Page 21 of Captured

To the man’s career.

I often hated Mr. Romero but he was seeking tenure and the rather avant garde program he’d convinced the college administrators would bring in more dollars than the normal year would either make the man a legend, at least in his own mind, or a ridiculous flop. So he was nervous and rightfully so.

Everything hinged on this single performance, the auditorium packed with patrons and sponsors, other professors and even talent agents. I don’t know how he’d done it, but Mr. Romero had managed to snag some big names to watch our final performance.

I was nervous as a kitty cat, trying to keep my cool. I had a solo performance, the very one I’d used when applying for a position with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. I knew it backwards and forwards, capable of playing it in my sleep. However, there was one teensy tiny difference tonight.

My father had taken time off his oh-so busy schedule to come to a single performance of the year. Why? Well, I had my sinking suspicions that he was doing it to try to garner business from the wealthy and influential patrons sitting in the audience. My father never did anything without a reason, and he certainly couldn’t care less about his only child.

And still, for some crazy reason, I wanted to continue pleasing him. It was crazy really since my two bodyguards had spent more time with me while growing up than my own father had. Jessup and Carson had been with the family since… Since the incident with my mother, keeping me in a protected shell. They both stood in the corridor outside the main stage, waiting with evil but proud grins on their faces. We weren’t friends but at least they were kind to me.

Unlike my bastard of a father.

My friends had gotten used to seeing the two of them around, neither man interfering but always keeping a watchful eye. However, stories had been ‘made up’ about the reason they were constantly by my side including my father had ties to the mafia. In truth, my friends and fellow classmates had no clue how close to the truth they’d gotten.

I was no fool. I’d overheard conversations and seen strange, dangerous men dressed in the finest men’s suits enter my father’s house for business transactions. I’d even looked up a few, one of them the firstborn son of one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in New York. While my father would deny it, my guess was that he’d been well funded by multiple criminal organizations over the years, which had garnered him power beyond his wildest dreams.

I had also long suspected the reason my mother had been murdered was because of his unsavory connections. It was a topic I’d broached with my father only once. I’d gotten the silent treatment even more than usual for a solid three months. After that, he’d sat me down in his office, explaining in no uncertain terms that I was never to mention it again.

Of course, after that I’d learned to pick locks and snoop. What I’d found had been eye-opening but not damning. My father was far too careful to keep a close eye on his activities and anything criminally related away from prying eyes.

I was grateful to be getting out from under his web of deceit. All I had to do was to get through this last night of torture with the man and I was golden.

My thoughts drifted to Tyler. I still couldn’t believe he was dead, murdered. Not just murdered but slaughtered as if the killer had been making a statement. I glanced out the crack in the thick velvet drapes, wondering if the mystery stalker was in the audience. I’d been certain whoever he was had been outside, standing in the blinding electric storm watching the house.

I’d even anticipated finding him in my room at some point. I’d awakened, certain he was standing in the corner, forever watching me. The power had been out for hours, which meant the security system had been down.

The worst thing about sensing his presence had been the confirmation in the morning.

There’d been a single rose located in my bathroom, greeting me the moment I’d walked inside. It was white in color, my favorite. How would anyone know that? I still felt sick inside, the police asking questions all the way up to this afternoon. My dad had been furious when he’d found out I’d left under the guise of a lie, ditching my bodyguards.

He’d lectured me for a full two hours on my safety and why I was incapable of looking out for myself. He’d even threatened to cancel his permission for me to go to New York.

That’s when I’d told him in no uncertain terms that I was an adult and would go whether he liked it or not.

I’d never seen his face turn so red in my life. But I’d won the round, the man storming out of the house. That’s why I’d initially been so surprised he’d been insistent on being here and taking me to dinner afterwards. Not that I wanted to eat at nine-thirty at night, but I had a feeling I couldn’t refuse him.

As horrible as the murder was, even worse was the fact that not once had my father asked a single question about Tyler or Cara. He hadn’t given a shit a young man with so much potential had lost his life in such a horrible manner.

Or maybe worse still was the fact I’d told a white lie to protect Cara. I’d said I hadn’t seen him since he’d retired to the tent with my bestie. I couldn’t tell her the truth. It would have destroyed her even more than she was at this point.

I was sick inside that she’d refused to see me. I wanted to comfort her, to be by her side but what could I say?

As I looked out into the audience again, I was certain he was here. My stalker. The man who’d been in my room.

The storm from three nights before had been wild, the loss of electricity cutting not only the power but the security system as well. I was certain that’s how the man had gotten inside in the cloak of darkness. For at least the second time.

Maybe there’d been more and no one had noticed. Or the guy was damn good at breaking and entering. My thoughts drifted back to the night he’d fucked me, which I was surer of than before.

I’d still been able to feel the effects of his savage spanking a couple of days later, although there’d been no redness the next morning, no indication I’d had anything other than a dark, demented dream. But I was positive he’d taken me the night before, cleaning up after himself so there wouldn’t be any evidence should I decide to tell my father.

Which I hadn’t.

But there was no doubt the time was running out. He was coming for me.

Hungering for me.

And this time, he’d capture me like a sweet little sparrow added to his collection. Or like the angel he believed me to be.

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