BRAVEEPISODE ONE

The Color of RageA Serial Novel by

Melissa Shaw

About the Book

Real estate agent Chloe Sheldon has a secret. On the run from a painful and abusive past, she has stayed away from love and focused on making the most of her new life, tucking the darkness away. But her new boss Jonathan Maynard seems like everything she ever wanted in a man: intoxicating and brimming with charm, reminding her there is more to life than fear. In spite of everything, Chloe feels a strong attraction and a desire for something more.

As Chloe tries to let go of her worries, she sees cause for both hope and caution. Getting to know Jonathan on a deeper level shows he has a darker side of his own--enough to make her question if he can be trusted as anything but a colleague, if even that. And the untimely arrival of a person she has tried to forget, stalking her every move, proves that the nightmares of her own past aren't ready to let go of her yet.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Melissa Shaw. All rights reserved.

Melissa Shaw has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this book may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author.

Website: http://melissashawbooks.com

I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about this book, to help me spread the

word.

CHAPTER ONE

Red. Favorite color—red. The color of passion. The color of intensity. The color of danger. The color of rage. The color of blood.

“Chloe. Hey, Chloe. Oh, Chlooooeeee, yoo-hoo…”Chloe started, blinked, and came back to the present. A bemused co-worker

stood beside her, tapping her manicured fingers on the desk. “Oh—uh—hi. Sorry, Paula. Guess I was daydreaming.”

“Yeah, it happens…about a million miles away. Some new guy in your life, huh?” Paula, the office’s general assistant and gofer, flashed a conspiratorial smile and leaned her hip against the sleek blue desk’s rounded corner. “You must’ve had a great weekend.”

“It was okay. Went by too fast, though.” Then again, what weekend didn’t?Chloe straightened in her ergonomic chair and brushed back a strand of

wavy dark hair. Business-like – that was the ticket. Remaining professional and all that. Whatever got Paula to butt out. “Can I help you with anything?”

Paula clicked her tongue and nodded. “Dennis is looking for the Group Sales Review on Rental Properties, something about a meeting scheduled for Friday?”

Easily done. The file stood in its wire holder, next to the computer screen; Chloe had stored it there after finishing her report – efficient as always.

“Tell him I’ll stop by later this afternoon, okay? I need to check his travel plans for the Marketing Conference in August.”

Another nod from Paula, who slipped away without protesting the tactful dismissal.

Then again, Chloe was the epitome of tactful. She had been since she’d started work at the office. With fifty other drones in residence, keeping her

head low was pretty easy. Alone again in her tidy office, Chloe glanced at the stress ball tucked away

near her reference books. It had been passed on to her by her predecessor, with much laughter and joking from the staff. Red. Favorite color—red. The color of…

She gave it a stray pat and offered silent thanks: she wouldn’t need that today. Everything was on track today – she eyed the clock on the wall and licked her lips.

Glenn Watkins, the portly, balding Vice President of Merchandising, Marketing, and Sales, stuck his head inside the door. “How are we doing with that Corporate Responsibility Report?”

“I’ve looked it over,” Chloe pointed to a stack of clear binders on the credenza, “and had my secretary make copies. All set whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, kiddo. I owe you one.” Glenn, ever on the go, scooped up the binders and dashed out, fat rolls jiggling under his sweat stained cotton shirt. How he managed to maintain his weight was another question entirely – he was an energizer bunny. An energizer hippo?

She shook her head at herself and focused on the work instead. Chloe toiled steadily, wading through the papers on her desk, answering

correspondence, taking phone calls, putting out whatever small fires flared up – thankfully there weren’t that many. Two hours passed without incident.

This done and completed and put aside; that considered but temporarily delayed. Sticky notes littered the desk. They were her secret addiction – she loved tearing them off and slapping them on pages with no small deal of machismo.

It was her small concession: there were only work-related items on the desk. Nothing which hinted at her personality, her truth (other than the hidden stress ball): no framed photos, no meaningful knickknacks, no vase of fresh flowers or holders for scented candles. She considered the desk.

The office could’ve fallen straight out of an architectural magazine. She let out a long sigh.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have any passions, simply that she couldn’t afford to show them off. She didn’t want any hints of who she really was, on the inside, in person, all of that, coming out. Chloe had slipped into obscurity like a duck into water.

She powered down her computer at 5:00, and arranged tomorrow’s work into neat stacks. Then she swiped her handbag off the floor and tucked it over her shoulder.

“Hi, Chloe.” Jonathan Maynard, the boss of her boss moved into the room, blocking her path to freedom.

Shit. She saved the lustrous leather tote before it fell. “Uh—hello.” She’d had a crush on this guy for ages. Crush. For God’s sake, what was she,

seventeen? Puppy love or infatuation, maybe… He was handsome, debonair even and he breathed the rarefied air of Pinnacle’s Upper Stratosphere.

Out. Of. Her. League. He smiled down at her, leveling her with those slightly crooked teeth – they

made him even more attractive. When a man was a little flawed, it just made him special – she’d never liked Abercrombie Fitch dudes.

He straightened his tailored navy suit around the extra pounds at his middle. He was delectable.

“I’m sorry, Chloe, I didn’t realize you were on your way out,” he apologized. “This can wait till tomorrow.”

No. There was an air of eagerness bubbling around him like champagne in a glass, and it intrigued her. But then, everything about him intrigued her.

“That’s all right, Jonathan. What’s up?”Two years at Pinnacle Real Estate and she’d risen from lobby receptionist to

staff secretary to Assistant for the Director of Day-to-Day Management Stu Martin – he’d given the title to himself, and she preferred jackass, but she’d risen nonetheless.

Her duties overlapped from department to department, now. On most days, awesome responsibility; on others, awesome anxiety.

She eyed the binders and envisioned her squishy little stress ball. It worked for the job stuff and the … private worries. She blinked that thought from her mind, keenly aware of Jonathan’s concerned gaze.

He pushed aside stacks of work and leaned casually against the corner of her desk.

Need a chair, buddy? She didn’t ask it, but the brain sarcasm helped calm her jangling nerves. God, he was sexy.

“So, you’re the one who holds things together around here—sort of second-in-command. I thought I’d confer with you about a special project coming up.”

