Chapter 27
THE STALKER
The private airfield outside Omaha buzzed with quiet efficiency as chartered jets came and went, ferrying wealthy passengers to destinations across the Midwest. They sat in the leather passenger seat of yet another anonymous aircraft, watching Nebraska farmland pass beneath them through the small window, rage simmering just beneath a carefully maintained exterior calm.
That man was still there. Still with her.
The security system had occurred, and the trip to LA was over, but the man who had inserted himself into Rose’s… Aldo Caspani, remained a constant presence in Rose's life. What should have been a temporary arrangement, a few days of professional protection, had stretched into a few more days.
The chartered flights were bleeding money at an alarming rate.
False identities and cash transactions required careful planning and substantial resources, but commercial airlines meant passenger manifests and security cameras and the kind of paper trail that could be traced later.
Privacy came at a premium, but their confidentiality was essential.
They pulled out a tablet and scrolled through the carefully organized files containing months of research.
Rose's schedule, her habits, her professional commitments.
The Kansas City conference had been circled in red for weeks.
It was a rare public appearance for Rose with hundreds of attendees, providing the perfect opportunity to finally make direct contact.
But now Caspani would be there too. Standing between them like some misguided knight protecting a princess who didn't need protection. Who needed liberation.
The plan had been so simple. A few carefully orchestrated scares to make Rose feel vulnerable and alone in that isolated farmhouse.
Hang-up calls to create unease. Silk roses mailed to demonstrate devotion mixed with the subtle threat of someone who could reach her anywhere.
Then, when fear had made her desperate for comfort, they would reveal themselves as her salvation.
Instead, she'd called for professional help, and now this stranger was embedded in her daily life like a parasite.
"She's got an event coming up," they murmured to the empty cabin, fingers tracing the conference details on the screen. "And I've been planning for months."
The Midwest Screenwriters Association conference. Rose would deliver a keynote speech to hundreds of aspiring writers who worshipped her talent. She would present an award at the evening ceremony. Most importantly, she would be accessible in ways that her isolated Nebraska fortress never allowed.
The chartered jet began its descent toward a small airport.
Caspani thought he was protecting her, but he was only delaying the inevitable. Rose belonged with someone who had loved her since before fame corrupted everything around her, someone who understood that her talent deserved reverence, not exploitation.
"That's when I'll strike," they whispered, closing the tablet with trembling hands that could have belonged to anyone consumed by desperate love. "And she'll finally be mine."
The wheels touched down, carrying them closer to destiny. Soon, the waiting would end. Soon, Rose would understand that all the roses, all the watching, and all the careful preparation had been acts of devotion leading to this moment. And Caspani would be nothing more than a memory to her.