by Linda Turner
Her stomach turning at the thought of food, Angel cut across the pasture to the motor home the studio had reserved for her as a dressing room, her only thought to lie down for a while and forget the world. Just an hour, she thought, rubbing at the headache that throbbed at her temple. That’s all she needed. Maybe then she could forget this morning ever happened.
But when she stepped into the motor home, all thought of sleep vanished at the sight of the bouquet of roses sitting on her dressing table. Yellow roses. Big, beautiful yellow roses that were only just beginning to open. Roses that any woman would have loved to have. Yellow roses like the ones her stalker had been sending her every week for the last two months to show how much he cared.
There was no card, but she didn’t need one to know that they were from him. Horrified, she felt her blood run cold even as she told herself not to panic. She’d known it was only a matter of time before word got out that she was on location in Colorado. The studio couldn’t keep a lid on that kind of information indefinitely when so many people knew about it. Just because her stalker knew where she was didn’t mean he had necessarily followed her. He could have easily ordered the flowers from L.A. and had them delivered to the set.
Just to be sure, though, she made a few calls, first to Myrtle to get the name of the local florist, then to Becca Ryan, the florist, herself. “Oh, Ms. Wiley,” the florist gushed as soon as Angel identified herself, “I do hope you liked the roses! I had them brought in from Colorado Springs this morning especially for you.”
“They’re beautiful,” Angel assured her and meant it. But they were from a man who wanted her daughter dead so he could have Angel all to himself, and that made them vile. “There was no card, Mrs. Ryan, and I was just wondering who sent them. If you could just look up the order for me so I could send a thank-you card, I would really appreciate it.”
“But that’s why there was no card,” the other woman explained. “Whoever ordered them didn’t give his name, but he must be crazy about you. A dozen roses don’t come cheap, especially when they have to be brought in fresh the same day of delivery.”
“Then maybe you could describe him—”
“Oh, but he didn’t actually come into the shop. Didn’t I tell you? The order was through the mail and accompanied by a money order. Here—let me see—I think I still have the envelope…” Trailing off, she shuffled through some papers. “Here it is! But there’s no return address or name,” she said in disappointment. “What a shame. It’s postmarked L.A. three days ago, though, if that’s any help.”
Just like the others, Angel thought with a sigh of relief. From the moment her stalker had first become obsessed with her and started sending her flowers, he’d religiously used the same m.o. The order was always placed through the mail with a money order that couldn’t be traced back to him.
“I imagine this kind of thing happens to you all the time, but I just think it’s so romantic!” Becca Ryan said dreamily. “Just think—a secret admirer. It must be wonderful to be a movie star.”
Angel wanted to tell her that glitter and fame and money weren’t everything, but Becca Ryan would never understand. To her and the rest of the world, her life seemed touched by magic. No one wanted to hear about the dark side of that magic and the dregs of humanity it attracted. They didn’t want to know about the fear that set her heart beating every time her phone rang or the paranoia that gripped her the second Emma was out of her sight.
And then there were the questions that haunted her whenever she found herself surrounded by a crowd. What did the face of a stalker look like? Was he old, young, average-looking or handsome as the devil? Was there something in his eyes that hinted that he had long since lost touch with reality or did he look as safe and normal as a Methodist minister?
She had no answers, only questions, and Becca Ryan couldn’t help her with those. So she told her what she wanted to hear. “Yes, it is wonderful sometimes, Mrs. Ryan, but I really don’t consider myself a movie star. I’m just a working mother who happens to act.” Changing subjects, she said, “Would you mind doing me a favor? If any more orders like this one come in for me, would you please send them to the local hospital? I’m sure the patients there would enjoy them.”
“Oh, yes, of course. How sweet of you!”
Feeling like a fraud, Angel thanked her for all her help, then hung up and tried to find comfort in the fact that just three days ago, her stalker was in L.A. There was no reason to believe that he’d followed her to Colorado since then. But she had no proof that he hadn’t, either. And that was what scared her the most—not knowing where he was.
