Undying Laughter
Kelsey Roberts
More Than One Man Had a Date With Destiny…Destiny Talbot, The Rose Tattoo's newest headliner, was head-turningly gorgeous, but her arresting allure brought on more than her share of suitors, including a Wesley Porter, the boss's sexy son. But a second suitor was also vying for her attention–one intent on wooing…and stalking her.As a man, Wesley understood all too well the passion his violet-eyed vixen could inspire. As a psychiatrist, he knew the dark mind of a stalker, and he was determined to protect her with the very body with which he loved her. But one thought haunted Wesley–who would have the last date with Destiny?
Undying Laughter
Kelsey Roberts
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the one person who has kept me sane for almost fifteen years–Bob, I love you with all my heart.
I would gratefully like to acknowledge the assistance of Pat Harding, Kay Manning and Carol Keane of Charleston, South Carolina: my crack research team.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Destiny Talbott—She has nothing to laugh about. She’s being wooed by a stalker.
Wesley Porter—The chivalrous white knight. He is charming, if a bit peculiar.
David Crane—As Destiny’s agent, he controls her career, but at what cost?
Gina Alverez—She was at the center of the limelight before she was forced into Destiny’s shadow.
Walter Sommerfield—The patron who controls the purse strings. He’s being controlled by a ghost.
Carl Talbott—Destiny’s father. He’s annoying, when he’s sober enough to care.
Rose Porter—The manipulative mother. She knows what’s best.
Shelby Hunnicutt—Destiny’s rock. She understands the torment Destiny is suffering at the hands of the stalker.
Contents
Prologue (#uf59ceb97-29be-5950-a278-a7a2cbcd1895)
Chapter One (#u6dde4d32-175a-530e-ada2-36cedc25c5cb)
Chapter Two (#uc549ee30-8177-5991-bd1a-4eb91e23035a)
Chapter Three (#u4b0f1c24-d8a2-50df-acff-b11f32640ceb)
Chapter Four (#u690b5157-13b5-59fb-b4d6-b978c7d42510)
Chapter Five (#uc59a09b8-2fc7-5d87-bfbc-1e5dc8087f73)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
“He’s out there!”
Destiny Talbott’s violet eyes fixed on her friend’s concerned reflection in the mirror. Gina’s slender form seemed to heave under the weight of her urgent, shallow breathing.
A placating sigh escaped over full, rosy lips. “For God’s sake, Gina, don’t start that!” Destiny was mildly annoyed as she watched Gina anxiously twist her long-fingered hands into a knot of deep brown skin. Spinning, Destiny turned the chair in order to face the taller woman.
“That man gives me the creeps,” Gina persisted. “There’s something evil in the way he just sits there, staring at you. You’re blinded by the lights, but I’ve watched him while you’re up on stage. I tell you, he’s freaky!”
Standing, Destiny tugged off the protective cloth she wore when applying stage makeup and tossed it onto the dressing table. Bottles clinked and swayed but none toppled. “Your imagination is getting the better of you,” she said with more conviction than she actually felt. Ignoring Gina’s grunt of disagreement, Destiny bent forward at the waist, then began to feverishly brush volume into her mane of silky blond hair.
“Five minutes, Ms. Talbott!” a male voice shouted from the other side of the door.
“You got it!” she yelled back.
Gina reached out and placed a tentative hand on Destiny’s forearm. “Think, girl.” The tone of the voice was almost pleading, and at strict odds with the harsh Brooklyn accent. “I’m sure he’s the one who’s been sending you the flowers and...the notes.”
A shiver danced along her spine, but Destiny managed to keep her expression bland. “I think you’re overreacting. And anyway, he doesn’t look like the type.” Of that she was only mildly confident.
When Gina had first noticed the man, Destiny had made a point of checking him out. While she secretly admitted he looked out of place in the rowdy, younger crowd she tended to attract, he didn’t impress her as being threatening. And the notes were nothing if not threatening.
“We’re ready, Ms. Talbott!”
Sucking in one deep breath, Destiny took one final glance in the brightly lighted mirror. Giving Gina’s hand a light squeeze, she moved toward the door.
The muffled sound of the crowd caused a familiar and immediate reaction. Adrenaline rushed through her small frame, and her heart pounded against her ribs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Miami Comedy Club is proud to present Destiny Talbott!”
The roar as she stepped onto the stage was nearly deafening in its intensity. The wooden floor beneath her feet vibrated in sync with the applause. Clasping the microphone in one professionally manicured hand, Destiny gave a warm smile that produced yet another outburst of hearty appreciation.
“Hi, folks,” she began as she walked back and forth on the planked floor, speaking into the bright void created by the harsh spotlights. “I always start by explaining my name. Only two hippies would dare name their child something as ridiculous as Destiny. My folks were definitely confused back then. My father was a Jehovah’s Witness and my mother was an atheist. So...” She paused. “I spent my childhood knocking on doors for no reason. I’m originally from D.C—” A smattering of applause indicated there were a few residents of the nation’s capital in her audience. “Washington is the home of our judicial system. In fact, we Americans are so hung up on compassionate justice that before we execute someone by lethal injection, we swab their arm with alcohol.” Destiny waited for the rumble of laughter to die down before continuing. “I’m getting my mail forwarded here, and what do you know but I got an invitation telling me my high school reunion is scheduled for this spring. This basically means that four hundred or so people have about six months to lose fifty pounds and make something of themselves.” Smiling, Destiny pulled the microphone fractionally closer to her glossed lips. Wrapping herself in the ensuing laughter, she continued her routine....
* * *
HE WATCHED HER, pure hatred glistening in his eyes. Lifting his glass to his mouth, he listened as the audience responded to her. They were fools, all of them. Couldn’t they see what she really was? A user...and a whore. He saw through all her polish and glitter. When she smiled it made him want to stand and scream. Instead, he took a long swallow of his Scotch, enjoying the painful warmth as it slid down his constricted throat. He would be patient. Everything was planned.
As his eyes followed her movements across the stage, he played it all out in his mind. She’d beg, he knew that. Clearly he envisioned her huge eyes wide open and filled with the fearful certainty of her impending death. He’d make sure she suffered first.
Another response from the audience jarred him back to the present. Fixing his eyes on her, he was careful not to reveal any emotion. The sheer hose encasing her legs shimmered in the lights. He would wait until the time was right.
* * *
“YOU’VE BEEN GREAT! Thanks!” Destiny bounced off the stage as the audience chanted her name.
“You were hot tonight!” David Crane, her manager, said as he handed her a towel.
“Thanks!” she said and took the glass of water thrust in her direction. “This was my best show yet!”
“You say that every night,” David countered as his hand went to the small of her back, leading her in the direction of her dressing room.
“Tonight was...I don’t know, I just felt a certain electricity from the audience. It was a rush!”
Pushing open the door for her, David nudged her inside the small dressing room. The scent she had grown to detest brought on a sudden paralysis. It was the heavy, sweet aroma of gardenias. A chill, fierce and overpowering, settled on her like a heavy blanket.
“Blast it!” David bellowed.
She stood frozen just inside the door. David pushed past her and went over to the offensive pot of blossoms. Slowly he pulled the small white rectangle from among the flowers and tore into the envelope.
Chapter One
The flight from Miami to Charleston went smoothly, except for Destiny’s lingering anxiety over the gifts she’d received the previous evening.
“Hopefully, he’ll stay in Miami,” she said to Gina as they sat in the back seat of a cab.
Gina frowned. “Don’t bet on it. He’s managed to make all your club dates for the past six months.”
A shiver racked her small frame, but she said nothing. Gina, her personal assistant, had already suggested that she cancel this last engagement just to be on the safe side.
“Maybe he’s tired of hearing the same material over and over,” she said, forcing some lightness into her tone. “Maybe that detective David hired will figure out who he is.”
Destiny felt the corners of her mouth turn down. The detective had missed their last meeting, so she had little faith that the rumpled detective had come up with anything substantial.
“Forget my fervent fan,” Destiny told her friend. “Let’s focus on something more upbeat, like the possibility of the network picking up my pilot.”
