Page 125 of Reckless

“In Minneapolis. In a bookstore. She approached me and… She saw me with Krista.”

I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I’m already running for the bedroom to grab my shoes and a t-shirt. I don’t give a shit about anything else.

“Call Riggs,” I yell at Luther as I come storming back into the room.

“Already have. He’s at the hotel, he’s got his eyes on her.”

Shit, my temper and my fear get the better of me and I lunge at him, punching him hard across his jaw. It hurts like hell, but I don’t care about the pain or consequences, I don’t care about anything but making sure Krista is safe.

"You should have fucking told me!" I yell at him.

Blood trickles from a cut on his lip. I want to hit him again, harder, but he doesn’t do anything to fight back, just clenches his jaw, taking it. It's obvious he feels bad he missed this, and so he damn well should.

"Her safety is more important than mine," I growl at him. "I'll never fucking forgive you if anything happens to her."

I spin away from him, unable to look him in the fucking eyes anymore. I wrack my brains trying to think if I saw the woman anywhere else. Nothing comes to mind. I was too focused on Krista. And hiding my face. I made a conscious effort not to look at the people around me.

“I’ll arrange the jet and get local law enforcement to the hotel.”

“Don’t you dare fucking scare her,” I snarl.

“It will be best to get her to safety.”

“No,” I cut him off.

As much as I want Riggs to grab her and get her far away from that place, I know she will not want to do that. Plus, she’s surrounded by hundreds of people. What could the woman possibly do to her with all those witnesses?

She may not even be there, I don’t want Krista to be afraid. Dragging her away from the convention will do that. My head is torn in two, wanting to protect her and wanting her not to fear me or my lifestyle.

Damn it, her safety is more important than that. I’ve seen firsthand what these crazy stalkers are capable of. I’d never been so fucking scared when I found a woman in my house. She had nothing on her when I found her, but there was a gun in her car. Her crazy plan was to kidnap me, but I got back earlier than she expected. Before she brought the things she needed to take me, she wanted to roll around on my bed in my dirty laundry.

Fuck.

“I’ll call her on the way to the airport. I want her to hear this from me. Then Riggs can go sit at her fucking side. Just tell him to stay close.”

Luther lifts his phone as we hurry out of the front door. It’s going to take at least three and a half hours to fly there and however long it takes to get the plane sorted.

It’s too long, it’s too far away. I might have said it to Luther, but the truth is, if anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.

Chapter 30

The queues have been insane, never-ending, but I’m happy. I don’t give a damn my hand is cramping, and my voice is going hoarse from talking to so many people. I love this. It’s beyond my wildest dreams that people even want to come and talk to me, never mind stand and chat, laughing and joking with the other fans waiting in line.

Friends are being made here, and it’s beautiful to see.

Emily has kept things organized the whole time, making sure I’m happy, that the fans aren’t taking too long, but not interrupting too much. She’s adept at dealing with things like this and is personable and chatty. People love her instantly.

This event is so well run. I’m not concerned in the slightest about things going wrong. There are more people than last year. It can only be a good thing. More people reading always makes my heart sing.

The people in line are gracious enough to wait while I run to the bathroom. It’s right out of the hall we’re in and down past the reception desk, which is inconvenient, but I’m desperate, having drank so much water. I hurry along without paying attention to anyone or anything.

While I’m in the cubicle, the main door opens and closes. I’m slightly perturbed when the person enters the cubicle right next to me. There are a lot of empty stalls. I would never do that, but maybe that is just me being weird.

When I’m done, I come out and head to the sinks to wash my hands, eyeing the closed door. I’m not sure why it’s making me feel uneasy.

I roll my eyes at myself and start thinking about this afternoon’s panel. I’m looking forward to sharing the stage with some amazing authors I’ve admired for a long time. I’m nervous they’re going to grill me about my change from traditional to indie publishing, but I was happy with my choice at the time, and still am now.

The cubicle door starts to open behind me, and I lift my eyes to the mirror to see who it is. But before they step out, the door to the bathroom bangs open and four women come in, all chattering excitedly. One of them does a double take as her friend rushes into the bathroom, shouting out about not making it if she doesn’t get in there right now.

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