In the Shadows (The Club, #10) (4 page)

The flash of a shadow a few feet away made her look up. The world stopped.

A tall figure in a bulky black hoodie watched her, hands stuffed the sweatshirt’s front pocket.

If she’d been thinking, Vivian would have stepped back, closed the door, and locked herself into the bakery so she could call for help.

Instead, she was dimly aware of herself screaming, “Freeze, you asshole!”

Like that, life again flashed into motion. Her stalker took off down the street. She rushed down the steps, nearly tripping in her effort to keep her eyes on the mysterious figure. From across the street, there came a low, foul oath and footsteps running toward her.

She gasped in surprise when Shadow Man grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Get inside and lock the damn door,” he ordered, accent heavy on the gruff order. His hands disappeared and he chased after the stalker.

It might have been seconds, it might have been minutes, but at some point Vivian realized her entire body was shaking. She backed slowly toward the steps, pausing long enough to bend down and pick up the letter, and followed Shadow Man’s directions.

It took her a few tries to lock the door properly. Once she was safely in the bakery, she set her back against the door and slid down it until she was a tiny, huddled mass of panic and nausea. The shaking wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard she wrapped her arms around her knees and tucked them to her chest.

No sounds from outside. Shadow Man wasn’t back yet.

What if the other guy had a gun?
a cruel voice whispered in her head.
Or a knife? What if Shadow Man’s injured out there and your nightmare’s coming back to finish you off?

She staggered to her feet, refusing to wait to find out if her worst fears were founded. She dug her cell phone from her purse and dialed the police. Once the operator let her know that a squad car was on the way, she took a few deep breaths and wandered into the kitchen, trying to decide if it was worth it to arm herself with one of her chef’s knives.

Instead, she grabbed a broken cookie off the plate of rejects she kept on the counter for her employees. The soft taste of powdered sugar and shortbread soothed, even if she was stress eating. Dammit, if she couldn’t stress eat at a time like this, there was no hope left in the world.

Time stretched on in an agonizing wait. The flashing blue and red lights through the bakery’s pane glass windows announced the arrival of Karim’s finest. She unlocked the front door to let the officers in. Detective Luciana Mancini gave her a sympathetic nod as she passed by.

“Did you get my photo earlier?” Vivian asked her.

“I did. Didn’t expect to get a call from you again so soon though. Can you walk us through what happened?”

Used to the drill by now, Vivian walked Mancini and the other officers through the recent events. She let them collect the unopened letter from the counter where she’d thrown it, and dug the manila envelope with the other letter out of her purse. Once the evidence was out of her hands, she unlocked the back door and led them outside.

One of them took her statement while Mancini inspected the area, her flashlight making wide sweeps over the shadows. Her role done, Vivian stepped back from the scene, pretending it was the cold, not her own chilling fright, that made her hug her arms tightly around her stomach, An initial spark of terror hit at the sound of measured footsteps from the street to her back, but when she spun, she only saw the broad, comforting shape of Shadow Man approaching.

Mancini spotted him too, pausing her search.

“Hey,” Vivian called.

“He got away,” Shadow Man said without preamble. He was within touching distance now and for some reason it was natural to reach out to him. To her surprise, he reached back, pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her back in a hug.

Spiced heat enveloped her, along with the heavy scent of worn leather. Vivian tucked her head under his chin as he hunched protectively around her. His stubble prickled against her forehead and cheek, and under her lips she could feel the curve of his collarbone.

“You’re the friend who chased after the suspect?” Mancini asked.

“I am.” His voice rumbled in his chest.

Vivian tried to focus. “This is...”

“Zeke Harding.”

Mancini pulled out her notepad. “Zeke Harding?”

“Ezekiel, if we’re being specific.”