The one holding things together, eh? She liked the sound of that.“Sure, I’ll be happy to put my oar in the water. Would you like to sit down?”

She couldn’t resist. She gestured to the chrome and canvas chair backed up against the glass partition separating her office from open space.

“No,” his mouth quirked at the corner, “I’d rather discuss it over dinner tonight, if you’re free. You are free, aren’t you?”

Months of hearing his voice in the distance, months of drooling after him like puppy, months of business contact—and now this. Plans? She’d change them in an instant, if it meant she could be with him.

She clamped down on her rising excitement and tipped her head to the side – mock considering it. She pressed her lips together, then pursed them and said, “Actually, I am free. Mind if I take a few to freshen up?”

“Sure, take as long as you like. I’ve waited two years, I can wait ten minutes longer.”

What did that mean? Blood rushed to her face, and she rose quickly to hide the blush. If that wasn’t a promising sentiment, then what was?

Chloe slipped past him – the heat from his body drew her in but she forced herself to maintain the distance between them. The tip of her peep-toe pump caught on the chair’s caster and she stumbled. He reached out a steadying hand; his clutch on her upper arm sent electric charge along her nerves. She held back a gasp. Were those sparks in the air a figment of her imagination? She could’ve been in a Disney flick right now.

Jonathan stepped out of the way, eyebrows raised, breath ragged. He’d felt it too.

Chloe smoothed down the side of her pencil skirt, settled the collar of her white silk shirt, and managed, “Uh—I’ll—uh—be right back.”

Corporate headquarters took up the tenth floor of the Manhattan-based building, near Central Park, with access to public transit and loads of shops and restaurants. Its location was its strongest selling point: it was easy to do anything here.

Even if it that anything was a disappearing act.

They strolled down the hall, between rows of desks and observers. It was a gauntlet, and she’d have preferred an Indiana Jones movie. Give her gargantuan axes swinging from the walls over gossiping coworkers any day.

They chatted lightly, and her thoughts went mad in the background.Why couldn’t this dinner have taken place after hours, when no one was

around? Hell, even a breakfast meeting before work would’ve been better. By tomorrow the office would be a hotbed of gossip, with Chloe Sheldon and Jonathan Maynard the topic of bawdy jokes.

“I thought we’d go to Piper Lee’s, down the block,” said Jonathan pleasantly, as they approached the elevator. The shining brass doors, smudge-free surfaces, slid silently open and shut again after they moved into it. “It’s quiet and private, just the atmosphere I’m looking for. And it’s nearby enough to walk, since the weather is so pleasant.”

Would the atmosphere of the restaurant be on a par with the esoteric air of Pinnacle? How often had he breathed that air? She stared at his lips as they walked the streets and were ushered to their seats in Piper Lee’s.

They were in a softly lit corner booth. Romantic, much? Butterflies battered her stomach – equipped with combat boots, most likely. She was used to anxiety, but excitement? She’d strained to avoid that at any cost. Well, it was too late now.

Chloe perused her menu under the eye of the snobbish server. He tapped his thin, pale fingers on the side of his watch – was that a Timex? – and eyed her from beneath a refined brow.

“Drinks first,” decided Jonathan. “Whiskey and soda for me. Chloe?”She hesitated. Dinner with the boss, and alcohol besides? Too much, too

fast. “Just an iced tea, thanks.”“Long Island?” “Oh, goodness, no.” Hard spirits after a booze sabbatical: that was a deadly

combo. She’d learned that long ago, at her own cost. She smiled, “Better keep my wits about me, if we’re discussing business.” That should lessen the sting of the refusal.

Jonathan leaned forward, propping one elbow on the table, chin resting in the palm of his hand, he gazed at her across the table with jarring intensity.

“That smile is the first thing I noticed about you,” he murmured. “Bright red lipstick framing that delectable soft mouth. I’ll bet there are men willing to march across Africa just to see one of your smiles.”

Say something. Do something! He’d frozen her to the spot. She raised a hand to her lips, absently and dabbed them with her napkin. It didn’t come

away red – no smudge lipstick. Jonathan nodded slightly and settled back against the rich upholstered seat.

A wealthy, powerful man, focused on sharing a delightful dinner with a subordinate. But that heat – that sweltering, humidity – didn’t go away. Was it her?

Surely telling your subordinate she had a delectable soft mouth wasn’t procedure.

“Tell me about Chloe Sheldon. How long have you worked at Pinnacle, and what’s going on in your life?” It was a command and she hesitated to obey.

She set aside her mini-freak out at the lip comment and sidestepped, deftly. “I’m afraid you’d find my story very boring,” Just as it should be. The details that no one knew—that no one could ever know—would curl his straight hair.

“Not at all. But I’ll wager I can describe your upbringing, right down to a T.” He laughed, glancing through the murk, the haze of attraction and the dim candlelight. That chuckle tingled up her spine.

“Wager? You want to put money on that?” Chloe teased back, with a toss of her head and a flash of her eyes – he wanted to play, and she wasn’t going to let it go his way for long. “You’re on. Go ahead, tell me about my innocent childhood.”

“Okay, here goes. Small-town girl, middle-class household, a couple of siblings. How am I doing so far?”

Wrong on all counts, buster. Thankfully. “Exactly right. What else you got?”“Plenty.” Grinning, he toyed with the lowest button of his suit jacket, then

continued, “You’re an attractive woman, so you were popular in high school. On to college, probably something local, into cheerleading but no serious hard-core classes…”

Only partially wrong this time. “You must be gazing into a crystal ball,” she observed, “or reading tea leaves.”

“Naw. Tarot cards. Not sure about your history from there on, but eventually you moved to the Big Apple and applied for a position at Pinnacle at the ripe old age of 25. Stellar resume, exceptional work ethics, first-rate recommendation by previous employers. And beautiful, besides.”

“Chuck out the flattery, and I’d agree that’s true.” Enough flirting. She couldn’t afford to let this guy in too far and 1 out of 5 was already too close to the truth for her liking.

“So now,” Chloe looked up impishly from beneath her lashes, “I can only assume you’ll be selling the company to set up shop as a medium?”

“Ha!” He was pleased by her response. “Not exactly what I had in mind. Or…not exactly in the cards.” He winked. He was an undercover goof, this one.

