Silk Stalkings (9 page)

She did as Stanley directed.

“Good girl.” He secured the other side of the cuff around a
doorknob, tightening the cuff as snug as it would go.

Yancey couldn’t help but rattle the doorknob to check its
stability. It was an old building. Stood to reason some screws might be loose.
Wood might be rotten. Her theory didn’t pan out, the cuff holding fast to the
doorknob and to her wrist.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I think we’re going to try out some items from your Excel
spreadsheet,” he replied.

A scorching burn of terror shot through her. Yancey gasped.
“I trusted you. You snooped. Boundaries, Stanley. Boundaries.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head in disdain, as if she
tested his patience. “You leave the damn laptop out on your desk. How could I
not snoop?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if you hacked my email account
and…and…and gave my computer that nasty virus just so you could get your grubby
little perverted hands on my hard drive.” Yancey rattled her cuff. “Am I
right?”

He shrugged noncommittally.

She reached out to thrash him with her free hand but he was
just out of her grasp. He tucked the gun into his waistband at the back of his
jeans. With her cuffed to the door, even without the gun, he frightened her. He
had a cock and intended to use it. On her. For some reason that prospect
horrified her more than the idea of being shot.

Finding her voice through all the fear, she yelled, “I want
my pink panties back!”

“Not a chance.” He stepped closer.

Yancey skulked away, the door swinging with her. “What are
you going to do?”

“It’s more what you’re going to do,” he said. “To me.”

“Come near me and you will be sorry,” she threatened. An
empty threat, perhaps, but it might buy her a couple of minutes.

“Why?” He rolled his eyes again, an annoying habit she’d
never noticed until tonight. “Your boyfriend going to beat me up?”

“No.”
I wish.
Through a clenched jaw, she said, “I’m
going to beat you up.”

* * * * *

Diego parked directly in front of the office building, his
amber light flashing. He darted for the door with the phone still to his ear.
He could make out bits and pieces of the conversation between Yancey and
Stanley. What he heard alarmed him enough to get his heart beating double time.
The door was locked. He pounded on the glass. The security guard who had been
eyeballing him on the first day waved him away. The same guard he’d seen at the
roach coach. Diego persisted.

“We’re closed,” the guard said.

“Call the police!” Diego yelled, holding his thumb over the
mic of his phone.

The guard came closer. His hand rested on his gun while he
scanned the parking lot, probably searching for a car accident or a mugger.
Seeing none, he said again, “We’re closed.”

“Call the cops. Now!”

Bobbing his head at the phone Diego held, he said, “You call
the cops now.” He turned and walked away.

Diego wondered what would get the cops there. If he drove
his truck through the front window? He could call the police, but found himself
unable to sever the connection with Yancey. She needed him and he needed to
stay connected to her.

He banged on the glass. “Yancey Peters in the research
department. She needs help.”

“What?” The guard shot him with a questioning glance. “Who?”

If the guy asked where, Diego was going to go ballistic.
“Yancey. Peters.”

“Pretty sure she went home,” he said just loud enough Diego
could hear.

What he didn’t hear, he read from the guy’s lips and eyes and
facial expression. Diego guessed everyone noticed when Yancey left the
building. She was a knockout.
Could I have misunderstood her?
Had she
misunderstood when he’d asked if she was at her office? If she was at home—in
danger—he’d never forgive himself.

“Please check,” Diego begged. The guard probably assumed
she’d gone home because she normally never stayed so late.

The guard crossed the lobby slowly. Too slowly for Diego’s
liking. The guard picked up a phone. He made a big production out of calling up
to her office. Listening through his cell phone, Diego heard the ringing phone
on the other end go unanswered. She was there, but this polyester-wearing
jackass would never believe it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered under his breath.
Diego broke the connection. He had one bar of charge left on his phone.

Chapter Nine

Diego sat at the curb with his hands cuffed behind his back.
His skin crawled and his blood all but boiled to be upstairs in the research
department by Yancey’s side. This must be what junkies went through, he
thought, jonesin’ for a hit of Yancey. But he’d done what he had to do. No
regrets, unless she was hurt—or worse. If so he’d be second-guessing himself
until the end of his days.
What could I have done differently?

