry in his tablet. The fourth day of surveillance, he hoped to establish a clear pattern of activity from Sarah. After she’d come home crying on Saturday, she’d spent the rest of the weekend in the house. Obviously, she was too upset over missing him to do anything. His heart swelled. She loved him so much.
He sat in the middle of the tarp he’d placed on the ground. A gnat buzzed in his ear, and he swatted it. For the third time in twenty minutes, he pulled out bug repellent. He stood, closed his eyes, and pressed the trigger to spray in a fluid motion from his head to his boots. When the mist settled, he sat. Later, he would scrub his face to remove the poisonous DEET and wash his clothes in the tub he’d disinfected with bleach. He never used laundromats. They were fraught with bacteri
a from people’s sweaty clothes.
He hated the forest. The bugs that crawled onto his towel. The birds that screeched in the trees. Complete chaos over which he had no control. But he’d endure it. For her.
After researching horse farms, he understood their schedules, which included early feedings. Leaving the hotel by four in the morning gave him enough time and the cover of darkness to set up for his surveillance. He’d parked his rental car off the road behind a large tree near the woods.
When Sarah came out of the house at six o’clock, his breath hitched. Like yesterday, she wore boots, jeans, and a T-shirt. Clearly, she wasn’t dressed to dance. So graceful, her every move. She all but floated across the yard.
He focused his binoculars on her as she led horses into the fields, lugged buckets out of the barn, and filled them with water. His ballerina shouldn’t be performing menial tasks. Unacceptable. He’d convinced himself she’d just been helping out yesterday, but now it seemed she might work at the farm.
Calluses would form on her smooth, perfect hands. The stench of manure would cling to her hair and clothing. He wrinkled his nose. They would have to throw out everything she wore at the ranch. He’d order new outfits for her online and have them delivered to the hotel. Then, he’d wash them and store the garments in his suitcase so they never touched any other part of the room. At least he’d be returning the rental car, so the dirt and smell wouldn’t ever be in his own vehicle.
While making more notes, he shook his head. This had to end. So many people came in and out of the farm and house. He had to get her alone. For now, he’d have to wait and establish the patterns of the farm’s daily routines. No rush. He could be a patient man now that he had his love in sight. Planning was everything.
He brought up pictures of her on the screen of his iPad. Since he wasn’t home, he couldn’t keep to his routine of counting paces through his bedroom to tap her photos. His shoulders tensed. He swiped his finger across the display to bring up the next shot. After running through them four times, he took a deep breath. Better. Everything would be all right. He had his ballerina in his sights.
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