Take a Risk E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Trapper. Risqué.

Two names are all sex therapist Lyssa Cutler has, but they’re all she needs. Those two words give her a guy and a location… a strip club where she’ll find him. Finding the solution to her stalker problem in such a place is unexpected. In fact, Trapper turns out to be far more than just capable of tracking down her stalker.

Colt Warner’s better judgement tells him to reject the job offer from the inquisitive doctor. The sassy sexpot is going to be trouble. Being attracted to a client goes against his usual ethics…  playing by the rules has never been his strong suit.

Giving in to their combustible attraction lures reality into harsh focus. The stalker that brought them together doesn’t like the picture presented by the new couple and seems prepared to do anything to tear them apart.

Questions mount up, answers are elusive. Only one thing is clear: time is running out.


Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2015 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2015

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2015

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.scarlettfinn.com

RISQUÉ SERIES

Take a Risk

Risk It All

Game of Risk

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

To Aubrey C,

The story of life is not always just.

Your story was cut short when you still had so much to say.

You’ve taught us to listen to the words of the ones we love, as we never know when they’ll be torn from our side.

Thank you, Bright Angel, for teaching us to appreciate the gift of friendship and family.

For you, we will keep listening and never forget.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

“Without evidence that this person intends to do you harm, Doctor Cutler, there’s nothing we can do.”

To give him his due, Officer Ronson had been pleasant despite probably believing they were crazy. Sitting at his desk, Lyssa clutched her best friend’s hand recognizing that Suzette was working herself into a lather. Appealing to the seasoned detective hadn’t worked so far.

Ronson and his young partner, Miguel Chavez, had to be sick of the sight of her. At Suzette’s prompting, she’d been in the precinct half a dozen times over the course of the last four months. With the lack of interest that always greeted her, Lyssa didn’t see the point of reporting each incident, certainly not anymore.

“This is ridiculous,” Suzette said. “My friend is being terrorized.”

“With all due respect, Miss. Blossom, flowers on the back stairs don’t rank high in the danger-to-life index.”

The officer was doing his job and had a point.

Except her predicament was about so much more than flowers. “What about the phone calls?” Lyssa asked.

“You said it had been a couple of weeks since he called,” Ronson said.

“Yes, but—”

“Maybe he’s a secret admirer.”

“He prowls around outside her house,” Suzette exclaimed, slamming her hands to the table, thrusting onto her feet.

Hoping to soothe her friend, Lyssa stroked her arm. “It is disconcerting to know that someone was in my yard.”

“You’ve called us out and we never find anyone,” Ronson said, consulting the file in front of him. “Same as the suspicious cars you and your friend keep reporting. Everything checks out.”

“You think I’m crazy,” Lyssa muttered.

“She’s a goddamn psychiatrist!” Suzette said, pointing at her. “If she was crazy, she’d be the first one to recognize the symptoms! You people are supposed to protect the innocent.”

“Keep filling out your diary,” Ronson said, pushing Lyssa’s black notebook back to her. “And if you’re threatened or attacked then please call nine-one-one.”

“What use is that after she’s been attacked?” Suzette asked.

Her best friend was fiercely protective but flipping out wouldn’t get them anywhere.

Taking her purse from the floor, Lyssa slid the strap to her shoulder as she stood to put an arm around her friend. “Thank you for your time,” she said, picking up the notebook and tucking it into her purse with one hand. “We’d appreciate you leaving a note in the file that we reported this.”

“Sure thing,” Ronson said, smiling for the first time, no doubt because the crazy people were leaving.

Chavez opened the door for them.

Even though Suzette kept her seething quiet, it was apparent with the red face and huffing impatience. Lyssa wound them through the precinct and got outside without them exchanging a word. Their car was parked around the block, so they cut down an alley at the side of the police building.

“We should report those guys,” Suzette grumbled.

“Wait until we’re in the car before you lose it, Suzie,” Lyssa said. “We’ll go somewhere nice for lunch.”

Lunch would calm her friend down. Not that she’d say that out loud; Suzie had a short fuse at the best of times.

“Doctor Cutler?”

The voice from behind made both women turn. Miguel Chavez stood in a side doorway of the police building, alone. Before approaching them, he took the time to look up and down the alley.

“Come to belittle us some more, have you?” Suzette sniped.

