Erik looked through the details in the file. “Her ex is NYPD.” He had an exemplary record. He’d received awards and commendations for acts of bravery and exceptional performance until roughly a year and a half ago, when Chloe Powell had been relocated. Since then, he’d begun drinking heavily and had been written up several times for unprofessional conduct and use of excessive force.
“Last week, he was suspended from the force, and three days ago, he dropped off the grid.”
“You think he’s looking for her?”
General Davies nodded sharply. “From what I understand, this man was obsessed with Chloe Powell, and his recent behavior proves he has a proclivity for violence.”
Erik looked over theinformation on the cop and studied the provided service image of him in uniform. Jackson Savoy, thirty-two years old, grew up in Yonkers, New York, before he moved to Manhattan and joined the police force. Six-foot-two and one hundred ninety pounds. He was Caucasian with short dark hair, brown eyes, and classically handsome features.
“Jayla will be in place to monitor Chloe Powell’s apartment building. I’d like you to quietly keep an eye on her while she’s at work. At least until he’s found.”
The opera house. No wonder the general thought this would be a good fit for him.
“They’re going into production forPhantom of the Operaand are advertising for set painters. I’d like you to apply if you’re interested.”
“When do I leave?”
Chloe took her plate of veggie stir-fry over to the couch to eat and used the remote to turn on the TV. A re-run ofModern Familywas on, and she usually enjoyed the show, but she was distracted by thoughts of the man who’d come to the opera house earlier. She was almost positive he was a soldier. His dark hair had been shaved on the sides and not much longer on the top, but aside from the military haircut, he stood at parade rest, falling into it naturally. Her father stood like that, as well as many othersoldiers she’d been around growing up. In her book, that was a dead giveaway. Had he served in one of the conflicts overseas? Perhaps Iraq or Somalia? Was that how he’d been scarred? She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have suffered. Then, the trauma that would have followed as he adjusted to his new reality. Especially since the unscarred half of his face was gorgeous. With that brilliant turquoise eye, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and strong jaw – not to mention the honed body his hoodie did little to hide – he’d probably had his pick of women. Now, though…
She grimaced. She used to be one of those superficial women who could be lured in by a handsome face and a strong physique. She’d certainly learned her lesson on that. She’d take strength of character over a hard body any day, and a beautiful face did not automatically equal an attractive mind.
Erik Leroux wasn’t just a soldier with a scarred face, though. He was also an extremely talented artist. Lattie could hardly wait to show her the guy’s website displaying some of his work. Incredibly detailed murals, photo-realistic portraits and landscapes, as well as more whimsical paintings of fantasy creatures that looked so real, she felt like she could step into their world and touch them. And that was her impression after seeing them on a computer screen. She couldn’t imagine how realistic they’d look, seeing them in person.
Lattie was so excited, he’d practically pranced around the stage like a demented little leprechaun, high on gold dust and rainbowfumes as he crowed to the rafters about how he’d landed such talent. According to him, this show was going to be the epitome of his career and the brightest feather in his cap.
“My friend, Evan, is an agent,” he’d gushed. “He’ll be salivating over Leroux when I show him this website, and begging me for an introduction.” Lattie’s face turned positively smug as he squared his shoulders. “I, of course, will be the benevolent friend and make that happen –afterthe show – but until then, he’s mine, mine, mine.”
She’d laughed at his exuberance. Lattie was just so cute.
Chloe had left the opera house shortly after that since Danny, their Raoul, with whom she was supposed to be rehearsing, wasn’t going to make it in. Danny had told her on the phone that he’d been in a small fender-bender. When she’d expressed her dismay, he’d assured her he was unhurt, but he had to have his car towed to the garage. “It was the strangest thing,” he confided. “I was on my way there when my brakes just gave out. Thank God I wasn’t going fast.”
It had become a habit to scan her surroundings as she headed to her car in the parking lot, and when her eyes lit on an unfamiliar vehicle, she was suddenly hit with a panic attack as some of her old fears came back to haunt her. Erik Leroux was still there, sitting in his car, and the first thing that popped into her head was:Had he been waiting for her?Her heart had poundedin her chest, her palms becoming clammy, as a spike of fear ramped up her adrenaline.
Hurrying the remaining distance to her car, she locked herself in, then kept glancing in the rearview mirror, her hands trembling on the steering wheel as she pulled away, waiting to see if he was going to follow her. All the way home, she’d done that, searching her rearview for a sign of his vehicle behind her, and now she felt like an idiot. He hadn’t followed her. He probably hadn’t even noticed her leaving. More than likely, he’d been sitting there in the parking lot because he’d gotten a phone call or something, and he hadn’t wanted to be driving distracted.
“What? Is everyone stalking you?”
The memory of that mocking voice in her head made her flinch and had her dinner wanting to come back up, but she swallowed hard and pushed it away, disgusted with herself. It had been a year and a half. She didn’t care what her therapist said; she should have been over this by now.
Chapter Three
“Dressing room four, check,”came Jayla’s voice in Erik’s ear, confirming that she had the feed for the surveillance he’d just installed.
“Moving on,” he told her, heading for the costume department. It was early morning. He and Lattimer were the only ones currently at the opera house. The older man had given him a tour, then walked him onto the stage, gesturing expansively as they exchanged ideas. Lattimer had then left him alone to, quote,fully embrace his creative focus, end quote.
Erik had spent the evening before doing sketches, incorporating what he remembered of Lattimer’s vision boards and color schemes with his own ideas. The grand opera house, the catacombs, the Phantom’s lair, the rooftop with its view of Paris at night… He had pages and pages ready for Lattimer to approve, but he had no problem letting the man think he’d done them this morning during his allotted alone time.
He had planned to get all this equipment installed overnight. The opera house’s security might be enough to keep out a common thief, but Erik was special ops, with plenty of state-of-the-artgovernment-supplied gadgets at his disposal to help him bypass security a lot more advanced than this place had. He could have gotten in and had everything under full surveillance in no time, but Jayla had reported a suspicious vehicle loitering outside of Chloe Powell’s apartment building, so he’d driven there to check things out.
It turned out to be a false alarm. The driver was experiencing car trouble and was waiting in his vehicle for a tow truck. But the incident had gotten Erik’s adrenaline pumping, and he’d ended up keeping watch of her building all night.
Jayla had chewed him out for stepping on her toes. The apartment building was her domain. It was her job to watch and follow the subject when Chloe Powell wasn’t at work. Erik’s job was to protect Chloe while she was at the opera house. And while they were communicating with each other, and could call on help when needed, they both needed to stay in their lane.
“Just because I can’t heal like you doesn’t mean I’m useless.”
Erik had winced at the angrily stated reminder. No, Jayla wasn’t useless. Like him, she was a fully-trained, highly-skilled operator. But the Beasts were protective of her and the other hybrids who had a dormant healing gene. What they’d gone through, growing up in that lab, was arguably worse than what he and the others who could heal had suffered. Doctor Dietrich, their creator, had insisted that she could wake up that dormant gene, and her methods had been excruciating for the subjects. They’d suffered throughhell, and the few who remained, the few who had survived, it was a testament to their strength. A testament to Jayla’s strength.
While the general would occasionally use her and the others like her for fact-finding missions or less dangerous ops, those missions were few and far between. They were all highly-trained soldiers, yes, but the government wanted the Beasts for their ability to heal. They were utilized for the extremely dangerous missions, the ones that normal human soldiers wouldn’t likely survive. So most of the time, Jayla was passed over, and she’d taken his intrusion last night as a slight to her ability to do her job.
