The second email I didn’t want to deal with was from Annette, my publicist. Apparently, the designer who’d dropped me as the face of their brand had alluded to the possibility of usworking together if I made a public statement about the scandal and apologized. If all went well, they’d welcome me back with open arms.
It was a lot of money. Great publicity.
But they—like Cara who texted me ten times last night telling me she loved me, missed me, and would be open to seeing me in secret—could fuck themselves with a trident.
Passing Aria’s office, I fought the urge to knock on her door. We hadn’t seen each other since the morning Wakefield let us out of the library.
Frowning, I made my way into the staff area of the castle, striding past staff who looked surprised to see me there but nodded deferentially. I’d been in the small department that housed security before when Byron Hoffman attacked Sloane. Finding the CCTV room, I knocked on the partially open door.
Walker looked up from watching the screens, saw it was me, patted the shoulder of the guy next to him, and murmured something as he stood. He opened the door all the way and stepped out. The security guard was one of the few men I’d ever met who made me feel physically diminutive. Not an easy feat when I was six two. Walker technically only had three inches on me, but the bloke was built with powerful shoulders. It was more than that, though. He gave off an intimidatingdon’t fuck with me or anyone I care aboutvibe without even saying a word. I intended to study him and channel that part of his persona if I ever got my role back inBirdwatcher.
“So, what’s up?” I asked, stepping back to let him out of the room.
Walker lifted his chin, silently gesturing for me to follow him to another room. Inside the small office, he rounded a desk and pulled a few envelopes out of a drawer.
“These are yours.” Walker handed them to me.
I frowned, my stomach tightening as I recognized the font of the address on one of them. “Not that I mind, but why did you need me to collect them?”
“Theo Cavendish had a word with me last time he was here. He said you’ve been receiving threatening mail for months now.”
“Theo did?” The same Theo who pretended not to give a fuck about anyone?
“Aye.”
Sighing, I ripped into the first envelope and scanned the page. Indignation flushed hotly through me. “Another letter from an angry member of the public telling me I should be ashamed of myself.” I balled it up and threw it into Walker’s wastepaper basket. The other envelope I dreaded opening. But I did it.
Do you think if you hide you can escape? You’ll NEVER escape me. I’m coming. You’ll never SEE it. But I’m coming for you. I won’t stop until you’re DEAD. DEAD. DEAD.
Fuck my life.
I handed the letter to Walker. “When I asked you if you were open to becoming my private security, this prompted it. I started getting these after my first movie took off. They were accusatory. Offensive. But in the last year, they’ve turned into death threats.”
Walker scanned the letter and murmured, “And there’s not a lot the police can do about it.”
“Nope.”
“Do you have all the letters?”
“Not with me. I have a few.”
“I’d like to see them.”
Studying Walker’s difficult-to-read expression, I asked, “Why?”
“Because there might be something in them to go off. There might not. But you’re a club member, and we’re tasked with your security. And I owe you. For Sloane.”
“Walker, you don’t owe me for that.”
“Aye, I do.”
“How are things going there?” I knew he’d been dating Sloane for a few months now.
A softness entered his eyes. “Better than I deserve.”
I grinned, understanding completely. “Glad to hear it.”
He waved the letter. “Well?”