“Ronson is old school,” Chavez said. “He thinks stalking is a new fad.”

“And you don’t?” Lyssa asked.

“I know… something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like that you’re not going to get very far here until you’re hospitalized or dead. Short of coming up with concrete evidence that this lunatic is on your tail…”

It was nice to be believed if nothing else. “So you’re here to tell me to stop wasting my time and yours?” Lyssa asked. “Forgive me, but if I don’t report the prowler’s actions then he’s getting away with it. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Visit someone who can help,” Chavez said, handing her a business card.

Black with curly red writing, it listed the address of something called “Risqué.” If the outline of the woman draped along the side was anything to go by, it was a strip joint.

“A stripper?” Suzette asked. “You want us to go to a stripper?”

“No,” Chavez said, moving in closer and lowering his voice. “Go there tomorrow night, eleven p.m., ask at the bar for Trapper.”

“Trapper?” Lyssa said.

“Trust me; he’ll be able to help. If anyone asks where you got this information don’t use my name.”

“Why not?” Suzette asked, getting excited. “Is he a superhero? A mercenary? Or a sniper, who will take this guy out with one shot? Pow!”

Trying not to laugh, Lyssa squeezed Suzette’s hand. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone getting hurt.”

“Trapper’s not security,” Chavez said. “But he will solve your problem.”

“How will he do that?”

“Ask him.”

Chavez walked backward toward the door and then disappeared inside, leaving Lyssa and Suzette staring at the card.

“What do you think?”

“Is it too early for a drink?” Suzette asked.

Taking her friend’s lead, they went to the car and drove to their favorite restaurant only a block from the hospital Suzette worked at with her fiancé.

Once they’d ordered food and received their drinks, Lyssa took the card from her pocket and placed it on the table. “Is he setting us up?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like the clandestine theatrics.”

“He’s a cop,” Suzette said. “He’s probably got all sorts of contacts. If this Trapper guy can help, then he’s worth checking out.”

“Are we there yet? I mean, are we really that desperate?”

“You’re a prisoner in your own home. I want Lyssa back, my Lyssa, the real Lyssa. The Lyssa who wouldn’t think twice about wandering the streets at three a.m. The Lyssa who would face off with bikers and boxers, who convinced an abusive husband to turn himself into the cops and be honest about his despicable deeds. Where is the Lyssa whose greatest aspiration was to write self-help books for us poor women clueless about the male mind?”

Lyssa smiled. “I haven’t given up on that.”

“No? You walked away from your marriage because your husband wouldn’t support that dream.”

“Archie didn’t like to see me taking what he perceived as risks,” Lyssa said. “He didn’t have confidence that I knew what I was doing.”

“Observing men in their natural habitat used to inspire you. When was the last time you went on one of your crazy crusades?”

“Studying male sexual behavior can be done at any time. I suppose I haven’t been motivated recently.”

“Because you think a stalker is studying you every minute,” Suzette said, leaning back to let the server place their salads in front of them. When they were alone again, she took Lyssa’s hand. “I don’t blame you. It must be terrifying to know some nut is obsessed with you. But you’ve put your life on hold for him.”

“I do find myself… concerned. But he’s hardly a stalker, maybe he is just an admirer and doesn’t mean any harm.”

“After your divorce you bought that beautiful townhouse in the city and set up your practice. You promised me that taking on patients was a stopgap to help you pay the bills while you wrote your books. Writing was always your passion. The only reason you went to medical school was to appease your father.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Lyssa said, used to her friend’s rhetoric.

Her parents had scrimped and saved; they expected their only child to use her intelligence wisely. Seeing her graduate had been their greatest achievement. Though their happiest was probably watching her marry the rich plastic surgeon… shame that hadn’t lasted. Telling them her marriage was over was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Her intention had always been to study the mind, psychology fascinated her. She’d chosen to specialize in sexual dysfunction and never looked back. Her primary focus was male patients, but she worked with females and couples sometimes too. In her practice, she had a variety of patients ranging from those with simple marital issues, to victims of sexual abuse and assault.

“I want you to write your books,” Suzette said. “Get inspired! Throw yourself into an assignment. Study your subjects up close, undercover, just like you used to.”

If only it was that simple. With the admirer on her tail, she’d become more aware of her movements, and her vulnerability. “I’m still writing and rewriting previous findings.”