Gina sighed and leaned her head against the back of the seat. “I could get used to L.A.,” she said wistfully. Her hand automatically moved to her right leg, rubbing the carefully hidden scar Destiny knew ran the full length of her thigh. “The weather out there will do my leg some good. Might even take up roller blading.”
Destiny laughed. “I think your doctor would nix that idea.”
She watched as Gina’s expression grew sad. “From graceful model to limping lump, all in one night.”
Destiny said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing she hadn’t said time and time again during the four years since the accident.
“That’s Fort Sumpter,” the driver announced as they wove their way over the uneven streets of Charleston.
“Maybe we’ll take a day and sightsee,” Destiny suggested.
“You never sightsee,” Gina countered. “You’re always too busy working on perfecting your routine.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Wrong.”
“Right,” Gina huffed. “And I like David.”
Rolling her eyes, Destiny wasn’t in the right frame of mind to rehash the long-standing rivalry between the duo. David and Gina were her friends as well as her employees. Besides which, Gina, she had learned, didn’t like too many people. She was Destiny’s exact opposite. And a definite thorn in David’s side. Sometimes she had the distinct impression that Gina went out of her way to make David’s job harder. This trip was a perfect example. David had arranged for them to stay in one of the swankiest hotels in downtown Charleston. Gina had made arrangements for them to rent two of the villa units at the beach outside the city. Of course, it left Destiny in the uncomfortable position of choosing between the two. It was a no-win situation, and she was currently on David’s list because she’d chosen the beach over the city.
“Wait!” she called out suddenly.
The cabby brought the car to a screeching halt.
“What?” the driver and Gina said in unison.
“There’s The Rose Tattoo,” she said, pointing to the historic building with the wooden sign in front. “Let’s stop in.”
“What about our luggage?” the ever-practical Gina noted.
“You go on to the beach, then come back,” Destiny instructed as she opened her door. “Take as long as you need. I’d love to get a feel for the place.”
“You can do that tomorrow.” Gina was still grumbling when Destiny closed the door and walked across the black-and-white-checkered tiles leading up to the front door.
Her hand closed on the brass handle and she gave a tug. Nothing. She tugged again as her eyes found the hours listed on a rectangular sign in the window.
“Great,” she grumbled, checking her watch, then squinting against the early-morning sunlight. Destiny was about to turn back toward the street in search of a cab when a deep, sexy voice stopped her dead.
“It’s you,” he said as he pulled open the door.
She had to concentrate hard to keep her mouth from dropping open in an appreciative response to this gorgeous man. “Must be sunstroke,” she said under her breath before flashing him her brightest smile.
His stomach knotted as if an elephant had kicked him—hard. She was even more beautiful than the photograph hanging above the bar. On more than one occasion, he had cynically remarked that the picture had to have been retouched. It wasn’t possible for any living creature to be that beautiful, that perfect. He was wrong.
“Destiny Talbott,” she said as she offered him her dainty hand.
Her skin was warm and soft, a perfect complement to the deep tan that naturally heightened the unusual shade of her eyes. And the way the sun shimmered off those long tresses of pale blond hair—he swallowed as he reluctantly dropped her hand.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, a teasing look in her eyes.
The fraction of a second it took him to recall his own name seemed to amuse her all the more.
“Wesley Porter,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he ushered her inside the empty restaurant.
His palms were actually moist by the time they reached the bar, where his books were stacked high next to a mug of long-forgotten coffee.
“We weren’t expecting you until this afternoon,” he said.
Sliding onto one of the bar stools, Wesley battled to keep his eyes off the incredibly shapely legs peeking out from beneath her skirt.
“Spur-of-the-moment,” she explained. “When I saw the place, I just couldn’t resist taking a sneak peek.”
He felt one of his brows arch high on his forehead. “Do you always act on your impulses?”
She smiled again. “Is that a question? Or a really bad come-on line?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, studying the backs of his hands. “I guess it’s all this scholarly pursuit. I tend to ask questions a lot.”
“A bar-owning student?” Destiny asked after glancing at his textbooks.
“My mother owns the place. I’m just helping out while I study for my boards.”
“Rose,” she said, nodding. “David’s mentioned her.”
“David?”
“My manager,” she said as she boldly slid off the stool, went behind the bar and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Wes wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that she seemed so at home in a strange environment, or that he’d been so enthralled with her legs that he hadn’t even thought to offer her the most basic of hospitalities.
“This is great,” she said, hugging the mug in both hands. “I should have been entitled to a refund from the airlines for that stuff they foisted off on Gina and me this morning.”
“Gina?”
“My personal assistant,” she said as she came back and took the seat next to his. He smelled the faint scent of her perfume, and the words “utterly feminine” floated through his thoughts as he watched her felinelike movements. No wonder she was a popular performer, he thought. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have to tell the first joke. He’d probably pay good money just to watch her walk down the street.
“So,” she began with a wicked light in her violet eyes, “do you just ask questions, or do you occasionally talk all on your own?”
“Depends,” he returned, feeling the corners of his mouth respond to her ever-present smile. “I guess I’ve had my nose in these books for so long that I’m sort of out of practice.”
“You?” she scoffed.
His head fell slightly to one side and he regarded her for a protracted second. “Meaning?”
“Back up,” Destiny answered. “What exactly are you studying for?”
“Psychiatric boards.”
“You’re a shrink?”
“In training.”
“Lord,” she mumbled just before bringing the mug to her bow-shaped lips.
“I’ll take that to mean you aren’t fond of my profession?”
Her initial response was a small shrug of her shoulders. “Not my call,” she told him. “I just think there’s something perverse about delving into people’s private lives.”
He smiled at her. “This from a woman whose private life manages to grace the tabloids on occasion?”
“Point,” she conceded. “You read the tabloids?”
“Only when I’m standing in the checkout line at the store.”
“That’s what everybody says. Except that those rags have higher circulation numbers than the New York Times.”
A shrink, she thought to herself. Too bad. The first nice-looking doctor she ever meets turns out to be a psychiatrist. Heaven knew the very last thing she needed in her life was analysis.
Whoa! her brain screamed. This man wasn’t exactly “in her life.”
“Can I see the rest of the place?” she asked, wondering why she felt such an overwhelming sense of regret. It hardly made sense. She would be in Charleston all of six weeks. Then, hopefully, she’d be off to Los Angeles and her own television show.
“Sure thing,” Wesley answered, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and producing a ring full of keys. “Follow me.”
Hopping off her stool and depositing her empty mug on the polished bar, Destiny silently admired the physique of the man ahead of her. His shoulders were broad beneath the preppy polo shirt. His waist and hips were trim, though he didn’t impress her as the type to spend hours working out. He did, however, impress her as one heck of a sexy man.
With the exception of David, her world was filled with overweight, cigar-chewing club owners. This dark-haired intellectual man, with bedroom blue eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses, was refreshing. He had jump-started her hormones in ways she had long ago suppressed.
Wesley led her through an immaculately clean kitchen and out the back door. The aroma of wisteria competed with the less-than-pleasant odors coming from the Dumpster.
“It’s very deceptive from the street,” she said, quickening her step to keep pace with his long strides.
“Charleston Single Houses were built on these long, narrow lots in order to capture the breeze coming off the water. Think of it as eighteenth-century air-conditioning.”
“Good line.” She laughed. “Can I steal it for my routine?”
“Absolutely.”
Following him along the stone path, Destiny was immediately impressed by the condition of the long, rectangular sign hanging over the double doors. She was also vainly impressed by the large photograph of herself plastered above the door. After all this time, the words Appearing Nightly still gave Destiny a thrill.
The thrill faded quickly when she caught sight of the large box near the front door.
“Not again,” she groaned.
“Not again what?” Wesley asked her, genuine concern in his deep voice.
“I hope you have a girlfriend, Dr. Porter,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“Why?”
“Because,” she began as they reached the package covered by bright green floral wrap, “she’ll think you’re wonderful. But if I were you, I’d lose the card first.”
Wesley had begun to reach inside the paper when Destiny automatically grabbed for his hand. His skin was heated beneath her palm, momentarily distracting her.
“Don’t bother,” she said.
