Since Don was always nagging him for never checking his email, and he planned to ride the man hard about finding him someone to play the role of Tess, he pulled up his account, all prepared to write a “well? Have you found her yet” message. Instead, there was an email from Razor Sharp. Once again the man had managed to get beyond the Tess Delaney fan pages and find his way to Tess’s private email address. Garrett knew he shouldn’t read it. He knew he should just copy it to the file with the others like Detective Brewster had told him, but he’d already opened it.
Hey Lovely Lady,
Just finished reading your latest novel. A triumph, as they all are. And oh so hot. As they all are. Most definitely a one-handed read for me. Woman, what you do to me!
Rumors are flying that you’ve been nominated for the Golden Kiss Award. How very exciting.
I’ll be watching. No doubt with one hand well occupied.
Love and heat,
R.S.
Garrett sat staring at the email until the words swam out of focus before his eyes. Razor Sharp, he was calling himself now. He had been The Razor and The Deepest Cut and several other similar names. Though the emails were creepy, there was nothing seriously threatening, so why did Garrett always feel like someone had poured ice down the back of his shirt whenever he got one? And he didn’t even get them all that often. But how many people could know about the nomination for the Golden Kiss Award when Garrett’s publicist had only just told him? Granted, the man could have simply guessed. Garrett pulled a deep breath and saved the email into the file for the police. Not that it would do any good. He had more important things to think about at the moment, and Tess had her share of loopy fans. He supposed that was to be expected since no one really knew who Tess was. That certainly was a big plus. Garrett turned his attention back to composing a surly email to Don.
What’s in a name? he wondered. Do names ever fit the people who wear them? How could they, when parents choose the name they think is cute for an infant. And when people choose their own name, they can hardly be objective in their choices, can they? He pushed the chair away from the laptop, then stood to pace the floor in front of the make-shift desk. Each time he turned, his eyes caught the images flashing on the monitor. He’d turned the volume down until the sounds of sex were nothing more than background noise. He was way too excited to pay any real attention to the sex acts being performed by the two generic actors going through the motions. He was bored with them anyway. They rarely made him hard any more. But thoughts of her did. Thoughts of her always made him hard.
He ran a hand over the new growth of stubble on his head. He’d kept his head shaved all this time. But he’d let it grow now, for her. She’d like that, he was sure. He was sure she liked men with hair she could run her fingers through, and he would let her do at least that when the time came.
Everything was about to begin now. He felt it in his bones. He could be anyone he wanted to be now. She wasn’t the only one who could hide away from the world until she wanted to show herself. He tilted his head from side to side and felt the pop in his neck. Lots of tension there to be released, he thought. And she was the cause of it; she was always the cause of it, the way she kept herself hidden, the way she toyed with him and teased him. Well, she wasn’t the only one who could tease and toy, was she? He made his way to the refrigerator and pulled out the half empty carton of milk. On the bottom shelf, he found the last four hard-boiled eggs. He peeled them into the sink and ate them mechanically, ate them without tasting them. Outside he could hear the city just waking up. Had he really been up all night? Well, he didn’t need much sleep these days. Not now when he was so close, not now when he knew it would happen soon. He could feel it in his gut, the burning, the impatience that never left him now, never let go of him, like it would gnaw him in two if he didn’t have her soon. And he would have her soon. He’d spent most of the day in the cabin, their cabin, preparing it just for her. It was so perfect, so isolated. He hoped she liked nature, but then again it didn’t really matter if she didn’t
When he finished the eggs, he emptied the milk carton in long, thirsty gulps, dribbling milk down his chin and onto his T-shirt. He wiped a hand across his mouth and tossed the carton into the avalanching trash bag.
He paced the kitchen floor, back and forth, back and forth. He peeked out the window at the traffic just beginning to move on the freeway, then he pulled the curtain shut. He’d already been to the gym. He’d found a seedy 24-hour place a few blocks from his apartment. It had what he needed, without the reek of perfume on made-up doxies in designer spandex. And there were no crowds in the wee hours. Not that he minded crowds, not really. He just didn’t want them in his space when he was pumping iron. He’d worked out until he was exhausted, but he still couldn’t sleep. He spent the darkest hours on the computer, surfing, just surfing, flipping intermittently to porn sites, searching for something, anything to hold his attention. But ultimately nothing could, nothing except her and his fantasies of what it would be like when he had her here with him.