“But not studying anyone new, or putting yourself in new, exciting environments,” Suzette said. “You’re not going to do that until we get rid of this guy. I know you, Lyssa. You have to move on from this and find yourself again.”

The only way to move forward was to free herself from the scrutiny of the obsessed person. But going to a stranger and asking for help didn’t seem right. She liked to steer her own destiny. Playing the hapless or helpless victim wasn’t in her nature. It was frustrating that this stalker had reduced her to that.

“Okay,” she said to Suzette. “I’ll think about it.”

For now, that would have to do. Before making a decision, she liked to be absolutely sure. Once committed, Lyssa had a tendency towards jumping in at the deep end. The Risqué opportunity would play on her mind until the rendezvous time.

That evening, sitting alone in the living room of her narrow townhouse, Lyssa read the latest instalment of her favorite fiction series under the light of a single floor lamp.

It played on her mind. The flowers, the precinct… Chavez’s recommendation.

Until a few months ago, it hadn’t bothered her that she didn’t watch TV. Between med school and marriage, she’d never had time to sit down and absorb the banality of the latest sitcom. Without background noise, her home was eerily quiet, and she regretted never picking up the habit.

A sound. A snap outside… What was it? Was she being paranoid or was someone there?

Her house faced a city sidewalk. Most of the noise was ambient that she just filtered out. Occasionally, a sound or passing light would pique her attention.

The bedroom window seat was her favorite place to read. Showcasing her yard, sometimes she’d see wildlife in the trees that separated her property from the dog park behind it. Since the whole stalker-admirer mess, she’d given up on reading there. The shadows out back convinced her things were there that weren’t.

Given her profession, she could identify delusions and paranoid behavior. That was as much as her education could help. Sometimes she expected to look up and see the prowler in action, leaving roses on her back stairs or disappearing into the trees.

She never had.

Since buying her house after the divorce two years ago, she’d grown to love it more and more. Until the flowers and phone calls started, she’d been happy there. At first, the flowers were a surprise. The calls that followed unnerved her. Then, for no reason she could decipher, the admirer’s actions stopped… only to start again the following week with flowers and a note. “I see you.” That was all it said.

From there, the harassment escalated in frequency, then abruptly stopped, and restarted to no discernable pattern. The assailant had no obvious goal, except to fixate on her, to scare and confuse her.

No one liked feeling helpless. Lyssa had fought to hold onto her confidence and maintain control while someone tried to take it away.

The predator wanted something. It was that unknown which scared her the most.

CHAPTER TWO

“I’m telling you, honestly, Doctor Cutler, I’m so horny that purple statue thing over there is looking hot to me right now.”

Displayed on a side dresser in her first-floor office, the steel statue was fashioned like a single teardrop flame with a similar shaped hole near the bulge at the base.

For a moment, both Lyssa and her patient focused on it. “Let’s keep this in perspective,” she said. “Your wife is still accommodating you. You said that you had sex twice last week and three times the week before.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand.” Her fidgety patient ran a hand through his hair. “When we got together, we were at it all the time, constantly, now it’s like no big deal to her.”

“You got together when you were eighteen,” she said. “You’ve been together for twenty years and had three children. Relationships develop over time, they progress. We can’t expect things to stay the same forever. You’ve had some success with my suggestions to entice Harriet.”

“The thing is, there’s this girl at work and man, oh, man. She’s calling to me. We had lunch the other day and my leg brushed hers under the table. I had a boner the rest of the day.”

Lyssa put her notebook on the circular table next to her leather armchair. “The first thing you told me when we started our sessions was that you loved your wife very much. You were determined to stay faithful. Has your stance changed?”

“No! I love Harriet and I do want to be with her, only her… she’s just not meeting my needs.”

Glancing at the clock she offered Lee Zucker a smile. “We’ll pick up there next week, Lee,” she said. “Just take it one day at a time. Try not to act on impulse and remember where your priorities lie.”

She scheduled his next appointment and they said goodbye. After he left, she went to her desk and updated patient notes on her laptop.

Her office and waiting room were on the first floor of the house. A basement beneath was storage and her home was laid over the second and third floors. There was attic space too, which she’d talked about converting, but hadn’t acted on yet.

She didn’t need more space. The two-bedroom house suited her. After enduring hectic med school and a marriage that didn’t fit, enjoying her own space was a dream.