But apparently this man had a mind of his own. Destiny’s hand fell away as he gently removed the envelope and pulled the card from inside.
His brows drew together as he read what she knew was the neatly typed message: SOME DIE LAUGHING.
Chapter Two
“What the hell does this mean?” Wesley demanded, waving the small card in his hand.
“It means I have an admirer with an even sicker sense of humor than my own,” she answered, trying to make light of the situation. “If I ever find out who has been sending these to me, I’ll refer them to you for professional help.”
It was obvious from the ominous expression in his blue eyes that Dr. Porter shared Gina’s concern over the succession of notes.
“How long has this been going on?”
Averting her eyes from the potted blossoms, Destiny answered, “About three months.”
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
She met his gaze. “Do you have any idea how many cities I’ve been in during that time?”
Wesley shook his head.
“My manager did hire a private detective,” she began, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “He proved himself completely inept, to the point of not even bothering to show up last night. Instead, I received a crumpled bill from his office, along with a poorly typed memo indicating that Greg Miller, private investigator, hadn’t uncovered squat.”
“Then maybe you should hire someone here.”
“And waste more money?” she scoffed. “No, thanks. I’m sure whoever is sending these things will eventually get the hint. Or,” she added as she leaned closer, “the florists will run out of gardenias, and he’ll be out of luck.”
“This note doesn’t give me the impression that we’re dealing with an admirer,” Wesley told her. “It’s too threatening. Too indicative that he is not overly fond of you.”
Destiny rolled her eyes. “Fond?” she repeated with a throaty laugh. “Live dangerously, Dr. Porter. This bozo obviously hates me. But that’s okay, I hate gardenias. So I guess he and I are running about even.”
She watched as deep lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“Lighten up, Doctor. I’m not saying I’m thrilled by his persistence, but he’s hardly overtly threatening. He hasn’t come near me.”
“Why are you so convinced it’s a man?”
“Gina’s picked him out of the audience. Wait until tomorrow night. If he comes, which he always does, I’ll have Gina point him out to you.”
“Did your assistant have a vision, or is there something in particular about this man that makes you believe he’s your morbid admirer?”
“Can we get out of the sun?” she asked, not really interested in discussing the matter any further. Lord knew, it was a topic both Gina and David had beaten into the ground during the past several months.
“Sorry,” she heard him mumble as he slipped a key into the ornate lock and opened the door.
It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior, even after he’d flipped a switch to turn on dim, period chandeliers.
“Wow,” she said as she admired the long, rectangular room. Tables were arranged with wide aisles leading up to a small, but certainly sufficient, stage. The lighting she saw at the base of the stage was fine upon inspection. All in all, The Rose Tattoo promised to be a fairly decent engagement. “When David told me I’d be playing in an outbuilding, I sure wasn’t expecting anything like this.”
“That’s because my oldest boy and his wife did the renovations.”
Destiny twirled around at the sound of the female voice echoing through the room. A woman she placed somewhere in her early fifties sashayed toward them. Her outfit was outrageous—animal-print, skintight pants, a form-fitting blouse and bleached hair that nearly touched the ceiling. Garish clothing aside, Destiny was drawn to the woman’s warm, welcoming smile.
“I’m Rose Porter,” she said, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
She turned to Wesley and said, “I saw the flowers outside. Your idea?”
Wesley shook his head. “I’m afraid they came with Miss Talbott,” he answered dryly.
“Maybe we should make it a practice to send all our performers a little something,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Maybe an Elvis tape.”
Destiny watched as Wesley tried to hide a cringe behind square-tipped fingers. “We’ll think about it.”
“Anything you need,” Rose began, “just let us know.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Destiny answered. Especially if I get to catch the occasional glimpse of Dr. Porter while I’m here.
* * *
“I‘VE CALLED THE STATION house,” Gina was saying, her words running together in an agitated string.
Destiny had barely time to deposit her purse on the rattan sofa before her friend had launched into a long, involved explanation for her failure to show up at The Rose Tattoo. Destiny had stayed through dinner, at Rose’s insistence. Unfortunately, Dr. Porter had disappeared before the lunch crush.
“I can call Western Union and make an immediate cash transfer. I think they said five hundred dollars for the bond.”
“Don’t bother,” Destiny said with a sad sigh.
Gina’s faced wrinkled in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“He can spend the night in jail. God knows he’s done it often enough before.”
She walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged around until she found a diet soda, then lifted one of the leaded glasses from a neatly arranged tray. Each ice cube made a pleasant sound as she dropped it into the glass. She retrieved the bottle of soda and poured herself a generous portion.
Gina stood a few feet away, her hands resting on her nonexistent hips. Destiny never ceased to be amazed by the slenderness of the woman. She often remarked that even during the throes of PMS, Gina never managed to balloon above a size three. The fact that she was five-eight in her stocking feet mattered little, or that she still carried herself like the famous cover model she had once been.
“C’mon Destiny, Carl’s your father. And your mother was really adamant when she called.”
“I’ll bet she was.” Destiny smiled, easily imagining her mother’s response to her former husband’s latest predicament. In spite of the divorce that had taken place more than twenty years earlier, Chief Judge Mona Talbott still monitored the activities of her parasitic ex-husband. “My mother will survive.” Destiny took a long swallow of her soda, allowing it to slide smoothly down her throat while pushing the memories of Dr. Porter to the back of her mind. Silently she told herself that her reaction to the man was simply the result of too many months on the road and not enough dates. Still, she just couldn’t seem to rid the image of his dark hair and light eyes from her brain.
Gina’s pretty face was a collage of concern and frustration as she watched Destiny refill the glass. “More flowers?”
“Uh-huh,” Destiny grumbled into the glass.
“That’s it!” Gina bellowed, raising her arms and allowing them to slap loudly against her thighs. Destiny found herself sneaking a peek at the lower portion of the ragged scar marring the brown-skinned woman’s otherwise perfect leg.
“Girl, you’d better call someone. How about the police?”
Massaging the tension in her neck, Destiny offered a wan smile. “And tell them what? I’m Destiny Talbott and I’d like to report a delivery of flowers. I don’t want my name and face plastered on the cover of every grocery-store rag. Not now. Not when I’m this close.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger in front of her eyes, barely allowing light to pass between the small opening they formed. “I’d be labeled a paranoid crazy.”
“Get serious, Destiny. You can’t just ignore all the threats and stuff. Your buddy David isn’t capable of handling this situation. It’s gotten way out of hand, and you can’t keep pretending that it isn’t happening.”
“I’m giving it my best shot.”
“Fine. Do what you want. You will, anyway.” Gina pointed a long, tapered finger at Destiny, shaking it for emphasis every now and then. “I don’t mean to criticize your original patron saint, but David seems to worship the paycheck he gets from Sommerfield, not to mention—”
“Leave it alone, Gina.”
Destiny’s body tensed. What if? No! her brain screamed. It couldn’t be David. It had to be a crazy person, and she wasn’t about to let some lunatic exploit her—not now.
“Fine,” her friend responded, clearly hurt. “And what about your father?”
“We’ll wire the money in the morning. A night in jail will be good for him.”
“What am I supposed to tell your mother? She’s depending on you to take care of this.”
“And I will. Only it will be tomorrow instead of the moment her majesty issues the order.”
Destiny brushed past Gina, no longer interested in the conversation. Her whole body ached with the need to relax.
The second story of the villa sported an impressive master suite. The room must have been twenty-five by twenty-five, with adjoining dressing areas and a bathroom large enough to accommodate a family of six with room to spare.
Kicking off her shoes, Destiny pulled her dress over her head as she walked to the bath. The marble floor was refreshingly cool against her feet. The room smelled of exotic tropical fruits. She considered taking a long, hot bath, but opted instead for a long soak in the hot tub out on the patio. Letting pulsating streams of hot water rush over her body was a surefire way to wash away any lingering traces of her anxiety.
Removing the rest of her clothes, Destiny discarded them carelessly in a pile. As she stood completely naked, she ignored the pang of guilt trying to weave its way into her consciousness. Leaving her father in jail wasn’t as easy a decision as she’d let on. In spite of everything, he was her father and she loved him.
