Securing Aubrey

Chapter One

Aubrey

I’m fairly confident I could get away with her murder, Bree mused as she unpacked another box of books and put them away on the shelves framing the fireplace. Some of the covers and pages were bent from being stuffed into the box and driven halfway across the country. Bree frowned. She hadn”t wanted to hire movers—she wanted to do it herself the way she did everything. Intentionally. Cautiously. Slowly. Her agent, however, had other ideas. When Rae showed up at her house with a group of men she”d hired to pack and move everything, Bree let them because she hadn’t wanted to be rude—Rae insisted celebrities didn”t pack and move their own stuff. Now, with a few items missing—most notably the teddy bear Nonna had given her the Christmas before she died—and with her beloved books in less than stellar condition, Bree was ready to scream.

Bree took the box cutter from the mantle and sliced through the tape, carefully avoiding her bandaged finger, an unfortunate victim of her aggressive unpacking last night. She sighed heavily, carrying the flattened box into her garage and tossing it onto the pile of cardboard corpses already there, waiting to be recycled and given new life. She walked into the kitchen and poured the last drops of coffee from the pot—the only kitchen item that had made it out of a box. The other boxes sat in the corner waiting to be unpacked and judging her for her taste in takeout and inability to cook anything beyond boxed Mac n” Cheese. Bree shook her head. She really needed more sleep.

Bree walked into the dining room, coffee securely in hand, and sat down at the table. She had forty more pictures to sign and send to her fans, and then she”d be almost free of obligations from the label. She reached across the table to pick up the next picture and bit her lip as she wrote, in painstakingly neat handwriting, To Skyler. All my love, Aubrey. Bree methodically tucked the picture into the waiting envelope, careful to preserve the edges of the picture before sealing it. The rest of the autographs went relatively quickly as Bree found her rhythm.

As she signed the last one she let out a deep breath. Finally. The anxiety that had been pulsing in her chest since the moment she signed her first contract with the label eased as she sealed the last envelope. She was free. Bree let out a shuttering breath, her eyes filled with tears. She hadn”t been free in seven years.

Of course, with her father being who he was and her sister”s bills still needing to be paid each month, true freedom was still a long way away. But retirement and leaving behind the chaos of Los Angeles was a start. Some people worried about disappearing from the spotlight, but not Bree. She couldn”t wait to be yesterday”s news. Unfortunately, that seemed like it was still a long way off.

She looked forlornly at the invitation sitting next to her coffee mug. She was cordially invited to be the keynote speaker at a Gala fundraising for families who had lost loved ones to drug or alcohol addiction. The introvert in her wanted to turn it down with a polite but firm thanks but no thanks. The people pleaser felt like she couldn’t turn it down. It was a good cause, she was technically available that day, and what was five minutes of her time—and a heap of anxiety—compared to significant financial donations?

Bree sighed and pushed it away. She could deal with it later. Thankfully, the Millers—who were in charge of the event—didn’t live in Tennessee. Bree turned her attention to her empty mug instead. More coffee was a requirement if she was going to get the rest of the boxes unpacked.

She grabbed her purse and slipped on her favorite black jacket, which was comfy and stylish. Tessa was a queen. Her former stylist was one of the few perks of being famous that she missed. Well, that and having a chef. Bree grimaced at the boxes still sitting in the kitchen for the last two months, the ones that said “pots and pans,” dutifully ignoring them as she grabbed her keys out of the little wooden bowl on the entry table. Eventually, eating frozen meals and boxed Mac n” Cheese was going to get old, but that sounded like a problem for future Bree.

The door closed with a solid thud behind her and Bree locked up—triple-checking to make sure the door was locked. After her last show in Houston, where a note had been left in her dressing room backstage, her paranoia had crept up, slowly suffocating her. She couldn”t let it go. Which frankly was annoying—nothing had happened to her. She needed to get over it.

The neighborhood was quiet, the well-kept suburban homes mostly empty on a Wednesday morning. The birds chirped in the trees, unfazed by the clanking coming from the Robinson house. Bree unlocked her car, and Mr. Robinson looked up as it chirped. Mr. Robinson was better than any security camera system. His watchful gaze missed nothing. Noticing Bree, he smiled and waved before ducking his head back under the hood of his 1974 Plymouth Duster. One of these days, he’d get that car up and running, and in the meantime, the occasional backfire seemed to be a part of the rhythm of the neighborhood.