Their server returned, placing their drinks with a flourish. Jonathan took a sip from his and smacked his lips, ostentatiously. “I’ve only been back in town a few weeks, business at the other offices called me away, but I’ve been trying to find time for a chat with everyone at Corporate. How do you like your work?”

What? This powwow was about employee satisfaction? Bull.“Oh, I’m very happy with what I do. Plenty of variety, plenty of public

contact, and just enough pressure to keep things interesting. Plus, I feel needed and—and…important…” she confessed, shyly. “And you, Jonathan? What’s your background?”

Another silent, barely noticeable intrusion by their server, this time to slip a plate of appetizers on the table in front of them. Jonathan reached for a crab-stuffed mushroom and took a bite with those crooked, wicked-looking teeth. His only real detraction, though it didn’t bother her one bit; why’d he never seen an orthodontist?

“I grew up in San Francisco,” he told her after the pause. “Second son of a pair of hippies. I love my parents, but they’re out of touch with everything in life. Too much sappy sentimentality for me to put up with. They and my older brother are tree-hugging environmentalists, all peace and good will and la-la land; and I’m the odd duck—a staunch conservative who believes in capitalism.”

“Someone has to do it.” Chloe’s light tone belied her sympathy with people who wanted to make the world a better place.

“You’ve got that right,” Jonathan agreed, just as lightly. “Might as well be me. You’ve read the advertising brochure detailing the history of Pinnacle. But you probably don’t know that I started this company with a giant loan and one small office.” He swirled the ice in his drink, “I’ve been expanding ever since.”

The color of Chloe’s eyes deepened with admiration. “And that, when you’re ready to acquire or build another, you spend months on site, getting everything up and running to your satisfaction.”

“Ah,” he said, gratified. “You have checked the facts.” He brushed back a

lock of mouse-brown hair into his neat style with the palm of his hand. With enthusiasm came moderation, and an easing of uncompromising standards. Perhaps even a downgrade from costly suit to golf shirt and chinos.

“The background is important. I feel I can do a better job if I’m familiar with the company I work for, and the people I work with.”

“No complaints on that score. Here, the tilapia for the lady,” Jonathan interrupted to direct the server, “and the steak for me. Yes,” he continued, “the growth of Pinnacle has been within range. Ten offices so far, with more to come. But, at the present, we’re only national; I want to go international. Big plans for the future, if I can pull a few strings.”

There was a gleam of avarice there, and his expression tightened. A predator, ready to hunt. It reminded her of the battles that had raged across medieval Europe. Honor and integrity lost out to power and greed.

They went silent and tucked into their food, which was excellent and shared casual comments. “Would you pass the salt, please?” “Great flavor; love the sauce.” “I’m sorry—now the pepper?” “I think I’ll order another drink. Are you still working on yours?”

Classical music played softly through the elaborate sound system, interspersed with the off-and-on murmur of conversation and the muted clink of utensils.

“Nice, huh?” Jonathan nudged.Chloe sent her warm smile across the table. “It’s lovely, Jonathan. Thank

you for inviting me here.” She flushed under his teasing glances; once or twice he reached for his water glass at the same time she reached for hers. Their hands brushed in a symphony of suggestive touch.

Their dinner finished and the dishes cleared, Jonathan insisted they order dessert. “The Key Lime pie here is heaven. You’ll have to try it.”

Was it possible he didn’t want the evening to end? Or was she reading his intentions wrong? He was her employer. That meant no touchy, but hey, at least she could fantasize. Imagine he did find her attractive; picture them together even.

The first forkful of pie was bliss. Touch and taste were the senses: sensuality, earthiness, surrender to the flesh.

“Mmmm, sinfully delicious. I want the recipe for this.”He smiled. “You can cook? Do you consider yourself a gourmet?”

“Most of what I do is with a microwave,” she admitted, twinkling a bit. “I share an apartment with a friend. Camille and I are polar, but we get on great.”

“Camille, eh? And how are you opposites?”Chloe shrugged, the bodice of silk reflecting the glimmers of light.

Jonathan’s gaze lingered where it shouldn’t. That stare was a caress, and her cheeks warmed again – no way had she imagined that.

“She’s an extrovert, and I’m more reserved. Camille‘s a journalist and she doesn’t take guff from anyone, anytime. Whereas I…”

“Whereas you,” finished up Jonathan, reaching out to stroke her wrist “do your best to get along with those around you. An admirable trait.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes not so much.” “Yes, I can understand how that works. It’s okay to be a people-pleaser, but

you don’t want to be a jellyfish, either. You need to stand up for yourself. As for me, I’ve had a couple of roommates—female…but it hasn’t worked out.”

A stab of jealousy assaulted her. Idiot. Of course he’d been with other women over the years. Just as she’d been with other men.

“Camille is my whole support system,” Chloe said staunchly. “She’s there whenever I need backup. She’s my best buddy.”

“So she knows you?”No one knows me! She murmured into the silence, over the clinking of

Jonathan’s fork against his saucer of pie, “When you come right down to it, how much do you know about anyone, really?”

Conversation lagged after that.Chloe was out of practice with prolonged contact with the male gender. No

dates, no hanging out, no social interaction meant a very narrow existence. Up until now, she’d preferred it that way.

Curled up like a snail inside its shell was safer. Much safer.Jonathan asked for the check and then rose, escorting Chloe with a hand on

her waist.“Do you have a car?” he asked, once they emerged into the fresh spring air. The air held a slight chill. A clock chimed ten in the distance, peering

between the skyscrapers. Headlights glared and cab horns blared as vehicles bumbled their way from intersection to intersection.

“Yes. I drive depending on what I have planned. Today I took the subway.”“Oh, no, no, no,” he objected, sternly. “I’m not letting you ride the subway

alone at this hour. I’ll be happy to take you home.”How could she refuse? Especially when his silver Porsche was parked a few

blocks away. It twinkled and dared her not to fall in love with it – much like it’s owner.

The ride, once Chloe was securely buckled into her seat and the engine purred warmly, was even better.

Jonathan followed her directions north and east toward the interstate, driving carelessly. He whooshed in and around traffic with abandon, skirting delivery trucks with inches to spare, squeaking through yellow caution lights. Chloe hung on for dear life and muttered a prayer. Did the man have a death wish? Was he taking her with him to the afterlife?