Taking a few hairpins off the vanity, she secured the knot at the nape of her neck and willed herself not to think about her father’s all-too-familiar plight.
“Blast you, Carl!” she whispered to her reflection.
Grabbing the soft white terry robe from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, Destiny sat on the edge of the bed to wait until she no longer heard Gina moving about in the rooms below. She was tired, too tired for another well-intended confrontational scene with her friend.
It wasn’t long before she padded down the stairs, through the streaks of shadows and light from the moon sneaking in between the blinds. Carefully she opened the French doors that led to the tiled patio. “So far, so good,” she whispered, her voice drowned out by the gentle rustling of the wind through the oleander bushes and the distant crash of waves from the Atlantic.
Dropping the robe, Destiny stepped down into the circular tub. Heat from the water rose in a swirl of steam before floating off on the breeze. The powerful jets forced ribbons of bubbles over her body, kneading her tense muscles like a patient lover. Closing her eyes, Destiny sank lower, allowing the swirling streams of water to work their magic. It was like being drugged, lulled into a sense of blissful relaxation.
“Miss Talbott?”
Her eyes flew open to find two figures near the back gate silhouetted in the moonlight. They were both tall and broad shouldered—and one was recognizable. Her eyes seemed determined to fix on that one form. The sinewy way his body tapered from those shoulders into that very sexy lean waist, she was absolutely certain she was looking at the outline of Wesley Porter. But then she recalled the voice saying her name. It was a voice she didn’t recognize.
Instantly thinking of the flowers and the notes, Destiny screamed for Gina. The sound of her voice echoed in her own ears as she groped at the edge of the hot tub for her robe. Neither man moved in that fraction of a second.
Bright lights flooded the patio, blinding Destiny as she pulled the robe into the water. The sodden garment was immediately heavy and difficult to maneuver through the water.
“Up!” Gina’s commanding voice split the night. “Get your hands up where I can see them! Now!”
Destiny backed out of the tub, wrapping the robe around her as she went.
“You okay?” Gina asked, her brown eyes never wavering from the pair standing awkwardly under the lights, their hands high in the air.
“I’m fine,” Destiny answered in a high-pitched voice. Gina, wearing nothing but a flimsy teddy, stood with her legs shoulder width apart, her small silver revolver pointed in the direction of the intruders.
“Go in and call the police,” Gina said. “I’ll keep them here.”
“Maybe not,” Destiny said as she shook the fog of fear from her thoughts. “Sorry, Officer Gina. That’s Dr. Porter from The Rose Tattoo.”
“Oops,” Gina said in a small voice as she lowered the gun.
Dylan fished inside his jacket pocket and retrieved his identification. He held it out for them between his thumb and finger in a very nonthreatening manner.
It seemed appropriate that Destiny be the one to examine his ID while Gina allowed the gun to dangle at her side. With a wad of wet terry cloth in her fist, she moved forward, barely aware that the full length of her leg was revealed with each step.
Standing in the shadow of the uncharacteristically silent Wes, Destiny scanned the laminated photo and found out that Dylan was some sort of agent for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.
“Get your permit, Gina,” she said. “Agent Tanner probably isn’t too keen on having a gun waved in his direction.”
“Okay,” Gina said just before scurrying off.
Then Destiny got mad.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing on my patio in the middle of the night!” she bellowed at Wes, certain this late-night call was all his idea. She looked up into his blue eyes. The flash of amusement she saw there only added fuel to the fire of her anger. “And why did you drag him along?”
Grinning down at her from his superior height, Wesley said, “I called Dylan and asked him to help out. He’s taking time away from his wife and new daughter just for you.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “But couldn’t all this have waited until morning?”
Wesley crossed his arms in front of his chest, grinning like the proverbial cat, and said, “Probably. But then I would have been deprived of the opportunity to see you naked.”
Chapter Three
“See me naked?” Destiny repeated blankly, lowering her eyes to her partially covered body. “You pig,” she grumbled, adjusting the waterlogged robe to completely cover herself. “At best you got a cheap peek.”
“Really?” Wesley asked in a bland voice. Then he leaned closer and spoke into her ear. “There isn’t anything cheap about that cute little birthmark you have to the left of your navel. It’s about an inch or two below your brea—”
“That’s enough,” she interjected, shoving him before he could finish humiliating her.
Cursing, Wesley hit the water with a loud splash and an even louder expletive.
“Watch your language, Doctor,” she purred before making a mad dash toward the house.
“Don’t let Porter drip on the hardwood,” she instructed the stunned-looking Gina as she raced up the stairs. “Offer them a drink or something while I get dressed, please.”
“Whatever you say.”
Destiny had a limited selection in her closet. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a decent-size wardrobe, it was simply a matter of practicality. Living for a week here, a month there wasn’t exactly conducive to becoming a clotheshorse.
“Please let them sell that pilot,” she prayed as she towel dried her body and pulled on a sweat suit in a muted shade of mauve. Glancing at her reflection, she knew she didn’t have time to do anything with her unruly mass of hair, so she simply left the pins in place and shoved any stray strands behind her ears.
She felt her cheeks warm as she remembered the deep, husky whisper of his voice when he’d commented on her birthmark. The memory alone was enough to make her body come to life with a series of electric pulsations that radiated from the core of her being outward to her fingertips.
“You’re being stupid,” she told herself as she hopped on one foot and forced the other into one tight espadrille. Wesley was definitely not her type. He was obviously a mamma’s boy. Why else would he still be hanging around The Rose Tattoo with his mother? And she wasn’t about to take on another needful man in her life.
She switched positions as she pulled on the other shoe. “For heaven’s sake!” she scolded herself. “Stop acting like the guy just proposed. You’ve known him all of fourteen hours. He’s hardly in your life.”
Destiny found Dylan and Wes seated on the comfortable living room furniture. Actually, Wesley was on a pile of beach towels, his black hair slicked off his forehead. Dylan was nursing a beer, while, she noted, the wet one had opted for a soft drink. Easy, girl, her conscious warned.
“Sorry we disturbed you,” Dylan said to her, though he was glaring at his companion. “But Wes led me to believe that this was something of an emergency.”
“Emergency?” she echoed.
Wes’s eyes darkened to an almost blackish blue as he gave her a reproachful look. “I saw your expression this afternoon when you got those flowers. It doesn’t exactly take a member of Mensa to see that you have a possible stalker on your hands.”
“Has someone been stalking you?” Dylan asked.
Destiny went to the bar and poured herself a glass of diet soda, wondering where Gina had disappeared to. “I have gotten a few strange notes and some flowers.” Offering them her best stage smile, she added, “Most girls dream of getting flowers on a regular basis.”
“You aren’t most girls,” Wesley said softly.
Destiny felt her face redden with warmth as his eyes lingered on her mouth.
“You look very nice when you aren’t all painted up,” he commented.
She let out a small laugh. “Obviously, you’ve never worked under the glare of footlights, Doctor,” she told him. “Without all that paint and glitter, I wash out like a ghost.”
Wes looked as if he wanted to say something more on the subject, when Dylan spoke up.
“Do these deliveries show up every place you appear?”
She nodded.
“For how long?” Dylan asked.
Gina appeared suddenly, dressed in a flowing skirt that almost masked her limp. “They started six months ago.”
“What?” Destiny gasped.
She watched as Gina lowered her gaze. “David and I thought it would be best if you didn’t know about them.”
“David’s your manager?” The question came from the agent.
She nodded. “But if I get this pilot, I won’t have to spend forty-five weeks a year traveling. Whoever’s sending these silly flowers and cryptic notes will probably lose interest when he doesn’t have to follow me all over hell’s creation and back.”
“Pilot?” Wesley asked.
“It could lead to some really terrific things for me, and David—”
“Wants to make sure he gets a financial piece of that action,” Wesley finished.
She gave Wesley a reproachful look, then turned to the obviously less hostile Dylan. “David knows how hard I’ve worked for this.”
“How long have you known him?”