The drive into Rhodes was gloriously boring, traffic almost nonexistent, until she turned into the main square. The park in the middle of town was brimming with booths filled with various crafts from local artisans. From painting to pottery and any other medium one could think of, the Rhodes Annual Artisan Festival brought in some of the best artists from across the state, many of whom fell in love with the small town and decided to make a home there.

The square hummed with energy as tourists flocked to the artisan stalls, enthusiastic smiles and laughter echoing in the breeze. Crowds also meant little personal space and an increased chance of being recognized, which was not a vibe. The best thing about living in Rhodes was the fact the people who lived there really hadn”t cared when she moved in several weeks ago. A few of the teens and pre-teens who had listened to her pop music had asked for autographs as their parents fervently apologized, but then the hullabaloo died down, and now it was almost like Bree had lived there her whole life.

Unsurprisingly, finding parking near the festival and the surrounding blocks was a nightmare. The brick storefronts were decorated with banners welcoming visitors to Rhodes and advertising the local businesses. The window displays were intentionally decorated with bright colored art to draw attention and beckon visitors in from the street. After spending a few minutes cruising down side streets, Bree let out a sigh of relief as a spot opened up in front of Willow’s Bar and slowly pulled up beside the curb. Willow’s would be closed until after five since her daughter participated in the festival with the other junior high school art students.

Bree hopped out of the car and draped her purse across her shoulders, clicking the lock button on her fob until the car beeped back, confirming it was locked. Satisfied the car was secure, Bree looked around and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The air in Rhodes was so much crisper and cleaner than Los Angeles. While the beach wasn’t down the street anymore, the rolling hills and mountains—and the distinct lack of people compared to L.A.—more than made up for it. Peace was priceless.

Bree spotted the sign for Rhodes Creek Coffee Shop Bakery and decided her need for coffee demanded a brisk walk rather than a stroll. She raced to the door and held it open as Mrs. Appleman, one of the local elementary school teachers, walked out with her coffee.

“Thank you, Aubrey.” The woman said, her smile causing the skin on her forehead and around her eyes to crinkle. Bree nodded, and Mrs. Appleman strolled away, her long skirt swishing as she walked to the corner before disappearing into the crowd of tourists heading to the festival.

Bree’s shoulders relaxed as the scent of coffee and pastries surrounded her. Normally a fairly quiet place, the cacophony of voices echoing throughout the space was jarring. Apparently, the tourists also needed a caffeine fix at nine in the morning. Marilee was behind the counter working her magic, and a new guy was at the registers taking the orders. The man working behind the counter was unfamiliar, but he had on a backward blue baseball cap and was wearing an open blue flannel shirt with a plain gray tee under it. He was definitely giving Luke Danes vibes. If this was a new gimmick the cafe was trying out, it was a solid ten out of ten.

“What can I get for you?” He asked, looking Bree up and down before turning his attention back to the screen.

“I need coffee in an IV…stat.” She joked. He glared across the counter, and Bree shuffled her feet, a warm blush staining her cheeks. “I’ll have a large iced vanilla latte with caramel drizzle, please.” She said quietly, tapping her card on the machine and turning down the receipt.

Bree walked over to a table in the back of the restaurant that overlooked the town square. People-watching would be fun today. A few families walked by, bags in hand, as the children pointed excitedly at the different colorful things that grabbed their attention. Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention back inside the coffee shop as the decidedly grumpy barista delivered the drink to her table and stalked away.

“Your lack of enthusiasm shocks me,” Bree muttered under her breath, stirring the latte so it would be adequately cold.

Her pocket buzzed, and she grinned, taking a sip of her coffee before answering the call.

“I just wanted to let you know that I spent a good portion of my morning contemplating the best way to murder you,” Bree said seriously in lieu of a greeting.

“As all good friends and former clients do,” Rae said. “Out of curiosity—given the fact I’m like 30 hours away by car—what did I do this time?”

