14. Evidence
FOURTEEN
evidence
All couples seek privacy. The relationship heats up behind closed doors. You can be vulnerable, put yourself out there, while letting the other person in. You aren’t worried about prying eyes or judgment. That’s how it’s supposed to be.
One would think anyway.
On the drive back to Brianna’s place—well, our place, if I’m getting technical—when we finally have some alone time, it has the opposite effect. I’ve been alone with Brianna more times than I can count, and other than light, simple touches, nothing has happened in the safety of our privacy. It’s actually backward with us.
I’m expected to put my arms around her, hold her hand, and kiss her when people are around. There’s less pressure, if that’s even possible, because it’s a given that I can do it. And I’ve initiated every touch while prying eyes have been present, except for our mind-blowing kiss during the video. That was all Brianna.
But other than that kiss, I’ve been the one to reach for her, grab onto her, run my hands down her back or through her hair.
We were open and playful, romantic and easygoing, on the hike. She was comfortable with the tender kiss and the way I held her hand. Being at home with her is another story. Brianna seems to crawl into her private bubble the second we’re alone.
She’s quiet, her mind elsewhere, the whole ride home from the trail. Once we arrive, she scoops up her bag, smiles, and goes to her room.
I’m not sure how to process this. Is it her personality, or is it me?
To work off the confusion, I head downstairs to the home gym. Sweating out my anxiety has always worked before. But twenty minutes on the treadmill doesn’t help, so I decide to lift, bench-pressing sets of ten until I settle my nerves.
Just as I’m starting my fifth rep, I hear my name.
“Zack!”
Bree calls for me in a complete panic.
“Zack!”
“Hey! I’m down here, in the gym!” I call back to her as I stand up and walk to the doorway. Good thing I was too worked up to put music on—I never would have heard her.
I get to the door at the same time as she does. We practically collide as she rushes in.
I’ve seen fear in Brianna’s eyes before, but nothing like this. She’s beyond terrified. She’s gone completely pale, hardly able to form words.
“This ... I don’t understand ... I can’t ...” She’s breathing so erratically I worry she’s about to hyperventilate.
I grab her arms and wrap myself around her, not even worrying about the fact I’m covered in sweat. Brianna either doesn’t notice—which has to be impossible—or doesn’t care. I’m going with the latter.
“Just breathe for a second. Don’t talk yet.” I speak quietly, hoping to stay calm myself, because she’s freaking me the fuck out. As I rub her back and her arms, I lead her over to the side of the gym to a bench set against the mirrored wall. I nudge her down to a sitting position and then kneel in front of her. I pull her hands into mine, noticing for the first time the papers in her shaking hands.
After a few slow breaths, she tries to speak again. “I rushed to my room when we got here. I needed to write. The words were so strong I couldn’t stop them from pouring out of me.” She pauses to take a breath when she starts rushing her words. Brianna looks up, her eyes screaming with fear.
“It’s okay. Tell me.” I breathe again with her. “You were writing a song?”
She nods.
I feel something close to relief at knowing she ran from me because she was so filled with emotion she had to write a song. I mean, that’s what a song is, right—all your emotion on paper? Brianna wasn’t running away from me. She was running to her passion. And maybe I had something to do with putting it there.
It doesn’t explain why she’s having a panic attack though.
“I got stuck on a line, a phrase, that wasn’t working. So I took a break.”
I hear another edge of panic in her voice on the last word. I watch her breathing and wait so she can tell me at her pace.
“I figured I’d get some paperwork done, so I pulled it out of my bag.” Her gaze drops to the paper she’s holding. “That’s when I found this.” Brianna holds it out to me.
I take it from her grasp, sensing the physical response in her body when it leaves her hands. It’s as if all the tension leaves with it. She closes her eyes, and the unshed tears finally roll down her cheeks. I glance at the paper to see what it is. She’s handed me a letter.
Oh God. A letter . Shit.
I look back up at her with understanding. Eyes still closed, she shakes her head back and forth. I haven’t even read it yet, and I can already feel my anger building. If this sick asshole is still writing to her ...
Fuck. Now I’m worried about what I’ll do if I ever get my hands on this guy.
Sucking in a deep breath, I look at the words strewn across the paper like they’ve committed a crime. What it’s doing to Bree is a fucking crime.
The letter is handwritten. If what they say about psychopaths’ handwriting is true, this guy is textbook. Each word, each letter, is so perfectly formed I get the fucking creeps looking at it. Especially because the perfection of the writing is paired with the insanity of the words.
“I’ve been waiting for you, my lovely Brianna. I miss your sweet voice and the warmth of your touch ...”
What the hell? Has he touched her?
“Why would you leave me in this state? Watching you withhimhas been torture, darling. But I know it’s all for show. You don’t want anyone to know about us. This is just a story for the others. I’ll wait until the time is right, and then I’ll free you. You and I will finally be together. I can’t wait to be able to do to you what I’ve been dreaming of. You remember, darling, don’t you? Our fantasy will become reality.”
