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Maria rushes to the door and I hear Chase. “Where is she?” he says, panicked. He practically runs into the room, and I jump up the moment I see him. His arms go around me in a tight embrace, and I rub my cheek against his solid chest. He cups my neck and holds me to him tightly. Behind him I hear Jack and Maria speaking. She shows him the flowers and the note. He takes pictures of both, and I squeeze Chase tighter. Another knock on the door has me trembling once more.

“Baby, you’re shivering,” he says and leads me back to the couch. I crawl into his lap like a child. He doesn’t seem to mind, just holds me tightly, pets my hair and caresses my back in long soothing swipes.

Tom comes in with a police officer in uniform. I grip Chase’s arms tightly. Seeing a police officer in my home reminds me of times I’d prefer to forget. Too many times a policeman or woman took my statement after I’d endured one of Justin’s beatings and the neighbors called the cops. I cringe at the memory and try to find the strength I need to get through this.

Everything happens so quickly I just go through the motions. The officer takes my statement; the card is put in plastic and taken for evidence. Even though the situation isn’t dire, Tom being a long time well-known and respected detective and Chase being personal friends with the Chief of Police means they aren’t taking any chances.

“Did the suspect ever contact you prior to this?” the officer asks and I shake my head.

“No,” I say, then stop for a moment. The weird text messages come to mind.

“What is it, Baby?” Chase notices the change in my demeanor.

“Um, maybe. Chase, can you grab my phone?” His eyebrows furrow and his jaw sets in a grim line. He pulls my phone out of my purse and hands it to me. My hands shake but I manage to bring up the texts. Chase grabs the phone before I can hand them to the officer and scans each one quickly.

“Fuck, Gillian. There are three and they start back over a week ago!” he says with contempt. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?” He shakes his head, holding his hand into a tight fist. He hands the phone to the officer. He reads them, taking notes.

“I didn’t think they were a big deal. And I…” I swallow the lump in my throat, realizing that not mentioning them was a bad idea. “I thought they were a wrong number and forgot about them until the flowers and the one I received today. I was…I was busy. I just ignored them.” I feel like a complete idiot now. Could Chase have done something sooner? It’s obvious this person has a crush on me. A secret admirer perhaps? Unless it’s Justin, and, if that’s the case, there’s not much anyone can do. He will find me, and, if he does, he may do worse than beat me up. He’s the only man besides Chase that has ever used the words “Mine” in reference to me.

“I’m going to keep this phone. See if we can trace the texts,” the officer says. “Maybe we’ll get a hit but it’s likely that the perpetrator used a phone you can buy at any department store for thirty bucks and toss it after.” I nod.

“Don’t worry about your phone. I’ll have a new phone delivered to the Penthouse tomorrow. One that has a tracking device and a new phone number.” Chase adds.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, not choosing to mention anything about the additional security. If it is Justin, I’ll need the extra security. “Are we done? I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Not here you’re not. Neither of you are staying here,” Chase gestures at Maria and I. Maria balks and protests but Tom stops her cold.

“You will stay with me,” Tom argues. “At least until this asshole is found.”

Maria rolls her eyes and stomps into her room complaining in Spanish. I choose not to argue with two over possessive pissed off males. In past experience, the combination can turn volatile. Tom follows Maria into her room, and I head to mine. Once inside I grab the suitcase I emptied a few days ago and plop it on my bed. Chase enters and leans against the wall. His appearance is more disheveled than usual and his hair looks like he’s combed his fingers through it a time too many.

“How long am I staying with you?” I ask over my shoulder wanting to pack the right amount of clothing.

“As long as it takes…forever maybe.” He pauses when I look up, trying to gage his sincerity. This is all happening far too quickly for my taste.

“Chase,” I start but am cut off by his arms around my waist and his chin nestled into the crook of my neck. I clasp my hands over his and lean back into him. I always feel so safe in his arms. But I’m not moving in with him and he has to know that. “I’m not moving in with you because some immature lovesick puppy is choosing to mess with my head.”

“We’ll see,” he says noncommittally.

I roll my eyes and turn to face him. I kiss him deeply and he nips at my bottom lip playfully, lightening the heavy mood. I love him more for that.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Gillian, I will always run to you, remember?” He smiles and kisses me softly again. “Now, let’s get your things.”

He helps me pull together a good week’s worth of clothing. He assures me that anything else will be taken care of. A messenger will pick up our mail each day and deliver it to both Maria and I. Our plants will be watered and the house will be watched. If the perpetrator tries to access the home, Chase’s people will know it.

***

The next few days go by in a blur. Chase has taken over-protective to an all-time high. First thing Friday morning, I’m introduced to my very own personal bodyguard. Austin looks like Sylvester Stallone on steroids. His nose has seen better days and looks as if it’s been broken a few times. His shoulders span a good three feet and he’s over six foot tall. The man couldn’t be a day over thirty but has already served a decade in armed forces. Even though I fought Chase on the concept of personal protection, I do prefer Rambo over the linebacker who hates me. At least Rambo doesn’t look at me with contempt and answers every question I ask with good manners saying, “Yes Ma’am, and No Ma’am.” His Southern drawl surprised me at first but I find the quality endearing.

“Will you be eating lunch in today, Ma’am?” he asks as we drive to the office.

“I’ll be meeting my girlfriends, but I’ll take a taxi,” I tell him.

“No can do, Ma’am. Sorry, against orders.”

“What orders?” I ask.

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