“The movers you hired either did a poor job of packing or lost the bear from Nonna. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they ruined my books.”

“I’m sure the bear is in one of the boxes somewhere,” Rae said dismissively. “And you have too many books. A few less won’t hurt you. Anyway—I have an appointment so I have to jet. I just wanted to tell you to stay off your socials for a bit.”

Bree bit back her groan of frustration as her heart fell in her chest. This was why they had butt heads while they worked together in the industry. Rae was singularly focused…on Rae. “Why?” She asked calmly.

There was hesitation on the other end of the line.

“Why, Rae?”

Rae sighed. “There has been a big uptick in followers making inappropriate—or threatening—comments since your farewell tour ended, and it has become clear it wasn’t a publicity stunt.”

“Like I needed a publicity stunt.” Bree scoffed.

“I know that, but the people don’t.” Rae soothed. “Anyway, just stay off it. And in the event you won’t listen—because we both know you won’t—make sure to screenshot anything over the top and send it to me and the police department for the file.”

“Will do.”

“You know, you could come back and call it a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Bree sighed, “You’re always trying to pull me back into the rat race. Polite pass.”

“Your loss. My ride is here. Gotta run. Ciao, babe.”

The call ended before Bree had a chance to respond. She sat the phone down beside her drink, resting her head in her hands. Creepy messages were kind of par for the course. While they shouldn’t be sent, it happened often enough that it wasn’t as shocking now as it had been in the beginning. The things people would type that they’d never say in real life were astounding.

Bree lifted her head and opened TikTok surprised that her retirement announcement video was still one of her top-viewed videos. That had been posted nearly a year ago—it should have been old news by now. The videos from her farewell tour also gained a lot of traction as some fans shared their sadness that they wouldn’t be able to see her in concert again, and others complained angrily because there was no reason for her to step away from the industry. She was just selfish. One of the comments threatened to put an end to her ”self-indulgent existence” as soon as the media leaked where she was ”hiding from her responsibilities”. The vile was unending. Ugh, she should have listened to Rae.

The alarm on her phone rang shrilly in the restaurant as Bree hurriedly swiped at her phone to silence it. When the neighboring tables had quit staring and returned to their coffee or pastries, and the heat in her cheeks had lessened—Bree let out the breath she had been holding. She quickly dialed the only number she knew by heart and waited for Steph to pick up.

“You’re two minutes late,” Steph joked.

“You were five minutes late last week—” Bree pointed out.

“Fair enough,” Steph said with a laugh.

“How are you? How’s Adam?” Bree asked, eager for news of her best friend. While she loved the freedom that came from being away from L.A. and the constant hustle and bustle of the city, she missed her friends. She”d kill to be able to grab a cup of coffee with Steph in person and go for a walk to the pier.

“We’re great! I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks, though. I miss you being in L.A.”

“You could always move to Tennessee,” Bree tried hopefully.

“If Adam would move, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” Steph said loyally.

“That’s because you’re the best,” Bree said.

“And don’t you forget it.” Steph laughed before hesitating. “Bree, I need to tell you something.” She said, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

“What’s wrong? Is it Lucy?” Bree asked, concern for the beloved pitbull overriding her general aversion to anything non-human.

“No, no. Lucy is fine…Just don’t be mad at me.”

“That sounds promising,” Bree said sardonically.

“I saw some concerning comments on your socials and showed them to Adam.” Oh boy. Here they go. Bree could imagine Adam”s face reading the comment section on her social media accounts. It would be a perfect blend of shock and brotherly-like outrage.

“Okay…”

“And he was super worried about you…like I am.” Steph hedged.

“...and?”

“He might have called in a favor to an old friend who owns a security company over in Trenton.”

“Steph,” Bree groaned, laying her head on the table.

“He’s probably going to give you a call. His name is Noah. Noah Hawthorne. He owns Hawthorne Security. Just let him look into this situation and see if there is a threat to you.”

“It’s not a big deal, Steph,” Bree argued. She didn’t want to be a bother, and there was nothing he could do for her anyway. She already had a direct line of communication with the police department and reported each and every one of the vile comments or threats made. The last thing she wanted to do was waste his time. Or hers.