Destiny did a mental tally before she answered. “Almost ten years. He owned a small comedy club in Maryland.” Noting the skeptical expression on the agent’s face, she formed the letter T with her hands. “Time out here,” she said. “David has done nothing but wonderful things for me. He gave me a shot when I was only eighteen. He arranged for financial backing so that I could go out on the road to build a reputation. He—”
“Also wanted to be a comic, isn’t that right?” Wes said.
Sighing, Destiny said, “That was years ago. David gave up on performing when he realized he didn’t have the timing to do stand-up.”
“So now he’s living his dreams vicariously through your career?”
Glaring at Wesley now, she felt her blood pressure begin to rise. “As soon as you pass your boards, Dr. Porter, feel free to diagnose at will. Until then, I’d be grateful if you’d keep your Psych 101 diagnoses to yourself.”
“It is a possibility,” Dylan said, breaking the string of tension connecting Destiny to the handsome doctor.
“No,” she said, without even a trace of the venom she’d spewed at Wesley. “The worst thing I can say about David Crane is that he can, on occasion, be overbearing.”
“What about the other people you’re close to?” Dylan queried.
“There’s only Gina and Walter.”
“Gina’s the one with the gun,” Dylan surmised, smiling at the now-demure Gina. “Who’s this Walter person?”
“Walter Sommerfield,” Destiny answered. “He lives in Potomac, Maryland. He and his daughter, Samantha, used to come to every one of my shows when I was working at David’s place.” Sadness settled over her as she remembered the bright-eyed young woman with so much promise. “After Samantha died, Walter sort of latched on to me and gave me the backing I needed to hit the road.”
“What happened to the daughter?” Wesley asked.
“She died in a car accident two days after she was accepted at Harvard Law School. Walter had already lost his wife. Losing Samantha nearly killed him.”
Wesley nodded. From anyone else, it would have been a comforting gesture. From Wesley, though, she interpreted it in a completely different way.
“Is Walter’s pain psychologically significant?” she asked. Why, she wondered, did everything this man say or do annoy her so much? It was like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Destiny walked over to the phone, lifted it from the cradle and held it near Wes. “Maybe you can have a session over the phone. Maybe you’d find it fascinating to discuss the story of his only child’s death?”
Calmly, Wesley took the phone from her hand and replaced it. In the process, his knuckles brushed against her skin, causing an immediate and involuntary reaction. It was a tingle that warmed her blood and quickened her pulse for just an instant.
“I have no intention of causing anyone any pain,” he said softly.
When he spoke in that deep, velvety voice, Destiny was quite certain that she would do anything he asked. Hell, she thought, if he used that voice to tell her to take a leap into Charleston Harbor, she’d be smelling like fish and diesel fuel in no time flat.
“Tell me about the first delivery,” Dylan said to Gina.
“She was onstage,” Gina began. “I thought they might have been from her father, so I took a peek at the card. When I saw it—” Gina paused as a chill shook her body “—David and I decided to toss them. They’ve been coming like clockwork for the past six months.”
“What’s your first recollection?” Dylan asked Destiny.
Taking a seat across from the two men, Destiny didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I received a pot of gardenias with the note when I was appearing in the Bahamas about three months ago.”
“And you hired a detective to try and trace the deliveries?” Dylan continued.
Destiny met Dylan’s concerned eyes and said, “Miller. Gina can give you his number.”
“Why did you think the flowers were from her father?” Wes asked.
“Carl’s like that. The pot was huge, you know. Destiny’s father never does things in half measure.”
Wesley’s dark brows drew together. “And I guess you’re sure he’s not behind this? Meaning it as a joke,” he added quickly.
“My father’s an alcoholic who spends more time in detox than he does at home,” she answered. “So even though he does have a slightly off-center sense of humor, he couldn’t afford to do something like this, nor would he ever do anything remotely threatening to me.”
There was something about the understanding she saw in Wesley’s expression that made her feel suddenly less hostile and more willing to share with this man. Still, she wasn’t yet able to let down the barrier of her stage persona. Donning a huge smile, she said, “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s politically correct and quite in vogue to come from a dysfunctional family.” She leaned across the coffee table, her glass cupped between her hands. “My father’s binges are well documented, and I even make references to them in my routines. It happens to be common knowledge. But this, this is another matter altogether.”
Gina abruptly excused herself from the room.
A small alarm went off in Destiny’s head. The two women were as close as sisters. It was very much out of character for Gina to run off like that. Then again, her little voice of reason argued, maybe Gina was hiding in case the matter of her father’s current residence became a part of the conversation.
“And this Miller person you hired never found anything?”
“Nothing,” she admitted, feeling silly for even paying his bill in light of his complete and total lack of results.
“Did anyone know you were coming into Charleston a day early?” Dylan asked.
“I think I said something about it when I was onstage the other night—in front of about two hundred and fifty people. Something about a one-day vacation.”
“That narrows it down,” Wesley said with a resigned sigh.
“Do you get these flowers every night? Opening night?”
“It varies,” she told Dylan. “Sometimes I get four or five in a week. Other times I only get them on opening night. Once it was the last performance.”
“No pattern,” Wesley said to Dylan.
“They scare the bejesus out of me every time,” Destiny said. “That’s a pattern.”
“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?” Dylan asked. “Maybe you’ve gotten some weird mail, something like that?”
“You would have to ask Gina for—”
“What in the hell are you two doing here?”
Startled, Destiny turned toward the angry voice. She actually jumped when David slammed the door with enough force to rattle the watercolor prints on the walls.
Dylan and Wesley rose in unison, both men appearing unfazed by David’s display of ire.
Wesley spoke first. “I’m Rose’s son, Wesley, and this is Dylan Tanner. We dropped by to discuss the threats against Ms. Talbott.”
David cast her an irritated look before turning his furious brown eyes on Wesley. “Anything even remotely connected to Destiny is my business. I’ll handle everything—without interference from some bar hand and his buddy.”
Dylan wasted no time producing his official identification. David visibly blanched.
“As far as I can tell,” Wesley began, “you’ve done very little to protect Destiny from the individual who seems to be quite aware of her every move.”
“I hired a detective!” David wailed in his own defense. “And he’s never gotten close to her. He only leaves her notes and flowers.”
“He got pretty close to her today,” Wesley said. For the first time Destiny heard the faint trace of an actual, honest emotion in his tone. It could only be described as annoyance. For some reason, that pleased her. It also disturbed her.
“What are you talking about?” David thundered as he stomped over to her side.
“He left her a welcoming pot of gardenias at the Tattoo,” Dylan stated.
“How in the world would he know you were arriving today?” David asked
David was her manager, accustomed to orchestrating every aspect of her professional life. She could tell by his narrowed eyes that he was struggling to control his fury. Apparently he wasn’t too thrilled to have this Ivy League poster boy basically tell him to go to blazes.
“Destiny, baby, I’m sorry,” David soothed. “We’ll find out who’s pulling this garbage. I know it scares you, but I’m sure it’s just some sicko getting his jollies.”
“Do we need your permission to look into all this?” Wes asked.
“Hang on,” Destiny said to Wesley. “I’m the one who makes that decision. Try asking me.” She stepped away from her manager.
“Fine.” Wesley shrugged as he spoke. “Dylan has already done some preliminary work, which is why we came by at this late hour.”
“Preliminary work?” she repeated. “What kind of preliminary work?”
“He made a few calls about Greg Miller, your detective.”
Destiny met Wesley’s eyes. “I wish I had known that. I’d like to ask that incompetent for my money back.”
“That would be rather difficult,” Wesley said.
“Bankrupt?” Destiny sighed as she lowered her gaze. Lord knew she’d watched her father file under one chapter or another through the years.
“Not exactly,” Wes said as he moved to stand directly in front of her.
His tall body blocked her view of the others in the room. Gently he placed his thumb under her chin and applied just enough pressure to force her to meet his eyes. For what felt like an eternity, Wesley searched her face, his eyes roaming over every feature. She held her breath, somehow sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to be good news. She was right.
“Greg Miller was found shot to death two weeks before you received that invoice.”
Chapter Four
Destiny was still shaken by the news long after Dylan and Wesley had gone. She was also confused by the uncharacteristic behavior of the two individuals whom she considered her closest friends.
After Dylan and Wesley left, David explained that he had come crashing into the villa because he’d heard her scream from his room two doors down.