She didn’t utter a word of complaint, only sighing an almost silent relief when they pulled into her drive.

He grinned at her. “Scared?”“A little,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. Danger wasn’t her middle

name and never would be again. “Sorry. I’ve just gotten used to tootling around Manhattan without much

regard for anyone else on the road. A car like this is proof of power. Ready to go in?”

A broad half-flight of stairs led up to a converted brownstone. Jonathan glanced around with appreciation, waiting while she unlocked the hand-carved and finished front door. “Nice neighborhood, and very nicely rehabbed. Expensive area, though.”

“Having a roommate helps pay the bills,” she responded. He wasn’t being nosy on purpose; maybe she was just a little sensitive. She led him into the bright-lit foyer, the wooden floors polished to perfection. Chloe paused and indicated to another door to the left. “This is mine.”

“And this,” said Jonathan, on an indrawn breath, “is mine.” He pulled her into a close embrace, bent his head, and took possession of her.

Ambushed!She didn’t have time to protest. For one dizzying, weakened moment, she

merely submitted. Then the warmth and passion of his kiss undermined her reservation. She kissed him back, pressing against him, heat and electricity dancing through her. It had been so long. Too long. That stretch of time was eons spent in a dry, hopeless desert, lost. She’s just found an oasis and boy was

the water sweet. She lifted her arms, and slung them around his neck, her fingers entwined

in his hair. She was alive. She sighed, drawing the breath from her toes to the top of her head. This was what it was meant to feel like.

That sigh was all the permission Jonathan needed. He broke free, snatched a breath and swept down for another kiss. He snugged his hand against her breast, pressing the silk against the lace of her bra. Oh god. She held back the moan by biting her lip.

The apartment door flew open with a jerk and a rasp. They nearly lost their balance and toppled inside.

“What have we here?”Jonathan straightened, sucked in a lungful of oxygen, and set his suit jacket

to rights. Chloe licked her lips and pulled a face – was he angry? “Good evening. You must be Camille.” Jonathan stuck out a hand.“I am. And you are—?” Camille smirked. He introduced himself, smoothly, just as he’d been with her at dinner. He

turned and tweaked Chloe’s chin. “Thanks for having dinner with me. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.” Then he disappeared. Camille back pedaled a few steps with a knowing look.

Chloe slipped inside her apartment and closed the door. The interruption was a disappointment and a relief.

She’d nearly forgotten the supposed reason for their date: Jonathan wanted to discuss an upcoming special project. What was it?

“Who was that, roomie?” Camille twinkled nearby, “And do I need to get you a towel?”

* * * *

CHAPTER TWO

“You’re back late.” Camille, stood with her hands tucked into the hip pockets of her designer jeans, and surveyed Chloe. A mother hen proudly eyeing her chick. “Fun night?”

Dreamy-eyed, Chloe collapsed on the grey suede couch, arms spread out on the colorful afghan, legs sprawled. “Oh, a wonderful night. Even if,” she slanted a teasing look upward, “it ended too soon.”

“Hmmph. From what I could see, you weren’t sure what you wanted. And the front hall isn’t the best place for getting it on, anyway. He a good kisser?”

“Very. Good.”With a wide sympathetic grin, Camille brushed back a tendril of blonde hair

that had loosened from its topknot. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna get a soda, then you can tell me all about him. And also how you got so darned lucky, girl.”

They exhausted the topic of Jonathan Maynard over a plateful of cookies and shared drinks. Chloe disappeared after and changed into her favorite lightweight sweats and returned; Camille went to fetch another soda, a leftover container of cold French fries, and an ice cream bar.

Chloe shook her head with disbelief. “How you can eat so much junk food and stay thin is beyond me.”

“Hey, lamb chop, I burn off a lot of calories in a day. Also, I have good genes.” Laughing, Camille smacked a hand across her admirably flat midriff. “Oh, and did I mention a hefty workout every morning?” She lounged back in her chair, scooped up the last cookie, and crossed one long leg over the other. “So, back to Jon—this guy is your dreamboat come to life and he’s everything you ever wanted and you’ll be together forever and ever, Amen, is that it?”

“Ha. On the strength of one date? I don’t think so. But it was nice, Cam. I haven’t been out with a guy for way too long, and I really enjoyed being with him.”

“Yeah, you sure put yourself on the shelf. I began to wonder if you’d ever take in the social scene.” She sat upright, and slapped her forehead exactly like the absent-minded star of vegetable drink commercials. “Hey, I almost forgot—some guy stopped at the newspaper office today, looking for you.”

“Looking for me at your office?” Chloe repeated slowly, puzzled. A twinge of fear awoke within her, and the butterflies were back – this time with sledgehammers.

“Kinda, sorta; you, or somebody like you. He described you, except the girl he’s trying to find has blonde hair, instead of dark brown. He even mentioned a little strawberry birthmark, like the one on your upper arm. Must be your twin, kiddo. Or a clone.”

A warning bell clanged in Chloe’s brain, and her muscles — all of them — tightened and clenched. She’d been here; she’d done this before. It took every bit of strength to keep from jumping up and running. “I suppose,” she began, until her voice cracked, and she paused to clear her throat, “I suppose lots of women have birthmarks. That’s pretty common.”

Run. Run away before he finds you. Before it’s too late and you lose everything again. Oh God, why couldn’t she escape? What has she done to deserve this?

Camille shrugged as if it was inconsequential. “Maybe. I guess he’s been looking for her for a couple of years. Didn’t say why, though. He’d gotten info from a P.I, tracked this chica to the Big Apple. Somehow my name came up on his list. Kinda freaky.”

“And he thought you might know her? Seems like a long shot.” Camille couldn’t know either – the less she knew, the safer she was. Chloe had to keep it that way.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Did he figure I might have sources his investigator didn’t? The whole thing sounds fishy, y’know?” Camille sipped her soda and frowned, considering. “I mean, what are the odds he’d find her in New York? If anybody wanted to disappear and hide out, this would be the place to do it.”

