Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (18 page)

Last night had brought about a change. She wasn't stupid. She couldn't pretend to ignore the reason behind his probing questions. Brice had made a statement loud and clear. So, she'd done the next best thing. She panicked and ran. It was cowardly of her to tuck her tail and run before morning, but it was better that way. She needed time. There was no way to think clearly when she was close to him.

Their night together had been the single most amazing experience in her life—and she wanted more. But she was terrified of what wanting “more” would mean. Candace buried her face in both hands and groaned in frustration.

She got up and headed to the kitchen. Her head throbbed under the weight of her thoughts, and the grumbling ache of hunger in her stomach was growing too loud to ignore. She was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards for something to eat when the phone rang and the doorbell sounded simultaneously. She grabbed the phone while moving forward to answer the door.

“Good morning, babe.” She heard the smile in Brice's voice, and the familiar sound brought an immediate sense of peace to her chaotic mind. Despite her earlier misgivings, she couldn't help the glow she felt inside at the mere sound of his voice. She shook her head.
God, I'm a walking contradiction.

“Good morning back at you.”

“I was disappointed when I woke up this morning and found you MIA. You left without even saying goodbye.”

“I know, and I'm sorry about that, but you looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. I left because it's Saturday, you know, my errand day. I have a lot to do, and I wanted to get an early start.” It wasn't a complete lie, but it sounded like a pretty lame excuse even to her ears.

“I wanted to make sure you made it home okay. How are you feeling? Any sore muscles that need attending to?” His voice took on that sexy, wicked tone she loved to hear. “I'd intended to give you a full body massage, complete with warm oils, hot towels, and me.”

She laughed. “I'm fine, Brice. As a matter of fact, I'm better than fine. I feel great.” The thought of his big, strong hands kneading her muscles and cupping her body filled her head with intimate images of where his massages would ultimately take them. “I'm glad you called. I wanted to thank you for a wonderful evening. I really,
really
enjoyed it.”

When she opened the door, waiting there was a UPS guy with a package in his hand. She smiled, signed the receipt, and shut the door. She stared at the small lightweight box in confusion, certain she hadn't ordered anything. The return address was unfamiliar. She continued talking to Brice while she opened the box. As she tore into it, a sheet of paper fell out and landed on the floor. The word WHORE was spelled in cut-out magazine letters glued to the blank page. Inside was a clear plastic baggie that contained the shredded remains of a chocolate-colored lace bra and panty set, one she immediately recognized as her own. A chill went down her spine, and a soft frightened sound escaped her throat.

“Candace? What's wrong?”

“Oh my God.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“Candace! Tell me what's wrong,” Brice practically shouted into the phone.

“There's a package. It has my underwear in it, ripped to pieces.”

“I'm on my way. Don't do anything, just wait for me.” There was silence. “Candace?”

“Okay,” she answered and quietly hung up the phone.

While she waited, a hundred questions raced through her head, but she kept coming back to the same two:
who
and
why
. Suddenly, comprehension dawned and the answer was there, glaringly obvious. The over-the-top phone call, the crazy encounter at the restaurant, the break-in, and now this, her underwear in the mail. She suddenly heard the taunting sound of his voice in her head.
“I can find out anything I want to know about you, Freak: your number, where you live, who your friends are—even who you sleep with.”
Her heart thudded against her chest, and her stomach turned over. How could she have been so naïve? So stupid? Brice had been right all along. It was Andrew Nash. It had to be. He'd broken into her house, and
he'd
sent the package.

• • •

Brice must have broken every speed limit and traffic law known to man, because he was at her door in well under the forty minutes it usually took to cover the distance. She greeted him with a cup of coffee in one hand and the offending item in the other. To his surprise, she was not the crumpled vision of anguish and tears he'd imagined and expected to see during his drive over. To the contrary, she looked royally pissed. And it was a side of her he'd never seen before.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, wary of her calm behavior.

“Have a seat, I'll be right back.”

