Watching Her

by Harlem Dae

  A waiter cleared our starter plates and I reached for my purse. “I’m going to the restroom,” I said.

  Meredith nodded. “Can I borrow your cell to call Liam? Mine is out of charge and I promised I would say goodnight. Though why I bother I don’t know. His voice mail has kicked in the last two times I’ve tried.”

  “Are you missing him?” I asked, passing her my iPhone as I stood.

  “Yeah, but we’ll soon be together again, once he’s finalized this deal in New York.

  Dimitri unfolded from his chair, towering his huge bulk over me as he grabbed a bread roll.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said to him. “The ladies’ is just there.” I pointed past the indoor waterfall that cascaded down a stone wall into a pond.

  Tommy paused his conversation and looked up at me. “Let him go with you, India.”

  “But—”

  He gave me that look. The one that set his jaw and turned his eyes steely. He could be a determined, stubborn bastard when he wanted to, and I’d learned over the years to pick my battles.

  “Okay,” I said. “Fine.”

  I turned, flicked my blonde hair over my shoulders, and strutted toward the restroom. I could almost feel Dimitri’s breath on my neck, and I could certainly smell his strong, cheap cologne.

  I glanced into the pond that was full of carp. Their big, scaled bodies glistened like jewels beneath the surface as they twisted around one another. For a brief moment I wished I was a fish. They didn’t have the problems that I had. They didn’t have to worry about when the next note would arrive, or worse, if it would be more than a note; if the madman was about to show up and kill me as he kept threatening.

  The door to the ladies’ restroom opened. A man stepped out. I paused.

  So did he.

  He wore dark, wrap-around glasses and a hat pulled low over his brow. Pausing, he rubbed his fingers over a thick mustache then said gruffly, like he had a sore throat, “Excuse me, wrong door.” His attention appeared to slip from my face, down my neck and to my cleavage.

  Dimitri stepped closer still, his body heat warming my bare shoulders.

  I beat down a shudder. The bulk of Dimitri behind me and the way this stranger was hemming me in had created a new, panic-laced twist in my belly.

  Is he my stalker?

  “I’ll wait right here for you, Miss Moore,” Dimitri said, or rather, growled.

  The man moved away, but not before scanning the whole length of my body. I was used to that, used to being looked at, admired. But this was different. This was more than appreciative, more than approving. It was downright rude and really fucking lecherous. Even with his glasses on it was as though he was seeing right through my dress, my underwear—seeing right into me and imagining sick things he’d like to do.

  I shuddered and stepped past him. Pushed into the quiet restroom and sighed with relief when the door slammed behind me.

  I couldn’t cope with this anymore. It was sending me insane. I was suspicious of every person who recognized me and fearful of every fan. I leaned against the washbasin and stared at myself in the mirror. My scarlet lipstick was still perfect and my long lashes hadn’t leaked their mascara. I took out a comb and fluffed my hair, and spritzed on exotic, tropical perfume sent to me by a cosmetic company hoping I’d endorse it.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I scolded my reflection as I re-fastened my purse. “You’re surrounded by your people, people who care about you. You’re in a very exclusive restaurant and about to have a meal prepared by one of the States’ best chefs. Chill out and enjoy it.” I set my mouth stern and pulled in a deep breath. Meredith was right. I had to relax, let the police continue to do their job and track down the writer of the notes, let Dimitri protect me and carry on with my life as normal. I’d wanted fame and fortune, fans and followers. I’d got them. Now I just had to take the bad with the good, trust the people around me and keep my eyes open and my mind alert.

  I went into a toilet cubicle, the one at the end, and locked the door.

  There was a window open above the cistern and I could hear the sounds of the marina outside. Rigging clanging, distant music, the lap of waves around the pier. The brine-laden air floated in, bringing with it a hint of coolness that I welcomed on my shoulders.

  After doing what I had to do, I smoothed down my dress, unlocked the door then walked back into the restroom.

  The earth suddenly felt taken from under my feet. My knees both juddered and ached with a glut of adrenaline that simultaneously spiked the hairs on my arms. Fight or flight.

  Written on the mirror, in red, was a single word.

  Now.

  The thud of my heart pounded right up to my throat and my stomach clenched. Quickly I slammed the cubicle door, re-locked it and stumbled backwards against the cold tiled wall.

  My focus blurred. A million different thoughts collided in my brain. I should scream for Dimitri, yell at the top of my lungs for him to come and save me.

  But what if Dimitri is the killer?

  He was, after all, standing outside, the only one with access to the restroom.

  Isn’t he?

  I dropped to the ground, looked beneath the cubicle wall. There were no other feet.

