Silk Stalkings (8 page)

“It’ll stop,” she said, “eventually. Always does.”

Diego yanked his jeans on. “They always stop. Eventually.
Sometimes after the building has burned to the ground.”

Yancey scoffed.

“And leave your door open,” he suggested, “unless you want
the fire department to bust down your door.”

* * * * *

Diego stood leaning his back against his tow truck and
wrapped his arms around Yancey, holding her against his warmth. They watched
the apartment building with the other residents. Watched it for what, he wasn’t
sure. Didn’t appear as if the structure would burst into flames. The mob of
tenants buzzed with chatter and speculation, exchanging theories about the
alarm.

No fire. That was the consensus. But to err on the side of
caution the firemen had to sweep the building.

Diego scanned the crowd, taking in the sight of couples in
their bathrobes, kids in pajamas and miscellaneous tenants dressed in jeans,
sweats and T-shirts like him and Yancey. Thankfully the alarm hadn’t sounded
about forty-five minutes to an hour earlier when he’d been making love to her.
He did a double take when he saw a lone figure in the shadows wearing a dark
hoodie.

The hairs on Diego’s arms stood on end. “You know that guy,
sweetheart?” he asked, bobbing his head in the man’s general direction.

Yancey craned her head. “Who? What guy?”

Upon closer scrutiny, the bystander blended into the
darkness and vanished. The fire truck and police cars were a magnet for the
curious and the morbid.

“No one,” he muttered.

The apartment manager gave the all-clear to reenter the
building. As they filed through the door, a cop stood on either side
instructing the tenants to show their hands, front and back.

Holding his hands up for inspection, Diego asked the cop,
“What gives?”

“Keep the line moving, please,” the officer replied.

“What’s going on?” Yancey asked Diego.

“No idea,” he answered, shaking his head.

Yancey made a beeline for the apartment manager, who stood
in front of the fire alarm next to a firefighter. They seemed embroiled in a
serious discussion. Brows drawn together in concern. Talking in hushed tones.

Latching on to the apartment manager’s arm, Yancey asked,
“What on earth happened tonight, Mr. Berger?”

He patted her hand. “Nothing to worry about, Yancey.”

Clearly they had a close relationship. Diego didn’t doubt
it. Everyone seemed drawn to Yancey, wanting to protect and comfort her, the
same as him. When they weren’t basking in her glowing personality, that was,
the same as him. He hated the jealousy that flared in him for no reason. The
apartment manager was old enough to be her father. But the firefighter wasn’t.
And Diego knew how women loved firemen.

“Some joker pulled the alarm,” the fireman added.

“Joke’s on him,” Mr. Berger said. “His hands are covered in
dye.”

“Dye?” Diego repeated. “Isn’t that overkill? I didn’t think
anyone used dye anymore.”

The apartment manager and fireman both eyed him
suspiciously, lingering on his hands. With his hair a mess, a menacing tattoo
peeking out from under his shirtsleeve and in desperate need of a shave, Diego
was probably their prime suspect.

“Who’s this guy to you, Yancey?” Mr. Berger inquired with
all the acceptance of an over-protective father.

“My…my…” She glanced at Diego, her gaze slowly washing over
him. “My friend. My good friend.” A smile tugged at her lips. “My boyfriend.”

Pleased with her answer, Diego hooked his arm around her
waist and pulled her against his hip. She laid her hand on his chest, looking
up at him affectionately.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the apartment manager
said, “We’ve had too many false alarms. The owner insisted on a dye pack.”

Diego looked around, spotting the camera trained on the
front door. “What about the camera?”

“We got him on video,” the fireman said. “But not a good
look at his face. Medium height, build, wearing—”

“A black hoodie?” Diego finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Curling her fingers into his shirt over his heart, Yancey
asked him, “How did you know?”

“I spotted him in the crowd outside.” He shrugged.
“Something was just off about the guy.” And yet familiar. He’d irked Diego for
no reason other than intuition. Maybe he was a resident. Diego had probably
seen him earlier when he’d arrived. Or the night he’d followed Yancey home.

“Did you get a good look?” Mr. Berger asked.

Shaking his head, Diego said, “No. It was more of a
feeling…intuition.”

