Page 23 of Perfect for Her

When the first small note appears, attached to the stem right under the petals, all the air leaves my lungs.

You thought you could run away from me?

I gasp, the stem falling from my fingers as the words sink into my soul. No way. No fucking way did this creep find me all the way across the world. My head swivels, looking at Ethan who is still enthralled with his toys, and then I carefully pull the flower out, knowing there’s more.

You thought you could hide from me?

The next note is a few inches farther down and when I pull the flower completely out of the bouquet, I think it’s done, but I notice a string attached to the bottom. My hands shake and I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what’s attached.

I expect another note, but what I get is a photograph. The second my fingers grasp the coated paper and my eyes adjust to what I’m seeing in front of me, I almost fall to the floor. Because the photo is of Ethan and I leaving Mark’s house yesterday, what has me glued to the floor is the fact that both Mark’s and Ethan’s faces are blacked out with what appears to be a permanent marker.

The photo drops to the floor, fluttering past my knees as my eyes glaze over with the tears from behind my eyes. I don’t dare let them fall, knowing they will freak Ethan out and I can’t have that. Not now. Not after I moved us here to get away from this shit.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and my mind racing, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do now that the person behind everything knows where I live and who I’m seeing, I snap into action. Walking into the living room, I find my phone lying on the coffee table and bring it back into the kitchen, making sure Ethan is distracted before I bend over and pick up the photo, noticing there’s something written on the back. The second I flip it over, I wish I hadn’t.

Found you.

That is all it says. I sink into a chair, letting the photo drop from my fingers. How the hell did I get myself into this? I thought the second I got on that plane and got away from Paris that everything would stop. My lawyer even said it would stop because it’s very rare for stalkers to follow when someone moves that far away. But clearly, mine is persistent and it’s starting to freak me the fuck out.

I gather myself enough to dial my lawyer’s number, knowing he’s always the number I call first and when he picks up and I explain what happened, he sighs.

“I had a feeling the person followed when you told me about the email. I wish my gut was wrong.”

A strangled laugh leaves my chest as I shake my head. “Yeah, well it looks like your gut was right. What the hell do I do about this?” I ask, having no clue what to do.

“Let me make some calls. I have a few contacts in the States and they might be able to get you some help. If I was there, I would be there in a heartbeat, you know that, right?”

I nod silently, holding back the tears that are begging to fall from my eyes.

“I know, why can’t you move here again?” I question, a small laugh filtering through his side of the call.

“Because Paris has better food?” he teases, knowing full well that most of his clients still live overseas and that I’m the odd man out. “But in all seriousness, I know you’re scared, and you have every right to be. Just keep an eye out, keep Ethan within sight at all times and tell Mark, he deserves to know what’s going on.”

At the mention of Mark, my heart stops. I have to tell him, I know this, but how do I bring up the fact that the main reason I moved here was a stalker and that they followed me here and are now threatening not only my life but the life of my child and the man I’m falling in love with?

“I know,” I whisper, my head falling into the palms of my hands.

“Okay, let me make some calls and you should hear from someone soon, okay?”

I agree and hang up, hoping to God I can get this sorted as soon as possible.

* * *

“There’s really nothing we can do at this point,” the officer says, sitting on my couch.

Ethan’s toys were long put away. I sent him upstairs when I got the knock on the door and knowing it was the police, I knew I didn’t want to freak my son out, so once he was out of sight, I opened the door and showed them into the living room.

“What do you mean, you can’t do anything? This is a threat. A threat to both mine and my son’s life.” My voice is calm, which is in direct contrast to the hammering of my heart inside my chest.

“I understand how it looks to you, but for me, there is actually no threat made. The photograph and notes don’t make enough of a case for me to open an investigation. I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes flicking between me and the door, clearly wanting to get out of here.

“You’re serious.”

He nods, giving me a sad smile, the pity clear in his gaze as he gets up from the seat in front of me.

“Unfortunately. If or when this person makes an actual threat to you or your child’s life, you can call me directly,” he says before placing his card on the coffee table like that will make a difference. I’m dumbfounded and yet this doesn’t surprise me.

“Great,” I say, standing up, leading him back to the front door and opening it wide as he steps out into the fading light. “Well, I hope when you find my dead body that the memory of this conversation haunts you,” I snarl, slamming the door in his face and sinking to the floor, the emotions of the past few hours running through me.

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