“Are you okay, Candace?” he called as she headed toward the kitchen. “You seem—changed, since we talked.”

“I'm fine.” A distinct bite of anger tinged her voice as she returned and handed him a cup of coffee. She leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as he gingerly sipped the liquid to test the heat.

“I did some thinking while I waited for you. I remembered what you said on the night of the break-in: how it didn't make sense for a burglar to ransack my house, destroy my things, take nothing, and leave such a personal message behind—to do all those things to a complete stranger. And now, I get this in the mail.” She threw the plastic baggie with the torn underwear onto the sofa next to him. “I didn't believe you because it seemed absurd. But the phone call, the run-in at the restaurant, the break-in, and now this. You were right. This is Nash, isn't it?”

Brice looked at the shredded remains of her underwear, and felt a familiar boiling and unfettered anger rise up inside of him.

“Yeah. I'd bet my last dollar on it. Everything points to him.”

“Why? Why would he do something like this? What could he possibly hope to gain from all of this crazy stuff?”

“Fear. Intimidation. A sense of power. He's sending you a message.”

“What kind of message?”

Brice set his cup aside and stood up, and started pacing the floor. She could feel his anger rolling off of him in waves.

“Sit down, Candace. I have something to tell you, and I want you to hear me out before you say anything.” He looked at her with frosty eyes and didn't speak until she'd done as he'd told her. “I took matters into my own hands and hired a private investigator. I did it the same night of the vandalism because I had a gut feeling, and I always go with my gut. You may not like it, but I did what I had to do, and I'd do it again.”

He took a calming breath. “You may as well know right now that there are no limits to what I will do when it comes to your safety, and my peace of mind. You're important to me, and I take care of what's important to me.”

With that said, Brice admitted everything he'd done up to that point. He told her about the private investigator, Nash's history of harassing and intimidating women, and the telephone cell tower information that proved he was nearby on the night of the break-in. Brice told her he intended to use the information to give Nash a taste of his own medicine, and finished with telling her about Nash's personality profile. “Nash is medically diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. When you add in a dose of possible schizophrenic paranoia, what you have is one mentally fucked up dude.”

Candace remained quiet for a long while, staring at Brice. The silence made him uneasy.

“Well, Candace, what do you think?”

“I was wondering how in the hell I got myself mixed up in this mess. And I was thinking you must be wondering the same thing, too. Am I right? Are you wondering what kind of woman ends up with a man like Andrew Nash?” Her posture was as rigid as a steel pole. Her eyes flashed in fiery defiance, and there was a hint of self-recrimination in her voice. Brice was taken aback by her anger and hostility, until he suddenly realized she thought she'd brought this all on herself.

“Hold up. Wait a minute. Do you think I blame you for what that asshole has done? Didn't you hear what I said? You're not the only woman he's harassed. Baby, you can't blame yourself for what that idiot does. He's a sick fuck that's been left loose in the world too long, impersonating a normal human being. You had no way of knowing he was a nutcase. It's not as though he had a sign painted across his forehead saying ‘Caution, Crazy Fuck Ahead.'”

“I should have known. Lord knows there were enough signs that something wasn't right about him. But I ignored them.”

“So, why did you—ignore the signs?”

• • •

Candace closed her eyes and breathed a small sigh of resignation. It was a valid question, one she'd already asked herself a number of times. But she refused to feel ashamed or apologetic for what she'd done. She'd had her reasons for dating him. She'd followed a plan, with a set of rules that guaranteed no chance of commitment, no locals, and no sweet, nice guys. He lived an airplane flight away, and there was nothing even remotely “sweet” or “nice” about him. He fit the profile.

But ever since she'd met Brice, she'd deviated from her strategy and had broken nearly every one of her rules. She shouldn't have messed with the plan. She should have stuck with the assholes. When she spoke, her tone was matter-of-fact.