It had been dark. The guy had deliberately hung back in the
shadows, probably having a good laugh at their expense. Hopefully they’d get
the last laugh when he realized the dye wouldn’t wash off anytime soon.

“Just a kid goofing off,” Diego said, and willed it to be
true.

He’d done worse in his youth, luckily not always getting
caught. Thank heaven for second chances. Hopefully nothing more sinister was
behind the fire alarm incident. Theft. Assault. Arson. Pulling the fire alarm
could have been a diversion for any number of things. But as they’d said, this
wasn’t the first time. Probably just a prank.

“Hope you’re right,” the fireman said. He’d probably been
thinking the same thing Diego had.

Diego thrust out his hand. “Thanks for all you do.”

The firefighter shook his hand. “Just doing my job.”

“We appreciate it,” Yancey added. She flashed the guy a smile
that shot a jab of jealousy right through Diego’s gut. He needed to come to
grips with his possessiveness.

He pulled her along to the stairs, the same way they’d
exited the building, not completely trusting the elevator just yet.

“Boyfriend, huh?” he said.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asked, uncertainty
shining in her eyes.

“More importantly,” he said, “is that what you want?” He
didn’t want to pressure her. Well, he did
want
to, but he wouldn’t go
that route.

Stopping on the landing between the lobby and the second
floor, she paused against the wall. “I think so. Can I try it on for a while?”

Cupping her cheek with his palm, he kissed her lips, giving
her his answer. “For as long as you like.”

She fisted his shirt in her hands and held him to her,
taking a second long, slow kiss. Planting his hands on the wall on either side
of her head, Diego sampled the sweetness of her lips. His tongue explored her
warm, wet mouth until they heard a door above open and close. Breaking apart,
they continued up the stairs to her floor.

Inside her apartment, Diego said, “Pack a bag.”

“Why?”

“We’ll stay at my place tonight.”

He didn’t want to leave her. He also didn’t want to be woken
in the middle of the night by another fire alarm—real or a prank—if they stayed.
Most of all he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Being on his
turf would only make him feel slightly better.

“Don’t be silly,” she objected.

“Indulge me,” he said, looking around, figuring out in his
head how he could fit all her belongings into his condo someday.

Diego had no idea if they listened to similar music, watched
the same TV shows or had anything at all in common. He doubted she’d grown up
in his faith. Certainly not with his customs. For all he knew they had
conflicting political views. And still he couldn’t fight the need to have her
under his roof, by his side and in his bed.

She squared her shoulders. “Indulge
me
.”

“We’ll brainstorm on number thirteen,” he said to persuade
her. He just needed to figure out how to get his hands on a pair of handcuffs.

“Give me ten minutes to throw some clothes in a bag,” she
said. Yancey grabbed an overnight bag and a work outfit from her closet and
vanished into the bathroom. A minute later she returned, plucking clothes from
her dresser. Rummaging through a laundry basket full of neatly folded clothes,
she said, “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“I had a pair of pink panties right here on top.” She dug
more. “Now they’re gone.”

“So wear blue panties,” he said. He never gave much thought
to what color underwear he wore from one day to the next. He’d probably give
more thought to what color she wore. The color and style of her panties could
easily become an obsession for him.

She gasped.

He looped his fingers around her forearm. “What is it?
What’s wrong?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing.”

Clear as day he noticed the smudge of blue ink on a white
bra in the basket of clean clothes. “Shit,” he muttered.

“I probably accidentally washed a pen,” she protested, but
the fear showed clearly on her face. “I’m forever washing pens and pencils and
my driver’s license.” Yancey ransacked the basket, probably searching for the
ink pen. “I washed my car keys one time.”

“You call the apartment manager and finish packing,” Diego
demanded. “I’ll call the cops and check the rest of the apartment.”

“You know, it was probably one of the firemen inspecting the
apartment for fire,” she said, visibly relaxing.

He sighed. “That makes sense.” A firefighter might have
touched the alarm while investigating. It was possible some dye might have
transferred.

“It’s almost midnight,” she added. “I don’t want to bother
Mr. Berger. Mostly I want to get to sleep. We both have work tomorrow.”