At this point I can’t read another fucking word. I’m so pissed it takes all my energy not to rip the thing to shreds. This is evidence, so shredding it isn’t an option.
I’m going to insist we get police protection for Brianna. There’s only so much I can do on my own, and I’m not trained for this level of crazy.
“Did it come in an envelope?” I keep my voice a controlled force.
“Yes,” she whispers. “In my room.”
I pull her up to stand, then we walk silently back up the stairs. I follow Brianna as she continues to shake and wring her hands together. She’s a mess. Honestly, I don’t blame her. Even I’m shaken up.
We take the hallway to her bedroom door, which is open—something I’ve never seen before. Brianna keeps her door closed at all times. I look through the doorway, taking in the space as I follow her across the threshold. It’s massive—much bigger than I imagined—and decorated in shades of light pink, gray, and white. It’s modern and mature, in line with the rest of her house. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover the entire back wall, which surprises me, considering Brianna’s tendency to hide. But I guess she feels safe and protected enough in her own home to have that amount of open sky pouring in.
Brianna moves over to her bed—perfectly made, with pillows and a soft duvet, but also littered with sheet music scattered in random piles. I can’t make out any of the words, and I don’t have the first clue how to read music, so there’s no point in even looking at the notes. She bends down to pick up an envelope from the floor, her hands still shaking as she gives it to me. I look at the handwriting on the front: a perfect match to the neat scrawl of the letter. There’s nothing on the envelope to indicate the madness found within.
“There’s no return address,” I note.
“The other letters didn’t have one either. But they weren’t sent to my office. Those came through my last manager.”
My eyes shoot to her. “Logan? ”
Brianna nods. “He kept them. He said he didn’t want me to worry about anything, except that’s all I did for months.”
“Months? Brianna, how long has this been going on?” I’m in shock. Somehow, I thought these letters had just started, not that they were an ongoing threat. And I didn’t realize there was more than one.
“About six months. This makes letter number five. I guess it took him a while to find my new address.”
I take a deep breath, needing it before I plan my attack. I’m not sure who I’d shred first—the psycho stalker or her asshole ex-manager. It’s a toss-up.
“I need to get those other letters from Logan. And I’m going to the police with this, Bree. This is more than just a bodyguard situation. This is now a crime. He’s making threats. That’s a felony.”
Her eyes widen. “Zack, it will be all over the news if you go to the police. That’s the first place Star Tracker looks! Then he’ll know I’ve seen these letters and haven’t responded. Who knows what he’ll do then?”
Her panic is epic now. The thought of this going public has her losing her shit. I don’t want Bree worrying about this, but I can tell it’s more serious than I can handle on my own.
Right as I’m about to try convincing her, I have an idea. “Okay, listen. One of my students at the dojo has a father who works in law enforcement. I’ve talked to him a few times casually after class. He’s a good guy. Let me get in contact with him and see what he thinks unofficially. Not at a police station. Not an official report. Maybe I can find some kind of back door for police involvement that won’t alert the media.”
She listens but hesitates to answer me when I finish. Her eyes glaze over, staring off into the distance. Then something passes over her face—a look I can’t quite read. But maybe something has given her courage.
I see resolution clear on her face when she looks at me .
“Okay. Talk to that guy. I’ll talk to Char. Maybe we can get the other letters from Logan.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Zack, I can’t live like this. Not anymore.”
My heart drops. God, she’s been so scared for so long. I need this to disappear. My determination is even stronger than before.
But I’m making one thing clear before we put this plan into motion.
“All right. But under no circumstances are you to be alone with Logan. Do you understand? I don’t trust him at all.” A guy who holds onto letters like this without taking some major precautions? Giant fucking red flag.
“Yes. I agree.”
I hope she’s serious. Although I wouldn’t mind having a legit reason to show him what I think of him.
“I need to call Char. Do you ...?” Brianna’s voice trails off.
“Do I what?” I press her. I’m not letting her hide from me. Not anymore.
“Do you want to stay in here while I call?” She looks down and away, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
“Absolutely. That way, I can take over if Char isn’t on board.” I walk over to the corner of her room, where there’s a chaise longue and a few cushy armchairs. I take an armchair, crossing my legs and planning to stay awhile.
“She might agree. She tried to get me to go to the cops after the first letter, before she figured the paparazzi would make everything worse.”
“Really?” My opinion about Char just improved by several degrees.
“Yeah. So, um, I’ll give her a call.”
“Cool. I’ll just sit right here then, in your cozy chair. I like your room.” I’m glad she’s coming down from her panic, but my muscles are still tensed up. I relax into the chair a little, putting my hands behind my head and flexing my biceps.
Brianna turns away from me after checking out my guns. I think she’s blushing. And man , if it isn’t the most beautiful thing to see. What is it about a blush that makes a girl totally irresistible? I can’t take my eyes off her.
I can only hope the feeling is mutual.