The Agent

by Herkness, Nancy

  “I understand.” She straightened and slipped the paper into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “You think I’m being overly cautious,” he said, “but I’ve learned from hard experience that you can’t be too careful. So humor me.” He smiled fully for the first time since they had started talking about the stalker, accentuating the indent in his chin and the slight dimple in one cheek. It was such a contrast to his stern professional demeanor that it sent another thrill of heat through her.

  “Now that you’ve foisted a guard on me, what next?” she asked.

  “We’ll see what Leland finds out. You report any new messages to me immediately. You contact the ex-wives to see what you can find out.” He pinned her with those intense gray eyes. “But your main job is to stay safe.”

  She sat down on the sofa again. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful about the bodyguard because I really appreciate your concern. I just”—she waved her hand in a gesture of frustration—“find this whole situation so surreal. I’m a hairstylist in a small suburban town in New Jersey. Why on earth would anyone stalk me?”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re a successful businesswoman who had the strength to escape from a bad marriage. You help other women escape from bad situations.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “You’re beautiful and desirable. Any of those things can trigger a stalker.”

  His words exploded around her like fireworks, igniting every inch of her body. For a long moment, she didn’t breathe. He found her desirable. She somehow gave him a sideways smile. “I think that might be a compliment, so thank you.”

  “It’s definitely a compliment.” His gaze roamed her face in a way that sent the heat up a notch.

  She thought again about asking him to stay. He could be her bodyguard . . . with an emphasis on the body. No, bad idea. She was still recovering from one domineering man. She didn’t need another one in her life, even just for sex.

  When she didn’t respond, he looked away. “I’d better get back to the office. I’ll let you know when Leland has answers for us.”

  “I’ll let you know what the ex-wives say as soon as I reach them.”

  He nodded. “Everything locked, all the time, including your car doors when you’re driving. Only open the door to people you know and trust one hundred percent . . . and the bodyguard, of course. Do you work tomorrow?”

  “The salon is closed but I go in to do paperwork, check supplies, and generally prep for the week.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, it’s everyone’s day off.”

  “Except yours.”

  “You know what owning a business is like.” She gave a smile. “No one works harder than the boss.”

  “The bodyguard goes with you and stays with you.”

  “While I’m inside the salon? It has an alarm.” Just as well he wouldn’t let her pay for the guard. She couldn’t afford all those hours anyway.

  “Set the alarm as well.”

  He wasn’t joking, and a tremor of fear ran down her spine. She had to remember that paranoia was a professional necessity for Tully. He would think of her stalker in the same way he thought of a drug lord or a gun dealer. Whoever was sending her the messages couldn’t be on the same level of scariness.

  “Okay,” she said. “You win, even if it seems like overkill.”

  “Good decision.” He reached out to feather his fingertips over her cheek again. “I don’t want anything to happen to my dance partner.”

  His touch reverberated through her long after he walked out the door.

  As Tully pulled his Maserati onto the road in front of Natalie’s house, he activated the car’s voice recognition system. “Call Pam Santos,” he commanded. When she answered, he said, “I need you for a bodyguard job in Jersey. A woman is being stalked but we don’t know by whom or how dangerous the stalker might be. You’re with her 24-7. You up for it?”

  “You know it, boss. Just give me the info.”

  He filled her in on Natalie’s situation. “Use the plumber code phrases. Natalie’s expecting them.”

  “How long should I pack for?”

  “Say three days. We should be able to catch the son of a bitch by then.” Tully hoped three days would be enough.

  “I’ll be at Natalie’s within two hours.” Pam disconnected.

  “Call Leland,” Tully commanded the car next.

  “I don’t have much good to tell you,” Leland said as soon as he answered.

  Tully swallowed a frustrated curse. “Lay it on me, partner.”

  “I’ve tracked all but one of the emails. The stalker isn’t a total amateur. He bounced his message through a couple of extra servers on the dark web.”

  “Child’s play for you to follow,” Tully said.

  “Yes, but they all lead back to internet cafés scattered around New Jersey. Never the same one twice. Always paid for in cash so there’s no money trail.”

  “They might have security cameras,” Tully said, but Leland would have thought of that too.

  “I contacted three and the answer is no. They feel every citizen has the right to use the net without being watched by Big Brother.” Leland’s tone turned sardonic.

  “You hackers are all paranoid,” Tully poked at his partner.

  “With good reason.” Leland’s southern drawl was unruffled. “Sorry I don’t have better news.”

  Tully huffed out a breath. “I hate smart perps.” Unfortunately, many stalkers were of above-average intelligence. It made them that much harder to capture. “Thanks for letting me steal time from your day off.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Leland sounded annoyed. “I’ll keep working on the last email. Maybe he slipped up somehow.”

  “I appreciate it.” Tully disconnected and smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Damn!”

  Back to basics, then. Currently, his money was on the ex-husband, who sounded like a rat bastard. The puppeteer wouldn’t want to give up control of his precious puppet. Even though it had been a while, Natalie’s ex might suddenly feel the need to pull her strings again. Tully would get his best investigator to dig deeply into what Stevens’s personal and financial life looked like right now. Also if the guy knew anything about computers.