“Just be aware,” Diego planted his hands on his waist, “I am
going to look into this further and find out why one of the firefighters would
touch your bra and steal your panties.”

“I think we know why.” She winked at him, but he was not
amused.

Chapter Eight

Yancey slapped the reference book shut, placing it carefully
on the shelf where she’d found it. She pressed the send button on her computer,
responding to the last email of the day before shutting down for the evening.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she sighed, deciding to call it a night. It
was well on its way to being eight o’clock. She’d hoped to be in Diego’s arms
by seven and not a minute later. Tidying her desk could wait until tomorrow. It
wasn’t as if anyone would notice or complain about the mess.

But it wasn’t like her. She’d wake in the night worrying
about her confounded clutter. Pencils and ink pens went back in the caddy.
Papers in the “In” bin or the “Out” bin. Trash went into the receptacle. She
took a moment to smell the flowers Diego had sent her. They bloomed full and
vibrant, like her attraction to him.

“You’re working late tonight.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She glanced up.
“Stanley. Where have you been?”

He wore jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. Very unlike him.
Or maybe it wasn’t unlike him at all. She’d only ever seen him at work in his
work clothes. She doubted he knew about her propensity for wearing a ratty robe
and bunny slippers for long stretches of time at weekends.

“Why weren’t you at work today?” she asked. At first she’d
been worried about his absence and called him repeatedly. Worry had turned to
annoyance sometime around lunch, when she hadn’t been able to take a break to
meet Diego at the roach coach. She’d barely had a moment to return his text.
Deadlines had to be met. “I was worried.”
And a little mad.
She decided
to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Feeling a little blue.” He held up his hands.

Goose bumps rose on her arms. Heat rose off her skin. His
hand was covered in ink or dye. Appeared more black than blue in the gloomy
office lighting. Unless he’d tangled with a printer and lost, she guessed he’d
pulled the fire alarm. But why? She decided to play it cool, recalling what
Diego thought of Stanley.

He was not a fan. She’d suspected jealousy on his part, just
as Stanley was jealous of Diego. But maybe there was more to Diego’s inkling
than mere suspicion.

Yancey barked a nervous laugh. “What on earth happened to
you?”

“I pulled a fire alarm,” he admitted without hesitation.
“Impulsive, I know. But I remembered what you’d said about pranksters pulling
the alarm.”

She wished he’d lied and made up some story. Even a
ridiculous story. Anything she could cling to and pretend to believe until a
security guard wandered by. Only the security guard was a little on the creepy
side too. He might turn a blind eye, decide to watch Stanley terrorize her—or
join in.

Playing dumb and feeling every bit the part, she asked, “Why
would you do that, Stanley?”

“To keep you out of that Diego guy’s bed,” he said.

She swallowed a big, dry lump of fear caught in her throat.
Pointing out that Diego had already been
in
her bed at the time the fire
alarm was pulled would do more harm than good. “Well, it worked,” she lied
weakly. She guessed that telling him that his hoax was a little too late to
interrupt some of the greatest sex of her entire life would not improve his
somber disposition.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No matter what I
do, seems I push you two closer together.”

“What…what else have you done?” Yancey asked.

She worried about Diego and what Stanley might have done to
him. She hadn’t heard from her newly appointed boyfriend since lunchtime and
had been way too busy since then to think much of it. She’d assumed Diego was
every bit as busy as her. And then she recalled Stanley talking in the office
the day her flowers were delivered. He’d mentioned Diego and death in the same
sentence.

“Are you daft?” he shouted.

Yancey flinched at his change in volume and the redness that
blazed across his face. He fisted his hands at his sides. So many scenarios
flitted through her mind. Pushing Stanley aside. Calling for security. Calling
for Diego. But even a wimp like Stan could muscle the phone from her. He really
had her terrified, nearly paralyzed, without having made a single threat. Yet.

“I. Me. I.” He poked himself in the chest. “I flattened your
tire.”

“Why?” What had she ever done to him that he’d toy with her
safety like that? What if Diego hadn’t been there but the pervert from the
checkout line had been? What if her tire had gone flat somewhere dark and
deserted instead of in a well-lit parking lot? “Why would you do something
so…so malicious? To me? Why?”