Picking up the phone, she quickly dialed the number to Joe’s house to inform Laura of the latest developments, only to frown as the phone rang and rang before she remembered that Joe didn’t believe in such modern inventions as the answering machine. Swearing softly, she called Laura on her cell phone and waited impatiently for her to answer.
When she got Laura’s voice mail, she assured herself there was no cause for concern. Laura and Emma were probably out exploring the ranch, and Laura had just left her phone at the house or in the car. She’d just page her. Laura never went anywhere without her beeper and knew to call her as soon as she could get to a phone.
Long minutes passed after she punched in her pager number, however, and the phone never rang. Watching the clock, Angel frowned. Just because Laura hadn’t returned her call didn’t mean that there was a problem, she reasoned. There were remote areas of the country where cell phones didn’t work—for all she knew, this could be one of them. Or maybe the battery was low in Laura’s pager and she hadn’t even gotten the message to call.
“It could happen,” she said aloud, and knew even as she said it, that it hadn’t. Laura was too conscientious to let the battery die in her pager. She knew how important it was to Angel to be able to contact her at all times about Emma. If she wasn’t able to answer her page, there had to be another explanation.
The stalker had somehow gotten his hands on her and Emma.
The thought snuck up on her from behind and stopped her heart dead in her chest. Stiffening, she immediately tried to dismiss it. No. He couldn’t have. She knew for a fact he’d been in L.A. just three days ago. Even if he’d left that same day for Liberty Hill, it wasn’t common knowledge where she was staying—the studio had made sure of that. And even if he’d heard gossip in town and discovered she was at Joe’s with Emma, he couldn’t have just driven onto the ranch like he owned the place. Security was everywhere—at the front gate and checkpoints throughout the ranch. Anyone who didn’t have the proper credential was immediately stopped and escorted off the property, or arrested if they insisted on trespassing.
But even the best security could be breached, the voice in her head cautioned. And the man who stalked her like a lion on the prowl in search of his next meal was no lightweight. He was sharp and cunning and diabolical. He let nothing get in his way. He’d gotten past security at the studio and in her own home with an ease that was frightening, then had the nerve to leave her taunting notes that promised her it was only a matter of time before they were together. Outwitting a few guards would be a piece of cake for a man like him.
How could she be sure that he hadn’t already done it? That he hadn’t found a way to fool the guards? That he wasn’t somewhere on the ranch right this minute…with Emma?
Stark terror seized her at the thought, and with a strangled cry, she grabbed the phone and called for a limo. A split second later, she ran for the door, uncaring that she had to be back on the set in less than twenty minutes. Emma was missing and she had to find her. Nothing else mattered.
The new foal was only hours old and still not steady on his spindly legs as he explored the stall he shared with his mother. Leaning against the stall door, his arms crossed over the top, Joe admired his black and white coat with a grin. There was something about a paint that he’d always loved, and this one was going to be a beauty. He couldn’t wait to see him grown
and racing across one of the high mountain pastures with his mane streaming out behind him.
Behind him, the barn door opened suddenly, shattering the silence that engulfed the barn. Surprised, Joe turned just in time to see Emma and Laura step inside and had to fight a smile. Clinging to the nanny’s hand, Emma peered wide-eyed into the soft musty shadows, so excited she was almost hopping.
“Are there horses in here, Auntie Laura?” she asked in a loud whisper. “Do you think we can ride them?”
“Not today, sweetheart,” Laura replied with a smile. “We’re just exploring, remember? And we don’t touch or ride anything without first making sure it’s okay with your mother and Mr. McBride. We’re visitors and—” Suddenly spotting Joe standing in the shadows at the far end of the barn, she stopped in her tracks. “Oh, Mr. McBride, I didn’t realize you were in here. I hope we’re not intruding. Emma wanted to see what was in here…”
“Then she’ll want to see the newest baby,” he cut in smoothly. Grinning at the little girl at her side, he said, “Whatdaya say, Emma? You want to take a look at him? I was hoping maybe you could help me name him.”