The 9-1-1 operator wouldn’t believe him when he’d called for
help. All they’d done was call security at the newspaper and gotten the same
knucklehead whom Diego had been dealing with, who’d assured the 9-1-1
dispatcher that everything was fine and Diego was a head-case. That alone
should have warranted a police cruiser to be dispatched just to get rid of him.

For some reason, calling 9-1-1 about a fire had done the
trick. He knew the police would also be dispatched. He also knew there would be
consequences for calling in a false alarm. A few nights in county jail would be
worth saving the woman he loved.
The woman I love.

Diego had explained the situation to the fire department, to
the cops when they’d arrived. Explained that there was no fire, but they’d
inspected every floor just in case. He’d known they would. The only floor he
cared about was the second floor, where Yancey was.

Whatever they’d found inside the building during their
search had caused quite a commotion. Diego took in every comment and guarded
glance as he tried to make sense of the scene, since no one would answer his
questions. The security guard, whom Diego now referred to as “Douchebag”, stood
under a lamp and dragged his hand down his face as he spoke with an officer out
of Diego’s earshot. The guy looked remorseful. The cops appeared pumped with
adrenaline.
What does it mean?

When the ambulance arrived, lights flashing, Diego had to be
restrained by two burly officers he’d seen before but whose names he didn’t
know. No one would tell him anything, which wasn’t fair since he’d told them
everything. About Stanley, about Stanley’s obsession with Yancey, and the false
fire alarm at her apartment the previous night. That last one had nearly got
him locked in the back of the squad car as the real culprit.

Diego guessed they had him pegged as one of those nut jobs
who tries to be a hero by calling the cops but then turns out to be the perp.
He didn’t give a God damn as long as they saved Yancey.

He pushed up to a standing position when the aid workers
wheeled a gurney out of the front doors of the building toward the ambulance. A
cop pushed him back down to sit. His skin flashed with heat despite the cool
night temperature. Sweat trickled a path between his shoulder blades.

Milovich strode by grinning. “Your girlfriend is one tough
cookie, Ramos.”

“Why?” Diego popped up to his feet again. “What do you know?
What have you heard?”

The massive cop guarding him pushed him to the curb again.
They could make things worse on him and probably would have if they hadn’t known
him. Shit, he’d drunk coffee with some of these guys many a time late at night
and early in the morning.

Diego twisted his torso and craned his neck to catch a
glimpse of Milovich. “How is she?”

“She’s as well as can be expected,” he shouted over his shoulder,
but kept walking.

As well as can be expected?
What did that mean? As
well as can be expected for a corpse? As well as can be expected for a stabbing
victim? He couldn’t go to that place in his mind, where she was dead or raped.
She was so happy and sunny and naïve. He didn’t want a tragedy to change that
about her.

“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” he begged.

A mob of cops, firemen and security personnel parted, Red
Sea-like. Diego struggled to stand and the cop guarding him allowed his
infraction. Probably because the cop was as riveted as Diego, if not more so,
by the scene. Luckily the TV news vans hadn’t shown up—yet. Diego wanted
nothing more than to see that creep Stanley in cuffs, but his attention
followed the ambulance pulling away with Yancey. Pulling away without him by
her side. The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. What if she died? Alone.

When the ambulance was out of sight, he turned his attention
back to the throng of uniforms. He choked on a breath when he noticed the shock
of curly red hair bobbing in the sea of men who seemed in awe of her. Others
hung way back as if afraid of her. The plainclothes detective to whom Diego had
told his story to earlier had his fingers wrapped around her arm.

“Yancey!” Diego called to her.

She searched the area before spotting him. “Diego!”

He felt as if the sun had come out at night. Maybe an
officer had been injured while saving her. Or hopefully Stanley had been
injured by an officer when they’d rescued her. He hadn’t heard a gunshot.
Seeing her walking under her own steam answered every prayer he’d uttered
during the past hour. Not that she walked alone. Yancey had the detective on
one side of her, clutching her forearm, and an officer on the other side.