“I would agree with you if it was just the comments,” Steph said cooly. “But the comments plus the threatening note that made it into your dressing room at the end of your farewell tour indicate that someone wants to get to you.”

“The comments and note could be completely unrelated,” Bree argued. This was probably the right time to tell Steph about the death threat in the comments before she heard it from someone else, but Bree hesitated. She didn’t want to worry Steph with some generic threat from a user with numbers for a name and an animation for a face. It probably wasn’t even viable. Weren’t there like three things a threat had to include for it to be considered legitimate?

“Aubrey Elizabeth Gray, I will not read about my best friend’s death in the tabloids when we could have done something to prevent it. My parents were murdered, Bree. My best friend doesn’t need to be.” Steph said, her scathing tone effectively bringing Bree back to the present.

“Just lay on the guilt there, Steph. I don’t think I got the point…” Bree complained. Steph was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted something.

“Bree,” Steph said, gentling her voice. “You don’t have to work with him. Meet him. Let him investigate to see if there is a reason for us to be concerned. Just…give him a chance.”

“I promise I will be pleasant if he calls.” She would pleasantly inform him that his services were not needed. Simple. “I’m gonna go finish my coffee. Same time text week? Your turn to call me.”

“Sounds good. I’ll even try to be on time,” Steph joked. “Love you. Call me if you need anything.”

“Love you too,” Bree said quietly, picking up her coffee and heading back to her car. Most of the festival attendees would be at the live art demonstration which meant traffic should be at a minimum. A perfect time to head back home before the streets were super busy again. Those boxes—unfortunately—weren’t going to unpack themselves.

***

Bree reached her car a few minutes later, taking a much-needed sip of coffee before walking around the hood and groaning. A flat tire. Perfect. Bree opened the car door carefully and set her coffee in the cupholder, carefully protecting the liquid gold from what was sure to be a messy endeavor. She pulled the lever to open the hood and shut the door softly. Bree walked to the trunk, clicking the button on her keys to open the trunk where the jack, spare, and tire-changing tool was. Honestly it probably had a name, but who could keep up with the names for tools outside of a Phillips or flathead screwdriver? The rest were irrelevant. Except when a tire was flat, and she actually needed the weird tool thing.

Bree carted the equipment and spare tire up to the driver’s side front tire and looked both ways for traffic before plopping down on the ground. Thank the Lord for a good pair of jeans.

“Hey, Bree. Let me help you,” A honeyed voice said. Over to her left was a tall, slim, blonde man leaning against the side of Willow’s Bar, his dark, beady eyes watching Bree with interest. Of all the people to stumble upon her it just had to be one of the most entitled, obnoxious boys she had the pleasure of running in the same circles with growing up. Kyle freaking Rhodes.

The hair on the back of Bree’s neck rose and she surreptitiously looked around to note the quickest exit. “It”s Aubrey. And no…thank you.” Bree replied, adding the manners as an afterthought.

Kyle scoffed and took a step closer to her. “Our dads wouldn”t like it if I just left you out here with a busted tire. Move out of the way, and let me help you.”

Bree hesitated. She wanted to say no. She also didn’t want to be rude or cause waves in her new community. While Kyle might have just been the annoying kid she had to see a few times a year growing up, his dad was the mayor of Rhodes now. The indecision pulled her back and forth, tossing her around like waves during a storm. “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” Bree ground out, her pulse skyrocketing as her hands shook. She hated conflict.

Kyle took another small step toward her, and Bree panicked, standing up and clenching the long rod thing in her fist tightly, her heart pounding in her ears. Would he help her? Hit her? Hit on her despite being told she wasn’t interested? None of those options sounded particularly appealing.

“Don’t be an ungrateful bi—”

“She said she’s got it.” A deep, gravelly voice said from behind her.

Bree turned slightly to see the newcomer and immediately felt dwarfed by his presence. And a little awestruck, if she was being totally honest. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, tan skin, and height for days. He looked like a character out of a romantasy novel. The only things missing were the bat wings. He looked relaxed, but there was a tension in his muscles that screamed this man wasn’t someone you wanted to cross.

