Page 50 of Emma's Element

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Nighthawk complex.”

Marcus kissed her cheek, “Thanks, Jolene.”

She stopped him before he could leave. “Just . . . be careful with her. She may seem like a warrior, but she’s fragile on the inside right now.” He nodded and headed out of the room.

The forty-minute drive to the Nighthawk complex gave him the time he needed to calm down . . . marginally. He was pissed that this had happened. What was he paying all those people for if they couldn’t handle one crazy fan? And how had all his people missed what was happening to her? He’d avoided reading or watching all media reports after he’d returned to LA, having asked his people to let him know about anything important, especially when it came to Emma and the Nighthawks.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t completely blameless. He was the one who left. He’d put Lake Haven and the Nighthawks behind him; it had hurt too much to even think of the place that had felt more like home than where he’d grown up in Pennsylvania. The Nighthawks, their women, Emma. They were his family. Why did he not see that back then? Graham had tried to talk him out of leaving, but he didn’t listen.Stupid ass!

He vowed to fix everything for Emma. As soon as he could, he’d contact Deputy McClintock. He wanted to get copies of those letters. Then he’d get his people working on finding this Titania. But first, he had to see Emma.

At the Nighthawk campus, he headed straight for the barracks, assuming that was where Emma was staying. But before he could make it two steps from his car, Graham stopped him. “Marcus, my office. Now,” he demanded.

“Be there in a minute,” Marcus replied, turning to head to the barracks again.

“She’s not there,” Graham informed him.

“Where is she then?”

“I’ll tell you after we talk in my office,” insisted Graham. Marcus sighed and followed Graham to his office.

After they were both inside with the door closed, Graham handed Marcus a folder of papers. “I took the liberty of printing out the letters.” Marcus grabbed the stack and glanced through them. So many letters, so many pictures. And not all of them were from Titania. “Take a minute and read through them. Then we’ll talk.”

Marcus sank into the chair in front of Graham’s desk and began reading. There were a few letters that were thoughtful and nice. They expressed their hope that Emma would be happy with Marcus. That he deserved a strong woman like her.

Then there were the others. So much hate. So much sleaze. Directed at Emma. He’d never read anything like it. Sure, he’d received hate mail; he’d even read most of it himself when he’d first started acting. But the more famous he became, the more people he had to handle the hate. He never had to see much of it. He was kept informed, but he never had to see the words. Not like Emma had reading all these.

The threats from Titania bothered him the most. The descriptions of how this person intended to harm her were disturbing, especially since the letters had been addressed to Emma’s home. Emma must have known she was being watched. After seeing the pictures himself, it was a wonder she’d left her home at all. She must have been looking over her shoulder every day. And she’d never told anybody.

When he finished reading, he sat with his head in his hands. The words had been horrifying enough, but the fact that her personal space had been violated . . . that killed him, the acid roiling again.

“Email the scans of these to me, please,” he asked Graham, who punched a few keys on his laptop. Marcus took out his cell and opened his email when it arrived. He forwarded it then made a call. “I’ve sent you an email with scans of letters,” he said when his private investigator answered. “Find the woman who calls herself Titania. When you do, contact me.” He hung up, having no doubt that his man would find her. And when he did . . . it wouldn’t go well for her.

He should have contacted his PI long ago, saving Emma all this shit. He’d thought putting his agent and the new publicist he’d hired in charge of keeping an eye on any media fallout with the Nighthawks would have been enough. He’d been willing to ignore the threats to himself from Titania, thinking she was just another crazy obsessed fan. But he would not tolerate any risks to Emma. If he had known what she’d been going through from the very beginning, he would have had his PI hunting Titania down months ago.

“I’d like in on that conversation when she’s found,” Graham said.

“Absolutely,” Marcus agreed. “Tell me what you know.”

Graham told him of the progress, or lack thereof, of the investigation. No fingerprints. Nobody heard or saw anything. No security cameras in the area had captured anything. She must have known where they were all located and how to avoid them. The equipment used to bug Emma’s apartment hadn’t been cheap. The sheriff’s office was working on tracing the serial numbers, but most had been filed off. So far, no luck in finding anything leading to Titania’s identity. Obviously, she was smart, cunning, and had unlimited funds.

“You should know, Emma has been working like mad to track the emails.” The thought of Emma hacking this person scared him. What if she was found out? Would her attempts to track Titania escalate things? “This person either knows what they were doing or hired someone who did. The source has been bouncing all over the globe. Emma is trying to develop a program to help, but so far, no luck. She says she’s close, though.”

“And Emma never told you any of this before her apartment was trashed?”

“No.”

“Damn stubborn woman,” Marcus muttered.

“That may be, but I think that stubbornness has kept her strong through all this.”

“How is she . . . really?”

“On the surface, she seems unchanged. But to those who know her, she’s different. The constant worry has changed her. Having men approaching her incessantly has changed her. But the break-in affected her more deeply than all the other shit. That’s the first and only time I’ve seen her truly scared. I’m pretty sure she never goes anywhere without being armed.”

“Shit,” Marcus muttered, standing to pace again, struggling to keep himself under control. He wanted to punch something, send his fist through the wall, or better yet, the person who threatened Emma. The need to howl in some primitive rage built like a tidal wave in his chest. He swallowed it down, breathing through the red haze.

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