“Hello!”

Lyssa had just closed Lee’s file when Suzette poked her head around the office door.

“Hey,” Lyssa said. “I’m done, just let me get changed and we’ll go.”

“Dinner and drinks, then we hunt for your white knight.”

Lyssa grabbed her purse while the computer shut down. “This Trapper guy could be a nut too, you know.”

Her friend huffed. “I am not going to let you back out of this.”

“We could be inviting trouble,” Lyssa said, guiding Suzette out of the office.

They went upstairs to the main reception room at the front of the house. It encompassed her living room and kitchen. While Lyssa kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her pantyhose, Suzette poured wine.

“Since when do you avoid trouble?”

“Trouble can be interesting,” Lyssa conceded, wiggling her toes.

“Trouble is what you’ve been in for months,” Suzette said. “This weirdo stalker is taking over your life and the police won’t do a thing.”

She went to the kitchen to accept the proffered wine. “Don’t get upset again. The police can’t do anything because there’s no evidence. They can’t pursue a person no one can identify.”

“Which is why we’re going to Risqué.”

According to the internet, Risqué was a strip joint bordering the red-light district.

“All Chavez said was to go to the bar and ask for Trapper, doesn’t that sound…”

Sinister. Ominous… Crazy?

“The cop chased us down with an off the record referral. We have to go, and it has to be tonight. What if there’s no second chance? Aren’t you curious?”

Yes, of course, but she was meant to be the sensible one. “The cops are powerless, maybe he felt bad about that. They can’t stakeout my house for months waiting for this guy to show up.”

“The cops can’t do anything? Fine. Maybe this Trapper guy can. He could provide security. At least you’d get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Chavez said that Trapper wasn’t security. He said he’d solve my problem.”

“It’s this or you come and stay with me. Pete and I would love to have you. If it would make you feel safer—”

“No,” Lyssa said, taking her wine over to the living room couch. “I won’t lead this potentially dangerous person to your place.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she rolled her head. “I wish I knew who it was. Not knowing is the worst part.”

“We’re going to find out,” Suzette said, sitting down to take her hand. “That’s why we have to go. If we don’t, anything could happen. Do you want the crazy stalker to catch up with you? Do you want to regret not giving this Trapper a shot? You’ll regret it if the stalker rapes and guts you.”

“Fine,” Lyssa groaned, putting her wine in Suzette’s hand. “I’ll go and get ready… I’ll need a few more glasses of wine to loosen me up.”

“No argument here!” Suzette called.

Lyssa retreated to the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. Freeing herself of the stalker had to be a priority. The cops were clear that there was nothing they could do. She didn’t blame them for their skepticism either. Evidence was sparse.

Even if pity was Officer Chavez’s motivation, she shouldn’t flout the opportunity. Suzette was right, passing up the possibility Trapper could help would be madness.

It could be a one-time deal.

Desperation was closer than she’d like. Some of her clients experienced that edge and it could escalate into dangerous territory quickly.

The tip had come from a cop. That gave confidence. It had to be legitimate. To sleep through the night again, she needed to have faith in her friend and in Officer Miguel Chavez.

CHAPTER THREE

When they got out of the taxi on the blackened street, Lyssa looped her arm through Suzette’s. “Oh yeah, this was a great idea,” she whispered.

A group of men stood on the corner wearing baggy pants and bandanas or baseball caps. Some barely dressed women hung around on another. Either those girls worked in Risqué, or they worked the club’s customers. Observing them for a few seconds, she deduced the women weren’t on their way anywhere. The street corner was their workplace. She’d worked with hookers during her years of training. They taught her a lot.

“Come on, this is fun!” Suzette exclaimed. “Your sense of adventure has always been bigger than mine, you’re fearless… Is this what your undercover assignments were like? I’m so excited.”

An adrenaline high in such shady situations could be risky. Projecting confidence didn’t mean being fearless. Still, in the name of science, pushing boundaries was exactly the point. While ensconced behind the façade of professional interest, misgivings were cast aside.

Suzette dragged her across the rain-soaked street. A flashing neon girl next to the illuminated red Risqué sign was the beacon calling to them.

Two bulky security guards, dressed in black, flanked the door.

“Hello, boys!” Suzette shrieked. “How does this work? Do we pay to get in? We’re strip joint virgins.”

