My last thoughts as the numbness fills my body is of dark hair and turquoise eyes. Why do those eyes look so familiar?
CHAPTER THREE
MAYA
“Welcome to the Jungle” from Guns and Roses blares from my phone and startles me awake. I don't even say hello as I slide my finger across the screen.
"Get up and meet me downstairs in twenty minutes."
"No!"
"If you are not on the curb in twenty minutes, I'll come up there and drag your naked ass out of bed. Dress nice for brunch. I don't feel like arguing, sweetheart, but I will if you insist."
I sigh as he hangs up and I roll from my bed. Greg has been the parent I've lacked for years. I look at my cell phone and don't remember bringing it to bed with me last night. I shake the thought from my head and get ready.
Greg helped pick me up when I wanted to give up. He’s treated me like a daughter and will even scold me like I’m hischild. I smile at some of the memories. He’s helped me get into several of my specialized training classes for sharp shooters. He didn’t want me to become a police officer, but to work with Secret Service instead.
Twenty minutes later I enter the lobby and cringe when I glance at the doorman; he isn't my favorite employee here.
"George, send those to the hospital." I grit my teeth when I see the delivery on the counter. Every year he and I go through this.
"Ma'am, they're so beautiful. Every year you turn them down. I know I'm only supposed to catalog them and then send to the hospital, but I thought this year you might want to keep them."
"I tell you every year, get rid of them. Now."
"Yes, ma'am. And you have another delivery," he stutters.
I swing around and grab the large manila envelope from his hands and rip it open. It’s a stack of photographs. The first picture makes my blood stop. It's of Derek and me outside the bar last night talking to that man. A bull’s-eye is drawn over Derek’s face. My hands start to tremble and I turn to the next picture. Oh God, no! It's of me in my ERT gear. My breathing increases, and I feel a panic attack coming. The fear and terror. I can't stop it. The need to run is overwhelming. I'm just about to act on that last thought when the photos are ripped from my hands.
"What the hell, Maya! Why are you touching these?" Greg's voice pulls me from my shocked state. He turns and berates the doorman as Derek pulls me into his arms. I melt into him and wish I were strong enough to pull away and leave him. Can Iprotect him with my own body? Can I make my fucked-up-ness spare him?
"You have been told many times that Ms. Aaron isn't to have any direct deliveries. All her items are to be noted and sent to me, unless it's flowers." Greg flips through the pictures, each one worse than the previous. Me in uniform. Me running on my treadmill. Me on my bike… In my truck… Talking to the stranger last night… And finally, me in my bed sleeping, the sheet barely covering my nakedness.
I cower into Derek and his arms tighten. Greg is on the phone, calling his contact with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.
Welcome to my life. Every June I get flowers I hate, but this, this is different. This person is angry with me. The last picture, the one of me in bed, has a message.
Maybe you will never wake up. Look how easy it is to get to you.
I bury my face into Derek's chest tighter and wait for the panic to start again. It doesn't come this time, instead a slow burn starts in my blood. I pull away and straighten my deep brown silk tank and dark wine slacks.
I'm done. I put up with this stalker in college and changed my life, not again.
"Come here, darling," Greg says as he pulls me into his arms. "I'll make this right. We will get him. This time Derek will move in."
"No.” I pull away and take a big, cleansing breath. "No, this time I live my life."
"Now you listen here, darling, I'm not going to jeopardize your safety. I knew exposing you to the ERT could put you back in his sights. It’s bad enough that we don't know who hasbeen sending you flowers for years, but now to have this one back." He waves the photos in my face.
"I'm going to brunch." I turn and step outside. I stand on the sidewalk and look for Greg’s car but instead see Derek’s black Charger.
"Maya, Dad is just worried about you. Let me move in so I can protect you better," Derek says as he opens the back door for me to slip in.
I cringe. I love Derek like a brother. Without him, I wouldn't be here now. But I love my privacy. I like my independence. Plus, if Derek knew how much I struggled with sleeping again, he would call our friend up north.
I know my life is crazy. How this happened to me is beyond me. I was a normal seventeen-year-old girl until my parents were killed. Then my life went to hell. I live with the fear that whoever killed them will come after me. That whoever sends me flowers will one day want to meet me. I get the same bouquet every year, every day of June. Thirty days of the same flowers. I had hoped that when yesterday came and went without one I was good, but I guess I was wrong. I was just too busy and distracted to notice.
Now the pictures. This is the work of another. The handwriting, the manner, and the anger are all different.