“I see.” Chloe hid a shiver. A ghost had walked over her grave. Or into

Camille’s office. “And this man—did he tell you his name?”“No, which only added to the abject, bloody fishiness. He didn’t have a

name, the investigator didn’t have a name, the girl didn’t have a name. The only one who did have a name was me!” Camille chuckled and finished her soda with a loud schlurp. “For God’s sake, Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be able to find this girl! Not that I wanted him to or anything. He was smooth but he gave me the willies, big time. You know, one of those guys who’s almost too smooth. Jerk nails.”

“Jerk nails?”“You know, he’s got perfectly manicured nails and he wears his hair combed

back.” Chloe’s face went chalk-white, the blood draining from her heart and into

the tips of her fingers, the soles of her feet. Nausea rose in her throat. Her thoughts raced until the circuits in her brain threatened a burn out.

Cat-and-mouse game, always a favorite. Red, the color of passion; the color of intensity; the color of rage. What to do, what to do? RUN.

“Chloe. Hey, kid, whatever’s going on with you, we’ll deal with it together. I didn’t say a word about knowing anybody; I just wrote down what the guy told me and then threw away the note after he left.”

Chloe drew in a breath, forcing the blackness away, returning to herself in the here and now.

“Thank you, Cam. Thanks a lot. It probably means nothing, but it sounds as if some stranger is stalking me, for whatever insane reason. And that scares the crap out of me.”

It was him. It had to be. And she had nowhere to run anymore, nothing to look forward to if he did find her. She couldn’t run for long. She could only hide. But still the thought jammed through the comfort of Camille’s words.

It was him.

* * * *

CHAPTER THREE

The next week at Pinnacle was fraught with excitement, risk, and uncertainty. Jonathan would call her to tease her with suggestive comments, to compliment her outfit for the day, to praise any work he’d overseen, to plan for a meeting place during the day.

She was uncomfortable, but Jonathan was aggressive and sexy enough to override her. He accidentally bumped into her in the hallway, snatching kisses and a furtive caress when he could. Once he caught her in the supply closet, pulled her into his arms, and worked his hand up under her skirt while he kissed her with abandon.

It was blissful and terrifying all at once and she didn’t know how to react to it.

He didn’t care who’d see. Who would dare complain about an office affair flaunted in front of co-workers and staff? He was the boss.

But he didn’t care how it affected her. That bothered her. Was she a play thing? Was he using her to discard her later? Just an expendable office drudge, here for his personal pleasure.

Her head screamed, “No, no!” to the daily dalliances; her heart purred, “Yes, yes…” And her body, well, her body did the talking for her.

He was her drug of choice, her crutch for drunkenness, her addiction to the deadly sins.

If they broke up, was it the end of her career at Pinnacle? She’d be forced to move on. She’d done it before; she could do it again – she even had incentive after Camille’s info the week before – but she didn’t want to run anymore. She was exhausted.

Jonathan poked his head into her office and asked if she had plans for

Saturday night. She smiled up at him from behind her barricade desk, appreciating the

snappy pearl-gray sheen of his suit and the blue-and-silver print of his tie. “Nothing at the moment. What’s up?”

“Okay, then, pen my name onto your calendar. We’re going clubbing, starting with the Ten Star Spot.” He started out the door, then paused long enough to add, “Oh, why don’t you invite your friend to come along?”

“Camille?” Not a serious date then, if they were doing a threesome. She buried her chagrin at the thought. “If she’s free, I’m sure she’d love to join us.” A threesome wasn’t a concept she enjoyed, even if it was a sexless one. A hopping club, Camille dancing and her boss sitting beside her in the heat.

This scenario confused her a bit. But she wanted more time with him – it was pretty weak.

Jonathan pulled up in his scrumptious new Porsche at 8:00 and parked in the last empty space. The girls scurried down the stairs in a flurry of excited laughter. He stood beside the open passenger door to greet them.

Camille flashed a slim bare thigh as she folded her long legs and squeezed into the back seat. “Hi, Jonny,” she chirped. “Thanks for asking me. I’ve been to the Ten Star a couple times, and it’s a happenin’ place.”

“No problem. Here, all settled?” he asked Chloe, leaning down.She arranged herself, and tonight’s unexpected outfit of miniskirt, black

leather boots, and low-cut sequined top, under the straps of the seatbelt. Once the lock had clicked, she gave him her usual charming smile. “All settled.”

“Nice duds,” he approved, with a glint in his eyes. “Veeery nice duds.”He belted himself in behind the wheel and they moved out into traffic.

Camille spoke up from her rather cramped quarters. “Great car, Jon. Smooth. Boy, I was at loose ends tonight, and it’ll be fun to get out and swing.”

“That right?” His gaze met hers in the rear-view mirror. “You’re a swinger, huh?”

“Weeellll…” With her shrug, the lacy transparent top she wore over an equally lacy black bra slipped farther down one shoulder. “Enough to see what life is like on the wild side, once in a while.”

“Wild side?” repeated Chloe from the front seat, laughing. “You enjoy being a party girl, Cam.”

“Hey, don’t give Jonny the wrong impression here, okay? I’m a journalist, I get a lot of leads being out on the scene. You’re just jealous because you meet me coming home in the morning when you’re ready to leave for the office.”

“I wouldn’t say jealous, exactly.” Camille didn’t look the best after an all-nighter: smeared mascara, smeared lipstick, hair tousled, clothing disarrayed. “Maybe a little envious, sometimes.” There was a certain freedom to it, after all. Out each night, as late as you want, minimal responsibilities and no fear. What must that be like?

Jonathan laid a possessive hand on Chloe’s thigh. “Is that right?” he asked, in a low voice. “You plan to visit the wild side yourself tonight?”

“Never know what might happen, do we?” It would be fun to let loose for a change. Forget the inappropriateness of the situation.

The Ten Star Spot was a multi-level dance lounge decorated with taste. Loud, thumping music and a swirling light display drew guests inside the front door toward the sunken floor. Smoke and mirrors, balloons and streamers, neon staging and window dressing—this place had it all.

They weaved their way through the frenetic crowd and Jonathan located a free table on the sidelines. “Want something to drink?” he asked, straining to be heard over the noise.

“Long Island Iced Tea!” shouted Camille. “And get the same for my friend, here.”