“Don’t ever go into law enforcement,” she teased him. “Not if it takes you the better part of a half hour to respond to what you think might be a crisis situation.”
David blushed slightly. “I wasn’t dressed,” he defended lamely.
“Neither was I,” Destiny said, closing her eyes at the memory.
“Those two just showed up here?”
“Right on the first guess.” She sighed. “I certainly didn’t invite them.”
“I’ll speak to Rose. I’ll tell her we don’t want her kid inter—”
“Please don’t do that,” Destiny interrupted. “And I’d hardly call Dr. Porter a kid.”
“Then why does he still live with his mommy?” David retorted snidely.
Destiny regarded him for a long, quiet moment. He was really angry. Obviously he hadn’t yet forgiven her for choosing the beach over the city.
Glancing up at the clock, she almost let out a groan when she noted it was nearly two in the morning. This was supposed to be the night she caught up on lost sleep. Instead, she knew she was destined to try salving David’s rumpled feathers yet one more time.
Gee, she thought glibly to herself, then I can wait a few hours and have my mother screeching in my ear for not following her directive.
* * *
HER PREDICTION PROVED true when she got “the call” at precisely 8:45 the next morning.
And also true to form, Mona was furious. “Why is Carl still in jail?”
“Because he broke the law in some small town in Georgia?” Destiny asked sweetly, cringing when she heard the irritated sigh come across the line.
“I told your girl to have you handle it immediately.”
“Gina isn’t my girl,” Destiny corrected gently. How could her mother have gone from Woodstock to snob in just one lifetime? she wondered not for the first time. “I got in late, but I plan to take care of the fine first thing.”
“How could you have left him in some small town jail for the night?”
“I doubt he noticed,” Destiny assured her mother. “They’ll probably have to perform CPR just to get him out of the cell.”
“Is everything a joke with you?” Mona asked.
Destiny heard the rustle of fabric and knew her mother was pulling on her judicial robes as the conversation progressed.
“I wasn’t joking,” Destiny promised her mother in a more respectful tone. “The charge was drunk and disorderly. If he’d been tossed out last night, before some of the alcohol wore off, I was afraid of what might happen.”
Mona was silent for a second. “I suppose that was one way of handling it. But next time I’ll consider calling Peace. Even though your sister and her husband struggle for every cent they have. Children are expensive.”
“And Peace ought to know. That must be some kind of record, four kids in five years?”
“Your sister understands the importance of family.”
“My sister needs to get a VCR or find some other way to spend her evenings.”
“My clerk is calling,” Mona told her in clipped syllables that fully and completely conveyed her disappointment in her firstborn child. “Can I count on you to handle this situation?”
“Of course you can,” Destiny told her. “Have I ever let you down? Wait!” she quickly amended. “Don’t answer that. Love you, bye.”
“How is her royal nastiness?” Gina asked.
Destiny shrugged, sure her friend had heard enough of the conversation to understand the status quo between mother and daughter was basically the same.
“You look exhausted,” Gina commented. “Do you want coffee now or do you want to try and get some more sleep?”
Placing her fingers over her tired eyes, Destiny knew returning to sleep wasn’t a possibility. Visions of Wesley Porter had haunted her dreams, leaving her feeling oddly lonely in the first light of day. Her dreams, like most everything else about her, tended to be bold and vivid. The resplendent images of being locked in his strong arms had awakened her on more than one occasion during the night.
“Probably best if I start the day,” she said as her feet hit the floor. “I sure hope my mother’s call won’t set the tone for the day.”
“Maybe that cute doctor will find another lame excuse to drop in.”
She looked up to find Gina staring at her, one brow arched toward her neat French twist.
“Meaning?”
“Are you telling me you aren’t attracted to him?”
“I don’t even know him,” she said as she pulled on her robe.
“What’s to know? The guy’s gorgeous, friendly—seems like the perfect material for a short-term fling.”
“I don’t have short-term flings.”
“Well,” Gina persisted, “maybe it’s about time for one.”
“It’s career time,” Destiny insisted. “Once I’ve established myself, then I can think about a husband and a family.”
Feeling Gina’s hand on her shoulder, Destiny looked up into the sad, chocolate-colored eyes. “I didn’t suggest anything permanent, necessarily. But don’t keep kidding yourself, Destiny. You’re counting on a future. Futures change. I’m an expert on the subject.”
* * *
SLIPPING HIS GLASSES from the bridge of his nose, Wesley surveyed the flurry of activity from the shadows near the door. An appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he admired her from a distance. That woman didn’t need stage paint and glitter. “And she sure as hell doesn’t wash out,” he muttered.
“No, she sure doesn’t.”
“Hello,” he said, tearing his gaze from the stage and glancing in his mother’s general direction.
“Is everything all right?”
“I guess.” Clipping his glasses into the front of his shirt, he allowed his eyes to travel back to the small woman cradling the microphone.
“I thought you were supposed to be studying,” Rose observed.
“Just taking a break,” he said defensively.
“Or have you decided to study the human body instead of the human mind?”
He gave his mother a sidelong look meant to quell the optimism he heard in her voice. “I was simply taking a break, and wandered in here for a couple of minutes.”
His mother nodded but gave absolutely no other indication that she was convinced about his motives. “Shelby called, said she and Dylan were coming by tonight to catch the show.”
“I’m sure they’ll enjoy themselves. They haven’t had much time together since Cassidy was born.”
“I told them we’d reserve a table for six down front.”
“Six?”
His mother patted her lacquered hair and averted her eyes. “I asked Destiny’s manager and that woman Gina to join us.”
Wesley swallowed the groan in his throat. “Her manager’s a jerk.”
“Is that a medical observation?” Rose teased. “Or personal, maybe?”
Wesley smiled at his mother. He knew better than to pursue this line of dialogue. Rose had made no secret of her desire to have a daughter-in-law and some grandchildren in residence at The Rose Tattoo.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Wes said.
“You can’t do that,” Rose told him.
“Why not?”
“Because I told Destiny you’d drive her home after they finish setting up all these lights and microphones.”
“Why did you do that?” he asked, trying to sound perturbed, though the thought of spending some time alone with Destiny appealed to him much more than he was willing to admit—even to himself.
“Because I was under the impression that you were protecting her from whoever is sending her the flowers. Shelby told me that you’ve enlisted Dylan, as well.”
“I simply asked him to give me an assessment of the situation.”
“So that explains why you dragged him out to the beach in the middle of the night.”
Wes felt his cheeks color.
“And—” Rose tapped her finger against his breastbone “—Shelby is very unhappy that you dragged her husband out in the middle of the night. But I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it this evening.”
“Great,” Wes grumbled. “Maybe I’ll skip opening night.”
“Why would you do that?”
Wes spun and found himself staring down into those breathtaking violet eyes. “My mother got me into trouble with Shelby.”
He watched, fascinated, when her lips parted and she blew a steady stream of breath upward, toward perspiration-dampened bangs. Her mouth was perfect. Her lips reminded him of sweet cherries—full and ripe. His mind flashed vivid images, all of which, he felt sure, would earn him a resounding slap from either Destiny or his mother. Or both.
He smelled good, she thought as she tilted her face up. And he was staring rather intently at her mouth. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but Destiny’s pulse increased when she noted the blatant curiosity as he scrutinized her features. Without even trying, Wesley had her nerves tingling with a very potent mixture of anticipation and expectation. As his blue-gray eyes traveled over her features, Destiny felt as if she was being caressed. It was unnerving.
“So,” she began as soon as she’d placed a protective smile between herself and the doctor, “you’ll be here tonight? I’m usually at my best on the first and last nights.”
“Really?” Wes said, his head listing pensively to the left. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Don’t strain yourself,” she retorted, meeting his amused eyes. “Gina said you invited her to join you this evening. Thank you,” Destiny said to Rose. “She usually gets stuck backstage. It was very thoughtful of you to include her.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ll have a lovely time.”
She gave the woman’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “Still, it was a very nice thing for you to do.”
Destiny was a little surprised to see the woman’s cheeks color slightly beneath the thick layer of blusher.