  The ex-wives’ club was more complicated and less probable, in his opinion. The divorced husbands were more likely to stalk their former wives than the woman who gave them a temporary sanctuary, especially an anonymous one. He supposed it was possible that the ex-husbands might stalk both their former wives and Natalie. He would check into any reports of stalking filed with the police.

  He would also give the police chief of Cofferwood a call, just to reinforce Natalie’s report.

  Finally, he needed to get his own reactions to Natalie under control. He’d gone too far when he’d told her she was desirable, even though it was true and pertinent to the situation. She’d vividly demonstrated to him—he winced at the memory—that she had ways to shut down a conversation before she needed to say no.

  Yet he could have sworn she’d felt the pull between them too. He was pretty damn good at reading body language, partly from training and partly from natural ability. So he trusted his instincts. But she wasn’t acting on it, so he needed to let it go. He just wished regret didn’t twist in his chest quite so hard.

  That scumbag Stevens had probably soured her on men permanently.

  “Or maybe she just doesn’t like you as much as you think,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror. “So try not to be an asshole about it.”

  Chapter 6

  A tall red-haired woman wearing a navy blazer over a simple white blouse and jeans looked into the camera at Natalie’s front door. “I’m here to take a look at the toilet you’re having a problem with.”

  Natalie had to suppress a giggle before she read from the script, “I didn’t expect you to come on a Sunday.”

  The woman said her next line in such a normal tone that Natalie’s giggl
e escaped as she pulled open the door. The woman looked surprised.

  “I’m sorry, but you don’t look anything like a plumber,” Natalie said, struggling to stifle her laughter as she waved the woman inside. It was partly nerves and partly relief that had her chuckling. “I guess you know I’m Natalie.” She held out her hand.

  “Pam Santos.” The woman gave her a firm handshake and then grinned. “Okay, I think Tully’s plumber routine is kind of funny too.”

  “Would you like me to show you where you’ll be staying?” Natalie asked, eyeing the leather duffel bag Pam held in her left hand.

  “First, I’d like to familiarize myself with the layout of your house.” Pam set the duffel down at the foot of the stairs, the movement tightening her blazer so it outlined the shape of the gun she had in a holster underneath it.

  “Of course.” Anyone Tully sent would take the job seriously. However, it freaked her out a little that Pam was wearing a gun. Her stalker had done nothing more than send some vaguely sinister messages.

  As Natalie led Pam through the house, the bodyguard checked windows, doors, and closets with the same thoroughness Tully had shown the night before. She also moved with the same noiseless footsteps, despite sporting black boots with low square heels. Evidently, stealth—even with boots on—was a job requirement.

  “I looked around outside before I rang the bell,” Pam said as they walked back into the living room. “There’s a lot of vegetation. I’m going to talk to the boss about installing cameras.”

  Natalie interpreted that to mean the stalker could easily hide among the trees and shrubs. “Thank you,” she said before she glanced at her watch to find it was a little after five. “Would you like coffee? Or beer or wine? Or a Manhattan?” She needed one of the latter.

  “I’m on duty, so coffee would be great,” Pam said. “Black, please.”

  As Natalie started the coffee, Pam strolled back to the sliders Tully had disapproved of and stared through them with a frown. The low-slanting sun turned her beautiful red hair to flame, and Natalie’s fingers itched to give it a cut that would suit Pam’s slightly square face better than the low ponytail it was pulled into.

  “Have you dealt with stalkers before?” Natalie asked.

  Pam shook her head. “Just studied cases about them. They can be pretty twisted.”

  “Twisted?” A shiver ran down Natalie’s spine as she poured a mug of coffee.

  “Mentally,” Pam said. “They tell themselves a lot of lies, like that their victim loves them but doesn’t realize it yet.” She took the coffee with a smile of thanks. “It’s a strange mindset.”

  “But most are not violent.” Natalie went back to the kitchen to mix herself that Manhattan.

  “Most, but better safe than sorry,” Pam said. “That’s every bodyguard’s motto.”

  The next morning, Pam helped Natalie clear the breakfast dishes. “We’ll take two cars,” the bodyguard said. “I’ll follow you. Don’t get out of your car until I’m there beside your door and give you the okay.”

  “Got it,” Natalie said, loading the dishes in the dishwasher. She hated to admit it but she liked having the hypervigilant Pam around.

  “I’m going to check the front porch for messages. Your security camera doesn’t cover low enough to see that.” Pam headed down the hallway, silent as always, and Natalie held her breath. “Nothing here,” the other woman called out.

  Natalie exhaled in a whoosh. There’d been no email either. Maybe Pam’s presence had scared the stalker away.

  When Natalie pulled into the small parking lot beside her salon, Pam’s big black SUV came right behind her, a comforting presence with its menacing size and color. Natalie felt a little foolish as she waited until Pam signaled she could get out. With the sun flickering through the spring leaves, the shoppers strolling along the brick-paved sidewalk, and the constant stream of passing cars, it seemed ridiculous to take such precautions.

