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I make it around my desk and to the door in seconds, going outside, where I find her, huddled over her computer keyboard, her head bent, her shoulders shaking… a picture of agony. My heart contracts painfully in my chest, but I ignore it and rush to her.
“Livia? What’s wrong?”
She startles, looking up at me, and the pain in my chest intensifies as I see tears trickling down her cheeks, and more waiting to fall. She opens her mouth, but then closes it again, and reaches for a Kleenex from the box on her desk, wiping her eyes, before fresh tears fall. Whatever this is, it’s bad, and I long to hold her. I can’t, but I need to do something…
“Livia… tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.” Please. This hurts.
“M—My phone.” Her words come out on a stuttered breath, and I look at the device, lying face-down on her desk.
“Your phone?” She nods her head, but says nothing more, and I pick it up. “You need to unlock it.”
She sits up slightly and I hold the phone in front of her face, waiting a moment while it recognizes her, and then I turn it around again. It’s unlocked now, and I swipe upwards, frowning as I stare down at a photograph of Livia getting into her car. From the looks of things, she’s wearing the same dark suit that she’s got on now, but I don’t understand.
“There are more,” she says, gulping down her tears.
I swipe to the right and see another photograph, this time of her coming out of a grocery store, clutching a carton of milk. She’s wearing jeans and a blouse, and is smiling contentedly. I swipe again. The next picture is of her, wearing the same clothes, but entering what appears to be an apartment block, and the next is of her taking a bag out of the trunk of her car. I stop there, suddenly realizing I’m in her message app, not her photos… and the meaning of this becomes clear.
“You’re being stalked?”
She looks up, her face paling. “I—It feels that way, yes.”
I clench my fingers around her phone, trying to control my anger and my fear.
“Come with me.” I don’t care whether what I’m about to do is right or wrong. We need to be alone. We need to talk in private. I put my arm around her and help her to her feet, ignoring how soft and sensual she feels as I guide her into my office. She doesn’t seem to mind the close contact. In fact, she leans in to me as we’re walking, and when I close the door, I’m almost certain I hear her sigh. Perhaps she feels safer in here with me.
I hope so.
As much as I’d like to keep hold of her, it’s not practical, and she needs to sit, so I guide her past my desk to the couches on the far side of the room, sitting her down on one of them. For a moment, I contemplate taking a seat beside her, but then I remember the circumstances and realize she might want some distance, so I perch on the edge of the couch opposite, putting her phone on the table between us.
Her brow furrows as she looks down at it, but then she sucks in a deep breath, stuttering it out again, and I can tell how much she’s struggling.
“How long has this been going on?”
It’s more than just today, that much is obvious from her reactions.
“It started a couple of months ago, I guess. Then it stopped for a while, and then just before I left SKJ, it started up again. Obviously, it all went quiet when you gave me my new phone… except it didn’t, did it, because it’s happening again. Although I don’t know how. I mean…”
I can hear the panic in her voice, and it’s too much for me. I get up and move around the table, crouching right in front of her.
“It’s okay. You’re safe.”
“I don’t feel safe. It was bad enough before, when they were sending me pictures of myself at work, or getting off the bus outside the office, but these…” She waves her hand toward the phone. “These are more personal. Whoever it is, they’re following me. They know where I live.”
“I know. And I don’t like it any more than you do.”
I try to stay calm, despite the waves of fear rising inside me, made worse when I see the terror in her eyes.
“I—It’s not your problem, Hunter.”
She’s got to be kidding. “Yeah, it is. I’m making it my goddamn problem.”
She frowns, like she doesn’t understand. “Y—You mean you want to help?”
“Of course I want to help.” I don’t know how, but from somewhere, she finds a smile. It’s only slight, but it’s there, and it takes my breath away. “What’s wrong?” I ask, finding my voice.
“Nothing’s wrong… not really. It’s just that, when I went to my old boss and asked him to help, he told me that because the messages were on my personal phone, it was nothing to do with him, or the company.”
“In that case, I’m not surprised you left.”