“I’ve got a few things to do back at my office. Wes will run you out to the beach.”
“If you’re in the middle of studying, I can take a cab. As I told Rose, it’s not a problem.”
She watched as his broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s not an inconvenience.”
She regarded him through the thickness of her lashes. “I don’t believe you.”
He met her eyes and said, “It is an inconvenience, but not nearly as inconvenient as the ramifications if I don’t take you home.”
“What?”
“If I don’t take you home, my mother will rag on me for days. So you see, taking you home is a far superior option than incurring the wrath of Rose.”
Destiny smiled. “Mothers are such fun, aren’t they? I bet she had you on a guilt trip all through your childhood.”
“I didn’t grow up with Rose,” he said quietly. “My parents were divorced when I was small. I lived with my father and stepmother.”
“It looks like we have something in common, Doctor. My folks split up when I was five.”
“Casualties of relaxed divorce laws.”
“Is that what you think?” Destiny asked, her fingers automatically moving to his arm. His skin was warm beneath her touch. “Divorce was the best solution for my parents. I shudder to think what would have happened to all of us if they’d stayed together.”
“Meaning?”
Her brow wrinkled at the clinical ring to his question. “My sister and I would have been the casualties if my mother hadn’t left my father. He drank, they fought. Hardly a nurturing environment for children.”
“You have a sister?”
“Peace,” she said.
“Peace and Destiny?” he said, struggling to contain the snicker.
“Childbirth and LSD.” Destiny sighed.
“No wonder your father is chemically dependent.”
“He’s a drunk,” Destiny corrected. “I love him dearly in spite of it, so you don’t have to worry about being so politically correct.”
“I wasn’t being politically correct,” he asserted as his hand snaked around her waist.
Destiny could feel the warm indentation of his splayed fingers as he guided her out into the midday sun. She swallowed, hoping to quell the spark igniting in the pit of her stomach.
“Chemically dependent isn’t politically correct?” she challenged. “Right.”
“I meant it in the medical sense. If your father was attracted to drugs in his youth, he’s probably an addictive personality. One sort of dependency usu—”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be studying now,” Destiny interjected. “You sound like a textbook, Doctor. Lighten up.”
“A textbook, huh?”
Destiny slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and tried not to fixate on the feel of his thigh brushing hers as they walked slowly down the stone path to the parking area. It was like trying not to take a breath. Every cell in her body seemed to be aware of him on some level. Her mind honed in on every conceivable detail. The lithe movements of his body, the muscled strength of his thighs, the rather cocky assuredness of his swagger. She took in his profile from behind the safety of her glasses. He was certainly attractive, but that didn’t explain her response. Wesley wasn’t the first attractive man she’d encountered. But he is the first intelligent, attractive man I’ve met, her mind reasoned.
He held open the door of his car.
“This is yours?” she asked, cocking her head to one side as she stood next to the Mercedes convertible.
“Not bad transportation for a textbook, is it?”
Destiny snapped her mouth shut and scurried into the car. Why was Wes the one with all the punch lines? And why was she now adding financially stable to attractive and intelligent?
He slid behind the wheel, tugging at the knees of his faded jeans in one fluid motion. Destiny fumbled with the seat belt as he started the engine. She was just regaining her equilibrium, when Wes reached across her lap to open the glove box. His forearm pressed against her legs, rustling the flimsy fabric of her cotton dress.
“What are you doing?”
His answer came in the form of a sudden pop, as the forward edges of the convertible top were released. Wesley didn’t right himself immediately. His hand dropped from the glove box, and his fingers wrapped around the contours of her knee. He was close enough for Destiny to be able to smell the fresh scent of his shampoo. Close enough for her to feel the urge to run her fingers through the thick mass of unruly dark hair falling forward into his eyes. Close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his massive frame. Destiny went perfectly still.
He drew closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath wash over her face. Quietly his eyes searched her face before he asked, “Any further developments from your fan?”
An involuntary shiver doused her budding passions the instant she thought of the creepy notes and flowers.
“Not a word.”
Destiny should have commented when his hand slid from her knee to her waist, then over her arm and her shoulder, until she could feel his palm cup her chin. Where was her sharp wit? Surely she could think of some cute remark that would inspire him to take his hand away. She could, but she didn’t want to.
She knew that for certain when she braved a look at his face. Concern seemed to temper his expression. She saw it in the deep lines beside his eyes and mouth.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Sure,” she responded with false lightness as she pulled back from his touch. “I’m fine. I tried to tell you last night that I’m not letting this fruitcake get to me.”
He frowned, apparently not buying her brave front. “He’s getting to you. You’re too smart to be so nonchalant about a potential threat.”
“Gee,” Destiny began, batting her lashes at him, “nice compliment. Sorta like ‘That dress doesn’t make you look quite so fat.’”
“You know what I meant,” Wesley countered with a frown.
“I know,” she said, softening her expression with a genuine smile. “But you’re wrong about me.”
“Really?”
“I’m not intimidated by this guy.”
“Caution and intimidation aren’t the same thing.”
“I know,” she said, winking in an attempt to lighten his mood. “I’m smart. Remember?”
“Then be smart enough to do whatever’s necessary to find out why you’re being stalked.”
Destiny swatted his hand away and ran her fingers through her hair. “Please stop using the word stalked. And either put on the air-conditioning or throw back the top. I’m going to expire in this heat.”
“Avoidance,” he grumbled as he reached over and pressed something that made a whirring sound.
Blue skies, bright sun and a sweet-smelling breeze filled the car. “I’m not avoiding anything,” she told him as he put the car into Drive.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not.” Destiny turned in the seat, tucking her leg beneath her in the process. Her eyes took in the strong angles of his face. Everything about this man seemed to exude strength.
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m not,” she insisted. “I’m simply not willing to allow some lunatic to dictate my actions.”
“And what happens if this lunatic decides he wants to do more than just admire you from afar? Then what?”
“Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“No. I’m trying to get you to understand the potential danger of this situation.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Caring.”
Wesley met her eyes briefly. “Don’t most people care about you?”
“You answered my question with a question. You do that a lot.”
“Sorry.”
“My friends care about me, Doctor. But we’re hardly friends.”
“Really?”
“That’s another question.”
“Sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why aren’t we friends?”
“We don’t know each other,” Destiny said with a little laugh. “Maybe we would have been friends. That isn’t the point. I don’t understand why you’ve made me your cause du jour.”
“You aren’t a cause. You’re a woman with a serious problem.”
As she digested his answer, she wasn’t quite sure whether she liked it or not. “I’m a woman used to solving her own problems.”
“I’m sure you are,” Wesley told her easily. “But there’s no crime in asking for help. Especially when it’s freely offered.”
“Nothing in life is free, Doctor.”
“Very cynical,” he observed. “Care to expound?”
“Not particularly. Suffice it to say that I strongly believe that you have to pay for everything in one way or another.”
“I believe you’ve just simplified the dynamics of karma into a cross-stitch sampler.”
“Cute,” Destiny remarked, feeling herself relax. “Beneath that professional exterior lives a wicked sense of humor.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe. Besides, I’m not keen on any more competition.”
“Do you constantly look over your shoulder for the next shining star?”
Destiny smiled and captured her hair in her fist as the car accelerated out of the city. “I try never to look back. It isn’t healthy.”
“Are you always this evasive?” Wesley queried.
“I guess it’s been a long time since I carried on a conversation with anyone other than Gina or David.”
“Very limited. Too limited for such a beautiful young woman.”
“Thanks, I think. You certainly are good at giving backhanded compliments.”
“Sorry. Must be Rose’s influence.”
“She seems like a very nice lady. Very real.”
“Except for her delusions about Elvis Presley and her passion for wearing animal prints.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a flamboyant personal style or an appreciation of the King.”
“I agree. But I’ll admit it was something of a shock to discover my mother looked and acted like a reject from some BBC comedy.”
“What do you mean, discover?”
“I’ve only recently reestablished a relationship with Rose. Mostly because of my brother, J.D. He and his wife went back to Florida shortly after they were married.”
“He’s the guy who did the dependency?” she asked.
