this—there’s no arguing with a delusion.”
“Does she have mental problems?”
“All stalkers have mental problems. My stalker was borderline schizophrenic, plus she had a disorder called erotomania. If that sounds sexy, trust me, it isn’t. It’s got nothing to do with sex or anything erotic. It’s a delusion about being in love.”
Janine lowered her gaze to the bag at her feet. She twisted a hank of hair around her fingers.
“Strike a nerve?”
“He insists what we have is true love.”
Daniel grunted. Erotomanic stalkers were the absolute worst. “My stalker called me dozens of times a day. I’d change my number, she’d find it. She broke into my home numerous times. When I called the cops, she told them she was my wife. One time she convinced them to arrest me for domestic abuse.” He shook his head at the memory.
“I moved out of state, but it only took her three months to find me. She intercepted my mail. She threatened the women I dated. I tried being nice. I tried reason. I got restraining orders. I took her to court. I had her arrested, but she convinced her parents and her attorneys that I was stringing her along. They always bailed her out of trouble.”
“How did you make her stop?”
The knot in his belly jerked tighter. “She stopped herself. She committed suicide.”
“Oh, my God,” Janine whispered.
He blew a long breath in a vain attempt to erase the sourness of old horrors from the back of his throat. “She hung herself off my bedroom balcony. She used a sheet from my bed as a noose.” He forcibly relaxed his hands. “That totally, completely sucked. I still have nightmares. But one good thing came out of it. I found my life’s calling. I don’t want anybody going through what I went through. I stop stalkers any way I can.”
Her slender throat worked, and the hair twisting increased. He recognized fear. Perfect hair, makeup and clothing aside, this woman suffered, and his heart went out to her.
“Before we continue with your problem, I want you to understand something about me. I fight dirty.”
She stopped twisting her hair. Her eyebrows lifted. He could spend a lifetime studying her incredible face. He’d give his left leg to see her smile.
“People who stalk are not reasonable. Some of them have serious personality disorders. Some are mentally ill. All of them are obsessed. Colorado has an antistalking statute. It’s fairly new, though, and not always well implemented. Unless violence is involved, the courts tend to give stalkers probation with a stipulation of counseling. Repeated arrests often do more harm than good. The stalker goes through the court system and comes out feeling stronger for the experience. So I fight dirty.”
“You use violence?”
“On occasion. Most of the stalkers I deal with are angry men. Bullies who beat up women and children. I’m a tenth-degree black belt, and I’m qualified with weapons you’ve probably never heard of.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bullies don’t like the taste of their own medicine.”
“My stalker isn’t violent.”
“Stalking is violence. You must realize that on some level.”
Her slender throat worked with a hard swallow.
“Being nice does not work. Being polite but firm does not work. I have discovered, in many cases, that the judicious use of mayhem does work.”
“I see.” The softly hesitant words held volumes of skepticism.
“Have you gone to the police?”
“No.”
“Have you confronted your stalker?”
“I haven’t a clue as to who he is.”
He straightened on the chair, and the wheels squeaked. He’d wanted a challenged, and a doozy landed in his lap. He’d never dealt with an anonymous stalker before. They usually targeted celebrities or politicians.
“I don’t want anybody killed, Mr. Tucker.”
“I haven’t killed anybody.” He curled the corners of his mouth in a tight smile. “Yet.”
She lowered her gaze to the shopping bag as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Perhaps it did. “He’s threatened my family,” she said quietly. “I want him stopped.” She stroked the bag. Her hands were slim with long fingers. Clear polish on her nails had been buffed to a high shine.
Her vanity intrigued him. She knew damned well how gorgeous she was. He felt a connection. He was vain as hell, too.
“I’m at a loss. If I knew who he was, I’d talk to him. But he could walk into this room right now, and I wouldn’t have a clue as to his identity.”
“Anonymous stalkers need control as much as they need love. Anonymity helps maintain the control. You can’t reject him if you don’t know who he is. How has he threatened your family?”
She reached into the bag and rustled amongst papers. She brought out a pink envelope and placed it on the desk. “This came in the mail the day before yesterday. It’s why I called J.T. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did right to call him. Stalkers don’t go away by themselves.” He shook a folded sheet of paper from the envelope. He noticed the envelope bore no postmark. A bad sign. It could mean the envelope missed the marking machine in the postal service, or it could mean the envelope had been personally delivered. The letter consisted of three short paragraphs. The first two paragraphs extolled Janine’s virtue. The third paragraph chilled his blood.
It isn’t fair for him to keep us apart. He works you to death, taking up all your time, and now he is ruining the most romantic day of the year! Valentine’s Day is our day! I’ll help you, love. Your father is a tyrant. Death to all tyrants! I will make him go away. Then you and I can live together in the mountains forever, happily ever after.
It was signed, “Love you gobs and gobs and gobs, Pinky.”
“Am I paranoid?” she asked. “Or is he threatening my father?”
“Sounds like a threat to me. I always take threats seriously.”
Color drained from her cheeks.
“What’s the deal with Valentine’s Day?”
“It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary. Did J.T. tell you about Elk River Resort?”
“He said you’re the general manager. I looked it up on the Internet. Nice web site. Did you create it?”
A trace of pride shone in her eyes. “Actually, my sister does our on-line advertising. She’s very artistic. Elk River is a family operation. I cannot leave my job. My family depends on me. Not to mention I’m hosting a party for my parents. We’ll have guests from all over the world. It’s their fortieth anniversary.”
“Forty years of marriage, huh?