The burly officer guarding Diego laid a heavy hand on his
shoulder to restrain him. Yancey was paraded past him. Her hands were cuffed
behind her back. A shudder rippled through her. She looked so pale. Her eyes
were red and puffy, smudged with black mascara. From tears, he guessed. He
heaved a breath, suddenly realizing he’d stopped breathing for a few beats.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, his gaze following
her. He’d sort of expected to be cut loose once they found out she’d been held
captive by a crazed lunatic. Just as he’d told them.

Pointing, the detective said, “Put him in that squad car.
We’ll put her in this one here.”

“Oh, c-can’t Diego and I ride t-together?” Yancey asked, her
teeth chattering.

“Not a chance,” he said, guiding her into the cruiser.

“I love you,” Diego shouted. She replied something. He clung
to the hope that she’d heard him and that she loved him too.

Officer Patterson said, “I got him,” to the officer standing
guard over Diego, who then shrugged and sauntered away. Patterson led him to
the back seat of the patrol car.

“What the hell happened, Patterson?” Diego asked.

“Little Miss Peters beat the stuffing out of that creepy
pervert,” he whispered.

Milovich covertly winked at Diego and slid behind the wheel
of the car. Patterson secured his prisoner before easing into the passenger
seat. Diego’s stomach turned when he saw his baby being hooked up to a larger
tow truck. The patrol car pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the
police station, leaving his livelihood in the rearview mirror. He loved that
damn truck, but not as much as he loved Yancey.

“Can someone please clue me in?” he begged.

“Don’t freak out,” Patterson warned him.

“When you say that,” Diego said, his chest tightening,
making it hard to breathe, “it makes me freak out.”

“That little dirtbag cuffed her to a doorknob,” Milovich
said. “No doubt he was up to no good. We just don’t have all the facts yet.”

Patterson added, “Miss Peters slammed his hand in the door.”
He chuckled. “I think she broke every damn one of his fingers.”

“Only on the one hand,” Milovich said. “Then she planted her
three-inch-high heel in his groin. I hurt just thinking about it.”

“They’re probably three-and-a-half-inch heels,” Diego said,
pressing his thighs together, feeling a little pain himself. Good to know those
heels doubled as weapons. It made him sick to think of Yancey going through
that. And sicker still imaging what could have happened if she weren’t such a
resourceful girl.

“Then she yanked the door against ol’ Stanley’s frontal
lobe,” Milovich said, admiration resonating in his words. “We found him
unconscious.”

“Then why is Yancey in cuffs?” Diego asked.

“Sadly,” Patterson said, solemnly, “sadly the creep came to,
spouting nonsense about her laptop and some list and how she wanted to be
cuffed and act out some sick fantasy with anyone willing.”

With me and only me.
Diego groaned. Her list becoming
public knowledge wasn’t going to do them any favors. It would cast doubt on her
story—the truth.

Milovich added, “The little dork said she likes it rough.”

Diego groaned again.

“Does she?” Milovich asked.

“Not your business,” Diego replied.

“Once they put all the pieces of the story together and
determine who the gun belongs to,” Patterson said, “they’ll set you both free.
You know…probably.”

“Or you can make bail,” Milovich said.

“I think she’s in shock,” Diego said. He’d seen the glazed
look in the eyes of many victims of accidents he’d rolled to. He’d seen the
shakes and the chattering teeth. Yancey had looked into the face of evil. “She
needs medical attention, not jail.”

She’d probably need therapy.

Patterson tapped his chest. “That’s what I said.”

“No, that’s what I said,” Milovich said.

* * * * *

Yancey hung back, holding up a wall, waiting. She watched
Diego collect his personal items from the property clerk. She’d had to do the
same. The entire ordeal had been demoralizing. Especially on the heels of being
held hostage and nearly forced to do unspeakable things to that heinous little
freak.