She nudged her friend, rebuking the display of naivety, but the guards grinned. “No kidding,” one of them said. The two giants separated to grant entry. “Women get in free.”

Suzette squealed and rushed in, hurrying them toward the thumping music and flashing lights at the end of a dark corridor. Teeming with life, two clear types filled the massive space: leering men and near-naked women.

Most of the circular tables were occupied by those focused on the lit stage at the head of the room. Booths around the perimeter contained their own private podiums where topless women danced for the patrons’ pleasure.

Fascinating.

Her intrigue could’ve kept her there all day. Thank God Suzette took charge and dragged her to the bar. Male bartenders handed trays of drinks to women in skin-tight, low-cut tops, and micro-mini skirts. This place kept Lycra in business for sure. Half a dozen men perched at the bar but features of faces and expressions were difficult to decipher in the low light.

A bartender came over. “Don’t get many like you in here,” the bartender called over the music coming from the stage. “Looking for a job?”

Squeezing her arm, Suzette urged her on. “We’re looking for Trapper,” Lyssa said.

Curiosity struck the bartender, shifting his expression from smiling to serious. “Wait here,” he said and walked away.

No description or information, just a single instruction.

Suzette shoved Lyssa onto a stool. “Don’t you feel better?” she asked. “This isn’t so bad.”

Someone else spoke before she could reply.

“What are you ladies drinking?” asked a grumbling voice from further along the bar.

“Oh!” Suzette said, beaming. “Are we being hit on?”

With a glare, Lyssa silenced her friend. Adrenaline was keeping Suzette on high. Lyssa tried to be more discerning. Her scientific curiosity was piqued by the mysterious male doused in shadow.

“You’re surrounded by a host of semi-nude women,” she said to him. “Why would you make a play for the only women not on offer here?”

“Those women are working and they’re not hookers.”

“Implying that we are?” Lyssa asked.

The broad man slid off his stool, three places away, and came to sit on the stool next to hers. Dark honey brown hair, rough stubble on his jaw… he was attractive. Very attractive. Would hookers be a hobby for this kind of guy?

He stretched his long legs toward her, his scrutiny sizing her up. “Can’t figure why a woman would come into a place like this,” he drawled. “Unless you two are together… and I wouldn’t mind being the meat in that sandwich.”

Suzette laughed. Lyssa wasn’t so easily swayed and maintained eye contact with him. Flesh was on show, hot, sexy women were scattered around the room. Some were dancing, arousing their spectators. This guy didn’t show a lick of interest. What a puzzle.

“Why would you come to a place like this and not watch the show?”

“I’ve seen their show,” he said, his attention drifting down her body. “Yours is still a mystery.”

“Which is the way it will stay,” Lyssa said. “I’m here to talk to a friend.”

“About what?”

“None of your business.”

Suzette leaned past her. “She’s being stalked,” she hissed in a giggle.

Turned out wine and adrenaline were not a good combination for the beautiful blonde.

“Stalked, huh?” the man said, raising his brows. “Then you’re looking for Trapper.”

What? Hmm. How did he know that? Trapper must have a reputation. With every word, the stranger’s allure grew. Good thing she wasn’t the type to be tempted by a handsome face… at least not until motives were clear.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said and shrugged. “Maybe if you’d been nicer and accepted that drink…”

“You’ll give us information if we let you buy us drinks?” Suzette asked, then snorted. “That’s a pretty good deal.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Lyssa said, less impressed. “He obviously heard me say Trapper’s name to the bartender. He’s trying to manipulate us into drinking with him. He’ll probably spike the drinks.”

The guy snickered. “Smart. You’re smart… But Trapper doesn’t let drugs in here.”

“This is his club?” Lyssa asked.

“If you were his friends, you’d know his connection to Risqué… You’re so full of shit.”

He reached over to retrieve the drink he’d left at his previous seat, proving he wasn’t worried about drugs or unattended drinks.

“We’re not full of shit,” Lyssa said.

“You’re not friends of Trapper.”

“We are!” Suzette asserted. “We are too his friends.”

“Trapper doesn’t have friends like either of you,” he said after gulping from his glass.

Suspicion high, Lyssa peered closer. “How would you know that we’re not his friends?”