Emma didn’t have to be asked twice. Her blue eyes sparkling, she dropped Laura’s hand and made a beeline straight for Joe. “Can I really, Mr. Joe? I can really name him? Right now?”
“Right this minute,” he assured her, and stepped back so she could see the new foal and his mother through the slats of the stall gate.
With a squeal of delight, Emma immediately poked her pert nose through the slats. “Oh, look at the baby! Can I touch him? Please, Mr. Joe? Please? Pleeease?”
Cute as a button, she looked up at him with pleading eyes and just that easily, broke the hard shell around Joe’s heart. Lord, she was a little scamp, he thought, fighting a grin. If she was this engaging at three, what was she going to be like at sixteen?
Chuckling, he said, “I think that can be arranged. If it’s okay with your auntie Laura.” At the nanny’s nod, he added, “But you have to let me hold you. His mama doesn’t know you, and we don’t want to scare her. Okay?”
Without a word, Emma held up her hands.
Tires squealing, the limo driver, urged on by Angel, slammed to a stop in Joe’s driveway. Before he could even think about unbuckling his seat belt and getting out to open her door for her, Angel was out of the car and running toward the house. It was unlocked, thank God, or she was sure she would have kicked the door in. Panic driving her, she ran inside, fear clutching at her throat. They had to be here, she told herself, swallowing a sob as she frantically searched the downstairs, then bolted upstairs. They had to be!
“Emma!? Laura!?” she screamed. “I know you’re here. Answer me, dammit!”
But the house was empty and silent as a tomb.
Her heart slamming against her ribs, she ran back outside and looked wildly around, but there wasn’t another human being in sight for as far as the eye could see. Then she spied Joe’s truck parked beside the barn, and it was like an answer to her prayers. He might not like her, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would help her find her daughter. Her breath tearing through her lungs, she stumbled toward the barn.
Darkness hit her the second she ran inside, blinding her, and for what seemed like an eternity, she just stood there, unable to see a thing. Then, without warning, her eyes cleared, and the first thing she saw was Joe at the other end of the barn…holding Emma.
“Emma! Oh, dear God, thank you!”
Then she was running, sobbing, and reaching for her daughter, clutching her tight. Tears streaming down her face, she never saw Joe’s puzzled frown or the worry in Laura’s eyes. Thinking they were playing some kind of new game, Emma giggled and gave her a fierce squeeze. Only then did the fear gripping Angel’s heart like a vise start to ease.
“I touched the baby horse, Mommy,” Emma said ex citedly as she pulled back to give Angel a wide grin. “Mr. Joe letted me. He said it was okay if he holded me.” Suddenly noticing Angel’s tears, she screwed her little face up in a frown. “Why are you crying? Do you have something in your eye?”
Sniffing, Angel forced a weak smile. “I guess so, sweetheart. So you got to touch the baby horse, did you?”
“And name him, too,” Joe added somberly as Emma wiggled to get down, then darted back to the stall to talk babytalk to the foal through the stall door. “We’ve decided on Spotty.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said huskily, “I see.”
“Angel, what’s wrong?” Laura asked worriedly in a low tone that didn’t carry to Emma. “You’re trembling! And you looked scared to death when you came rushing in here. Has—”
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said quickly, cutting her off before she could mention her stalker in front of Joe and Emma. “Right now, I want to know where your pager is. When I paged you and you didn’t answer, I thought something had happened to you and Emma.”
Stricken, the older woman paled guiltily. “Oh, God, I’m sorry! I didn’t think I would need it here at the house, with the phone and everything.”
“I called the house. No one answered.”
