Chapter 25
Rip Current
Something was wrong.
Lena hovered in the doorway to her office, feet frozen to the tile like her body knew something her mind hadn’t quite accepted.
Her scalp prickled, every hair on the nape of her neck standing at military attention.
Goosebumps rippled over her arms in spite of the balmy island air drifting through the open hallway behind her.
To anyone else, her desk would appear normal. The monitor standing sentinel, her glass paperweight glinting in light, the tidy pen cup—everything appeared… fine. And yet, it wasn’t. Not to her.
The stapler sat half an inch too far left.
Her mouse cord looped the wrong way. Even the edge of her desk mat had a corner curled; she would’ve flattened it.
She wasn’t officially diagnosed with OCD, but after Chester, she developed a relationship with order.
When she couldn’t control the people trying to destroy her life, she clung to what she could: symmetry, placement, routine.
And now—something was off.
She couldn’t make her legs move forward.
Her stomach swirled with nausea and dread.
The air seemed thick and oppressive—like if she stepped inside the office, she’d be walking into something she couldn’t walk back out of.
For a split second, panic constricted her lungs as she asked herself the question she didn’t want answered—
What if her stalker had left another gift?
Lena swallowed hard, her tongue sweeping across a mouth gone dry. Should she call Zach or resort security? David? She frowned. They might think she was spiraling. High-strung. Paranoid.
“Morning, Lena.”
She shrieked and spun toward the voice, hand flying to her throat, breath catching painfully. Walter stood in the hall, his big brown eyes crinkling with regret. “God, Walter,” she panted. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He raised both hands in a soothing gesture, his baritone warm and apologetic. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you. You okay? You’ve been standing there staring like the desk insulted you.”
“I—uh—don’t suppose you’d do me a weird favor?” She rubbed the stress line between her eyes.
He gave a mild, good-natured shrug. “Sure. What’s the ask?”
“Can you check my desk?” Her lips twisted in self-deprecation. “The drawers, I mean. I know how it sounds—but I’m telling you, something’s off. Everything’s been moved. Slightly, but… enough. And after the calls, the stuff in my cottage—Walter, someone’s been in here. I can feel it in my skin.”
Her voice pitched up toward the end even though she fought to stay calm. She hated how shaky she sounded.
Walter’s easy-going personality vanished at her words. His mouth thinned. “You have a stalker?” he asked.
She gave a jerky nod. “Zach thinks so. There was—there’s been stuff. In my cottage. Crank calls.Threatening gifts. I’ve been moved to the Princess Suite for now. Then the water situation blew up, and I sort of… shelved it? But now…”
He didn’t need her to finish. Kindness deepened the lines around his eyes. “All right.” He moved inside and after a quick glimpse under the desk, settled into her chair, opening each drawer methodically. When he opened the shallow middle drawer, his hand paused.
“There’s an envelope here,” he said cautiously. “Greeting card size, with your name on it. Was this here yesterday?”
Fear slid cold and biting down her spine like a block of ice. “No,” she whispered. “That wasn’t there.”
Walter’s next move was swift. He stood and reached for the desk phone, his big fingers surprisingly nimble as he punched in an extension.
“Zach,” he said into the receiver, “it’s Walter.
I’m with Lena. Something’s wrong—there’s a note in her desk drawer with her name on it.
She didn’t put it there. Given the situation, I think you should take a look. ”
He listened for a beat, then nodded once. “Thanks. I’ll stay here with her until you get here.” He set the phone down, and turned to her.
Gently, but with authority, he grasped her arm and guided her toward her guest chair. Once seated, he crouched and dug in her tote bag until he found her stainless steel water bottle. He twisted off the cap and pressed it into her hand.
“Drink.”
Just one word, but it centered her. She obeyed, gulping cool, citrusy water into her parched mouth. The tang of lemon helped chase back the metallic taste of panic.
“Thanks,” she murmured hoarsely. “I’m okay now. Sorry I freaked out.”
“No need.” Zach’s voice sliced through the air like a blade through silk.
Lena looked up to find him filling her doorway, his massive frame radiating purpose. He scanned the room in seconds, his eyes sharp, glacial. She couldn’t have been more relieved if he’d arrived on a flaming chariot.
