Page 16 of Hot Momosa

Gunnar made that exasperated sound again but allowed me to take him out of the tub without a fuss. “I want Miss Stina.”

“Um…” It dawned on me I was in trouble. I didn’t have childcare, and my father’s next fundraising event was Wednesday in Iowa. I had to confirm the final details with the caterers, the venue, the press… A split second later, I remembered my father firing me. Thankfully, I had squirreled away enough money to survive for a few months—longer, if I was careful.

“Sweetheart, Miss Christina isn’t coming back tonight.”

“Miss Stina no bye-bye!” He stomped his foot and folded his arms.

“How about I take care of you instead of Miss Christina?”

“Okay.” Gunnar yawned wide enough to show me his tonsils. Unless I was mistaken, his second molars had come in when I wasn’t paying attention. Staying home with him for a little while suddenly seemed like a blessing.

After brushing his teeth, reading him the same story three times, and singing him a lullaby, I kissed his forehead and returned to the bathroom.

Once again, the letter on the counter sent a chill down my spine. The first notes and packages from the nut-job had arrived shortly after my father had announced his intentions to run for president. They’d started off fairly normal, not that a stranger professing his love in graphic terms could ever be considered normal.

As time went by, and more stories of me and Harrison hit the news, the letters grew more threatening. The last three described how the author planned to kill me. As if that weren’t bad enough, they appeared to be written in blood.

I sank onto the couch, debating between opening the envelope and calling the private investigator my father had hired. Dad and Robert both agreed it was better to handle the matter quietly rather than going to the police. However, the PI had proved to be as worthless as tits on a bullfrog.

I opened the letter and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Did you think I wouldn’t see the pictures of you kissing another man? I’ve waited long enough. I’m coming for you and Gunnar. Be ready for me, darling Dahlia. You will be mine. One way or another.

“Oh God.”

Colors danced before my eyes, and even the dim light stabbed at my pupils. My stomach clenched a millisecond before pain blared through my head. It took all my strength to turn off the lamp.

I couldn’t focus on a single thought, but that didn’t stop my brain from spinning out of control.

The stalker is close. He saw the photos, wrote the letter, and stuffed it in my mailbox within an hour.

He threatened Gunnar.

I should call the police… But the media and Dad’s campaign.

I can’t. The timing will seem suspect. Like I’m making it up.

My phone rang and scared the ever-loving-crap out of me. I fumbled with the damned thing and hit answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello.”

“Dahlia, this is Robert.” He could have cut diamonds with his voice. Hard, cold, and sharp. “I just received a call from the New Orleans Chief of Police.”

With everything going on, I’d forgotten to warn my dad about Christina’s 911 call and the subsequent interview and report. “I was going to call, but I had to get Gunnar down first, seeing as I no longer have a nanny.”

“Yes. Well. Once again, you have caused quite a problem for your father.”

I could all but hear him pacing. “I received another letter from the stalker. This is after the package and the phone call.”

He sighed and spoke to me in a chiding tone. “You know the procedure. Email photos of the notes and items to the PI.”

“This one feels different—”

“With all due respect, Dahlia, this is nothing new. If this person wanted to hurt you, I’m sure they would have done it by now.”

“Thanks. Really. Thanks for your compassion.” My finger hovered over the disconnect button.

“About the police report. You realize this incident looks like you’re trying to deflect attention away from the photos of you and Marchionni.”

“Goodbye, Robert.” I hung up on him and crammed the phone back in my pocket.

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