Page 10 of The Agent
“No, I don’t think so. I have the alarm set and the doors and windows locked. I have my pepper spray. And I have you on the phone.”
His level of concern eased slightly. “That’s all good. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ve been getting these weird email messages every day for almost a week ... except yesterday.” Her breath hitched before her voice went on. “They’ve all come from different addresses and have just a short message in them, always something about beauty. Sort of a reference to my salon.”
“Give me an example of what they say.”
“The first one was ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. No one sees beauty in you.’ Then they got worse, like, ‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever but you won’t be around that long.’”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. What could they do? Issue a restraining order against an unknown emailer?”
She wasn’t wrong. “Okay. Did you get another one today?” She said she hadn’t received an email on Alice and Derek’s wedding day. Whoever was sending the messages knew she’d be too busy to read one. That showed a worrisome familiarity with her activities.
“N-no. Worse.” Her voice quavered. “I went out for a couple of hours and when I got back, someone had left a piece of paper on my front porch. It says, ‘Beauty is only skin deep. What’s underneath your skin?’”
Shit!His gut tensed. “Typed or handwritten?” He headed for the elevator.
“Typed.”
“I’m on my way. Just to be on the safe side, go upstairs to your bedroom and wedge a chair back under the doorknob. Don’t come out until you get a text from me that I’m at your front door.”
“Oh, God! Is it that dangerous?”
He hated to scare her, but criminals rarely surprised him in a good way. “He’s most likely gone, but better not to take a chance.”
As soon as he got in his Maserati, he gunned it out of the garage.
Chapter 5
Natalie stood at her bedroom window, watching the road in front of her house and feeling like a coward. She didn’t regret calling Tully. Hearing his voice had knocked her fear down a notch. Although she still jumped at random noises, she no longer felt like her heart was trying to batter its way out of her chest.
While she waited, she had searched the internet for information about stalkers. What she learned had not been reassuring. Most stalkers knew their victims. She racked her brain to come up with someone familiar who might fit the average stalker’s profile:Unemployed or underemployed. Male. Above-average intelligence. Thirty to forty years old. Often delusional. Suffers from personality disorders.
Added to that, most stalkers were ex-spouses or ex-boyfriends. That pointed to her ex-husband, but would Matt suddenly decide to torment her three years after their divorce?
The rumble of a powerful engine drew her attention back to the road. A wave of relief washed over her as the Maserati pulled into her driveway. Tully unfolded his long legs from the sleek black car, and a wave of pure, shocking sexual heat seared through her. She inhaled sharply and fought down the desire suffusing her body. That was a complication she didn’t need in this already-fraught situation.
But she didn’t turn away from the window as he stood by the car and scanned around him. After a few moments, he strode across her front yard, so she unhooked the chair from under her bedroom doorknob and ran down the stairs. She started to disarm the alarm before she remembered that he’d said not to leave her room until he sent her a text. Her fingers stilled on the keypad.
She waited, wondering what the hell was taking so long.
When her phone chimed in the silence, she started, even though she’d been waiting for it.
I’m on the porch.
Her fingers flew over the alarm keys and she flung open the door. “Thank you so much for coming!”
She had the urge to throw herself into his arms so that she could wrap herself in the protective bulwark of his strong, capable body. Then she saw his expression and the impulse died a speedy death.
His mouth was a thin, hard line. His jaw was set at an uncompromising angle. His dark-gray eyes held about as much warmth as an iceberg. And he seemed even larger than she remembered, probably because controlled menace radiated from him. In his hand was a medium-size black duffel. She wondered if it held a gun.
She took two steps backward, and his expression softened a fraction.
“You were right to call me,” he said. “Cyberstalking is bad enough, but when the stalker invades your private space, it’s time to get help.”
“I’m not sure if I’m glad or upset that you don’t think I’m overreacting.”