  Pam insisted on going first, her stride long and athletic as they walked around to the back entrance of the two-story Victorian that was home to the Mane Attraction. Natalie had painted the house a soft shade of lavender with butter-yellow trim to make it eye-catching. She got out the keys and unlocked the glossy purple back door, which led into a small back foyer with access to the stairs to the apartment and to the basement. Pam went in first, sweeping through the small space and checking the staircase. “It’s clear,” she said as she tried the door to the basement and found it locked.

  Natalie stepped in and unlocked the door that led to the bright open kitchen, which the staff used to eat and relax in. She disarmed the alarm—placed inside the kitchen door so her upstairs tenant didn’t have to deal with it—and relocked the door while Pam prowled through the salon. There were a lot of rooms to check, so Natalie set up the coffee machine while she waited, tracking Pam’s progress by the sound of doors opening and closing.

  “Shit!” Pam’s voice came from somewhere up front.

  Natalie’s shoulders tensed. “What is it?”

  “You’d better come to the front door,” the other woman called back.

  Natalie walked quickly down the hall beside the front staircase with its ornately carved oak bannister. When she got to the reception desk that wrapped around the foot of the now-unused stairs, she saw Pam holding an unfolded sheet of paper by one corner. The woman looked up with a grim expression. “Another message.”

  All the fear she’d thought was vanquished roared through Natalie again, and her stomach tried to force her breakfast back up her throat. She swallowed hard. “What does it say?”

  “‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Pretty soon it won’t be you.’ It was on the hall floor, so I assume it was slipped under the front door.”

  “I guess I need to put some weather stripping along there,” Natalie tried to joke until she realized something disturbing, and her breakfast started to rise again. “So my stalker must know that I come to the salon on Monday even though it’s closed.”

  “It’s not uncommon for a stalker to be familiar with his victim’s daily routines,” Pam said in a soothing voice. “It doesn’t mean he’s going to interfere with you physically.”

  “But it means he’s watching me.” A shudder ran through Natalie. “He’s like one of those indestructible masked killers from a slasher movie. A faceless bogeyman.”

  “I have to admit that the anonymity isn’t typical. Most stalkers want your attention. That’s the point. This one is taking care not to be identified.” Pam laid the paper down on the reception desk. “I don’t want to leave you alone to go to my car to get an evidence bag. Do you have a plastic baggie I could use to protect the letter?”

  Natalie fetched a bag and looked at the paper after Pam had carefully sealed it. It was exactly like the one from her front porch except for the words. Now that the shock was past, rage boiled through her veins. The stalker was playing with her, trying to make her afraid of her own shadow because she didn’t know whom the messages were coming from. “Damn it, I’m not going to curl up in a ball and shake with fear! I’m going to find out who this creep is.”

  Pam shook her head. “Please don’t do anything to endanger yourself. That would get me in trouble with the boss. Let him do the investigating. He’s good at it.”

  “I won’t be stupid but I’m going to contact my previous houseguests right now and find out what they told their ex-husbands. Even Tully said that was okay.”

  An hour later, Natalie leaned back in her desk chair and let her gaze travel around the small, familiar room with its cream-painted desk and pale blue carpeting. It was feminine and restful—her retreat from the constant noise and movement of the salon.

  Honestly, she found the Monday silence somewhat eerie, even when she wasn’t being stalked. The whir of blow-dryers and the continual twitter of voices represented life and success to her. Without them the salon felt a little desolate.

  She looked at the legal pad with all the co
ntact information she’d gathered about the ex-wives. She’d reached two of the women. Both had sworn—up, down, and sideways—that they hadn’t mentioned her name to anyone. She was inclined to believe them because they were grateful, and they didn’t want to screw things up for the next person who needed a safe place to stay. She’d left voice mails for the other two, just simple requests to call her back.

  Regina Van Houten, her most recent refugee, was a problem, though. Her cell phone was no longer in service, and Natalie had no new address for her. However, Natalie would bet money Regina hadn’t told her husband where she’d taken refuge. The young woman was terrified of him, saying he’d threatened to throw her down the stairs and tell the police it was an accident. He’d convinced Regina that no one would believe her version of the story because he was the scion of a wealthy family who had been in the area for generations, while she was a newcomer he’d plucked off a farm in Nebraska and married a year before.

  Natalie’s cell rang, making her jump. The fact that her cell phone could scare her pissed her off. She checked the caller ID to discover it was Tully, and her anger turned into an entirely different kind of heat. “Hello, Tully. Thanks for sending Pam. She’s not only a great bodyguard but good company too.”

  “I figured you’d be more amenable to being protected if you liked your guard.” He sounded pleased. “I sure slept a lot better last night knowing Pam was with you.”

  Oh, God! There was that image of Tully’s well-muscled body draped in nothing but bedsheets again. He needed to stop talking about his sleep. “Honestly, I slept better too.”

  All softness drained from his voice. “Yeah, but Pam told me about the new message.”

  “What did Leland find out about the emails?” Natalie asked.

  Tully huffed out a breath. “Nothing useful. The stalker is paying cash at internet cafés without video cams to send his messages. And there were no prints on the letter.” His tone gentled. “But I didn’t really expect much this soon, so there’s no need for concern. We’ll catch him.”