“Never apologize for a rational reaction to an irrational threat,” he said, like it was doctrine. Then, softer—in a way that grabbed her full attention—“You should be afraid. Fear keeps you alert. But don’t freeze in it. Convert it. Use it.”
That made her sit straighter. Zach’s words sank in, like flint striking dry tinder. She had frozen, and she hated that. Next time, she’d be ready.
Walter gestured to the desk. “Her pen drawer. I didn’t see anything else—but I didn’t dig. Now that you’re here…” He gave Lena’s shoulder a warm squeeze. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” Then he nodded once and strode out.
Zach was already moving, gloved fingers handling the envelope. Lena pulled up her figurative big girl pants and stepped up beside him, near enough to absorb the calm force he emitted. The envelope was unsealed, ordinary except for the sick sense curling under her skin.
He flipped it open.
Inside, a plain notecard.
A puff of expensive men’s cologne escaped, reviving her nausea. Something tumbled out—a photo. Her heart clenched as Zach bent to retrieve it.
A picture of her with a guest. In it, she wore a turquoise blouse with a wide V-neckline. A circle was inked around the open collar in red ballpoint pen.
She couldn’t breathe.
Zach read the note aloud, his voice icy. “I like the turquoise blouse. But you knew that, didn’t you? It matches your eyes. P.S. You left your lights on last night. You shouldn’t waste energy like that.”
Lena bit the back of her knuckle to suppress the scream desperately trying to escape. Her throat burned with bile. “Two days ago,” she whispered. “I wore that blouse two days ago…”
Zach’s hand came down heavy on her shoulder, firm as bedrock, guiding her back into her seat.
“You’re okay,” he crouched to her level.
“This is classic stalker behavior. He wants to control you through intimidation. The more fearful you are, the more power he feels. But it also means we can track his pattern. We find him before he escalates.”
She nodded, forcing herself to breathe slower. The scent of cologne still clung to the air like a stain she couldn’t clean. She focused on Zach’s voice, deep and steadfast like waves on the reef.
“Do you recognize the cologne?”
Lena sniffed it again to be sure, but it wasn’t familiar. “No.”
“Go through your files, see if there are any other notes mixed in. Start with the files you keep out. Look carefully—he may have slipped something between the pages.”
She gulped and opened her hot-drawer. Inside were the folders she needed every day, and often sat on her desk during the day—res-schedules, VIP profiles, guest conflicts. Her fingers moved with efficient urgency.
Third file in, she stopped. A Post-it. Light yellow—the color she used. Handwriting that wasn’t hers.
Still wearing your hair up. You know I like it better down.
A chill ran through her. Not shock, but horror at the intimacy of it. The presumption. She passed it to Zach.
He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth tightened. She went through the rest. No more notes.
“I don’t see anything else,” she said finally.
She pushed back from the desk, exhaling.
“I can keep going through the rest just in case—but these are the ones usually on my desktop. The others stay filed. It’d be days before I’d notice something slipped in there.
Would he want to hide something like that? ”
“Unlikely,” Zach said. “It’s a message he wants received, not buried. You’re too organized for that. No satisfaction for a creep like this in delayed gratification.”
He straightened. “Next steps—David and I are already researching how he found your bungalow. Now we’ll re-evaluate the building’s internal security.
Short term, I’ll have David add a camera here.
Corner behind you, maybe. It’ll cover the door but respect your privacy.
New lock, too—tech that records access logs. Both done today.”
She nodded, absorbing the logistical assault on her sanctuary. Small comforts but effective ones.
“If you don’t want to be in here until that’s complete,” Zach added, meeting her gaze with unflinching intensity, “use our upstairs suite. The conference room desk is yours. Michael’s at the front, so no one gets in unseen.” He started for the door, then paused. “What time do you get off?”
The question caught her off guard. “Um… usually 6. Might go later today—water issue set everything back.”
He nodded thoughtfully, moving toward the door once again. “And you start at 8?”
“Yes…”
He turned back long enough for the next blow to land. “Meet me on the back lawn at 0630 tomorrow. Physical training.”
Lena sat blinking after him, frozen again—but for a very different reason.
Physical training. With a former Army Ranger. She groaned and let her forehead thunk against her desk.
“Well, that’s gonna suck.”