Chapter 10
Gabe
I’m flummoxed by this latest threat from Izzie’s stalker. It simply makes no sense. What’s in her book that’s causing someone to want to stop the tour? The book is still going to sell, so why target the tour specifically? Could the stalker want to harm Izzie financially? Are they assuming that cancelling the book tour will, in turn, cause sales to plunge? Maybe the threat isn’t on Izzie’s life, but on her livelihood? Regardless, I better remain vigilant.
After I alerted the Phoenix store manager to the danger of a fire, he’s going to have a fire truck standing by. That seems like a bit of overkill, but to each his own.
Izzie and I agree to have a late-afternoon light dinner delivered to Izzie’s room in a couple hours so we can eat before departing for the bookstore. I kind of ruined my appetite with those Oreos, M&M’s, and Doritos, but I’m not going to admit that to Miss Harrington.
Going back to my room to recharge my batteries, I call the General to ask for advice and counsel.
“Winston, here!” he bellows as if I’m hard of hearing.
Wincing, I reply, “Gabe here.”
“I know who it is!” he gripes. Thankfully I held the phone away from my head in anticipation of his ear-splitting reply.
“Sir, we’ve got a new development in Ismeralda’s case.”
The phone rustles as if he’s sitting down, then he says, “Okay, I’m listening.”
“She just received an email which implies a fire-based threat to the venue where she’ll be signing books this evening, rather than a threat to her person. I’m confused.”
“Common tactic,” he replies.
“How so?” I ask.
“Deflection as a defense mechanism,” he explains. “Make someone think the threat has changed, then double back to the original threat. They won’t be expecting it, and their guard will be down.”
Is that what’s happening? Will my guard and the store’s security be focused on the wrong thing? I better be extra vigilant as I observe the crowd this evening.
“So, prepare for either threat?”
“That’s what I suggest. Have a fire extinguisher handy while also keeping Ismeralda safe. I have no doubt you’ll figure it out. Forward me that email and I’ll have Bruno see if he can trace the source. You stay focused on tonight’s event.”
Click!
Staring at the phone, I chuckle. The man has a tendency to end conversations abruptly, and he’s certainly not one for chitchat.
~*~
I’m on high alert now that the General suggested our stalker might follow through on their original threats to Izzie. I hover outside the door to her suite, waiting to meet the kid delivering our room service order.
“Let me see that cart before you push it inside,” I instruct in a no-nonsense voice.
He gives me a quizzical look as he stops and I lift the lids to the fancy silver containers, making a show of searching for—well, I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. I squint closely as if a bomb or some other incendiary device could be hidden between the layers of bread, cheese, and meat. After my thorough inspection, all I’ve done is confirmed that the sandwiches look tasty.
“Are these potato chips?” I ask, pointing to the chips on each plate. It’s an inane question, but I felt like I had to look like I’m doing a thorough examination.
“Um, I think so,” he squeaks, looking like at any moment he could sprint off down the hall.
Feeling silly, I plunk the lids back on the containers. “Carry on, then,” I say with a wave of my hand.
Feeling like a complete idiot, I hightail it back to my room before Izzie sees me and asks what I was doing.
Knock! Knock! “The sandwiches are here,” Izzie shouts through the closed adjoining door.
I casually open the door and stroll inside, hoping that the kid didn’t tattle about my silly sandwich inspection.
Izzie lifts the lids and places a plate at each position at the small table. “They sure went out of their way to make these look elegant,” she comments. “No wonder each sandwich was twenty bucks.”
Wow, that is steep. Although Izzie is well-off, she’s cost-conscious, and I like that about her. She isn’t going to blow through her trust fund and be broke before she’s thirty.
I sit without comment and dig into the food. It’s a decent Reuben, but nothing special, and definitely not worth the high price tag.
“Do you want any mustard?” Izzie asks, holding up one of those tiny packets.
A laugh slips out. “With this fancy presentation, you’d think they would have included a jar of Grey Poupon, not those packets.”
She giggles. At least I’ve managed to break the tension in the room. We’re both consumed with thinking and worrying about tonight’s event. That latest email sure put a damper on us enjoying each other’s company.
Conversation lags as we focus on eating. When I’m nearly done with my sandwich, Izzie says, “When I tipped the room service guy, he said the oddest thing.”
My eyes swivel to hers. “Oh? What?”
“He told me that some guy inspected the sandwiches before he delivered them, and he asked me what the guy was looking for.”
Oops! Busted!
Schooling my expression, I say, “What did you tell him?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I covered for you. I told him that I’m very particular about my... potato chips.”
I stifle a laugh, then reach over and give her a high five. “Good call.”
“I also tipped him twenty bucks and asked him to keep that to himself.”
Slouching back in my chair, I say, “I’m acting a little paranoid, aren’t I?”
A smile lights her face. “Gabriel, if that keeps me from harm, then go ahead, I won’t complain.”
Feeling marginally better, I go back to my suite to change into my suit, wishing I had another flashier one so I could wow Miss Harrington with my style and flair. After shrugging on my dull gray jacket, I meet Izzie back at her door, and she takes my breath away. Clad in another sexy, stylish outfit that shows off those gorgeous legs, she blushes under my blatant perusal.
Duh. That wasn’t very professional. Clearing my throat, I say, “Are you ready for this?”
She nods, her stance stiff and professional and not the more casual Izzie who was my traveling companion earlier. There will be no teasing about Oreos or stopping for milkshakes this time.