“You can’t hear it from out here,” Joe said quietly, watching her through narrowed eyes. “I’ve been meaning to have an extension installed, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”
Another woman might have thankfully latched onto the excuse, but Laura was having none of it. “If I’d had my pager with me the way I was supposed to, it wouldn’t have mattered that I couldn’t hear the phone. I’m sorry,” she solemnly told Angel. “It won’t happen again. From now on, I’ll take the cell phone and beeper with me everywhere. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get them now. Emma,” she called, “it’s time to go inside now. Give Mommy a kiss so we can go back to the house.”
Emma wanted to protest, but one look at Laura’s somber face, not to mention her mother’s, and she grudgingly did as she was told. She kissed her mother, then surprised Joe with a hug before forlornly letting Laura lead her out of the barn. If her bottom lip had stuck out any farther, she would have tripped over it.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Angel turned back to face Joe and realized too late that she should have taken her own leave when the opportunity presented itself. Watching her like a hawk with eyes that missed little, he said, “Now that the munchkin is out of earshot, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here? I may look dumb as a post, but believe it or not, not a hell of a lot gets past me. You didn’t race halfway across this ranch like a mad-woman because Laura didn’t answer your page. You were scared to death, and I want to know why.”
Chapter 5
“It was nothing.”
“Don’t give me that,” he growled. “I know fear when I see it. You were white as a ghost when you ran in here. Why? What did you think had happened to Emma?”
She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to even think about the monster who took such enjoyment out of threatening her and her daughter. But one look at the determined glint in Joe’s eye, and she knew he wasn’t going to let this go. He wanted an answer and he was prepared to keep her there all day if he had to to get it.
“Several months ago, I started getting letters at the studio from a fan,” she finally admitted stiffly. Her gaze focused inward, she stared unseeingly at the dust particles that floated on the beam of sunlight that streamed in through the barn’s open door. “They were sweet and touching and just like hundreds of others I receive every week. I didn’t think anything of them…until I started getting more personal letters at home.”
“How did he get your address?”
Not surprised that he had guessed the letters were from a man, she shrugged. “I don’t know. The studio doesn’t give out that kind of information, and even though I’m buying the house, it’s not in my name. But somehow he discovered where I lived and began to send me flowers and small gifts. I didn’t realize he was watching me, though, until he called one night and told me eve
rything I’d done that day. It was creepy.”
It was warm in the barn, but she shivered, hugging herself, and Joe swore silently, enraged. The bastard was stalking her, not to mention doing a damn good job of terrorizing her. “You went to the police with this?”
She nodded. “Not that it did much good. I had kept everything. All the letters and gifts and cards, even the wrapping paper. I was sure there had to be something that the police could use to identify this guy, but he was too clever. There were no fingerprints, no credit card numbers, nothing. He paid for everything with money orders through the mail, and nothing could be traced back to him. Every lead to a dead end.”
“So the police just let it go?” he demanded incredulously.
“There was nothing else they could do. Oh, they kept the case open, but until he made a mistake, there wasn’t much they could do. So I told myself that I had to expect this, that this was one of the side effects of fame, and I just had to get used to it. Then he threatened Emma.”
She told him then about the son of a bitch’s plans for her, how he had no intention of sharing her with another man’s child, and Joe’s blood ran cold just listening to her. The pervert wasn’t just sick, he was dangerous, and Joe could understand why she’d taken the role in Beloved Stranger just to get her and her daughter out of L.A. She had to have been terrified.
Which brought him back to his original question. “But what happened today? Why did you think Emma was in danger? You’re stalker’s back in L.A.—”
“Yellow roses were delivered to my dressing room today,” she replied. “There was no card, but there never is. He knew I would know they were from him.”
“You think he’s in Liberty Hill?”
“He wasn’t three days ago when he mailed the order for the flowers from L.A. But he obviously knows I’m here. If he’s not here yet, he soon will be.”
Joe didn’t need to hear anymore. “C’mon,” he told her, heading for the house. “I’m calling Nick.”