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He turned back to Max, wishing there was a way he could avoid going for the jugular so soon – if at all. But his initial instincts had only strengthened as he’d familiarized himself with the material Gray’s head of security had emailed over.
“A month ago, you received this postcard from your stalker, right?” Noah asked, as Rachel left the room. He held up a picture from the file, a bright photograph of a butterfly with a chilling message on the back: so much prettier when trapped in glass, not flying free.
Max barely looked at the postcard. “Yes.”
“I see they spent a fair amount of time looking into the Miami connection.”
“Because of the postmark,” she pointed out crisply.
“It’s fake.”
Gray stiffened. “How do you know?”
“Because of the insignia. See?” He pulled his phone out as a point of reference, showcasing the subtle but appreciable differences. “This wasn’t posted from Miami, and given the lack of other postmarks, it wasn’t sent via mail at all. Which means it was hand delivered.”
Max did an excellent job of maintaining an unruffled expression, but again, it was her hands that gave her away. They lifted to a necklace she wore, a diamond shaped more like a crystal, long and angular; she ran it over the chain from side to side, her lips pursed.
Beside her, Gray swore.
“We already knew he had my home address,” she responded quietly, the words brave when he could tell she was terrified. “It’s no worse than that.”
“He was in your damned street, Max, completely undetected. Another way he’s evaded our security. Surveillance. Who the hell is this?”
“And what does he want?” Noah responded, his eyes narrowing as he studied Max. She met his gaze fiercely, her chin angled with a determination he admired.
“If the way he slashed my car up is any indication, I’d say he wants to kill me.”
Noah was no longer aware of Gray in the room. He saw her fear, her acceptance of the fact she was a hunted animal, and he knew the time was right to throw her a lifeline, to offer her a way to escape – but he also knew that the decision to take it had to be hers.
“I will help you, Maxine. I will keep you safe. But only if you let me.”
“I have security,” she responded, the words firm even when her voice was quiet.
“I’m not like normal security. For the next month, or as long as it takes to apprehend your stalker, I will be your shadow. You will hate the sight of me. At the end of it, I will hate the sight of you. But you’ll be alive, safe, and he’ll be behind bars. Is that what you want?”
Her lips parted, the brutal description of what their working relationship would be obviously jarring.
“I presume you’re exaggerating for effect,” she said after a beat.
“I never exaggerate.”
“I don’t want a shadow.”
“That’s the way this works.”
“Max, listen to him,” Gray interrupted, but Noah shot his friend a warning look. This had to be a deal struck between Maxine and himself. He couldn’t protect a person if they resented his presence, if they tried to lose him or confuse him. This required total cooperation.
“I am listening,” she responded, taking a long drink of her coffee then turning, moving to the windows that framed a picture-perfect view of London, the Thames a glittering snake slithering with lazy indolence through its center. In profile, Maxine was, somehow, even more striking than in photographs, her beauty ethereal and compelling, her slender body stirring every masculine instinct Noah possessed to life.
“Your life will be an open book to me for as long as I protect you.” His voice was deep and gruff. “Every email, every call, every interaction I will know about.”
She whirled around, the look of being hunted growing stronger. “So I’m trading in one stalker for another?”
“I have no interest in killing you,” Noah said with firm honesty.
“And you agree he does?”
“Yes.”
