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“Not a problem,” I maintain. I avert my gaze and clear my throat again. “Maybe we could sit?” Using the folder, I point towards the kitchen table.
“Sure. Are you thirsty?” Gavin glides into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, holding it out.
“I’m good for now.” Fascinated, I watch as he scurries around the kitchen, opening the water, taking a sip, screwing the cap back on, then fiddling with it between his long, slender fingers.
“Coffee?” he asks.
I laugh to put him at ease even though I’m anything but. “No, honestly I’m fine. Do you want to sit?” I move towards the table.
Whispering so low I have trouble hearing him, Gavin admits, “I got another one today.”
“What?” Spinning around, I face him.
“Another letter. Over there.” Gavin uses his chin to point towards the large granite topped island. “I didn’t open it.” I notice him thrust his hand back into his pocket.
I slip back into my role as Agent Hale, any remaining hesitation I have about the case disappears in an instant. Gavin looks petrified. It upsets me to think that he’s been so terrorized he doesn’t feel safe in his own home.
“Good, good. You shouldn’t touch it.” I cross over to where the letter sits—white and stark against the black stone countertop.
“I didn’t. I mean…I did touch it initially. I took it from my assistant before I knew what it was. She touched it too.”
I whirl back around to look at him again. “Wait a minute. Did it come to you here?”
Gavin’s hands twist and untwist the cap to his water. “No. To my P.O. Box.”
“Okay, good. So he most likely doesn’t know your home address.”
Whoever is doing this is good. Too good. According to the file, the police didn’t find a single fingerprint on the letter from the hotel, the gifts, or other recent items. The postal code on the letters is always different, which means they know not to use the same post office every time. The letters are typed, not handwritten, using a generic font and a generic brand of paper.
“Is your P.O. Box listed?” I ask, leaning on the countertop opposite Gavin.
He thunks the bottle down next to him. Some of the water splashes out in a fountain, splattering onto the counter and the front of his shirt.
“It’s the one my fan mail goes to!” he yells, shocking me with his outburst. “This is fucking out of control! I want this sick piece of shit stopped! I can’t live like this!”
Gavin’s fists clench and his body twitches with both fear and anger.
His rant continues and I’m sure my eyes get wider. “I’m not a goddamn pussy who hides away! This is just…” his hands go to his hair, tugging on it in frustration. “I can’t go anywhere, do anything, I feel like someone is watching me all the time…it’s fucking killing me waiting for something to happen!”
I watch silently, not wanting to say the wrong thing. And honestly, what is there to say? He’s right. His entire life has become entirely focused on avoiding a psychotic stalker who is most likely very dangerous.
“Jesus. You must think I’m crazy.” Gavin turns around, bracing his hands on the countertop, his back to me.
“Hey. I don’t think you’re crazy. I’ve seen crazy and it’s not you.” I want to reach out and grip his shoulder, offer comfort, but I get the feeling my touch would be unwelcome. The man is strung so tight he’s about to explode.
With his back still facing me, Gavin questions, “How have you seen crazy? With the FBI?”
I smile even though he can’t see it. “Yeah, with the FBI.”
Finally, he turns around. “Why did you leave?”
Heat floods my neck and face at the unexpected inquiry. Ross clearly has informed Gavin of my previous job with the government. “I…” I haven’t told anyone the truth about why I left the bureau and I’m not about to start now. “Personal reasons.” I tug at my collar, too tight and sweltering hot again.
Gavin’s eyes bulge. Probably from the way I’m clenching my jaw and how rigid my posture feels. “Okay, Johnny Utah,” he murmurs.
“What? Utah?” What the hell is he talking about? Maybe Gavin is crazy.
Gavin grins and my heart stutters at the sight. “Johnny Utah.” He stares at me. “Point Break? The movie? Ex-FBI agent? Surfer?” Gavin’s eyebrows get higher and higher on his forehead as I stare at him stupidly. “Forget it,” he mumbles.
