Chapter Eleven

Brielle

You have got to be kidding me, is all I can think when Allen announces that I have just grown a shadow. Isn't that a bit drastic?

But he's serious. I can tell by the look on his face that I will be lucky to go to the bathroom by myself until this is all over.

"Great, just great," I mumble when I realize I do not get a say, and I frown when I hear him laugh at me as he leaves the room.

Although I will never, ever admit it, it makes my heart do this weird double-thump thing to realize that for the foreseeable future, Allen Jones is a prominent fixture in my life.

I promptly frown again and push that feeling aside with all the force my tired psyche can muster.

The last thing I need right now is to pine after someone who is not interested.

I finish off my second glass of wine, then stand and carry the empty glass to the dishwasher.

"I'm heading for a soak," I say without preamble when I come back into the living room to see Allen standing there with a large duffel bag.

"Where can I put my things?" he asks.

"Spare bedroom is across the hall from mine. This way," I say, with the weariness I feel creeping into my tone.

He follows me down the hallway and I point to the door on our left.

"Thanks. I am going to go help Pete get your security setup in place. Just holler if you need anything," he says solemnly before he enters the guest room and puts his bag down on the bed.

I am too drained to respond, so I simply nod and enter my room, closing the door firmly behind me, and head straight into my bathroom to turn on the faucet.

I brush out then twist my hair up into a knot, fastening it in place with a hair band, before undressing and slipping down gratefully into the steaming water.

I soak, letting my mind drift, until the water turns tepid, then pull the plug and step out. I towel myself off and look longingly at my fluffy robe before deciding that since two men are in my house, more clothing is probably warranted.

I move to my dresser and retrieve underwear, a sports bra, my favorite sweatshirt, and yoga pants. Once I am dressed, I leave my room to go check the progress of my security system.

I find Pete and Allen standing just outside the utility closet, speaking in technical terms so complicated that it sounds like an entirely different language to me.

"You feeling better? Your color's back," Allen says with approval. "You looked a little pale before."

"I'm better. Just tired," I respond, then look away quickly before the raw emotion shining in his eyes saps my willpower completely.

"Have either of you had dinner yet?" I ask, trying to redirect my focus.

When they both admit they have not, I mention Chinese takeout. "It can be here in about a half-hour," I offer helpfully.

Two minutes later I am ordering my usual, plus an order of veggie lo mein for Pete and General Tso's chicken for Allen.

That done, I scroll to listen to the five new voicemails that I have received since I got home. I had put my phone on the charger in the kitchen and forgotten about it.

The first few words of the last one makes me gasp, and I blurt out, "Allen!"

He is by my side in an instant.

Trembling, I press the speaker button, then hit 'replay', and lock my gaze with Allen's as we listen to the latest verbal assault together.

The deep, raspy voice that has begun to haunt my sleep wastes no time in attacking, but this time the message is specific, and frightening in its intensity.

Two men tonight, huh? What a slut. But don't worry, soon the whole world will know all about you. I'll be seeing you real, real soon. Count on it.

Strangely enough, it is not the crude insult that gets to me. It is the fact that this stranger, this stalker, knows I am not home alone tonight - and there is only one way he could know that.

My knees give way and I almost hit the floor before Allen catches me.

"He's watching my house," I stammer, shaking so violently with fear that my teeth are chattering. "Allen… he's watching my house….".

Allen

"Pete!" I yell as I cradle a distraught Brielle in my arms.

"Yes, boss," he says as he rounds the corner to join us in the kitchen. He stops short when he sees me sitting on the floor with a shaking Brielle in my lap, and his eyes flash with sympathy for her.

I thrust her cell phone into his hands.

"What time was the last call received?"

He checks. "About ten minutes ago."

"Bring Marlon and Mark in," I direct, my sharp, tense tone doing no justice at all to the white-hot rage surging through me. "I need them here as quickly and as quietly as possible. Read them in. Tell them that the perp's been watching the house. He could still be around, and if he is, I want him found. Now. Then see if you can trace that call."

"You got it," he intones, then glances again at Brielle with concern before he pivots and walks away, already pressing the button to get Mark on the phone.

I turn my attention to the obviously emotionally drained woman clutching at the front of my shirt.

"Brielle," I murmur, rubbing her back softly. "It's going to be okay."

"You don't know that," she whispers, her voice a thin tremor. "You can't guarantee that."

"Look at me. Brielle, look at me," I say, gently placing my hand under her chin and lifting her head so I can look into her eyes. "I've got you. Okay? And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Her mesmerizing green eyes brim with unshed tears before she lets her head fall forward to rest on my chest.

"Okay," she murmurs, her voice thick with tension. "Okay."

We sit a few minutes longer, her breathing slowly returning to normal, as I close my eyes and revel at the feel of her in my arms.

"I'm sorry," she manages to squeak out. "I probably should get off of you now."

I chuckle against her hair. "Honestly? I really don't mind it. You smell like vanilla."

I feel her face growing hot against my chest.

"It's my shampoo," she finally confides.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Smells good. All the stuff for men smells like pine trees - or dirt."

That elicits a weak giggle from the captivating creature I am holding.

