Chapter 10
Rhett
I grab a glass of water and set it down beside her coffee. Bailey looks like she might cry, and it makes me want to run out of here and hunt this guy down. I’ve hunted a lot of people, but no one that’s been personally stalking someone I care about.
“He must have pretended to be someone from the store to get me there at the exact same time he was waiting for me,” Bailey says, walking herself through it out loud.
“He lured you to the store?” I repeat, setting the phone on the counter, trying not to react too intensely. “How?”
“I got an email from what I thought was the events manager at the bookstore. It was about the upcoming event they’re doing for me. They’ve been advertising it all over their social media for weeks.”
“And the email asked you to come in?”
“With a time to meet and everything.”
“Then what?”
“When I got there, the events manager said they hadn’t actually emailed.
They already had everything they needed.
” She pauses, pulling the towel wrapped around her chest even tighter.
Her wet hair is still dripping down her neck, but her eyes are focused on the countertop, like she’s replaying the whole thing out in her mind.
“They suggested that I just stay and talk through the event details since I was there. Readings, the agenda, that kind of thing. So, I didn’t really think much of it.
I figured one of the staff had accidentally emailed me an invitation to come that was meant for someone else. ”
“Do you still have that email?”
“Yeah. It was sent to my personal account, not my author account, though. Which was weird at the time, but I thought that I might have used it to email her at some point.”
“So, this guy has both.”
I’m not surprised. It’s not hard to find personal information about someone online, especially if you know where to look.
She pulls her phone out and begins to scroll, then she hands it over with the email on the screen. Pressing both fists to her forehead, she rests her elbows on the counter.
“I feel so stupid. I should have realized—”
“There’s no way you could have known.”
“But that’s not true, is it?” Her eyes dart to mine. “I didn’t even know I should have been on the lookout for weird things happening because no one told me about this.” She takes her phone back. “I need to call my mom.”
Standing abruptly, she heads outside to the balcony off the living room while I walk down the hall, scanning her bedroom as I make my way into her bathroom.
Nothing looks odd or out of place, so I grab her robe off a hook near the door, do a quick scan in there, looking for anything weirdly out of place.
Then I head back outside, robe in hand so she doesn’t have to be outside wearing just a towel.
She’s already on the phone.
Without interrupting her conversation, I slide her arms into each sleeve then wrap the fabric around her waist from behind, cinching the cord as tight as I can while giving her room to breathe. I leave the damp towel still wrapped around her underneath. She can remove that herself if she wants.
When I’m done, Bailey’s cupping a hand over her phone, whispering, “Thanks,” over her shoulder.
We’re going to have to have a chat about the lack of privacy glass around here at some point. It seems the height of the building has given her a false sense of security. As someone who’s attracting public attention, she’s going to want to secure every angle.
“No, Mom, I’m not alone. I was thanking Rhett.
Yes, Monroe. No, he’s not, no. No, of course not!
” she exclaims. Her ears are pink, but she rolls her eyes at me, scoffing, like I might have overheard whatever her mom just said.
“Because we’re not — oh my God, Mother, hang on.
” She holds the phone away to apologize in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, my mom says, hi.” Then she bites her lip, repeatedly pressing the button to turn the volume down as low as it’ll go.
“I’ll be inside in a minute. Thanks for bringing me my robe.
” She tightens the knot around her waist.
Despite her best efforts, the volume isn’t turned down low enough because I still hear her mom’s voice call out through the speaker, “Your robe? Why is Rhett Monroe handing you a robe at nine thirty in the morning, Bailey? Can you hear me? I told you he would figure out that book!”
She covers the speaker with her other hand and closes her eyes, pressing her lips together.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths to me while a wave of embarrassment fills up her face.
I wink back. I’ve always liked her mom. And I need to get my hands on that book.
“All good,” I say, then add, “Hi, Mrs. Jones!” loud enough for Bailey’s mom to hear. “Want to put her on speaker?”
She shakes her head and hisses, “Shhh, she’ll hear you and then we’ll both be on this call for an hour.”
I shrug. “That’d be fine.”
Bailey’s mom and dad were my second set of parents every summer in Cedar Shores.
They had this communal parenting thing going on where both sets of adults helped raise both sets of kids while we were neighboring.
I don’t know who scolded Axel and me more for picking on the girls every chance we got — Bailey’s mom or mine.
I turn to go back inside, but not before doing a visual sweep of anyone who might be able to see her out here on the balcony.
We’re twenty-plus stories up, overlooking a few streets, a church, even a small park, so anyone who could potentially get eyes on her from down there would be too far, unless they had a long lens.
I scan each area as my mind runs through scenarios until Bailey clears her throat.
When I spin around, her brows are cinched, and her hand is cupped over the mouthpiece again.
She wants privacy.
“I’ll be inside,” I tell her, “but this lack of tinted glass is a real issue.” She nods and removes her hand from the phone so I raise my voice louder for this next part. “Just tell your mom the robe was because you’re still in a towel!”
She gasps and shoos me away, covering the phone up again, but not fast enough to drown me out.
“Still in a towel?” her mom yelps. I grin and cross the balcony to go back inside. “Bailey Jones! You need to put clothes on! My God, honey, what will he think of you, standing outside in a towel?”
Bailey shifts her eyes to the clouds above, where they stay until I softly close the door between us.