“We didn't spend a lot of time together, and there were no ‘let's get to know each other better' conversations between us. He wasn't communicative, and neither was I. The attraction was purely physical, and at the time that was all that mattered. It was enough. More would have made things complicated. As I said, as a rule I don't do nice.” She shrugged. “But I don't do bat-shit crazy either.”

Brice's eyes roved over her face, and he pinned her with that familiar cold stare, his features seemingly carved in stone. When he was like this, he made her nervous because she couldn't tell what he was thinking. And though his expression gave nothing away, she felt the weight of that stare down to her bones. It felt like judgment. For an unknown reason, it hurt. She raised her head high and squared her shoulders and waited.

“Are you going to call the police?” he asked.

“No. What would be the point? He's no fool. If he didn't leave behind one fingerprint in an entire house, you can be certain he didn't leave anything on that package. To be honest, I don't know what to do.” She lifted her chin and returned his stony stare. “Do you think he's dangerous? Or is this just part of some whacked-out game to scare me because he's pissed off?”

“I don't know, Candace. There's no way of knowing what's going on in that head of his. If you want my opinion, then yes, I think he's dangerous. Trashing your house and sending shredded underwear in the mail reads like something straight out of a psycho crime novel. He may be doing these things just to fuck with your head, and maybe that's as far as he'll go. But I'm not willing to take that chance.”

• • •

Her stiff posture and defiant expression set off alarm bells shrieking in his head. They were a warning. She wasn't convinced that he didn't give a damn about how she'd ended up with Nash in the first place. She'd been in flight mode when she left his bed earlier that morning, and this sudden turn of events had only made matters worse. She was running away from what was happening with the two of them, and she would use Nash to drive the wedge in further.

He was dammed tired of Andrew Nash's intrusions. He'd come between them as surely as if he were standing in the same room, and his presence added to the feeling of distrust that hung heavy in the air.
And yes—it's a fucking relationship, whether she wants to acknowledge it or not.

“I'm going to contact my guy Rick and have him post a closer watch. We don't want him popping up unexpectedly.”

It was time to call Blaine. Nash had gone too far, and it was time to push back. This last stunt was psychotic, plain and simple. If what Rick suspected was true, he was already preparing his next move. Whatever it was, it was guaranteed to be something far more dramatic. He'd preyed and fed on the fear of others for so long that he'd grown bold. It was time he had the wind knocked out of him.

“We lost him,” Rick said.

“What do you mean you
lost
him?” Brice was livid.

“He's dropped off the grid. It appears he's been conducting counter surveillance tactics of his own. He must have picked up on one of my guys, got suspicious, and went underground. With his background in evasion techniques, if he's gotten a whiff of a tail, it'll be damn near impossible to reacquire him.”

“I want him found, Rick. He's upped his game plan. He sent Candace a pair of her own underwear, ripped up, in the mail. He's taunting her and trying to frighten her, and I won't stand for it. The man is a psychopath, and I don't want him anywhere near her.”

“Understood.”

• • •

Brice placed a small black-and-gold gift bag on the table and pushed it toward Candace.

She peered inside and took out a long, black velvet box, opening it to find a gorgeous bracelet.

“It's really thoughtful of you Brice, but I can't accept this.”

“Why not? Does it break some unspoken rule in our agreement?” There was a small bite to his voice, annoyance that she was so quick to turn down his gift.

“As a matter of fact, yes, it does. This wasn't part of our arrangement.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe our ‘arrangement' ever addressed it. So, technically, there's no breach. Besides, before you get all bent out of shape, it's more than just a gift. It's a precaution.”

“A precaution? What does that mean?”

“It means we can't take any chances with Nash on the loose. My guy lost him about a week ago, and we don't know where he is. We both think he might be headed this way. When I dropped your anklet off to the jeweler for repair, I came up with an idea. I bought this for two reasons. One, I wanted to buy you something nice, a gift from me, and two, it might come in handy should we need a backup plan. It was custom made to match your anklet, and I had Rick fit it with a GPS tracking device. Should it become necessary, it can be activated and I can find you over a distance. I hope you'll wear it at all times, starting now.”