“Shari has the flu. I took over her self-defense class.” He popped the latches on the briefcase. “I brought the payroll.”
Daniel used a remote control to turn off the stereo. He’d been listening to the cassette tapes Pinky had given Janine. The lament-filled love ballads and psychobabble commentary were giving him a headache. “You should have canceled the class, man. Frankie doesn’t like you working late.”
“She took the boy to see her sister. You know how it is when the girls get to talking. I’ll probably beat them home.” He jutted his chin at the calendar pages and correspondence Daniel had spread out on a worktable. “What’s all that?”
The stalker was a prolific writer, sometimes sending three or four letters a week. The majority of letters were five or more pages long. All the letters were dated, and most were notated with the time. Curious as to whether Pinky’s interest waxed and waned according to some predictable cycle, Daniel had sorted the correspondence into chronological order.
Using black ink for letters, blue for cassettes and green for greeting cards, he’d filled in a calendar according to when items were received. He circled in red any envelope that didn’t bear a postmark.
Cards clustered at mid-month and the end of the month. The cards were embossed and foiled, and many were oversize. All were filled with mushy doggerel that passed for poetry among the sentimental set. The prices printed on the backs of them showed the majority were in the five-dollar range. Pinky might be buying cards when he cashed a biweekly paycheck.
“What did Janine tell you about her problem?”
J.T. paused in the midst of pulling files from the briefcase. “Janine contacted you?”
“Called me, made an appointment and showed up right on time. You’re surprised?”
He lifted a shoulder in a rolling shrug. “I’m surprised she asked for help.” He chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“Frankie’s going to kill me.”
“Why?”
“You know how she’s been lately. Ever since she got pregnant, she’s been playing matchmaker. If she isn’t eating, she’s plotting how to marry off her single friends. She wanted to have you and Janine over for dinner. Her words—you’d make a cute couple.”
“She still can.” It flattered him that Frankie thought he was good enough for her lovely cousin.
J.T. swung his head. “Won’t be the same. Oh, well. So what’s going on? She didn’t give me details.”
Daniel debated how much to tell. Since hiring J.T. to run the studios, they’d formed a solid friendship. J.T., Frankie and their little boy had become the family Daniel always longed for. He trusted the big man like a brother, but he also respected Janine’s privacy. Still, J.T. was her cousin-in-law and he would never gossip. Daniel needed someone to bounce his thoughts off of.
“She’s in trouble.”
“How much trouble?”
“On a scale of one to ten, about a twenty. An anonymous stalker is making death threats against her father. Look at this.”
He pointed out the marked-up calendar pages and envelopes. What bothered him most were the postmarks. The first letters were postmarked from Colorado Springs, then a March letter bore a Cripple Creek postmark. After that the postmarks came from small towns like Woodland Park, Midland and Florrisant—all within easy driving distance of Elk River. None of the letters in June or beyond bore a Colorado Springs postmark. By September half the envelopes lacked a postmark. In December, only two letters bore a postmark. None in January had one.
J.T. grunted. “Hand delivering mail. That’s not good.”
“According to the maps, the lands surrounding the resort are either Bureau of Land Management or national forest. I’m betting this joker lives at Elk River.” Daniel hadn’t read all the letters, but what he had read told him Pinky considered Janine his personal property and he was getting frustrated with a one-sided relationship. “Why is she so insistent about keeping it hush-hush?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” J.T. made a musing noise. “Except she’s the independent type. Frankie calls her Wonder Woman.” He picked up a pink envelope. “This has been going on for a year?”
“Yep. I’m putting an end to it, if she’ll let me. What’s her soft spot?”
“What do you have in mind?”
At the man’s suspicious tone, Daniel’s grin widened. J.T. was as staunchly loyal as a Buckingham Palace guard, but Janine was his cousin-in-law and he’d die to protect his family. “Not what you’re thinking, my man. My intentions are pure.” Sort of. “Her situation calls for some serious intervention, but I get the impression she isn’t enamored about the way I do business.”
J.T. took his time answering. “Soft spots and Janine don’t mesh.”
Daniel scanned the paragraph that threatened her father. “How close is she to her old man?”
“The colonel?” J.T. blew a long breath. “As far as she’s concerned, he can do no wrong. From what I’ve seen, the feeling is mutual.”
Interesting.
Daniel tossed out ideas about how to handle Pinky. J.T.’s background in personal security and experience as a bodyguard made his suggestions sound.
As J.T. was leaving, Daniel asked, “So, Janine is available?”
The big man turned his head to look over his shoulder. “If you mean, is she single, then yes. But available, probably not.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, she doesn’t take crap off anybody.” A slow grin brightened his face. “And you, my friend, are full of crap.”
BY THE NEXT EVENING, when Daniel parked at the Alpine restaurant in Woodland Park, he knew without a doubt that Janine Duke desperately needed his help. He stepped out of his Tahoe. He inhaled deeply the crisp mountain air. Patches of snow marked the edges of the parking lot. He eyeballed the distance between his vehicle and the car next to it. He’d picked up the Tahoe from the dealer a few days ago, and wanted no dings or scratches on its pristine paint job.
At the restaurant door he glimpsed his reflection in the glass. He stroked a hand over the side of his hair and adjusted his tie. One real benefit of winning the Lotto had been discovering how great he looked in an Armani suit.
Inside, he spotted Janine. Seated at a window table, she stared at the traffic on Highway 24, or perhaps at the mountains beyond.
Janine spotted Daniel’s reflection in the window glass. Her breath caught. In a dark gray, double-breasted suit cut to emphasize his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he was even better looking than she remembered, and a fluttery sensation rose in her chest.
A mistake, she thought. She shouldn’t be asking for help from a stranger. Pinky hadn’t sent a letter today. What was the big deal about letters, anyway? For the most part the letters, cards and gifts were innocuous. As disconcerting as it was to have a secret admirer, she could live with it.
Daniel met her gaze in the window glass. She tried to ignore the fluttering that now touched her belly. “You’re late,” she said.
“I’m right on time. You’re early.” He sat and picked up a menu.
Subdued purples and blues in his tie complemented his bronze-on-bronze hair and skin. The sculpted lines of his jaw and neck hinted at a physique in its prime. She raised a menu, blocking the view. Pinky’s untoward pursuit of her or her untoward awareness of Daniel Tucker—she