Mrs. Jones was always a force to be reckoned with. She and my sister got along famously.
Once inside, I call the officers from last night to let them know about the latest email. I already knew they wouldn’t be able to trace it since it came from the same address as last night, but they confirm it just the same.
The note we left for them to check didn’t turn up any fingerprints, so we ended the call after I asked them to look for potential matches in nearby cities as well.
As soon as I hang up, my phone begins blasting that song from The Wizard of Oz. The one that plays each time the Wicked Witch of the West comes rolling through a scene, usually riding a bike. I don’t need to look at my phone to know it’s Hollis and her special ringtone. She absolutely hates it.
“Do your worst, sis. I’m already pissed enough for the both of us.”
“What the flying fuck is going on over there?” Hollis pants through the line, somehow already out of breath. “Thank God you’re all awake. Finally.”
“Are you doing cardio?” There’s a faint whirling noise in the background.
She ignores the question.
“Do I need to come back? I already told the director I might need to leave my client here for the week. I feel totally responsible for what happened. That guy should never have been allowed in there in the first place.”
“No, he shouldn’t,” I agree, a bit surprised that she’s taking some of the blame for what happened at the party. “But how would anyone have known who he was? At least I got eyes on him last night.”
“Eyes and nothing else. That’s the problem.
I’ve been so wrapped up in this stupid Titus situation that I’ve had Simon take on some of my more important roles for now, but he had a hard time wrangling the guy who was supposed to be checking tickets at the door.
He kept leaving to, I don’t know, flirt with the guests or something. I already fired him for it.”
“You fired Simon?” I repeat.
“She fired Simon?” Bailey asks.
I turn. She’s standing wide-eyed and slack-jawed, having come in from the balcony. I try not to stare. The only thing better than Bailey standing on the balcony in a robe is Bailey standing in this kitchen in one.
I switch Hollis to speaker so I don’t have to repeat all this to Bailey once we’re off the phone.
“You fired Simon?” Bailey repeats now that the speaker’s on.
“No, I fired the guy who was supposed to be checking tickets at the door. His ass is grass. He couldn’t be bothered to stick to his job for a few hours, so, yes, he’s a goner.
He tried to tell me that he was busy networking with readers — AKA, collecting phone numbers, I’m sure. Fucking unbelievable.”
Bailey walks closer to the phone. Our arms brush when she gets to my side. I look down just as she’s looking up and we both give a little one-sided smile but neither one of us moves back.
“I was too busy with the journalist and talking to everyone that I didn’t even notice the ticket guy going AWOL,” she tells Hollis.
Standing this close, Bailey’s hair smells like apples. It makes me want to close my eyes and inhale a second time, but instead, I take a small step back and congratulate myself on managing that.
“That lazy mother fucking—” A collection of cuss words begins streaming through the phone, straight from my sister’s mouth.
I mute the speaker so Hollis can’t hear me tell Bailey, “She was a pirate in a former life.” Then I switch the phone off mute.
The sound of Bailey’s laugh makes me momentarily grateful for Hollis’ predictable tirade.
“Holl, I really wish you guys would have told me about the emails and the creep before last night,” Bailey says. “Did the door guy know about email guy? Or were you, Rhett, and Simon the only—”
But Hollis doesn’t let her finish.
“That creepy email guy is an ass-wiping, dip-shitting—”
There she goes again.
I mute the phone to talk over her for the second time without her turning her rant against me.
“Yes. Hollis told me her staff from the agency was briefed on what was happening,” I tell her. But it does make me wonder if the ticket guy has some connection to the stalker.
I unmute the phone.
“—that mother fucking, rat-toothed, bush-browed—”
“Hollis?” I interrupt.
“—ticket eating, lousy, selfish—”
“Hollis!” I repeat louder.
She finally pauses, mid-rant. “What?”
“Promise that you aren’t going to keep something this important from me in the future,” Bailey says.
Hollis stays quiet, but when she speaks, it’s slower and brimming with regret.
“That’s entirely fair and part of why I was calling.
I’m so sorry, Bailey. I was going to tell you today, after the launch was done, but yes, I should have told you before that.
I am a complete idiot. And I’m really sorry.
Really. I was just trying to get you through last night. ”
“I know you wanted to keep my head straight. But—”
“There is no but,” Hollis interrupts. “Period. I should have told you sooner. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Thank you.”
Bailey glances at me, but stays quiet after that.
“What else do you know about the email that came in this morning?” I ask.
“Well, it shows he’s been at this for a while, and that he’s fucking smart. When were you at that bookstore, Bay?”
“Last Thursday,” she says. “I remember buying that umbrella on the way when it started raining.”
Hollis starts to rant about the creep again but my phone beeps, cutting through every other word. I grab it off the counter to see who’s on calling now, then hold it up so Bailey can see which name is lighting up the screen.
She groans, then covers her face with both hands. “You told my brother, didn’t you?”
“Holl!” I yell at my sister over her ongoing tirade about idiots who think they can take photos of women without their consent.
She pauses, this time long enough for me to tell her who’s calling in.
“Oh, yay, patch him through,” she calls out, sarcastically. “We’re long overdue for a four-way reunion, aren’t we?”
Bailey groans even louder and rests both elbows down on the counter, hands still covering her face while I connect her brother, Axel, onto the line. If there’s one person who’s going to be even more pissed than me about everything that’s happening to her, it’s him.