“Oh, I don’t think I…no, that’s really not…”Camille wrapped an arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “Come on, girl, lighten

up. You’re out on the town, enjoy it.”Jonathan returned carrying their drinks, skillfully evading collision from

dancers and parti-dancers and non-dancers, jammed together on the floor in the world’s greatest crush. “Here,” he whooshed, plopping down on banquette. “We were lucky to get a place to sit. Talk about a zoo!”

“With lots of friendly animals!” Camille titillated, wriggling her slim shoulders and her glittery nails, then clapping her hands.

They simply sat and watched for a while, since there couldn’t be intelligent conversation over the din without snapping a vocal cord. Caveman grunts and gestures had to suffice for now. Camille gulped down half her drink, then waved a happy good-bye and sashayed her way into the multitudes.

She flung her body around, pumping her arms and legs, stamping her feet, swinging her kinky blonde hair and her hips. No wonder not a single extra calorie dared attach itself to her frame; this hustle and bustle was as good as any gym workout. Her movements, and her style of dress, mimicked the others out there. With her short suede skirt hiked up, and her dazzling transparent blouse hiked down, she was putting on quite a display for anyone who cared to watch.

Chloe bit her lip. What did Jonathan think of this?

* *

Jonathan’s senses hummed. Camille was a minx.Sweat by David Guetta and Snoop Dogg came on and he couldn’t help

picturing her sweating too. Not that it was difficult – the way that girl moved… damn.

He glanced over at Chloe. She was absorbed by the scene, tapping her fingers on the table in rhythm to the music and tapping her foot against the table base. Enough play. She was his, and later tonight he’d prove it.

He lounged close to her on the banquette, and leaned even closer, dropping one hand onto her inner thigh. He traced a circle, the slid it up and under the tight skirt. “Chloe,” he whispered urgently, and squeezed hold. Hard.

She turned her face to him, eyes wide. Eyes wide shut more like.Her mouth opened into a shocked “O.”He seized and savaged it with his own. Whimpering a little under the

assault, she pulled free and pushed him away. “Jonathan!” she snapped at him.

What was her problem? She was way too much effort. Wearing that skirt? What did she expect? It was like putting a steak in front of a dog and expecting him not to take a bite. And he’d bite her tonight, whether she wanted it or not.

“Want to—go on out there—?” He rasped, tilting his head to the swarm on the dance floor – what kind of moves did she have?

Chloe sniffed and fixed her mini. “Why not?” She bolted off the leather banquette and wobbled forward somewhat unsteadily in her high-heeled boots. He nodded and watched.

She’d better be worth it.

The beat was thunderous, the music frantic and pulsating, timed to the sweep of blue lights from corner to corner. Seen from the sidelines, the crowd was a mishmash of confusion, color, and craziness.

A remix of Little Bad Girl by Taio Cruz came next. How appropriate.The women were close enough that Camille beckoned to Jonathan, urging

him to put aside inhibition, “Hey, come on, we need a man here!”He smiled and shook his head. For now, still deeply aroused, he was content

to watch. They were having a good time, and self-contained Chloe let loose for a change. What a relief.

If it took a double Long Island iced tea to help that along, so much the better. Even with the noise and chaos around him, he was able to picture them later tonight, alone in his apartment: hot sweaty satisfying sex, for as long and as often as he wanted. He’d tie her up, bend her to his will, bend her any which way he damn well wanted, and she’d beg for it too. They all did in the end.

He sucked in the muggy air between his teeth, then swigged his beer. It was cold and bitter – much like monogamy.

Then, through the keyed-up, writhing bodies, he caught a glimpse of a man honing in on his ladies. A good-looking guy, bodybuilder’s torso and a swashbuckler’s black goatee: Camille’s type. Except he wasn’t interested in Camille; he was interested in Chloe. He inserted himself between them, leaned over, danced too close.

The bootie-shaking went on and on, a mixture of R&B, jazz, salsa, and hip-hop, flowing seamlessly from one to the other without interruption. Party-goers jounced from here to there and back again, as the mood took them, in concert with a mad throbbing cadence.

Countless minutes passed. Jonathan kept careful watch over the trio on the floor. Occasionally he lost sight of them in the melee, only to have them surface again farther away or nearer to, like fish swimming freely in the sea.

His anger spiked: that bodybuilder was firmly attached and growing bolder. Was Chloe encouraging him? And could her behavior—shimmying practically up against the guy’s groin—be blamed on the alcohol? She flaunted her charms for muscles. This wasn’t okay. That was his girl out there.

She turned and the beefcake grabbed onto one firm cheek of her ass.Astounded, she turned back, laid both hands on his formidable chest, and

shoved at him.

He didn’t seem fazed by the rebuff. Laughing like a lovable idiot, he yelled out his name to her and moved in for a closer encounter. What a prick.

Jonathan’s temper flared. How dare anyone touch his woman…his possession? He saw red. He shoved away from the table and it toppled, spraying booze on the banquette. He stormed out to the dance floor, forcing his way through the crowd by thrusting aside this dancer or that, until he could confront on the guy. He didn’t care how big he was, this guys was gonna pay. Now.

He tapped him on the shoulder, and the steroid-ridden drone turned with a question.

“Come outside,” Jonathan ordered through clenched teeth.“Hey, bro, what’s your problem?” He flexed his pecs in what he likely

thought was an intimidating fashion. Dream on, beefhead, I’m going to DESTROY you.

“That’s my woman you’re messing with. Outside! Now!” He poked the big man in the chest.

“Listen, we’re just havin’ a good time here. What’s up with you, anyway?” He was puzzled more than concerned. His mistake.

The people around the group paused and stared. Camille and Chloe had stopped, frozen in step.

“Move now, asshole.” Jonathan pulled on his tight white muscle top and ripped it, exposing the tight grouping of muscles beneath.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” The man raised a sausage sized middle finger and beckoned with it.

The two men stalked away, and Chloe shouted from behind, “No, Jonathan, whatever you’re thinking—don’t do it! This was nothing, nothing, I tell you! I don’t want you to hurt Wally, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He handed her a sardonic look. “Me? Hurt?” and followed his prey toward the Exit sign. Hurt – the woman didn’t know him well enough yet, but she’d soon see. He didn’t get hurt. Not since he was a kid. Just like he hadn’t cried either.

