WATCHING THE BLACK Town Car turn the corner, Stefan expelled a guttural cry and chopped the air with his hand. Why, of all people, was she involved in this mess?
Acting on a tip, he’d booked this trip to New York to accompany one of his bodyguards assigned to a young star.
That wasn’t his usual practice, though. His bodyguards—men and women—were ex-SEALs, police officers, FBI, martial artists. They could all take care of themselves and their clients.
The tip he’d received last week had come from an associate with his old law firm. Sarah Levy was a fellow USC Gould School of Law graduate, a few years behind him and as smart as they came. She had asked him to meet her at a deli in Beverly Hills for lunch.
They had started with small talk and after ordering a New York on rye—hot pastrami, coleslaw, and Russian dressing—he’d leaned across the table. “What’s up, Sarah? I’ll bet this isn’t a social call. And I know I’m not your type.”
“My girlfriend and I are very happy.” Her smile had dissolved into a frown of concern. “I have a private investigator on a case and he came back with information I thought might concern you. I know one of your guys is headed to New York’s Fashion Show next week.”
Stefan narrowed his eyes. “His wife still in your yoga class?”
“You remembered. Anyway, this is hot.” She glanced around the neighboring booths. “One of the tabloid factories is getting creative.”
“TMZ?”
“No, another one, but I don’t know which one. What I do know is that they want to scoop the news. To be first, they’re willing to create it.”
Stefan drummed a finger on the Formica tabletop. “How exactly?”
“They’re setting up celebrities, then running with the stories.”
“So someone is caught in a compromising position. What’s new about that?”
“This is much bigger than that. They’re looking for explosive headlines. How, I don’t know, but from what I heard, there was a lot of money exchanging hands.”
“Where’d your man get this info?”
“Said he overheard a guy boasting about it in a bar. But something big is going to happen at Fashion Week in New York. I thought you’d want to know so that your bodyguard could take extra precautions. Don’t tell him it came from me. His wife is worried enough as it is.”
“Course not.” He asked a few more questions as they ate, but Sarah couldn’t provide any other details.
After he had left the restaurant, he’d made immediate arrangements for New York.
What he hadn’t known was that Penelope was giving a talk at the venue. He could only assume that she was the target of the scheme that Sarah had told him about.
And now, tonight, he’d had his chance with Penelope, and he’d blown it.
Stefan strode to his apartment, hoping the cool air would clear his heated mind, but it did little good. Monica had come between them, and he’d made his choice. To this day, he still wondered how he’d become so drunk that he hadn’t remembered asking Monica to his apartment.
Cutting across the street, he thought of Penelope. He still remembered the hurt in her eyes when he’d told her about Monica.
Would he ever have another chance with Penelope? There was so much he’d wanted to say to her over dinner, but after what she’d been through today, he couldn’t bring himself to cause her any more distress. Stupidly, he had done next to nothing.
As he neared his apartment, the smell of broiled hot dogs teased his nose. He sidestepped a small crowd gathered around a street meat vendor. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out.
A message from an unknown number flashed on his screen. Missed her this time.
Frowning, Stefan tapped a reply. Who’s this? While he waited, he checked the number, and screen snapped a photo of the message and number. It was an overseas number, probably routed through a back door to reach him.
Nothing.
He jabbed the screen to call the number. As he suspected, he received an automated message saying the number was out of order.
Sarah’s warning rushed back to him. Someone was taunting him. Someone who had access to sophisticated equipment and networks. Not a rogue photographer or fan as the police imagined. No, the event tonight was a concerted effort. The lights were cut, allowing the perpetrator to get away. At least two people were involved, probably more. A cybercrime. He checked his phone. A chill bristled on his neck. He had to warn Penelope, but he hadn’t even gotten her number. And he’d have to change his now.
He tapped a call he’d made earlier. “This is Stefan Armstrong,” he said. “The car I booked this evening, where is it headed now?” The driver had already dropped Penelope off at her hotel.
“Which hotel?” Listening, he nodded, then hung up and tapped another number.
“Penelope Plessen’s room, please.”
A short silence ensued. “There’s no one here by that name.”
He rubbed his forehead. What name had she used in the past? “Try Elizabeth Bennet.” She’d been a huge Jane Austen fan at one time.
“Hold for Ms. Bennet’s room, please.”
Stefan waited, trying to quell his anxiety.
“Hello?”
He let out a breath. “Penelope, I just called to make sure you got back to your hotel okay.”
“Stefan? How did you know where I’m staying?”
“The car service.”
The line was quiet for a moment. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were stalking me.”
Stefan banged his hand against his forehead. What a creepy thing he’d done, but he had to make sure she was safe.
“Get any other calls?”
“No-o.” Penelope drew out the word.
Should he tell her? “Be careful, Penelope. I have reason to believe you may be in danger.”
“You called to tell me that?” She sounded weary and angry. “Because a man fired a shot at me today, so I think I can figure that out on my own.”
“Penelope—“
“I asked you not to call me.”
“And I respect that, but—”
“Goodnight, Stefan.”
The line went dead. Despite her words, he could hear the hurt in her voice. Stefan punched the air in frustration. Not only was he worried about her, but he was sure she’d been crying. In all the years he’d been married to Monica, he’d heard her scream and rant, threaten and cajole, but never, ever had she cried.
The sound of Penelope’s voice broke his heart. What had she ever done to him but love him so completely that now she couldn’t stand to be near him? He’d beat himself up over this for years. How could he have been so weak in a moment that Monica actually looked like a better option? He wished he could recall that night, but all he remembered was waking up with Monica.
No question, he owed Penelope a debt for having jilted her in the worst possible way. Yet he couldn’t erase the past, so the least he could do for her now was to protect her when she needed it. Even if she wouldn’t let him.
The next morning, he awoke to a phone call. “Stefan here.”
“Jack. Got some news.”
It was Johann Jackovich, the bodyguard for the young star at the party last night. “How’s our client?”
“Fine. No problem there. This is about that model, Penelope Plessen. The one you took off the stage. Thought you might want to know this.”
“Spill it,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.
“She disappeared from her hotel room last night. It’s all over the news this morning.”
Stefan bolted up and grabbed his jeans. “Thanks, gotta go, Jack.”