“Keep on walking. This doesn’t concern you.” Kyle said to the stranger, unfazed by the quiet violence radiating off of him.

The man looked at Kyle as though he were nothing more than an obnoxious gnat. “She said no. You seem either unable or unwilling to understand it, so I’ll stick around until you get the hint.” He said, moving to stand just to the left of Bree. Bree took a slight step away from the stranger, thankful he put himself between her and Kyle the Creep but also wary. She was not about to be one of the women in the movies who were too stupid to live because they trusted the wrong man. Absolutely not.

Kyle waited about thirty more seconds before realizing the man was serious and huffed loudly. “Whatever. I’ll see you around, Aubrey.”

Bree shook her head, trying to ignore the shiver running down her spine and the hairs still standing on end.

“He’s just a creep.” She muttered under her breath before squatting back down and loosening the lug nuts on the tires. She got the jack situated to raise the car when the man—who apparently was not planning to leave just yet—cleared his throat.

“I know you told that guy no, but would you like some help?”

“Thanks, but I know how to change a tire,” Bree replied, using the lever to lift up the car so she could get the tire off.

“I can see that.” He replied. “It’s a good skill to have.” He looked around the road as traffic began to pick up around them. The demonstration must have ended.

Bree sighed. This was going to be a pain.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, you make me a little nervous sitting on the road so close to traffic. You should have a triangle out so people can see you.”

“It’s a small town. Slow speed limits. I think I’ll survive.” Bree retorted, confirming the car was steady before continuing her work. “Besides, cars don’t come with triangles to put out when someone has to change a tire. Otherwise, I would.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just be a human triangle. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Bree looked at him for a moment, considering his statement. While he didn’t give off grade-A creep vibes like Kyle, men were just inherently not trustworthy. That whole man versus bear debate? She”d take the bear every time. But if he wanted to risk life and limb being a human triangle, who was she to stop him?

“If it’ll help you sleep at night, knock yourself out. Just stay over there.” Bree said, nodding toward the rear of the car.

The man moved toward the back of the car and stepped away from it slightly so he would be easily seen by oncoming traffic, which would hopefully slow down so they wouldn’t hit him.

“You mentioned you know how to change a tire. Your dad teach you?”

Bree laughed while removing the rest of the lug nuts. “No, my dad wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty.”

“Ah,” the mystery man said. “Boyfriend?”

“Nope,” Bree said, popping the ‘p’.

“I’ve got it. You were on a vacation to Fontenay and driving through the countryside when your tire blew. You were frightened for a moment but determined to find a fix, so you marched up to the Monastery and found a sympathetic Cistercian monk who took pity on you and then proceeded to teach you the proper way to change a tire.” He said humorously as the cars slowed down to pass by on their way down the street. Bree found herself begrudgingly appreciative of her human triangle.

“You caught me.” Bree deadpanned, lugging the flat tire off before picking up the spare and putting it on. From the corner of her eye Bree watched as the man walked closer, picked up the flat tire one-handed, and put it back in her trunk to properly dispose of later. He returned from the trunk, his eyebrows furrowed and resumed his part-time job as a human traffic triangle while Bree tightened the lug nuts as much as she could by hand before lowering the car back to the pavement.

Bree began tightening the lug nuts with the tire-changing tool thing when the man reached out a hand. “May I?” He asked, observing Bree quietly.

“You might get your suit dirty,” Bree muttered, silently drinking in the handsome man in front of her. Why didn’t more men dress like that? He looked like he stepped off the cover of a magazine.

He chuckled, the deep, warm sound resonating in his chest. Definitely drool worthy. “I’ll take the chance.” He said, gently taking the tool from Bree’s hand. Bree stood and took a step back, watching as he tightened each of the lug nuts until he was satisfied the tire wasn’t going anywhere. “Make sure you get a new tire soon. You don’t want to drive around on the spare too long.”

“Probably not.” She said succinctly, suddenly feeling desperate to get away from the handsome stranger and back to the safety of her new home.

“I’m Noah Hawthorne.” He said with a warm smile, walking a couple of steps toward Bree and reaching out a hand to shake hers in a firm, but not painful, grip.

Noah Hawthorne? Freaking Steph.