  Standing, I silently rested down the lid onto the toilet. Struggled to climb on it in my dress then peered over the top of the cubicle. In the mirror I noticed one other door shut, three away from mine.

  I suppressed a gasp. That meant I hadn’t been alone when I’d come into the ladies’. Someone had been hiding in here. Was it the man with the mustache’s accomplice? Perhaps I had not one but two crazy stalkers, a whole damn team of them out to get me.

  Heat rose up the skin on my chest and neck, a sharp prickling sensation that made my breath hard to catch. If only I had my cell. I could dial 911, Tommy, Meredith, anyone.

  No point thinking about if only’s, I had to get out. But how? If I opened the door and made a run for it, whoever was in here would simply reach out and grab me. If Dimitri was part of the ploy he would just stand outside and allow me to be murdered. And if he wasn’t in on it, perhaps he’d been silenced somehow by the man with the mustache, and wouldn’t be able to get in and save me.

  Perhaps he’d been murdered too.

  I wanted to vomit and cry all at the same time. They were going to spirit me away, bundle me out of the window and torture me, rape me, do all kinds of unimaginably horrible things before murdering me and dropping my body into the ocean for the sharks to feast on.

  The window.

  I turned to face it. All of a sudden it seemed like a key to the end of my nightmare. It was small, but I was smaller. It was high, but I was nimble and flying on adrenaline.

  Reaching up, I pushed it wide. Balanced my stiletto on the cistern and hoisted myself upward. I threw my purse through first. Heard it land outside on concrete with a crack that sounded like something inside splintering.

  My dress strained and complained but within a second my body was through the open window, feet first, and I slithered to the ground.

  I lunged for my purse and stayed squatting, trying to make myself small and invisible.

  There were no other windows along the wall other than the one I’d just used to escape. My stalker would soon figure out what I’d done and come after me. I had to get moving—fast.

  But where to?

  Tommy.

  I had to get to Tommy.

  I glanced left and right, tried to get my bearings, but I couldn’t work out which way would lead me to the front of the restaurant. I was definitely at the back, or maybe at the side. There were several garbage bins and a pile of empty boxes. Beyond a wire fence was the marina, black water holding bobbing white boats and in the far distance lights from a casino reflected on the ocean.

  Taking a chance, I moved from the shadows and headed right. After several stumbling, tottering steps I took off my shoes and let them swing from my fingers by their thin straps.

  There was a sudde
n noise behind me. A bang, like a cubicle door shutting forcefully in the restroom. Someone’s temper running dry because they’d lost me?

  I broke into a sprint, slapping my feet on the floor, my breaths sharding down my throat. I was in an alley now; it was dark and stank of rotting food.

  There was another noise behind me. Human, a grunt maybe. I picked up the pace, frantically speeding forward and then took a left, down another alley, narrow and long but with a light at the end.

  “India, come back here,” shouted a deep, gritty, mean voice that fueled my terror. Who the hell was that?

  I turned another corner. My slinky evening dress was too tight. I hitched it up to my panties and freed my legs completely. Risked a glance over my shoulder as I ran at full pelt.

  Nothing but blackness.

  Where is the front of the restaurant?

  Where is civilization?

  It was like living a nightmare. Racing through a maze, running for my life. No one to help me. No one to save me.

  The sound of breaking glass echoed towards me, ricocheting up the alley.

  I suppressed a scream and broke off to the left, down an alley so lean my shoulders almost touched each side. I stood on something sharp, felt it slice my flesh, but I ignored the sensation, kept moving. I had to get away. The wound would no doubt hurt like hell later but for now it was barely a tickle.

  Suddenly the alley spat me out.

  I slowed slightly, a shred of hope lighting within me. Perhaps now I would be able to find a police officer. Someone, anyone to help me.

  But as I looked around that shred of hope died. I was in a deserted part of the marina. Cut off by three sides. The only way back was the alley maze I’d just ran down.

  The black sea twinkled before me. Boats swayed like ghosts in the darkness. Silence except for the tinkle of ropes on metal masts and the quiet lap of water.

  I ran to the left. Nothing. Sprinted to the right. Nothing.

  Trapped.

  The rhythmic sound of feet pounding concrete thumped around the alley, tumbling out toward me.

  He was coming. I was nearly out of time.

  I dashed up the pier. The hard pavement turned to soft wood. The walkway ended and I leaped a gap of three feet onto a floating pontoon.

  What the hell am I going to do next? Swim?

  Fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse into a heap and sob, I looked back toward the shore.

  Nothing. No one.

  But for how much longer? I wasn’t a strong swimmer. The sparkling lights on the other side of the bay looked inviting but I wouldn’t be able to make it that far. No way.