“Care to tell me what happened?” Mancini’s voice was deceptively polite. Vivian remembered that same tone the first time she’d made her report at the station. She was panicked, probably looking like some kind of crazed mess. It made sense that the detective had been wary. But Vivian had to hand it to her, once Mancini determined the stalker was a threat, she’d never wavered in her resolve to have him caught.

Too bad Shadow Man—Zeke—didn’t know any of that. He straightened, his arms tightening briefly around her before dropping. Reluctantly, she stepped away, only to be stopped by his taking up her hand. He didn’t look at her when he spoke, focusing completely on the detective. “I was leaving work. I heard Viv yelling at someone and saw the guy take off. I told her to get inside and call for help”

“Then you chased him?”

His sneer answered Mancini’s dry question well enough without words.

“Why?” the detective probed.

“I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take for help to arrive.”

The stress he placed on the word
help
must have rankled Mancini. Her mouth tightened and she flipped her notebook closed, returning it to a pocket while staring down Zeke.

“We discourage citizens from chasing after criminals, Mr. Harding.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh?”

Vivian rubbed her thumb lightly over his callused knuckles. His shoulders dipped, although his chin rose in polite defiance. “I’m sure you’ll see that back at the station when you run my records.”

Mancini changed tactics abruptly. “Where do you work, Mr. Harding? It’s awfully late to be conveniently out near this bakery...”

He chuckled. “You’ve heard of The Club?”

Holy shit.
The Club?

The officers behind Mancini silently retreated toward their squad cars out front. The detective stood stiffly on the steps, face blank. “I have.”

“Mr. Stevens, the head of security, is still there. I was helping him with a delivery.” Zeke’s eyebrow rose and his sneer slipped further into a mocking smile. “Would you like me to interrupt him to vouch for my whereabouts?”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Mancini replied. She didn’t back down completely though. “However, I would like a phone number and address where we can reach you if we have further questions.”

“Of course.”

Vivian followed Zeke back to the steps, where he provided his apartment’s address and his work and cell phone numbers. Once she had the information, Mancini returned her attention to Vivian. “We’ll work on these new notes. But be careful. Stay aware of your surroundings and call us if anything else happens.”

“I will. Thank you for coming by so quickly tonight.”

Mancini nodded and headed toward the front. Alone at last, Vivian chanced a look at her defender. Zeke leaned against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his leather jacket’s pockets, completely at ease. “Need to lock up?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get to it.”

He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. Her heart thumped at that sound. In an instant, she was far too aware of being alone with a man whose name she’d only just learned. “Ezekiel Harding,” she murmured. “Huh.”

“
Huh
what?”

“Oh, it’s just funny to finally know your name,” she said as she locked the front door and headed for the back door.

“Why’s that funny?”

His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his stance relaxed. The light from the kitchen slanted over his face, throwing his eyes in shadow and lighting the soft curve of his lips. He was so composed, so perfectly ambiguous. A Rorschach test in the flesh.

“After you introduced yourself this morning, I figured you had no intention of ever talking to me again.”

A blond eyebrow rose. “No?”

She wrinkled her nose and looked away, embarrassed to explain herself. Her purse sat on the counter, contents spilled from her panicked digging for her cell. She stuffed everything back in place as he crossed the room to stand at her side.

The soft glide of Zeke’s fingers down her arm sent goosebumps shivering over her skin. It was a deliberate motion, with enough pressure that the back of his fingers never lost contact. A tender movement.

“Why would you think that?”

His fingers slid down to her wrist, tracing the fine bones of her wrist. Her mouth dried. “No offer of a name. No phone call.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see his mouth twist. “Hasn’t it been less than twenty-four hours?”

He drew his hand back when she lifted her purse from the counter. She smiled. “I guess after how long it’s taken just to meet you face to face, I should have been more patient. You know, expected a call in a few weeks or something.”

“I was going to call you tomorrow.”

It was difficult to tell who was more surprised by the admission: her or him. She finished shrugging her purse on, trying to play it cool. “Well, I guess you still could. But it’ll be awfully hard to beat tonight. Chasing down that guy and acting all protective afterward is pretty heroic.”