“Because I’ve never had a conversation with you in my life, Doctor Cutler,” he said, shoving his glass away, looking her in the eye. “I’d sure remember having a friend like you.”

Suzette gasped. “You’re Trapper?”

“Chavez gave me the story,” he said. “I’m not interested.”

Of that, Lyssa wasn’t so sure. “Why go through the theatrics just to let me down?”

The bartender came over to pour wine for both women then left them alone with the bottle. It was the same wine they’d been drinking all night. Was that supposed to be impressive or creepy? Because it was leaning into the latter.

“You’re not discreet,” he said as though that explained the creepiness. “My methods are unusual, and I only take one case at a time. My time is valuable.”

“You’re worried that something better might come along?”

“She’s a doctor,” Suzette announced.

Even when her friend was intrusive, Lyssa and the guy remained fixated on each other.

“Yeah, a shrink,” Trapper said. “Not exactly a lifesaver in your field, are you?”

“She could save dozens from the brink of suicide,” Suzette said. “You don’t know.”

“You’re a sex therapist,” he said, ignoring her friend. “You contribute to dozens of chickens getting choked.”

She was familiar with the snickers that accompanied opinions of her occupation. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You know nothing about what I do.”

“Ditto,” he said. “I can help you. I could get rid of this guy for you and the mystery is maybe enough to keep me interested.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I can’t work with you. I don’t like difficult clients. I do like clients who follow the rules.”

“What are the rules?”

Looking past her to Suzette, Trapper put a palm on the bar, summoning the bartender over. “This is Suzette Blossom,” he said, introducing the bartender to her friend. “Call her a cab, she needs to go home.”

Affronted, the insult was made worse by concern. “You’re not taking my friend anywhere,” Lyssa said.

“Difficult,” Trapper said to the bartender. “See, I knew it. Didn’t I say it before she came in?”

“You have a way of reading people,” the bartender said.

“I’ll go,” Suzette interjected, pouncing off her stool. “You need him. I’ll call you when I get home.”

“This is a power play,” Lyssa said, turning to her friend. “He’s trying to assert dominance.”

“And you’re fighting him for it,” Suzette murmured, coming closer to stroke her hair and rest a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. A cop knows you’re here for goodness sake. You’re safe.”

The women embraced and said goodnight.

Anxiety stayed even after her friend was gone. They were relying on the word of a cop, one low on the hierarchy. Worrying was natural. Still, Suzette would be fine; she did self-defense and was going home to her fiancé.

Pete would be home in less than an hour and would expect the woman he loved to be there when he arrived. He was totally risk averse. Hence why they hadn’t confessed the intended destination of the evening. He would never have let Suzette get involved. Maybe she should’ve followed that track too.

CHAPTER FOUR

Someone took her hand. As Lyssa turned to see who, her hair was swept from her shoulder. Trapper. Right there, brushing the back of his fingers down her cheek.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

The bar was at her back, stools boxed her in, so she couldn’t remove herself from him.

“We’re going back to my office.”

“No! No way. I didn’t come here for that kind of deal.”

He smiled, like he was enamored. “I don’t conduct business out here in public. I also protect the anonymity of my clients. Watching eyes need to think we have a personal connection.”

Something in his countenance measured her. This was a test. Just like their conversation. Was everything a test?

“Okay then,” she said, never one to pass up a challenge.

Wearing a smile, she drenched his body with hers, pressing herself up against him. He didn’t recoil, even after her arm curved around to squeeze his ass.

“Nice,” he said, splaying his hands on her back. “Ready to go?”

“After you.”

Taking her hand, Trapper led her from the bar towards the stage. The whole way she watched his ass. Man, it had felt good, toned, hard and so much nicer than she’d expected. It had been a long time since she’d been that close to a male. Usually, they were opposite her on the patient’s couch.

Weaving through tables and bodies, he took her past a security guard and through a door by the stage. In a corridor, they went upstairs to a long hallway with three doors. The middle one was their target. He unlocked it and flicked on a light while guiding her inside.

“Come in,” he said, dropping her hand and closing the door.

A desk with a table and a couple of filers behind it. Reasonable office setup. No red flags. Beside the door was a three-seat sofa and love seat aimed at a widescreen TV.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing at the guest chair of the desk while going around it to take his own.

“This is an odd set up, Trapper,” she said, seating herself.