“Jonathan, no!” Chloe cried, grabbing at his arm. “No, please stop! He didn’t mean anything, it was just—“

“Just WHAT?” Jonathan jerked to a halt, and Chloe crashed into him. There was terror in her expression. Good, let her know what it meant to mess around

on him – she wouldn’t dare do it again. “Both of you laughing with him, you flirting like crazy, just itching to let him paw you and maul you,” he raged. “You’re mine. Mine, do you understand? No one else gets to touch you!”

She dared voice a timid disclaimer. “But we were only—““Shut up, Chloe. And get out of my way. I mean it, you little twit, get out of

my way!” He plowed through the heavy iron door and smashed it into the outer wall.

Excited spectators trailed in his wake—“Fight, fight!” some of them yelled, with relish.

Jonathan swept down to the ground and back up again. He clutched a two-foot length of lumber, discarded by workmen. He leaped on Wally from behind.

“No!” Chloe shrieked.But he was too far gone. It felt right to do this. THUNK.Jonathan swung the scrap of hardwood onto the back of Wally’s head, fast

and sure as a baseball bat. His victim, taken completely by surprise, had no chance of escape. Wally slumped bonelessly to the ground, and lay bloodied and unmoving.

* *

The outdoor light high above the door reflected a sheen of silver from Jonathan’s demented eyes. He stood over the unconscious body. He raised his weapon once again and Chloe moved like a viper . He’d kill Wally if he didn’t stop. Oh God, what if he was dead already?

“Stop it, stop it!” Chloe, grabbing hold of his arm and holding on like a wildcat, sobbed with terror. How had the gentlemanly Jonathan been taken over by this explosive madman?

Gradually Jonathan’s movements eased, his heavy panting slowed, his stare lost its frenetic gleam and regained a measure of sanity. He silently surveyed the group crowded in the doorway, glanced at the blocky security guard making his way toward the scene, looked down at her.

“Chloe?” he whispered.“Oh my God…You monster!” she shrieked. And ran.

Footsteps behind her. He chased her. Her heart thumped through her chest.In the distance, approaching sirens wailed their distress call. There was a

cab ahead, if she could reach it in time. She fumbled with the handle, but rammed himself against the door and held her.

“Wait, Chloe—wait, please!” he begged. “Don’t go, let me explain—!”“Get away from me!” she wailed, bitterly. “I want nothing to do with you,

you savage! I hope you’re thrown in jail!”She shoved him aside and forced her way into the cab.He forced himself into the back seat beside her. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. Please,

please forgive me.”She pushed away from him, and huddled against the opposite door. “You’d

be better to plead for Wally’s forgiveness,” she spat out. “How badly is he hurt? Surely someone called the police, and an ambulance?” A monster, a real monster – he’d transformed right in front of her and she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

“Hey, lady,” said her cabbie from the front, with obvious concern, “is everything okay back there? You wanna head back inside, find out what’s goin’ on?”

Jonathan drew a faltering breath and swiped one arm across his face, spattered with drops of Wally’s blood.

Red. The color of danger. The color of rage.Wally’s blood. Her thoughts were murky and swirling, coated with disgust. “Let’s go to your place and talk,” Jonathan suggested. “We’ll straighten out

the details there.”Chloe flung her scorn at him. “It’ll take a lot of straightening, with the mess

you’ve made. And I’m not impressed by anyone who doesn’t accept responsibility when they commit such a horrible crime. You need to talk with the authorities, Jonathan, now—before they come searching for you.”

“I agree, and I will. But I need to—I need to compose myself first, get some perspective. Come on, Chloe, something just snapped, and I lost control.” Leaning forward, he gave her address to the driver and asked him to hurry. Then he pulled out his cell and dialed a number.

She was separated from reality by what’d happened, but she picked up his dull murmur. After a bit, he closed the phone with a click and turned to her. “My lawyer,” he explained. “I told him what happened. He’ll go down to the

station and see what’s up, then he’ll call me back.”“A lawyer.” She laughed aloud, with irony. “A lawyer. Of course, I should’ve

known.”Silence reigned for the twenty minute ride to Chloe’s apartment. Chloe

crammed herself into the dark corner, a wounded animal seeking sanctuary.How had it all boiled down to this? Chaos and despair. Was Wally okay?

How badly had Jonathan hurt him? Was Camille okay without a lift? How had Jonathan turned into that monster?

The cab stopped at her apartment and Jonathan stuffed a handful of bills through the window, then helped Chloe out onto the curb. They dragged themselves up the steps and to the front door. Jonathan wordlessly held out his hand for her key, and she dug into her skirt pocket and gave it over.

The living room, with its softened lighting and warm décor and rich dark trim, had never seemed so cozy or inviting. Chloe kicked off her high-heeled boots just inside and padded across the wooden floor. She fell heavily into a wing chair.

Jonathan left her alone for a few minutes, disappearing into the bathroom. Maybe he’d figured how much she hated him right now.

The water ran, soft splashes echoed out and the rustle of the towel followed. Washing away the blood of his victim, apparently. Like Lady Macbeth: “Out, damned spot.”

He reappeared and moved close. “Can we talk now?” She was done. Too exhausted to care. She leaned her head back and closed

eyes gritty with the evening’s tears. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can say that I’d be interested in. But go ahead, if you must.”

He sank onto an ottoman, leaned forward to brace both elbows on his knees, and scrubbed at his damp face. “I’m truly sorry for everything that happened. When that punk kid started trying to get it on with you, I just—I saw red.” Red. The color of… “I went crazy, I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

She looked across at him, blank as a canvas. Inside she was on fire.Rage.She had seen too much in her life. It terrified her. She wanted to scream and

run from this new threat to her hard-won peaceful existence.Just when she’d thought it was safe…

She forced down the bile in her throat.“Do you believe me?” Was that actual regret in his expression?She shrugged. Slow movement came easier than speech.“I mean it, Chloe. I really—” The cell phone in his pocket rang, and he pulled

it free to answer.Another murmured conversation. The minutes dragged on. Outside a car

engine roared, squealed tires, honked a horn; a dog barked and was hushed. City noises. Reassuring noises. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much. Maybe the sun would rise tomorrow bringing another day full of sunshine and anticipation. But what was the anticipation for? Every day was colored with terror and she wasn’t sure she could keep up anymore. She wanted to switch off and disappear. She wanted to pretend the world wasn’t real and that she was somewhere else.

