Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (10 page)

L
ate the next afternoon
, I was paging through a few magazines Brayden had brought in with my mail when I came across an article I'd been dreading…and it wasn't even about me.

I slid it over toward Brayden. "I guess he's headed to the big leagues."

Brayden's gaze slid over the picture of my ex and ignored the carefully constructed article that I'm sure didn't talk about Jared Connor's complete and utter disdain for anyone's talent but his own.

But maybe that was just a bitter ex talking.

"His new book's coming out this week. There's lots of buzz around it because everything's under wraps. It's already been optioned for a movie."

I nodded. Jared had already found good, steady commercial success with his fiction, but, as Brayden and I had discussed, Jared was one of those people who would never be satisfied with his success, no matter how big. He would chase it relentlessly.

"I'm sure it's inevitable I'll run into him," I said.

"Maybe sooner than you think," Brayden murmured, then handed me an invite. Thick-papered and important-looking.

To Jared's book launch party.

"He invited me?"

"There's a handwritten note," he told me. "I was trying to decide if I should give it to you or burn it. But this shit…" He pointed to the magazine. "Synchronicity at its best."

Reluctantly, I pulled the creamy cardstock all the way out of the envelope and saw Jared's writing, elegant and practiced as always.

R
yn
, I'd love to see you there.

-J

S
uch a comfortable note
, as though we'd ended on good terms. Knowing his level of interpretational skills, he probably thought we did. I glanced up at Brayden. "Talk to me."

"I'd never make you go to this."

"But?"

He sighed. "It's a huge event. Good coverage. Good, trendy and diverse crowd who buys and commissions art, and who'd be interested in a crazy artist who starts fights at her own shows and dates Lucas Caine."

"Christ." I rubbed my temples and protested, "I thought I was rehabilitated."

Brayden snorted. "It'd be helpful to get the haute and hot set on your side. Or some of them, at least."

Maybe seeing Jared at a big party was the best way. We were both successful. I was over him, moved on. It was time to break the ice. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow night."

"So I'm a last-minute invite."

"All invites went out last minute to maintain the integrity of the project," Brayden read from the invite. "This was hand-delivered to the doorman."

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.

"I can't go with you though," Brayden said.

"Bray!"

"I figured you'd want Lucas."

"I don't know if we're doing that," I said truthfully.

He shrugged. "As good a time as any to find out."

* * *

I
was stressed
at the thought of the book party, so much so that I threw myself into my work and didn't come out until the following morning. I slept for a while and then I decided I needed to run to get rid of the excess nervous energy.

I still hadn't heard from Lucas. Hadn't called him either. Because what if he couldn't go with me tonight?

What if you'd just asked him yesterday as soon as Brayden told you?

Because I was the queen of procrastination, dammit. And I needed some time to be alone, to process the fact that I'd be seeing the one man I'd thought I loved so much that I revealed my past—or lack of—to.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I dressed and put my headphones on, plugged my iPod in. Rap and classic rock alternately blasted through the Beats as my feet hit the pavement first on the way to the park, and then the soft dirt of the trails, in rhythm to the songs.

I sang the lyrics in my head as the pleasant burn in my muscles kicked in. I left everything behind—everything and everyone—letting it fall away from my shoulders. I started singing silently along with the lyrics. No one would give me a second glance in New York doing this. Everyone seemed to be talking to themselves.

But after a time I became aware of an echo on the ground, another heavy set of feet running behind me. I turned down my music and yes, I heard the footsteps.

But Central Park, mid-afternoon, jogging…
hello
.

And still, something in my gut didn't sit right. Not at all. I kept my pace as I ran up, right behind a group of women. Safety in numbers.

When they stopped, I stopped. Looked around under the pretense of stretching and saw nothing beyond other joggers, walkers. Moms with strollers. People rollerblading. And unless they were together, no one was giving anyone a second look.

Alone in a crowd.

I wasn't usually paranoid. Not like this. Maybe the thought of the party was making me crazy, but I couldn't deny that my skin crawled. I fought off the panic attack as I walked briskly out of the park and into the crowded streets.

Nothing can happen to you here for sure. Look at all the people.

People dropped out of sight in broad daylight every day. I knew that was true.

I started to jog again. I didn't look over my shoulder. Suppose I saw someone I wasn't supposed to…

Suppose I turned around to find my past, hot on my heels? The thought was the nail in the coffin. My panic washed over me like a wave and I stumbled under the powerful weight of the tide.

My chest was tight.

My lungs hurt.

My breath rasps. I'm frantic.

Someone's getting closer, and I'm screaming. But the screams are only in my mind, and they echo my panic, my deepest, darkest fears, deafening me internally.

This kind of fear makes me hysterical. For several minutes, it threatens to freeze me, render me limp. Useless.

Prey.

But I'm stronger than that. Sharks smell blood in the water. I won't let myself be a victim. Not when there's breath left in me.

