The Agent

by Herkness, Nancy

  “Give me an example of what they say.”

  “The first one was ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. No one sees beauty in you.’ Then they got worse, like, ‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever but you won’t be around that long.’”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “No. What could they do? Issue a restraining order against an unknown emailer?”

  She wasn’t wrong. “Okay. Did you get another one today?” She said she hadn’t received an email on Alice and Derek’s wedding day. Whoever was sending the messages knew she’d be too busy to read one. That showed a worrisome familiarity with her activities.

  “N-no. Worse.” Her voice quavered. “I went out for a couple of hours and when I got back, someone had left a piece of paper on my front porch. It says, ‘Beauty is only skin deep. What’s underneath your skin?’”

  Shit! His gut tensed. “Typed or handwritten?” He headed for the elevator.

  “Typed.”

  “I’m on my way. Just to be on the safe side, go upstairs to your bedroom and wedge a chair back under the doorknob. Don’t come out until you get a text from me that I’m at your front door.”

  “Oh, God! Is it that dangerous?”

  He hated to scare her, but criminals rarely surprised him in a good way. “He’s most likely gone, but better not to take a chance.”

  As soon as he got in his Maserati, he gunned it out of the garage.

  Chapter 5

  Natalie stood at her bedroom window, watching the road in front of her house and feeling like a coward. She didn’t regret calling Tully. Hearing his voice had knocked her fear down a notch. Although she still jumped at random noises, she no longer felt like her heart was trying to batter its way out of her chest.

  While she waited, she had searched the internet for information about stalkers. What she learned had not been reassuring. Most stalkers knew their victims. She racked her brain to come up with someone familiar who might fit the average stalker’s profile: Unemployed or underemployed. Male. Above-average intelligence. Thirty to forty years old. Often delusional. Suffers from personality disorders.

  Added to that, most stalkers were ex-spouses or ex-boyfriends. That pointed to her ex-husband, but would Matt suddenly decide to torment her three years after their divorce?

  The rumble of a powerful engine drew her attention back to the road. A wave of relief washed over her as the Maserati pulled into her driveway. Tully unfolded his long legs from the sleek black car, and a wave of pure, shocking sexual heat seared through her. She inhaled sharply and fought down the desire suffusing her body. That was a complication she didn’t need in this already-fraught situation.

  But she didn’t turn away from the window as he stood by the car and scanned around him. After a few moments, he strode across her front yard, so she unhooked the chair from under her bedroom doorknob and ran down the stairs. She started to disarm the alarm before she remembered that he’d said not to leave her room until he sent her a text. Her fingers stilled on the keypad.

  She waited, wondering what the hell was taking so long.

  When her phone chimed in the silence, she started, even though she’d been waiting for it.

  I’m on the porch.

  Her fingers flew over the alarm keys and she flung open the door. “Thank you so much for coming!”

  She had the urge to throw herself into his arms so that she could wrap herself in the protective bulwark of his strong, capable body. Then she saw his expression and the impulse died a speedy death.

  His mouth was a thin, hard line. His jaw was set at an uncompromising angle. His dark-gray eyes held about as much warmth as an iceberg. And he seemed even larger than she remembered, probably because controlled menace radiated from him. In his hand was a medium-size black duffel. She wondered if it held a gun.

  She took two steps backward, and his expression softened a fraction.

  “You were right to call me,” he said. “Cyberstalking is bad enough, but when the stalker invades your private space, it’s time to get help.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m glad or upset that you don’t think I’m overreacting.”

  He shook his head. “I’d like to see the emails you received.”

  She led the way to the kitchen island, where her laptop sat. He stood beside her, close enough that when she shifted to touch the trackpad, her elbow brushed against his arm, the brief contact sending a ripple of awareness across her skin.

  She focused on the screen, bringing up the succession of messages that she’d saved in a folder she’d labeled “Crazy,” in reference to both the emails and how they made her feel.

  “May I?” Tully gestured toward the keyboard and she shuffled sideways to give him access.

  He scrolled through the messages, his brows drawn down so deeply that a line formed between them. Pulling his cell phone from his back pocket, he tapped it and brought it to his ear. “Leland, I’ve got a problem I’d like you to take a look at ASAP. I’m sending you some email messages that Natalie received this past week. Let me know what you can find out about them.” He listened a moment. “Yeah, this is clearly cyberstalking, but it escalated today with a letter on her front porch.” Another pause on his end. “I plan to discuss that with her. Keep me posted.”

  She almost voiced her objection to roping Leland into her problem on a Sunday when she remembered that it was Tully’s day off as well, yet here he was. She pressed her lips together.

  Tully pulled a pair of thin rubber gloves and a plastic bag from his duffel and gestured toward the sheet of paper lying on the other side of the counter. “I assume that’s the message you found under your doormat.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yes.”

  He snapped on the gloves before he picked up the sheet, handling it by the corners as he examined it. “I’m going to send this to a lab to check for fingerprints and analyze the paper, ink, and printer.” He looked up at her. “Honestly, I don’t think we’ll get anything useful, but it’s worth a try.” He inserted the single sheet into the plastic bag and peeled the gloves off.