“Colt Warner,” he said, leaning over to offer his hand. “Chavez always was a sucker for beautiful women.”

“Lyssa Cutler,” she said, shaking his hand, struck by the formal introduction in such an informal setting. “Why the alias?”

“I protect my anonymity too.”

“What are we doing up here?”

“You want to know who this guy is,” he said on an inhale. “Is that all?”

“I want him to stop. I assume once we know who he is, the cops can do their thing.”

“So you don’t know what you’re talking about? Good to know… What you need is his identity and an evidence portfolio.”

Clearly, he did know what he was talking about.

“Okay,” she said.

“That will be a minimum of four to eight weeks, possibly longer depending on his frequency and severity.”

“Okay.”

“I have most of what I need to complete—”

“Wait, tell me what you do. You think you can identify this guy?”

“There are a number of candidates to consider. We’ll look at the usual, boyfriends, ex-husband, neighbors, disgruntled colleagues, in your case your patients.”

“You’re going to investigate my clients? You can’t do that. There’s confidentiality and—”

“I don’t investigate them, I investigate you.” Her jaw fell. “Stalkers can be complete strangers or your best friend. I keep an open mind. Fixating on one person at a time takes too long, especially in a case like yours. You’ve seen hundreds of patients over the years, in education and practice. Any of them could be our candidate.”

“You’re going to investigate me? How do you plan to do that?”

Leaning over his desk, he smiled. “I’m going to stalk you.”

“Excuse me?”

“This guy watches you sometimes, right? He comes to your house and calls you. Traditional stalkers enjoy watching their victim, monitoring them. If he’s watching you, then I want to catch him at it.”

“You’re going to watch me like he does? I’m getting two stalkers for the price of one.”

“I’m not really watching you. Think of it like a stakeout. I’ll be further away than him. Taking in the bigger picture. It’s my goal to stalk him. As soon as I identify him, I’ll start monitoring his movements, that’s how we compile the evidence portfolio. I’ll assemble a file of evidence showing his activity in relation to you.”

She smiled. “Then we turn it all over to the police.”

“You’ve got it. It gets him off the street and out of your life, legitimately.”

“Sounds like a perfect deal, what’s the catch?”

“You have to follow my rules,” he said. “There are four things I make clear to my clients. They are the main points of my contract which we’ll sign before I start.”

“Four? Which are?”

“Let’s do them in descending order. Number four, my services aren’t free. You will pay for all services and expenses as laid out in the contract. I don’t care how attractive you are, I don’t take barter.”

“Okay, that’s fair and expected. Three?”

“I’m not security or a hit man. I won’t take this guy out for you and I’m not there to intervene if things get physical. If you’re alone, or scared, or need reassurance, call a friend or boyfriend, that’s not my job.”

“I understand, number two?”

“My methods might not be what you expect, but they’ve proven effective. Through this, I could ask you to do a bunch of things, to participate in activities or take specific actions. No questions. You do it or I walk.”

Suspicion flared. “What kind of activities or actions?”

“I don’t need to see you naked,” he said as though he could read her mind. “There will be a purpose to my request and if there’s time and opportunity, I’ll explain it.”

“And if there’s not?”

“You’ll have to trust me,” he said and must have seen her bristle. “Look, I’m going to be watching you day and night until we ID this guy. So I’m about to get to know you intimately. Chavez is my cousin; he’s a good kid and wouldn’t have sent you here if he didn’t think I could solve this. He knows to give out my information in exceptional circumstances.”

“What’s the first rule?” she asked.

“Don’t mention me to anyone. Ever. I understand why you brought your friend tonight; it was smart not to come alone. But when Suzette asks, you tell her it didn’t work out. That we couldn’t agree on a price, or I was a sleaze, whatever. I don’t care. Do not relay our conversation.”

“You’re trusting me to keep your identity a secret?”

“Trust has to go both ways. I can give you your life back; it’s up to you if you want to screw up your best chance for that.”

“Why is your anonymity so important?”

“Because I can’t do what I do if everyone knows what I do. I don’t need anyone looking for me.”

For months, she’d lived in torment, wondering if the perpetrator was watching. Jumping at every creak in her house, convinced that shadows were monsters. This guy, Colt, was offering her a chance. At the very least, if he could ID the stalker, she’d have vindication.

“Okay,” she said. “Do you have a card? A number where I can reach you?”