  A clanking and the slop of water to my right caught my attention. There were a handful of deserted looking boats moored on the pontoon.

  A much better choice than the cold, deep water.

  With a swift bound I landed on the starboard end of the nearest one. Stilled briefly to see if the soft thud of my arrival had disturbed anyone, then tried the door.

  Thank the good Lord above. Open.

  I sneaked in. Clicked the latch shut and paused. Allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  I waited, waited some more. There was so little light that I could only make out the merest hint of furniture. But it was a big boat. I reckoned there must be another room somewhere ahead. But that would be the obvious one for my stalker to find me in.

  Stumbling to the right, I fumbled for a minute then found a door handle. Turned it, stepped in and shut it behind myself.

  As I ventured forward, pain suddenly attacked my shins as they hit hard wood. I pitched double, biting my lip so as not to cry out. I felt softness beneath my hands. A bed, covers and a mattress. Empty.

  My eyes filled with tears. A tremble started in the depths of my belly and worked its way outward, shivering along every nerve. I tugged at the cover, climbed onto the bed and curled up beneath the soft cotton sheet. I pulled it over my head and hugged my shoes and purse to my chest. Willed my panting to calm and become steady and silent, which was hard considering the urge to cry was almost as strong as the need to breathe.

  I closed my eyes, felt a tear trickle down to my ear and was aware of my hair sticking to my perspiring forehead. But I just lay there. Still, quiet, the beat of my heart vibrating through my body and my head spinning from my terror and exhaustion.

  Would my attacker follow me up the pier, onto the pontoon, onto this boat? Would he then rape and murder me? I didn’t want to die. I had so much to live for. So many more songs to sing, friends to make, and a lover to meet and completely hand over my heart to in the way my lyrics described.

  I strained to hear through the covers, trying desperately to make out footsteps or the click of a door. Though where I could run if I did hear anything I didn’t know. I was trapped. I’d cornered myself. A wave of nausea rushed through me and I rode through it as best I could, swallowing stiffly and hoping the noise wouldn’t carry.

  I longed for Tommy, to feel his arms around me. Or Meredith, telling me everything would be okay in the easy, take-life-as-it-comes way she had. Even Dmitri—if he wasn’t in on the plot to end my life—would be welcome right now.

  There was nothing to hear except lapping water and distant music. Slowly my breathing and heart rate returned to normal. I stayed curled up in a ball. I was twitchy, scared, but I willed myself to stay still until the morning. Light would be my friend. The day would be my savior.

  If I lived that long.

  * * * * *

  I was being rocked to sleep, lulled, cradled in my cocoon. I stretched out my legs and my toes hit a cool, smooth surface. Instantly I winced. A stinging pain in the sole of my foot traveled up my shin. I opened my eyes and saw my shoes and purse still clutched in my hands. I’d got it wrong. I was being rocked awake.

  Fear greeted me with all the grace of a meteor landing on my head.

  Gingerly I tugged the blanket from my face and was hit with stark daylight streaming through a window to my right. I blinked and became aware that I was looking out at a brilliant white-blue sky.

  What time is it?

  Sitting up, I noticed the rocking motion from my dream again, my body gently swaying this way and that.

  Shit. The boat is moving.

  My limbs felt heavy, but I forced them into action and scrabbled onto my hands and knees to look out of the long, oval-shaped window.

  The pontoon had gone, so had the shoreline. All I could see from this angle was an endless, watery horizon.

  There was another window, opposite. I scooted over and peered out. The same view. Nothing but dark blue water and a vivid, sun-soaked sky.

  A sudden bang, coming from above, caused me to gasp.

  Another bang then a voice. Deep and drawling. Rough and masculine.

  Next to the window a big bare foot appeared. Hairy ankle, skin the color of toasted biscuits.

  I snapped away and pulled the sheet over my head again. Slunk down on the bed and wished I would wake up and find myself at home, in my big, soft four-poster bed.

  Who is that man? My attacker? The owner of the boat?

  How the hell had I got myself into this crazy situation?

  “Hey, what the fuck is this, Jose? You cut yourself shaving again?”

  “Fuck you, Dillon.” Another voice, serious, and with the hint of an accent.

  There was a scrape and scuffle, a long pause. Then, “Fuck, I reckon we’ve got company.”

  To carry on reading Good Cop, Bad Cop please purchase from Amazon. Alternatively read for FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

  Both Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae write to pay the bills. Please help them and others continue to entertain you by only using reputable retailers. Also feel free to leave a review on Amazon if you have enjoyed Watching Her, reviews are like gold dust to authors and really do make a difference. Your time and support is hugely appreciated.