I was so thankful than Brayden had helped me to map out the closest police stations to where I liked to run—I also made sure I knew how to get there without my phone but it seemed silly to stop and call the police.

I didn't want to stop running.

When I got to the front steps of the police station, I mingled with a few police in uniform walking up the steps. I tried to remain calm but I wasn't succeeding because one of them said, "Ma'am, do you need some help?" and I looked over my shoulder, saw no one and nodded.

A few minutes later, I was parked next to an officer's desk, paper towels and water in hand, followed by some orange juice. They'd also given me a police department sweatshirt to wear, because I'd started to shiver from my post-run cool down.

"So someone's broken into your apartment twice, but you didn't report it." The police officer named Lenny Burns repeated my story a few minutes later, making it—and me—sound incredibly stupid. "And then someone followed you today in the park. Was anything taken from your apartment?"

"Not exactly. No. I mean, something was left. Flowers."

"Flowers," he repeated. "Both times?"

"Yes. They were placed in my apartment. I didn't put them there and my friend is the only other one with a key."

"And he definitely didn't put them there?"

I
didn't ask him…
"No, he didn't."

"Any idea who could've done that? Do you have enemies?"

I stared at him. "Yes…no." God, this was a mistake.

"Do you have the flowers?"

"No. One set disappeared and I threw the others out."

The officer didn't blink, just sat back and put his pen down deliberately when I said
disappeared.

I sounded crazy. "It's true," I insisted.

"I can't do anything without evidence."

"I just want to know what my options are."

"Sweetheart, this isn't a takeout menu, it's the police station. People come here to report real crimes, not just discuss their options." He sat back. "I'm going to be frank with you. I'm not sure if you're really believing this or if you're purposely wasting my time."

"I'm not. I'm just scared."

His expression softened. "I see that. Maybe you should talk to someone about all this…"

He thinks I'm crazy.
And I couldn't totally deny that. I sometimes joked with Brayden that he should watch out for me, that I could be an escaped mental patient. "I'm sorry. I know how this sounds."

"There are restraining orders, but you have to know who's stalking you. Look, if you spot the person, or if there's a history, you can tell me."

No, I couldn't. "Thanks for your help."

"Is there someone you can call to pick you up?"

The implication was clear—
You're a fragile flower who'll melt down at shadows in the street and then you'll come in again.

I pulled my phone out and dialed Lucas.

He picked up on the first ring. "What's wrong?"

"I'm at the police station. Can you come get me?"

He didn't ask anything beyond, "Are you hurt?" and when I told him I wasn’t he said, "Give me ten."

And ten minutes later, he was there, his hand on my shoulder but addressing Lenny Burns. "What happened?"

The officer stood. "She says she was followed."

Lucas's eyes narrowed and the officer realized he'd made a mistake in thinking he had an ally. "You don't believe her? She says she's being followed, then she's being followed."

"Why not call the police when her apartment got broken into?"

"Because of the same dismissive treatment she's just received, I'd imagine," Lucas said.

"I realize Ms. Taylor's gained some notoriety over the past weeks, but she's going to have to hire private security to deal with the kinds of issues she's describing. They'll be able to collect the evidence she's saying she was, ah,
unable
to save."

Lucas remained stone-faced, which made the officer shift after several moments. Only after that did Lucas tell him, "Thanks. I'll take it from here."

* * *

L
ucas drove
us back to my apartment, pulled up front and gave his keys to my doorman. I'd been quiet on the ride, unable to wrap my mind around all of it and now, Lucas put his arm around me reassuringly. He was strong. I knew that. Strong enough to handle me and my past…but would he want to?

"Thanks for the rescue," I managed as I tried to get my key into the lock on my apartment door. Lucas took it from me and got us inside in seconds. "Again."

"You're shaken up. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I guess I should've been working out with you at three in the morning instead."

He frowned. "I don't want to take away your freedom of doing things alone, Ryn."

The 'but' was implied. But, it would happen. It wasn't safe for me to be alone and it seemed like Lucas believed that. Believed
me
. "I didn't tell Brayden about the flowers either."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to worry him. I figured there must be an explanation. And…" I drew in a deep breath. "I do have panic attacks. I haven't taken meds for them in a while, so sometimes I can overreact. But I didn't dream the flowers. Or the person following me."

Lucas just nodded.

"Do you think it has anything to do with those guys from the other night?" I asked now.

"Definitely not. They're taken care of."

I wasn't sure I wanted to know exactly what that meant but I chose to believe him. "Okay, so…"

"I'll get you a treadmill. I'll run with you outside. I'll set up cameras in your apartment. But…" That damned word again. "You have to tell Brayden this. I won't let you keep stuff from someone who's got your back."

That was true. More than anyone, Brayden would support me through thick and thin. "Deal."

I grabbed my phone and prepared to text Brayden when I saw his most recent text. Reminding my about Jared's book party. That was tonight.

I didn't want to go. God, I'd rather do anything else. But the odd timing of the invite and the tightness in my throat…something urged me to go.

Shit.