“No,” he said. “We come to an arrangement tonight. Next time you see me, I’ll be on the job.”

Flummoxed, it took a moment to process. “I need time to think about this,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t railroad me into handing you a check when we just met.”

“Good, because I don’t take checks. I deal in cash. You can give me the retainer next time we see each other. Soon. Once I have a better handle on things. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

Rolling his chair backward, he opened a filing cabinet to pull out a contract. He retrieved a pen from his desk drawer and pushed both toward her. “If you want my help, sign it.”

Picking up the stack of sheets, she skim read all three pages. “I think I do want your help,” she said, eyeing the signature page. “You’re unconventional, but conventional hasn’t worked for me. We hired a PI two months ago. All he came back with was my ex-husband’s bio and pictures of patients coming in and out of my office.”

A huff of a laugh accompanied his smile. “You’ll get your money’s worth from me. I will keep going until I figure out who this guy is. I’m a sucker for a mystery.”

She pondered aloud. “You were referred by a police officer, that’s a point in your favor. You’re related to said cop, so I know something personal about you, which puts me more at ease…” There were also points against. “That your base is a seedy sex club—”

“We don’t sell sex,” he said. Her eyes narrowed on him. “What I mean is, our girls aren’t hookers, though what they do on their own time is their business. But we don’t let any of them deal out of here.”

“We?”

“I have a financial stake in the club. I’m nothing to do with running it. The club belongs to my brother, Blaser. The bartender you met downstairs.”

“Your folks liked guns, didn’t they?”

“My little brother’s name is Ruger,” he said. “My father’s former military.”

“And you? How did you get into this line of work?”

“My skills lend themselves to this kind of work.”

“From the military?”

“No, not me,” he said, laying on amusement. “I’d say that’s enough personal information for now, Doctor Cutler.”

“What’s the retainer?”

“Five grand,” he said. “Paid in cash, it will be deducted from your final bill.”

“Okay,” she said, rising from the chair with the contract. “We have a deal.”

He stood too. “Sign the papers and we’ll shake on it.”

“Good,” she said and held out a hand, which he took his time to shake. “We have a deal. I’ll sign the papers after I read them thoroughly. Providing there’s nothing out of line, expect them to be ready when you get in touch for your retainer.”

“That doesn’t work for me,” he said, frowning. “That contract shouldn’t leave this room.”

She smiled. “I don’t like bullies, Mr. Warner. I won’t put my name on something without reading it.”

“You think I’m bullying you?”

“I think you’re used to getting your way, but I’m not easily intimidated. These past few months I’ve learned that giving in to fear is what the bully wants.”

“He hasn’t broken you yet,” Colt said as she tucked away the pen and contract in her purse. “Without me, he will break you eventually.”

“Then it’s a good thing we shook hands, Mr. Warner. Now we have a deal, I’m not without you, am I?”

Exuding as much confidence as possible, Lyssa whirled around and strode out of the office hoping the adrenaline shaking her limbs wasn’t noticeable. She’d stood up to him, proving he didn’t intimidate her. She was committed and hoped Colt was too.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lunch with Suzette was a regular occurrence; lying to her best friend was not.

Since finding each other through a roommate service in college, they’d never kept secrets. Not big ones. Being there for each other was important. Suzette was her maid of honor, her shoulder to cry on as her marriage fell apart. She’d even lived with her between leaving Archie and buying her house.

At a lunch restaurant, not far from Lyssa’s home, the conversation had been dominated by one thing.

“I should’ve stayed,” Suzette said. “If I stayed, he would’ve helped. I’d have worked it out.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Lyssa said, off her salad.

Her friend frowned. “Chavez was so sure he could help. This Trapper guy must be playing hardball. We should go back. Show we’re committed. I could talk to Pete, once he’s off work—”

“You want to ask your boyfriend to take us to a strip club? No. We’re going to figure this out. I’m not ready to give up yet.”

Last night, she’d left the club in a cab and arrived home in the dark. These days, being out at night was unsettling; entering her unilluminated home was worse. Pepper spray was her newest companion. She held it tight while unlocking the door and checked every corner of her home before returning the deterrent to its spot with a sigh of relief.

Every time she told herself not to be paranoid. There was no evidence the stalker had been inside her home, but she didn’t want to take any chances.