"You don't like smelling like the great outdoors - or a car freshener?"

I laugh out loud. "Woodsy? Not too bad. Smelling like floor cleaner or a Christmas tree? Not my favorite fragrance, no."

She laughs too, and the sound warms me.

We stay huddled together on the floor only a few moments longer before the spell is broken. Brielle wriggles out of my grasp and stands, then holds her hands out to help me up.

"Thanks," she says softly. "I'm glad you're here with me."

"I am too," I tell her earnestly. "Come on, let's go get an update from Pete. The sooner we get your system online, the better."

As we walk, she glances at me, her face scrunched into a confused look.

"What?"

"Did I hear you tell Pete to trace that call?"

"You did."

"But I thought those calls weren't traceable. At least that's what Detective Tucker said."

I smile. "For most people, they aren't. But we have much better toys at our disposal."

We round the corner into the living room to see Pete typing away furiously on his laptop.

"Just… about… got it…" he grunts at me. "Won't have any luck finding out who owns it if it's a disposable unit, but I'll be able to triangulate the phone's position at the time the call was made, at the very least."

"Really? You can do that?" Brielle asks him, and he gives her a gentle smile.

"Really truly. And it is accurate to within fifty yards or so."

My cell phone chirps at my hip, and I pick it up and read.

"Mark and Marlon are five minutes out," I announce before I text a response.

Full sweep, three-sixty, then come on in.

It takes mere seconds for roger that to appear on my screen, and I nod in satisfaction as I slide my phone back into its holster.

"Okay," Pete says as he presses 'enter' on his keyboard. "I also took the liberty of forwarding the relevant voice messages to myself so I can run them through analysis. I'm gonna let all that percolate while we set up the last four cameras."

He stands and moves swiftly, humming to himself, and leaves Brielle and me in the living room.

She looks at me and shrugs her shoulders.

"I really don't know what to do with myself at the moment," she confesses. "I need something to focus on other than that message."

"Well, we'll be another twenty minutes or so before the system's up and running. Have any other calls or emails to return? I can come get you when the food gets here."

She nods and turns to walk back down the hall. "I'll be in my home office."

I watch her walk out of sight, then move to join Pete.

"Anything you need me to do?" I ask.

"Yep," he says, shoving two cameras at me. "Backyard has blank spots that need to be corrected. There are existing cameras back there, but, well, they suck. These will cover the whole thing."

"On it," I say.

Brielle

I sit behind my desk and turn on the little lamp that provides just enough light to properly see my keyboard and mouse. When I open my business email account, I see thirty-two new unread messages waiting for me.

Sighing, I scroll to the bottom and start with the oldest one first. Several of them are those annoying junk messages that always seem to outsmart my spam filter.

Those hit the trash bin immediately.

Several others are new possible clients reaching out, and most of them are worded very similarly - I got your name from so-and-so, etc. Those I respond to with an initial outreach mail template that I have perfected over time.

Still others fall into the 'current client' category; I have four that I am dealing with presently, one of which is the client that is stubbornly hanging on to the idea of winning the bidding war on that warehouse. I don't feel emotionally equipped to dive into that one tonight, so I mark it with a follow-up flag, open my calendar and set a reminder for tomorrow morning, and keep going.

***

By the time Allen comes to tell me the Chinese food has arrived, I only have seven new emails left to review. I push back from the desk and follow him to the kitchen.

We fill our plates and take seats around the kitchen table, with Pete setting a mini tablet next to him.

"This is the remote control for your system," he tells me as he points to it. "I'll walk you through all the bells and whistles after we eat."

Dinner talk is kept carefully devoid of my current situation, because I make a point of asking Pete about himself.

"Well, let's see," he says with a grin. "I'm originally from Orlando, joined the Navy right out of high school, retired after twenty years, and here I am."

"What did you do in the Navy?" I ask.

"Tons of things," he says mysteriously but does not elaborate further.

"Um… okay. Allen, what about you?"

"Born and raised in south Texas," Allen replies. "I also went into the military right after high school, but I went Army. I'd planned to stay until retirement, but things happened, and I got out after sixteen years."

The haunted shadows in his eyes fill my head with questions, but his sudden stiff posture warns me that asking them is probably not the best idea.

Allen's phone chimes and breaks the tension that's developed in the atmosphere all around us. He picks it up, glances at the screen, and grins.

"Calvary's here. I'll let them in," he says, and heads for the front door.

A few moments later, he is back, and standing with two of the tallest men I have ever seen, although at my all-time best height of five feet five inches, lots of people tower over me.

But these guys, particularly when Pete also stands up and joins them, form an intimidating wall of muscle. Not a one of them is under five-eleven by my estimation, and the two new arrivals look to be way closer to six foot four.

Not to mention every single one of them looks like they could bench-press my car, I think wryly to myself.

"Brielle, I'd like you to meet Mark and Marlon," Allen says, indicating each man as he speaks their names.

"Hi," I say, feeling very, very tiny but immensely protected at the moment.

"So, let's move to the living room and compare notes and decide on a battle plan," Allen says, then comes to me and extends his hand for me to join them.