  “My fingerprints will be on it,” she said apologetically.

  He scooped up his phone and swiped a few times before holding it out to her. “If you just press your fingers on here, we can eliminate your prints. I promise to erase them immediately after we establish which are yours on the paper.”

  “No promises necessary. I trust you.” She placed her fingers on the squares glowing on the phone screen, surprised that she’d given him her trust so easily.

  “Okay, now we need to talk,” Tully said.

  Natalie headed for the sectional. “I’ve been trying to figure out who might be doing this.” She perched on the edge of a cushion while Tully settled into an armchair, his elbows braced on his knees as he focused on her face.

  “It’s most likely a man,” he said. “The majority of stalkers are male, particularly when a woman is being targeted.” His gaze gentled. “I don’t like to bring this up, but it’s often an ex-husband.”

  There it was. All the ugliness in her past. “I know. I read that online. So I’ve been thinking about my ex.” She hated to share the details of her private hell, but since Tully was here to help her, she needed to be honest with him. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I can see Matt playing this kind of cruel mind game because frankly, that’s what he did to me in our marriage. He manipulated my thoughts and emotions until I reached a point where I . . . I could no longer recognize myself.” She fought the sense of failure that still lingered from those bleak, destructive years. “So psychological torture is right up his alley.”

  Tully’s hands curled into fists. “Did he ever hit you?”

  “No.” She stared down at her fingers, which were twisted in her lap. “Sometimes I wish he had. That would have made it crystal clear to me that I was in an abusive relationship.” She might have left before so much damage had been done to her soul.

  “He was clever. He knew that
would make you leave.” Tully flexed his fingers open. “So we need to take a long hard look at Matt. What’s his full name?”

  “Matthew Walter Stevens.” Natalie shook her head. “But it doesn’t make sense. We’ve been divorced for three years. He’s got a live-in girlfriend who’s fifteen years younger than he is, which gives his ego the strokes he needs. He has no reason to suddenly come after me.”

  “You can never tell what will trigger someone. Maybe the girlfriend dumped him. Or she’s pressuring him to get married. Maybe he lost his job or someone got promoted over him.”

  “But what would be the point of tormenting me? I have no contact with him anymore. Frankly, I think he’s done his best to erase me from his life because he feels he was the loser in that situation.”

  “Okay, what about anyone you’ve dated since the divorce? Or turned down?”

  She shook her head. “No dates. No rejected suitors.”

  He sat up straight, shock written on his face. “In three years you haven’t even been asked on a date? That’s unbelievable.”

  She smiled while she tried to decide if he meant it or was just being polite. “I’m not interested and guys pick up on that . . . for the most part.”

  “So someone has asked?”

  “It never gets that far.” She gave him a wry look. “There are ways to stop the conversation before it reaches an actual invitation.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched upward for a moment before he asked, “Anyone who seemed especially unhappy that you halted the conversation?”

  “I’ve tried to come up with someone who gave off that kind of . . . I don’t know . . . obsessive vibe, but no one sticks out.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Okay. Let’s move on to other possibilities. Disgruntled customers? Competitors?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure there are a few, but are they unhappy enough to stalk me? No.” Then a thought struck her, one she hadn’t considered before. “Oh!”

  “What?” He leaned forward again, his attention focused.

  “There’s this other thing I do that maybe . . .” She tapped her bottom lip with her index finger before she gave him a level look. “It’s not something I talk about, for reasons which will become obvious, so I’ll ask for your discretion.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got it.”

  She knew that already but she had to hear him say it. “Hairstylists are kind of like bartenders. Our customers tell us things—sometimes deeply personal things. My clients know that I’m divorced, so they sometimes open up about their marital issues.” She shifted on the sofa. “There are times when I recognize that they might need some help. I take them into my office at the salon and privately offer them my guest room here whenever they might need a safe place to stay, no questions asked. That’s one reason I bought this house. It’s private and has the self-contained guest suite.”

  Because she’d had no safe place to run to when she had needed it.

  “You’re courageous to do that,” Tully said. “But it opens up a whole new field of possibilities. How many women have you housed here?”

  “Here? Three. However, I used to let them stay with me in the apartment over the salon before I moved into this place. There were two who took me up on it back then.”

  “So five potentially angry husbands or ex-husbands.” Tully blew out a breath and ran his hand over his hair. “How many ended up divorced?”

  “All but one.” The one wife had gone back because she had small children and her husband had agreed to intensive marital counseling. When she came into the salon now, she looked drawn and exhausted, but she said they were making progress. “You can see why I don’t talk about it. I don’t want those angry husbands showing up on my doorstep, terrifying their wives.”

  “Besides the five women, who knows you’ve done this?”

  “Alice and Dawn, of course. One of my stylists, who’s completely trustworthy.” Gino had been her mentor when she started working at the Mane Attraction as a new stylist. He would never breathe a word of her secret.

