Marketing asked.
“Yes.” She groaned inwardly, having forgotten she’d agreed to that months ago.
“That will have to do, then,” her agent said, coming to her defense. “Her next book will be out in the spring. Let’s plan on doing something special for that.”
“We have ads coming out in six major magazines as well as a social media blitz for this one,” Rachel said. “You should be fine. You have a lot of loyal fans who’ve been waiting patiently for this book. Your presales are good.”
“Are you all right with this?” her agent asked.
She nodded and then realized she had to speak. Her throat was dry, her stomach roiling. Just the thought of any kind of public event had her terrified. But before she could answer, the call was over. Everyone wished each other a happy and safe holiday and hung up, except for her agent.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I will be once I get home,” she told her and herself. She couldn’t wait to get on the plane. She hadn’t been back to Montana for years except for her grandmother’s funeral.
“Keep in touch. And if you need anything...”
TJ smiled. She loved her agent. “I know. Thank you.” She disconnected. Every book release she worried it wouldn’t make the list or wouldn’t be high enough on the list—which meant better than the last book had done. Not this time.
“You have bigger things to worry about at the moment,” she said to herself as she walked to her apartment window and looked out.
I know where you live. You think you can sit in your big-city apartment and ignore me? Think again.
That ominous threat was added at the bottom of the last written attack she’d received from True Fan. What was different this time was that her fan had included a photograph taken from the outside of her New York City apartment. She’d recognized the curtains covering the window of her third-floor unit. There’d been a light behind them, which meant she’d been home when her “fan” had taken the photo from the sidewalk outside.
It was recent too. One of the wings of Mrs. Gunderson’s Christmas angel was in the photograph. Her elderly neighbor had put it up only two days ago. TJ had helped her.
Just the thought of how recent the photo had been taken made her shudder. She glanced at her phone. Her flight was still hours away but she preferred sitting at the airport surrounded by security screened people to staying another minute in this apartment.
Sticking her phone into a side pocket of her purse, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and headed for the door.
Nowadays she always checked the hallway before she left her apartment. She did this time as well. It was empty. She could hear holiday music playing in one of the apartments down the hall. The song brought tears to her eyes. She was a mess, way too emotional to spend the holidays with her sisters—especially since the three of them had been estranged for months.
She hesitated. Maybe she should change her flight. Go to some warm resort. But just the thought turned her stomach. She was going back to Whitehorse. Going home for Christmas.
She rolled her suitcase down to the elevator and pushed the button.
When it clanged its way up from what sounded like the basement, she waited for the door to open. If anyone she didn’t recognize happened to be on the elevator, she would make an excuse about forgetting something she needed in her apartment and turn back until the elevator left again.
She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t help it. No one was taking the threats seriously. But she had watched the tone of the letters degenerate into angry, hateful words that were more than threatening. This person wasn’t done with her. Far from it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her “True Fan” was coming for her.
The elevator stopped and the door began to open. Empty. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Stepping in, she pulled her suitcase close and pushed the button for the ground floor.
The fan writing her the threatening letters could be anyone. That was what was so frightening. It could even be someone who lived in this apartment complex. Or someone she’d met at a conference. She met so many fans, she couldn’t possibly remember them all. It embarrassed her when they complimented her books. She wanted to hug them all. She doubted she would ever get used to this. Writing had been her dream since she was a girl. Getting published? Well, that was like a miracle to her. She couldn’t believe her good luck.
Until she’d begun getting the letters from her True Fan.
Outside the apartment building, the sidewalk was filled with people hurrying past. Shoppers laden with packages, others rushing off to work... The city was bustling more than usual. She glanced at the faces of people as they passed, not sure what she was looking for. Would she recognize her rabid fan if she saw him or her?
She couldn’t help studying their faces, looking for one that might be familiar. She didn’t even know if her “fan” was male or female. She also didn’t know if the person was watching her right now.
After a while, everyone began to look familiar to her. If anyone made eye contact, she quickly dropped her gaze as she made her way to the curb to signal for a cab. She wrote about crazed homicidal people. Wouldn’t she recognize something in True Fan’s eyes that would give the person away?
With a screech of brakes, a yellow cab came to a stop on the other side of the street. The driver motioned for her to hurry. But a large delivery truck was coming too fast for her to cross before it passed.
She felt something hit her in the back. Letting out a cry, she found herself falling into the street in front of the large speeding truck.
It happened so fast. One minute she was standing on the curb waiting for the large delivery truck to pass before crossing the street to the waiting taxi.
The next she was falling forward into the street and the truck bearing down on her. Her arms windmilled as she tried to catch herself, but there was nothing to grab. She could hear the deafening roar of the truck’s engine, smelled diesel fuel turning the air gray and closed her eyes as she realized she was about to die.
The hand that closed over her arm was large and viselike. One minute she was falling headlong into the street in front of the truck and the next she was snatched from the crushing metal bumper as the truck roared on past.
Pulled by the hand gripping her arm, her body whipped back. She slammed into something so solid it could have been a lamppost. She turned just quickly enough that her face came in contact with the chest of a large male body as she tried to get her feet under her. He steadied her for a moment before the fingers on her arm released.
She looked up in time to see the man who’d saved her turn and walk away as if rescuing women was something he did every day. Trembling all over, she was still reeling from her near death.
“Wait!” she called after him. He’d just saved her life. But if he’d heard her, he didn’t turn. All she got was a brief glimpse of granite features, collar-length dark, curly hair beneath a baseball cap above