Diego looked pissed after a night in jail. Gorgeous but
pissed. And it was all her fault he’d been locked up. Why did she have to
create that spreadsheet? Now everyone knew her sordid business and his too.
She’d had to explain the entire mess to that detective, to her brother and her
father, who’d had to explain it to her mother. Just from looking at the
spreadsheet they all knew the things she’d done with Diego. He’d get a pat on
the back from his buddies. She’d get the gossip, whispers and ridicule. Maybe
that was what she deserved. She’d learned her lesson. Sowing wild oats was a
guy thing—no girls allowed.

Diego inspected his wallet before stuffing it into the back
pocket of his faded Levi’s. He turned and walked toward the door, his head
down. When he looked up, he did a double take, stopping abruptly as if he’d hit
a wall.

“Yancey?” he said.

She stepped closer, not knowing what kind of reception to
expect. Yancey couldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again. He’d
hinted at a sordid romantic history and wanting to make a change. She’d mucked
all that up. Dressing sexily had attracted the wrong kind of attention from the
wrong kind of guy. Hopefully that guy would be in jail for a long time.

Diego didn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around her, holding
her tight. She melted into his welcoming embrace. His body felt so warm. His
breath tickled her ear. Despite a night in jail, he smelled wonderful, like
leather and citrus and mint. She sort of smelled like sweat and disinfectant.

“I was so worried about you,” he said, holding Yancey at
arm’s length to take a long look at her. “You look one hundred percent better
than last time I saw you.”

She scoffed. “I’m wearing jeans, sneakers and my librarian
glasses.”

Her hair was untamed and she didn’t have a lick of makeup
on. She’d looked frightful the last time she’d checked her reflection in a
mirror, with dark circles framing her eyes. Her mother had brought her the
dowdy clothes from a box she’d stored in her parents’ attic. And Yancey was
happy to simply blend into the crowd. She was tired of putting herself on display.
There was only one man she wanted ogling her.

He dragged her against him again and squeezed. “You were so
pale. So traumatized yesterday.”

“You’re not mad?” she asked.

“Mad? Why? Because you were assaulted?” He swayed her in his
arms. “Not a chance. It wasn’t your fault.” He shook her lightly. “You know it
wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I figured…I just assumed you’d be done with me. Too much
drama,” she said, fighting back tears. She blamed herself for the awful ordeal.
Maybe she’d had it coming.

“I can’t even imagine being done with you,” he said. “I was
afraid you’d be through with me for not being able to save you from Stanley. I
felt so helpless.”

Yancey pulled away. A warm tear rolled down her cheek. She
never wanted to hear
his
name again, or be reminded of that night. Tears
burned behind her eyes. She still had a trial to face, unless Stanley pled
guilty. He was still recovering in the hospital. But at least the police
believed her after they’d collected all the evidence. Yancey wasn’t his first stalking
victim. Hopefully she’d be his last.

“You did save me,” she said. “You did. I don’t know what
would have happened if you hadn’t called in that false fire alarm.” She could
guess. Stanley would have come to, madder than a hornets’ nest because she’d thumped
his head with the door.

“You know about that?” Diego swiped at her tear with his
thumb.

“I know everything.” Her voice shook with emotion.
“Unfortunately, many people know everything. All about my spreadsheet. All the
things we did. I feel so stupid.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Who cares?”

“My dad, who happens to be the district attorney, knows and
probably cares. My brother, who’s a cop,” she said. “My mother, who’s a judge.
They all know.”

He laughed, but his laugh sounded more as though he were choking.
“Well, that’s going to be awkward. Mostly for me.”

“For you?”

“Yeah, when I meet them.” He kissed her temple. “I mean…I
will meet them, won’t I? I have this fantasy—”

She put her fingers to his lips. “No more fantasies. My
skirts are going to get longer and my blouses will be looser. My heels are
going to get lower. Much lower. And I’m going to keep my sexual fantasies in my
head instead of on my hard drive.”

“I was going to say my fantasy is you and me together
forever, under the same roof.” He slung his arm over her shoulder and they
headed for the door. “That means I’ll probably need to meet your family at some
point. And you’ll meet mine.”