She’d meant her comment to be a compliment, but the immediate stiffening of his spine and his sudden coolness showed that she’d made a costly misstep.

“I’m not a hero,” he bit out. “Are you ready to go?”

There wasn’t really a way to respond other than to nod her head. He remained silent while walking her out the back door. The silence stretched on as she locked up the back door. It wasn’t until she stood, waiting for him to head toward the parking lot of his work building, that he spoke.

“Where’s your car?”

“Three blocks over in the public lot. I can walk there on my own.” She glanced away. “Thank you for your help tonight. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll walk you there,” he said gruffly.

“You really don’t have to,” she assured him.

He muttered something under his breath and ran a hand over his hair. “Look, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Sorry.”

She wished he didn’t look so damn contrite. It made her want to forgive him and move on, see if she could get to know him better and find out why he was so convinced he didn’t fit that heroic mold. She was still fascinated by him and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

She wouldn’t lie. “Apology accepted.”

Their walk to the public lot happened in a comfortable silence. Zeke’s presence frightened away most of the shadows she imagined lurking outside the glow of the streetlamps. The warmth of his hand on her elbow, his arm lightly wrapped around her back, didn’t hurt either.

She pointed at her car as they neared the lot. “There it is. I’ll be fine from here, I promise–”

But Zeke wasn’t paying attention to her. His eyes were fixed on a white rectangle tucked under one of her windshield wipers.

I
n Syria, noting mundane details spelled the difference between life, mutilation, or death. Years and several doctors later, he’d finally found ways to stop slipping back into those old habits that often terrified people who’d never been in a combat zone before. Funny how such a simple, out-of-place item like a letter could shoot all that hard work to hell and send him scurrying into that familiar place.

“Give me your keys,” he told Vivian quietly.

She handed them over without protest, her hand only shaking a little. Her lips were tight and forehead wrinkled. He unlocked the car from a distance. Its lights blinked on and off, but even after they’d faded into darkness, there was no movement in the lot.

Zeke walked her closer toward the car, which seemed to be resting strangely. He dropped to a knee, then to his belly, peering into the shadows under the vehicle. He forced himself to breathe, to remember this was Karim, Texas. There weren’t any bombs here.

No bombs, maybe, but her rear passenger tire was flat. He would deal with that in a minute, once he knew the asshole wasn’t hanging around, waiting for her to try to fix the tire alone. After his breathing returned to normal and he was able to force down the panicked beating of his heart, he got up and handed her the keys. “Get in and lock the doors. I’ll get the paper.”

He ignored her fearful expression when he lifted the wiper and slid the piece of paper out from underneath. He opened it with as little handling as he could manage. The envelope was plain white, similar to the one he’d seen her carrying the other day. The letter inside was on printer paper, utterly non-descript.

The words were not.

She unlocked the car doors for him when he finished inspecting the rear tire on the passenger side. He slid into the seat, closing the door and letting her lock them both inside. The tension around her eyes gave away the real depths of her fear, but did nothing to slow the iciness taking hold inside him as the adrenaline surged.

“My car’s sitting funny,” she said, voice trembling.

“Your rear tire’s flat. Someone slashed it.”

“Shit.” She closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip. He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like she was trying to keep from crying.

“What’s going on?” he asked, deliberately pitching his voice lower to keep from frightening her.

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Nothing the police don’t already know about.”

“Viv–”

She wouldn’t look at him. But she also wasn’t ordering him to shut up or denying that anything was happening.

“Are letters like this normal for you?”

Her laugh was short and sharp. “God, no.”

He couldn’t get the words he’d just read out of his head.
It’s almost time for us to meet. And only one will walk away, love.
The handwriting was jagged, furious, in smudged, dark pencil. Maybe the cops would get a print off of it.

“Someone’s stalking you,” he said.