  “Any of the husbands?”

  Natalie considered for a moment. “I don’t think so. None of them have confronted me. I ask that no one reveal where they stayed, but you never know what might come out in the heat of a divorce proceeding.”

  “Can you ask them if they let it slip?”

  “I can try. I don’t know if they would be honest with me. They might be embarrassed that they told their ex-husbands.”

  “However, if they do admit to giving away your secret, that would give us a starting point,” Tully said. “Make sure they understand the urgency of your question. I’ll need their names, their ex-husbands’ names, and their current and/or previous addresses. All to be kept in confidence, of course.”

  She nodded, thinking of the five women who’d spent time with her. Two had moved away after their divorces, so she no longer saw them. Another had remarried very quickly, and Natalie prayed that she hadn’t gone from one bad marriage to another. Her most recent guest had left eight days ago. “I’ll email you as much information as I have.”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t have anywhere to go when you left Matt,” Tully said, his tone gentle.

  “Oh, I went home to my mother,” Natalie said. “She didn’t understand.” In fact, she’d subjected Natalie to a barrage of criticism and pressured her to return to Matt. Natalie had nearly buckled under the stress of getting it from both sides because Matt had tried to woo her back too. He couldn’t believe she had actually had the nerve to leave him.

  “Different generation,” Tully said.

  “No, unsupportive mother,” Natalie said bluntly. “Why would I leave a good provider who didn’t physically abuse me?” She laughed without a trace of humor. “Another reason it would have been easier if he’d hit me.”

  “That’s rough,” Tully said with a sympathetic wince. “Your mother should be there for you, no matter what.”

  “I didn’t stay with her long.” Fortunately, the tenant in the apartment at the salon was leaving in a few weeks, so Natalie had gritted her teeth and toughed it out until she could move in there. Those weeks had felt like an eternity of being battered by a whirlpool of conflicting currents.

  “Sounds like that was a good thing.” Tully’s expression sharpened again. “We need to talk about where you’re going to stay until we get this resolved.”

  “What do you mean? I can’t leave. I have a salon to run.” But she frowned as she realized she would be alone in the house that the stalker was watching.

  “It would be safer if you changed locations.”

  “Maybe I could stay with one of my stylists.” She shook her head as a thought struck her. “No, I won’t do that. It might put them in danger too.”

  “You can’t stay here alone. It’s too isolated and the stalker has proven that he’s watching you.” He gave her a gimlet stare. “I’m going to send a bodyguard to stay with you. You don’t have anyone else who needs your guest room now, do you?”

  “That’s a nice offer, but I’ve got the alarm system and I’ll make sure the police know what’s going on. The chief’s wife is a client of mine. I also have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it. Dawn has made sure of that with all her self-defense classes.” She gave him a smile to soften her refusal.

  “You asked for my help. You need to accept it.” Tully’s tone brooked no disagreement.

  Shock and a touch of irritation straightened her spine. “You’re right. I asked for your help and I am very appreciative of everything you’re doing. However, now that I know what I’m dealing with, I will take precautions.”

  He made a slashing gesture that brushed her words aside. “Most stalkers are not violent, but I’m not going to have it on my conscience if you get hurt.”

  She should have guessed that he would take personal responsibility. But although it might be sincere, his statement was also a touch manipulative. She’d learned to recognize that from her experience with Matt. �
��Look, if you insist on sending me a bodyguard, I insist on paying for the service.”

  He shook his head. “This falls under KRG’s Small Business Initiative. Free assistance to small- business owners who need it. And you need it.”

  She could tell his answer had been prepared ahead of time, but she had a response for him. “This is personal, not business.”

  “We haven’t established that. Besides, if you are out of commission, your business will suffer. You’re the key person.”

  “Do you have an answer for everything?” she snapped in exasperation.

  She caught a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “If I did, I’d be able to tell you who your stalker is.”

  “You must annoy the hell out of your partners,” she said, her own lips starting to curl upward.

  He snorted. “I’ll text you the bodyguard’s name and photo as soon as I get things set up. But I’m going to give you a series of code phrases to confirm identity when the guard arrives here.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to the bodyguard.”

  “You said you wanted to pay for it.” He tried to look bland but didn’t quite pull it off. “Do you have a piece of paper so I can write down the codes?”

  She retrieved a pad and pen from a kitchen drawer and walked back to where Tully sat. Handing them to him, she stayed by his chair as he wrote. When he finished, she bent slightly to read what he’d jotted down, his closeness bringing that hum of physical awareness back to life.

  Bodyguard: I’m here to take a look at the toilet you’re having a problem with.

  Natalie: I didn’t expect you to come on a Sunday.

  Bodyguard: The boss says you’re a good customer, so you get special treatment.

  “Okay,” she said, although she wanted to make a disappointed comment about how mundane it was. She’d expected something more exotic.

  “The bodyguard will use those exact words. You should too. No variations from either of you.” Tully folded the paper in quarters and handed it to her, their fingertips brushing so her skin tingled. “Read along as you both talk.”