“For a smart girl, you’re really dumb,” he replied. “I did
it so you’d call me. Didn’t I tell you before you left to be careful? Didn’t I
remind you to call me if you ever needed a man? For anything.”

“Yes,” she whispered, getting the big picture. He was always
offering his assistance. He’d programmed his number into her cell phone. He
wasn’t so much a psychic as he was a predator. “Did you—”

“Send Ramos on some bogus tow calls the other night to ruin
your dinner date? Yes!” he yelled, sweeping his hand along her desk, knocking a
pile of research from the surface. The sound of files and paper crashing to the
floor thrummed louder than a jackhammer in the quiet tomb of the research
department. “Everything I did to pull the two of you apart just threw you
together. Even the fire alarm—he whisked you away to his place afterward. He
always ends up looking like the damn good guy.”

“I was going to ask, did you steal my lunch from the break
room refrigerator?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear. He’d shared his
lunch, which he’d had plenty of. Not by accident or coincidence. How long had
he been meddling in her life?

“Duh? Yes.” He threw his hands up in frustration, as if she
were wronging him in some way. “I want to be your hero.”

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore.” Her voice was
hushed and gravelly. Fear mixed with anger and the combination sickened her.

“Admit it. It was never an option,” Stanley said. “Look at
me, and then look at you. All you saw was a skinny guy in glasses. You
dismissed me from the start. Snubbed my intelligence, good manners and
sensitivity, choosing biceps over brains.”

Yancey squeaked indignantly. “Diego is plenty smart. And.
So. Am. I.” She pushed down her fear to fight back against his insults at the
very least. “I’d pit my grade point average against yours any day.” She folded
her arms across her chest. “You’ve got some nerve, Stanley. I doubt you would
have given me the time of day back in college. You’re certainly not attracted to
my brains, not the way you’ve done nothing but insult my intelligence tonight.
You belittle my intelligence every day, as a matter of fact. If I had to guess,
I’d say you’re attracted to my short skirt, high heels and my thigh-high silk
stockings.” Like every other man. “Am I right?”

Stanley scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He pounded on his chest with his balled-up fist. “I love you.”

“Oh, please.” She made a raspberry sound. “Why don’t you go
stalk Mitzy Dunbar from editing instead?” Yancey tapped her foot in annoyance.
“She’s nice. Smart. Funny. And she obviously has a thing for you.”

“She’s got acne and a muffin top.” His face scrunched up as
if Mitzy were a fate worse than death.

And you’re a skinny guy in glasses with an overbite.
Worst
of all, he was creepy, as of five to ten minutes earlier. She guessed he’d
always been creepy. She’d simply been oblivious to his creep factor.

Instead of saying anything, such as “Ah-ha!” or pointing an
accusatory finger at him for his double standard, Yancey flashed him a
judgmental stare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Her phone jingled. She assessed the screen.
Diego.
He
was okay. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is that
him
?” Stanley rolled his eyes.

“No,” she said snidely.
Wait!
“Yes. And he’ll get
mightily worried if I don’t answer.”

Stanley pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans.
“Go ahead. Answer.”

She swallowed hard. “Never mind.” Her voice came out in a
wispy gasp of air. She could barely string two words together with a gun
pointed at her, much less be expected to carry on an intelligent conversation.

He waved the gun at her, causing her to flinch. “Answer. I
insist. Pick a fight. Tell him it’s over for good and hang up.”

She shook her head.

“Do it.” He punctuated his demand by pointing the gun in her
direction.

“Hello?” she answered slowly and cautiously.

* * * * *

“How’s my girl?” Diego asked. “Still too busy to eat?”

“S-sort of,” she replied.

“They can’t work you this hard without a break,” he
protested, not caring if she did or didn’t have time to make love with him.
That wasn’t the point. His feelings for her transcended the physical. He cared
about her. Yancey needed to eat something. And he needed to see her. Kiss her.
Feel her touch. That’s why he’d raced over to her apartment after his last
call, only to find her parking space empty. “I’ll bring you something.”