Wesley nodded. “He and Tory—that’s his wife—had some trouble with the renovations.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“They found a body shorn up in the wall.”
“Yuk!” Destiny said with a groan. “Thanks for sharing that with me. It will make standing on that stage really comfortable.”
“It wasn’t a body, actually. It was a skeleton. And everything worked out in the end.”
“Sounds peachy,” Destiny managed to say. “Anything else you’d like to share with me?”
“I could tell you about Chad’s kidnapping, but I’ll save that for another time.”
“Chad? Isn’t that Agent Tanner’s son?”
“Yep.”
“Is The Rose Tattoo cursed, or something?”
“Nothing so sinister,” Wes assured her. “Just a bad year or so for the locals.”
“I guess if my admirer shows up, he’ll be in good company here in Charleston. That’s something.”
“Calm down, Destiny. The guy in the wall was the former owner. And the Tanners’ son was returned safely to his very grateful, albeit overly indulgent, parents.”
“And everyone lived happily ever after,” she said as they parked in front of the villa.
“Absolutely,” he answered holding her door open.
“Then I guess I should feel relieved that I’m here.”
“Maybe not,” Wes said, nodding his head in the direction of the door to her villa.
“Great!” Destiny fumed as she spotted the large, crudely wrapped package guarding the entrance.
“Wait a second!” she heard Wesley call out. Determination and a fair amount of anger fueled each step. “I can’t believe he found out where I was staying.”
“I think we should call Dylan.”
Destiny tore into the paper expecting flowers. But it wasn’t flowers.
Chapter Five
“Don’t touch it,” Wesley instructed as he gathered her against him, his eyes fixed on the weird thing.
“Don’t worry,” she replied, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I have no desire to touch that.”
She remained against him while he dug into her purse, got her keys and led her into the villa. “We’ll call Dylan, and I think we should consider calling the police.”
“And tell them what?” she asked, tilting her face upward. “I’ve been down this road already. The authorities can’t do anything until this fruitcake actually threatens me,” she said as she pushed away from him and moved across the room.
He leaned against the counter as silent rage welled inside him. “What he did to that doll is somewhat threatening.”
She shivered and ran her hands along the bared flesh of her arms. Her expression was guarded—only her eyes gave him an insight to her true feelings. What he saw in her eyes was a blend of fear and disbelief. Wesley intellectualized the disbelief, but his response to the fear was more primitive, more primal. Despite the inherent strength he sensed in Destiny, he also believed there was a fair amount of vulnerability buried beneath the surface. Not a helpless vulnerability, but a vulnerability born of determination.
“I don’t understand,” he said, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
She nervously twisted several strands of hair around one long, tapered finger. “I spoke to a police officer in Miami. They told me that until this guy does something more overtly threatening than sending flowers, there’s nothing they can do.”
“That’s crazy!”
“That’s the law,” she told him with a sad smile. “Basically, this lunatic has to hurt me before the police can do anything.”
“Maybe it’s different here in South Carolina.”
“I doubt it.”
Wesley reached over and snatched the phone from its cradle. He punched numbers in stiff, irate succession. “Hello.”
“Shelby, Wesley. Is Dylan around?”
“He’s at the office. Why?”
“Destiny got another delivery.”
“More flowers?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“A doll.”
“Why does a doll have you so upset?”
Wesley turned his back on Destiny and cupped his hand over the receiver. “It wasn’t the doll, really. It was what he did to the doll.”
“Which was?”
“He painted the face to look like hers. There was a gardenia stuck onto one of the hands.”
“Sounds sick,” Shelby commented.
“My thoughts exactly.” Wesley took a deep breath. “He left it at the villa. It’s obvious he’s watching her.”
He heard Destiny’s sharp intake of breath and instantly regretted voicing his suspicions aloud.
* * *
“DID YOU TOUCH IT?” Dylan asked as he squatted in front of the ghastly little trinket.
“No,” she answered as her eyes sought Wesley. “I haven’t played with dolls since I was a kid. And I’m not all that keen on playing with that one.”
“Now can we call the cops?” Wesley asked his friend.
“We can, but it won’t accomplish much,” Dylan admitted, with an apologetic smile to Destiny.
“How can that be?”
Dylan shrugged as he rose. “Local law requires a definitive threat.”
“What the hell does that look like to you?” Wes retorted.
“It’s a doll, Doctor,” Destiny explained in a soft voice. “Not a particularly flattering doll, but a doll, nonetheless. At best, the police will probably think it’s nothing more than a tasteless gift from a fan.”
“She’s right,” Dylan said as he placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “The best we can do is alert them to the problem, arrange for Destiny to stay someplace safe and have someone with her twenty-four hours a day.”
“Hold on,” she interrupted, feeling ignored by the two men. “I can’t just go into hiding. I have responsibilities, a club date. If I do as you suggest, this bozo wins. What kind of solution is that?”
Wesley and Dylan stared at her in obvious shock. Wesley spoke first. “You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Destiny assured him with a forced smile. “I won’t allow anyone to jerk my chain like this.”
“Be reasonable,” Wesley cautioned. “While I can respect your need to retain some control over your life, it would be foolish to go on as if this wasn’t happening.”
Blinking, Destiny looked up into his eyes and silently wondered if he knew what he was asking of her. It simply wasn’t possible. “It isn’t just about me,” Destiny explained. “If I go into hiding, what happens to Gina and David? Not to mention the fact that I don’t have much more than a few weeks’ worth of savings.”
“This isn’t about money,” Wesley countered.
“Really?” she asked as she lifted her hand and began counting off on her fingers. “I have to pay Gina and David, as well as my own living expenses. My father’s fines, court costs and requests for handouts come on a regular basis. My sister doesn’t think a thing of borrowing money from me, so don’t tell me it isn’t about money. I have responsibilities. People that depend on me.”
“They won’t be able to depend on you if something happens,” Wes argued.
Frustration swelled in her veins, bringing with it a surge of suppressed anger. “Nothing will happen to me,” she insisted. “I’ve never done anything in my life that would make someone want to harm me.”
“Apparently your admirer has a different opinion.”
“Why are you doing this?” she implored, looking up into his troubled blue eyes.
“I’m not the one doing this,” he explained in that even, calm tone that set her teeth on edge. “I’m only trying to make you realize that it doesn’t make sense to assign rational motives to an irrational individual.”
“You sound like a textbook again,” she observed.
“But he’s right,” Dylan argued. “There’s not much any of us can do for you until this guy shows his hand. Until then, it’s probably a smart move for you to take precautionary measures.”
“Precautionary measures for what?”
The sound of David’s voice in her ear made her jump. So did the fact that she hadn’t even heard him approach.
“And what’s that?” her manager asked, pointing to the partially covered doll.
“A gift,” Destiny informed him as she forced a smile to her lips. “It seems my creepy fan has discovered my hideout.”
“Don’t joke, Destiny,” David warned as he rubbed his hand over the bristling growth of his beard. “How could this have happened?”
“Who knows?” Destiny answered vaguely.
“The villa is rented in the name of Tiffany Glass. How did he find you?”
“Wait a minute.” Wesley jumped in. “If the villa is rented under an alias—”
“Tiffany Glass is the name Gina used when she wanted to hide during her modeling days,” Destiny clarified. “Gina simply suggested we use that name in case the guy tried to send me flowers at home.”
“How long ago did you make the reservations?” Dylan asked.
“Not until the day before we arrived,” Destiny answered. “There was some...discussion about where we’d be staying.”
Dylan and Wesley exchanged confirmatory nods.
“What?” she asked.
“I think we’d better go back inside,” Dylan suggested as he held open the door.
The group flowed into the cool interior. Destiny felt frazzled and out of control. The feelings reminded her of all those years she’d tried to be all things to all people. Dylan made a phone call while she filled the ice bucket and set out a tray of ice tea and glasses.
Destiny took a seat on the sofa. Wesley, who’d been standing over by the patio doors, came over and took the seat next to her. She caught the scent of his cologne and felt the gravitational pull as his large body settled next to hers. The resulting imbalance made her list toward him.
“Where’s Annie Oakley?” Dylan asked.
“She’s taking care of an errand for me,” Destiny answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
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