That made her sit straighter. Zach’s words sank in, like flint striking dry tinder. She had frozen, and she hated that. Next time, she’d be ready.
Walter gestured to the desk. “Her pen drawer. I didn’t see anything else—but I didn’t dig. Now that you’re here…” He gave Lena’s shoulder a warm squeeze. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” Then he nodded once and strode out.
Zach was already moving, gloved fingers handling the envelope. Lena pulled up her figurative big girl pants and stepped up beside him, near enough to absorb the calm force he emitted. The envelope was unsealed, ordinary except for the sick sense curling under her skin.
He flipped it open.
Inside, a plain notecard.
A puff of expensive men’s cologne escaped, reviving her nausea. Something tumbled out—a photo. Her heart clenched as Zach bent to retrieve it.
A picture of her with a guest. In it, she wore a turquoise blouse with a wide V-neckline. A circle was inked around the open collar in red ballpoint pen.
She couldn’t breathe.
Zach read the note aloud, his voice icy. “I like the turquoise blouse. But you knew that, didn’t you? It matches your eyes. P.S. You left your lights on last night. You shouldn’t waste energy like that.”
Lena bit the back of her knuckle to suppress the scream desperately trying to escape. Her throat burned with bile. “Two days ago,” she whispered. “I wore that blouse two days ago…”
Zach’s hand came down heavy on her shoulder, firm as bedrock, guiding her back into her seat. “You’re okay,” he crouched to her level. “This is classic stalker behavior. He wants to control you through intimidation. The more fearful you are, the more power he feels. But it also means we can track his pattern. We find him before he escalates.”
She nodded, forcing herself to breathe slower. The scent of cologne still clung to the air like a stain she couldn’t clean. She focused on Zach’s voice, deep and steadfast like waves on the reef.
“Do you recognize the cologne?”
Lena sniffed it again to be sure, but it wasn’t familiar. “No.”
“Go through your files, see if there are any other notes mixed in. Start with the files you keep out. Look carefully—he may have slipped something between the pages.”
She gulped and opened her hot-drawer. Inside were the folders she needed every day, and often sat on her desk during the day—res-schedules, VIP profiles, guest conflicts. Her fingers moved with efficient urgency.
Third file in, she stopped. A Post-it. Light yellow—the color she used. Handwriting that wasn’t hers.
Still wearing your hair up. You know I like it better down.
A chill ran through her. Not shock, but horror at the intimacy of it. The presumption. She passed it to Zach.
He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth tightened. She went through the rest. No more notes.
“I don’t see anything else,” she said finally. She pushed back from the desk, exhaling. “I can keep going through the rest just in case—but these are the ones usually on my desktop. The others stay filed. It’d be days before I’d notice something slipped in there. Would he want to hide something like that?”
“Unlikely,” Zach said. “It’s a message he wants received, not buried. You’re too organized for that. No satisfaction for a creep like this in delayed gratification.”
He straightened. “Next steps—David and I are already researching how he found your bungalow. Now we’ll re-evaluate the building’s internal security. Short term, I’ll have David add a camera here. Corner behind you, maybe. It’ll cover the door but respect your privacy. New lock, too—tech that records access logs. Both done today.”
She nodded, absorbing the logistical assault on her sanctuary. Small comforts but effective ones.
“If you don’t want to be in here until that’s complete,” Zach added, meeting her gaze with unflinching intensity, “use our upstairs suite. The conference room desk is yours. Michael’s at the front, so no one gets in unseen.” He started for the door, then paused. “What time do you get off?”
The question caught her off guard. “Um… usually 6. Might go later today—water issue set everything back.”
He nodded thoughtfully, moving toward the door once again. “And you start at 8?”
“Yes…”
He turned back long enough for the next blow to land. “Meet me on the back lawn at 0630 tomorrow. Physical training.”
Lena sat blinking after him, frozen again—but for a very different reason.