Seriously. What time did the paper go to press? Midnight?
Surely they wouldn’t keep her that late. Unless they gave her the next day off,
which she and Diego could then spend in bed napping and tackling her very
naughty list. Okay, so maybe he did care if she had time to make love with him.
He couldn’t complain about her schedule, though. His was fucked up beyond all
reasonable acceptability. And she hadn’t complained. So far.

Someday he’d have a fleet of trucks and guys to do the
towing, freeing him up to have more time for Yancey.

“Not hungry,” she said.

“You’re too skinny, sweetheart.” If he had a key to her
apartment, he’d have dinner on the stove waiting for her. He’d be waiting as
well. With flowers. With chocolates.

“D-did you just call me skinny?” she asked in what had to be
mock loathing. Normally he enjoyed her games. Not tonight, after a trying day.
He’d been humping it from one call to another, never finding the time to make
his inquiries at the fire department. “You apologize this second, Diego.”

“I…I’m sorry,” he said. Clearly she’d had too many guys
judging her. He should have been more sensitive to her self-worth instead of
attacking her appearance. “I’m concerned for your health, that’s all.”

“So now you think I’m unhealthy?” Her voice trembled with
emotion.

Maybe she
was
just short of crazy after all, or
suffering from low blood sugar. Asking if it was “that time of the month” would
almost certainly land him in hot water. Hotter water.

“I think you didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he said in
what he hoped was a soothing voice. “I blame myself. I think you’ve had a long
day and need to take a break. To eat. With me. Let me pamper you, sweetheart.”

“So you can bone me,” she accused. “That’s all you ever
want. To bone me.”

“I’ve never boned you,” he said defensively. But in the
beginning, the first couple of times, it might have been perceived as boning.
If he recalled correctly, though, she’d started it. “I make love to you. It’s a
beautiful thing. You and me together is special whether we’re dancing or eating
or—”

“Boning?” she said, accompanied with an emotional sniff.
“Naked. We’re always naked. Don’t deny it.”

Because she’d peel her clothes away, except when she just
showed up naked.
What is going on?
“What’s going on, Yance?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was somewhere between the
Wicked Witch of the West and a three-pack-a-day smoker. “Don’t ever call me
that.”

“Yance?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her affirmation leaked out in a hiss. “Stanley was
right. I’m nothing but a booty call to you.”

Oh Christ.
Diego turned the key in the ignition. He
had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling. “Is Stanley there? At your office?” Last
time he’d spoken to Yancey, her research sidekick hadn’t shown up for work. He
hadn’t called in sick either. That was the reason she hadn’t been able to take
a break for lunch. “Is his hand covered in dye?”

“Yes, yes and yes,” she retorted quite angrily. “You think
you’re so smart, don’t you?”

He pulled out of her apartment complex parking lot. “I’ll be
there in ten minutes. Fifteen tops. Do not hang up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she spat. “I’ll hang up if I
damn well want to hang up.”

“Don’t hang up,” he repeated, his jaw tense.

“Did you just tell me to hang up?” she said. “I won’t hang
up until I feel like hanging up.”

* * * * *

Stanley pointed the gun at her and mouthed, “Hang up.”

“And don’t call me back. Ever!” Yancey pushed her finger
hard on the edge of her phone, simulating hanging up. She slipped the phone
into her skirt pocket and yelled, “Happy now, Stanley?”

She figured she’d need to yell for Diego to hear her. She
knew for certain she had to yell to hear herself over the pounding of her
heart. Just knowing that he was there on the other end of the phone calmed and
reassured her. Along with the fact that he’d be arriving soon to save her. All
she had to do was buy herself some time by keeping Stanley talking.

From his back pocket Stanley pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“Put this on your right wrist.”

She found strength in the fact that Diego would save her
soon. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“Do it!”

On the other hand, it would be best if she were alive when
he arrived to save her. Yancey snapped the cuff onto her wrist. The police would
be coming too and they’d have a key. Except Diego couldn’t call the police
unless he disconnected from her. She needed him on the other end of the phone
line. She also needed the police, wanting them and not Diego to storm the
building. They were trained for hostage situations. Diego wasn’t. He was a bit
of a hothead, flaming hot then burning out quickly. Impulsive. Protective.
Jealous. Yancey didn’t want Diego to get hurt.