Trying to reassure her, I say, “Everything will be okay. We’re one step ahead of the stalker.”
I wish I was as confident as I sound.
~*~
Security feels tighter than Fort Knox when we arrive at the bookstore, which both eases and escalates my anxiety. Hopefully we’ve prepared for all possible outcomes. A fire truck is parked behind the building, and I fervently hope it isn’t called into action.
Another long line forms in front of the bookstore, but it moves smoothly after the store manager flings open the doors. A variety of sweaty people look relieved when they get inside from the Arizona heat, and most of them gladly accept the free bottled water being distributed by store personnel. The crowd is friendly, and everyone is amicable about leaving their purse or bag outside the room where Izzie is secluded.
As always, Ismeralda is the consummate professional, the perfect mixture of polite and welcoming. Her demeanor doesn’t reflect any of her anxiety over the stalker.
After two hours, the line has dwindled significantly, and the last few attendees patiently wait to get their book signed. I’m convinced that the stalker is not at this event. So far everybody’s been excited and enthusiastic to see Izzie, not showing any signs of being a deranged fan. Is the stalker just trying to keep her off-balance without actually doing anything?
A dignified man strolls in, catching my eye because most of the attendees so far have been women. Everything about him screams classiness—except for the fake hairpiece perched on top his head. His dapper suit and regal bearing suggest he might be a member of the royal family. When he speaks, his British accent instantly charms Izzie.
“Miss Harrington! I’ve been dying to meet you,” he says when he reaches the table.
“Thank you,” she says, clearly eyeing his hand-tailored suit, thousand-dollar shoes, and red silk tie. “Do you also follow my YouTube channel?” Izzie asks, making small talk.
“Yes! I’m an avid viewer. My wife loves all your tips, but she was unable to attend today’s event.” He pulls a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and animatedly mops his brow. “The Phoenix heat is absolutely blazing this time of year.”
Izzie sucks in a breath as the man’s words eerily mimic those of the latest stalker’s email. I take a step closer to the table.
“Who do I make this out to?” Izzie asks in a stilted voice, pulling a book from the stack.
“Charles W. Paddington,” he replies, then reaches into the pocket inside his jacket.
When I see his hand start to remove an object, I act merely on instinct, not waiting to see what he’s got hidden in that suit.
Oomph!
I shove the man to the floor, grabbing for the object in his hand. My weight lands squarely on top of him, effectively pinning him to the floor.
“What are you doing!” he shrieks as he thrashes underneath me. For an older gentleman, he’s rather feisty.
When I study the object in my hand, I immediately roll off him. An apology clogs my throat, but shock and mortification keep it firmly lodged there.
“This is preposterous!” he yells as I try to assist him to get back up. He shoves away my hand and staggers to his feet with his tie askew and toupee sitting crookedly on his head. I start to point to his hairpiece but decide it’s wiser for him to discover the issue himself rather than for me to say anything.
Izzie quickly rounds the table, spouting out the apologies I should have uttered. “Oh, my goodness! Are you hurt? I’m so sorry about my guard’s rash actions.” She throws me a pointed look, and I’m not sure if it’s just for show or if she’s truly annoyed with me. Earlier she gave me the greenlight to be paranoid, but maybe that didn’t include tackling a harmless fan.
The man’s eyes shoot daggers at me. “Don’t you mean your goon?” he huffs as he adjusts his tie.
“Mr. Paddington, please accept my sincere apology. I’ve received some nasty emails, and my bodyguard was just being a little overprotective.” She swipes a book from the pile and quickly signs it. “Here’s a complimentary copy of my book,” she says, extending it to him.
“I’d like it signed with my special pen,” he says in a snooty tone. “Your thug confiscated it from me,” he adds, jutting his pronounced chin towards my hand.
I extend the fancy-looking writing instrument I confiscated from him to Izzie, just noticing the Montblanc logo. She takes another book from the stack and signs it with his pen, then hands him the book and pen.
“I am truly sorry, and I hope you enjoy the book, Mr. Paddington,” she says.
He grabs the book and pen then sprints away as if his fancy trousers are on fire. I hold my breath, craning my neck to see if he’s going to lose the hairpiece in his mad dash to the door. It remains attached until he disappears out of sight.
Before the next book purchaser enters the room, Izzie gives me a side-eye look. Her shoulders start to shake, and tears leak from the corners of her eyes. In seconds, we’re both doubled over in laughter.
“Oh my!” Izzie says between giggles. “Did you see his—” She stops and points to the top of her head, then bends over as more peals of laughter spout from her lips.
“He did get a little, er, um, disheveled in the skirmish,” I say, still laughing.
“Skirmish? Don’t you mean the knockdown?” she snickers.
“Why did he bring his own pen?” I put a hand to my forehead and shake my head. “This never would have happened if he wasn’t such a writing instrument snob,” I huff.
That comment brings on a new set of giggles and even a snort. “Gabriel, you’re never going to live this down, you know.”
“I was just doing my job,” I sputter, suddenly embarrassed by her teasing. My bodyguard skills may need a little perfecting.
She cackles for several more seconds as I fidget and my neck heats. Hopefully the General doesn’t find out about this. He and my co-workers would razz me for weeks.
She pats my arm, then returns to her seat. “Thank you for neutralizing that Montblanc pen!” she says with a wink. “Please let our next patron in.”
Izzie’s right. I’m never going to live this down.