Floating in blackness, amongst the stars, dreaming of a real life.Jonathan clicked off his phone and put it away. “Tom—my lawyer—talked

with the police. Your—that—that bodybuilder type, from the club—he was taken to the hospital.”

“His name is Wally. Wally, damn it! How bad is it?” Her stiffened lips could barely form the words. She hated him right then, the violence he’d caused and the anger that was in him. Rage always spread like a disease and now it was a part of her too.

“A couple broken ribs, and a concussion. He’ll be at St. Mary’s for a few days, but doctors expect a full recovery.”

“And you? What happens to you?”He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. Plainly Jonathan, control freak

extraordinaire, was out of his league. He hated—hated—having to depend on others. “Uh—Tom is working that out,” he mumbled. “Of course, it’ll be easier on me if this Wally guy doesn’t press charges.”

Her eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t he press charges? After what you did to him, why on earth wouldn’t—oh.” Realization hit and she thudded into reality – the slow kid at the party. “Money. You’re going to buy him off, aren’t you?” She grimaced. “And the police, too? Can you really do that?”

“Oh, Chloe, Chloe.” Jonathan shook his head with mock regret. “Haven’t you learned yet that, if you have enough money, you can get away with almost anything? And I have enough money.”

She grated out of the chair, its springs squeaking in protest. She padded to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then stormed to the window. She glared out, seeing nothing.

Jonathan moved to stand behind her, and rested a hand on her shoulder. The street had settled into serene quiet, with window box flowers wafting out sweet fragrance, and moonlight painting everything in pearl-white.

He lifted her hair, bent his head, and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. Unable to restrain a shiver—desire and fear combined —Chloe shifted position, and he smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “We’ll just forget this happened,” he whispered, “and go on. Come here, Chloe. Come sit with me, where I can hold you.”

She was under his spell, again.Jonathan was schooled in taking advantage of any circumstance. But that

didn’t matter.She allowed him to lead her to the couch.Once again, she’d given in to a man, letting his stronger personality overrule

her principles. It would be right to kick Jonathan out, now, before she truly regretted it. But her weakness had her capitulating like a cream puff.

Jonathan stripped off his jacket and pulled away his tie.He settled Chloe into the curve of his left arm. He pressed his lips to her

temple, her cheek and then her throat. His lips explored her face, his fingers explored the curve of her shoulder and the curve of her breast.

She was a rag doll in his embrace, submissive and uncaring, while he worked to bring her back. She’d lived through this before, too many times to count, and she had learned to distance herself from it.

Float away on the stars, pretend for a minute that it wasn’t happening, and disappear. She’d cease to exist, hover above herself and watch him do what he wanted, impassively.

The psychologist had called it: depersonalization.He slipped his hand inside the sequined silk of her blouse and caressed the

flesh of her supple breasts. Her breath hitched, the heat rising from his body next to hers was too much. Her muscles quivered slightly, and the evocative tip of her breast puckered up tight.

Jonathan groaned and slid his right leg up over her thighs, pressing his own hardness roughly against her. He was alive. She could sense it in him – the

passion and his needs. She couldn’t respond.He nibbled at her ear and her jaw and her bared collarbone. Love-bites, he

would’ve labeled them. Except he left marks of his wicked teeth, and bruises. Tears gathered along her lashes and overflowed, oozing down her cheek. The front door slammed open and overhead lights snapped on.“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Camille. She stopped

dead in the living room’s entrance, legs spread, every inch a female Colossus of Rhodes. Her strands of blonde hair stood on end, she was haloed with rage.

Jonathan pulled away. He took several long moments to rearrange his clothing around his arousal. Then he rose and answered with dignity. “I brought Chloe home.” His chin lifted with disdain. “I was taking care of her.”

“The hell you were!” snorted Camille. “That kind of care she doesn’t need!”He glanced from her to Chloe, and she didn’t meet his gaze. She was limp,

sprawled on the couch. Cool air played across her breasts and bare legs. She was cheap. Used by him. Discarded.

“I think you’d better leave now,” gritted Camille.“And I think you take too much on yourself,” he informed her. “As far as I

know, this is Chloe’s apartment. You’re here under sufferance; you’re merely a renter.”

Camille clomped forward within striking range. Hands on her hips, eyes spouting fire and brimstone, she snarled, “Our arrangement is none of your goddamned business. Now get your ass out of here before I call the police.”

“Goodnight, Chloe,” he said smoothly. “I’ll see you in a couple days.” Taking up his jacket and stuffing his tie into a pants pocket, he gave a slight bow in Camille’s direction and took off.

Camille shut the door and double-secured every lock. She planted her back against the paneled wood. “Chloe?” she said then, gently. “Oh, Chloe, honey.” Camille knelt beside her and took both cold hands in her own. “What happened?”

Chloe blinked slowly and searched her friend’s face. “Cam. You got home okay.”

“Of course I did. I’m no babe in the woods, I can get around this town without any problems.” She deliberately downplayed her indignation at being left abandoned in a crush of good-timers, Chloe could tell. “The cops had to talk with some of us who were witnesses, and I had to leave my name and

address in case anything else came up. After that I hopped a cab back here…to find that—that mad dog mauling you.”

Chloe shifted sideways on the couch and flung one arm across her face. She stifled a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”

“Of course you didn’t. Good God, who would expect the man to go berserk on you and half-kill one of the guests? How is he, by the way, that Wally?”

Hiccoughing a little, Chloe explained Jonathan’s phone call and the encouraging news from the hospital.

“Oh, sure, money will get him off,” said Camille bitterly, rocking back on her heels. “That always seems to work, doesn’t it? Listen kid, you look like hell. Why don’t you go take a long hot shower and get into your robe? Then we can talk some more, after you’re comfortable.”

Good idea. “Yes. I’d like that. Thank you, Cam. Thank you for being such a good friend.”

“I’m always here for you, Chloe.” Then she was off on another thought: “That bastard. How the hell will you be able to go to work on Monday morning and face him?”

Chloe stared into the distance. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just don’t know.”

* * * *

End of Preview

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