Regan’s swift exit from the backseat answers my question on his behalf. I call out for her, but she is swallowed by a sea of foot traffic not even two steps later.
“I’ll call you back,” I advise Brandon before thrusting my FBI identification onto the glass panel separating the driver and me. “If you so much as budge an inch from where you are parked, my threat won’t be a threat.”
His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror before his head bobs up and down. Confident he’ll follow my order, I take off after Regan. Since she is lugging a bag full of clothes and a stomach full of whiskey, it doesn’t take me long to close the gap between us. She is standing at the check-in counter of the hotel, her foot tapping in sync with the clerk attempting to check her in.
The alcohol in her system must be affecting her smarts. Every man, woman and child knows the first thing a manic stalker does is search for their target in the hotels and motels bordering their town. That’s why they scare you out of your home, to drive you out of your comfort zone.
Regan’s eyes rocket to mine when I snatch the hotel card from the receptionist’s hand and dump it back on her side of the counter. We fight like a couple on the verge of divorce when her bag is the next thing seized. She already wants me dead for forcing her out of her apartment without all the girly necessities she believes she can’t live without. Now she wants to kill me with her bare hands for stripping her beloved clothing from her grasp.
Realizing she’d rather live with me than without her shimmery slips and tight skirts, I wretch her beloved bag from her grip and hightail it to our taxi.
Just as I anticipated, Regan is on my heels two seconds later. “This is against the law. I could have you prosecuted!”
After throwing open the taxi door, I fling her bag inside. When she dives in after it, her flaring coat awards the men eyeing her a rare peek at her bare backside.
I scan the men’s faces into my memory bank before sliding into the taxi after Regan. The tightness of my jaw and narrowed eyes is all the driver needs to see to understand my demands. He locks the doors in a jiffy before continuing our trip.
Regan jingles the locks for the next three miles. When they fail to unlatch, she resorts to pleading with the driver. When he suddenly develops an inability to understand English, she snatches my cellphone out of my hand and slides her finger across the screen. “What moron doesn’t have a lock code on their phone?”
Since her question isn’t rhetorical, I don’t answer her. She dials a number known by heart before pushing my phone close to her ear. I could shut down her attempts to flee more diligently, but I’m hoping a little bit of leniency will reveal I have no intentions of keeping her against her will. I merely want to keep her safe.
My efforts appear to go unnoticed when Regan stammers, “Isaac, it’s Regan. I. . .ah. . .” She sighs softly before adding on, “I left my cellphone on the entranceway table. I know how upset you get when you can’t reach me, so I just wanted to let you know if you need me you’ll need to contact me via this number.”
She shifts her eyes to mine, wordlessly asking if my number is private. When I shake my head, she says, “It should be displayed on your screen. I don’t know how long I’ll be out of town. Probably just a day or two. Don’t panic. Hunter ran a full background search before I agreed to meet with him.”
Even though I know she’s lying, jealousy blackens my veins. I hate the idea of her with anyone, much less the fact Isaac keeps tabs on who she is dating.
“If I don’t talk to you before, I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
She waits as if she expects him to answer. It is a clever ploy of deception I didn’t think her hazy brain could create in her inebriated state. If I hadn’t heard the familiar beep of a voicemail kicking in at the start of their call, I would have assumed their conversation was two-sided.
After a few more seconds, she says, “Bye,” hangs up, then wipes Isaac’s number from my recently called list. With a shit-eating grin spread across her beautiful face, she hands my phone back to me.
“Just a lawyer, eh?” I ask, sliding my cell into my pocket. Deleting Isaac’s number from my phone won’t stop me from finding it, but for now, he’s the least of my problems.
Well, for the most part.
“Who’s Isaac?”
“Who’s Brandon? I thought PI’s went it alone?” Regan retorts, proving she is more clued in on underhanded surveillance than I first gave her credit for.
“He’s a colleague of mine,” I answer truthfully, hoping it will open a line of communication between us. “I only met him tonight. He seems alright, but I’ll hold my verdict until I know him a little longer.” I lick my dry lips. “Your turn.”
Confident I am telling the truth, she says, “Isaac is also a colleague of mine. I’ve known him for a few years. He’s a little overprotective, especially when it comes to bozos overtaking his protective detail.”
I smile, my acting skills top notch. “Ah, he’s the guy from the hospital? Your knight in shining armor?”
Regan nods, believing my pathetic attempt to act coy. Her eyes fall to her thighs when I ask, “If he is a friend of yours, why didn’t you tell him what happened tonight?”
“As I said, Isaac is a little overprotective.”
I return her eyes to mine via her chin. I try to ignore the extra flutter her neck gets when I cup her jaw, but my acting skills have been so overused tonight, I have no talents left.
“What happened tonight isn’t normal, Rae. There is no shame speaking up about it.”
“I know,” she agrees with a halfhearted nod. “It’s just not something I want vocalized.”
“That you have a stalker—?”
