Page 98 of Play Book

My gut tells me it’s a man, but I can’t think of anyone who hates me this much. I’ve never had ugly breakups. Mostly, I’m the one who ends up with the broken heart. Sure, I’ve turned down a lot of guys over the years, but I’m not obligated to go out with every guy who asks, so I’m not sure what this could be about. I’ve had my share of affairs, but even if I was okay with a term like slut, it didn’t apply to me.

Did it?

Did the fact that I’d been okay with just hooking up with Canyon somehow diminish me? The only people who know about that are my closest girlfriends, and there is no universe where they’re behind this.

For the first time since this started—and since the beginning of my career—I’m genuinely scared.

Even at the height of my fame as a model, no one ever said or did anything so overt. Now that I’ve decided to retire, something so ugly is happening, and I don’t like it.

Rage’s massive SUV pulls up, and I’m instantly out of my car.

“Motherfucker.” He looks pissed as he eyes the door. “How does this keep happening and no one catches him in the act? I’m going to find whoever it is. You have my word.”

Before I can help myself, I hug him. “Thank you.” I take a shaky breath. “And thank you for coming so quickly. You think they got inside?”

“Not a chance in hell.” He gently pats my back like I’m a little kid, obviously uncomfortable with my show of affection. “The new security system is top-notch. That’s why they did this on the back door, because they figured out they couldn’t get in again. But give me your keys and let me look around. Then I’ll check the cameras, see if we can get a glimpse of his face.”

“Okay.” I finally pull away, feeling better now that he’s here. I’m having a hard time with this and wish I could call Canyon, but there’s nothing he can do, and he has a game tonight. If I call or text, it’ll just distract him.

Besides, Rage is here, so I’m safe.

I hurry behind him, and he tells me to stay outside after I punch in the code to the alarm.

A minute later he calls to me, and I walk in.

“Everything is locked up tight.”

“Okay. Good.” I wrap my arms around myself as I look around. “This is freaking me out, Rage.”

“I know, hon.” He squeezes my arm. “Maybe you should close the gallery for a few weeks, give us time to figure this out.”

“I can’t. I’ve got those two art classes I’m teaching, plus I refuse to be driven out of my own gallery. Fuck that and fuck him. Or her.”

“I want to doublecheck everything at your house too, just in case.”

“Now?”

“We have to call the police first. Eventually, this guy is going to screw up and we want there to be a record of everything. Maybe even a fingerprint.”

“Do I have to stay?”

“No. You can go on home. I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

“Thanks, Rage.”

My good mood is gone as I get back in my car.

The excitement over the upcoming trip to New York and Harper’s pregnancy has faded into fear, worry, and self-doubt.

Fear about my safety at the gallery and maybe even at home.

Worry about how I’m going to function if this guy keeps stalking me.

Concern about the safety of my students and clients.

I’m doing my best not to let it freak me out, but the freak-out is winning.

Rage needs to catch this guy.

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