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When the woman didn’t look convinced, Parker added, “I can protect us. I have pepper spray.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, her hesitation obvious.
“Have you ever gotten a face full of pepper spray? We’ll be safe enough. Just give me one minute.” Parker went to the small doorway that separated Monarch’s and the bookstore, Titles. “Hey, Cara?”
“Yes?” the small brunette said as she hurried toward Parker.
“I’m walking a customer to her car. No one’s in the store and I’ve locked the register, but keep an eye on the coffeehouse a moment, would you?”
“Sure,” Cara said. “Is there a problem?”
“No. I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a jumpy customer.”
“Okay. But if you’re not back here in ten minutes, I’m dialing 911.”
“Thanks.”
Parker returned to the woman. “I’ve got my pepper spray and someone to watch the store. We’re good to go.”
“You’re sure?” the woman asked again.
“Positive.”
“I’m just across the street,” she said.
They walked out onto the sidewalk.
Parker squinted her eyes, trying to see across the street and behind the tree bordering the Perry Square park that the woman had mentioned.
She spotted a shadow.
“Straight ahead?” she asked.
“Yes. Behind that big tree,” the woman whispered. “My car’s just in front of it—the little Tracker.”
“Let’s go.”
They walked across the street to the car. Parker waited patiently while the woman unlocked the Tracker’s door and climbed in.
“Thanks,” she said.
“No problem. Hope to see you at Monarch’s again soon.”
The woman shut the door, and Parker stepped back so she could pull out.
Rather than go directly back into the store, she walked into the park.
The paths were lit, but the tree where she thought she’d seen a shadow was far enough away that it was hard to make out if anyone was behind it.
Something moved. Just a flicker.
She was pretty sure it was a man.
As she neared, he tried to fade farther into the night.
She stopped on the path.
Parker had always thought the women in horror films were dolts. She’d sit on her couch watching and thinking, Don’t go down to the basement, you idiot.
She didn’t need someone telling her not to stray off the path. She knew she should go back into the store. But her curiosity won over common sense. She felt a spurt of empathy for those horror-flick chicks who always needed to know what was at the bottom of the stairs, even if it meant they were the next to get axed.
The man was almost invisible in the shadows, but she knew he was there. And she was pretty sure she was right about who he was.
Gripping the pepper spray in case she was wrong, she said, “Uncle Jace?”
There was a slight rustling, as if he was trying to sink into the shadows.
“I know you’re there, Uncle Jace. Coffee, black. A niece and nephew. You’re fond of dark clothes and dark looks.”
A bit more rustling.
“If you don’t come out, I’m going to call 911 on my cell, then stand here and point you out to the cops. It’s handy having a police station as a neighbor. They all come into Monarch’s for their coffee, so I’m pretty sure they’ll believe me when I swear you’re stalking me. And I suspect I know why you’re stalking me. He put you up to it, didn’t he?”
It was a stab in the dark, but Parker knew she was right. That same feeling was deep in her gut. Her father had hired someone to watch her…again.
That’s why Uncle Jace had looked familiar.
That’s why he was out here in the dark, watching her in the store.
He was her father’s paid flunky.
Maybe she did have a touch of second sight, because she was certain she was right. For the last few weeks she’d occasionally had that old feeling that someone was watching her. She’d tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination spurred on by her father’s renewed efforts to get her to come home. But maybe she’d been right after all.
“Okay, I’m getting out my phone,” she called.
He didn’t just step out of the shadows, he sort of materialized.
“What are you babbling about?” he asked.
Despite the fact she’d been expecting him, Parker jumped.
She tried to hide her nervousness by going on the offensive. “Babbling? I don’t babble. Ever. What does he have you looking for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said.
There was enough light on the edge of the path for her to be reminded of how knee-weakeningly good-looking the man was. Dark and—here in the park at night—dangerous even. He was every woman’s fantasy.
Every woman but Parker Dillon.
If Uncle Jace was working for her father, he wasn’t her fantasy—he was her nightmare.
“Sure you do, Uncle Jace. My father. You’re one of his thugs. Don’t deny it. It’s an insult to my intelligence. The reason you looked familiar to me yesterday was because I have seen you. I just figured out where. At the hockey game last week. You and the kids were there. Are they really your niece and nephew or just kids my father hired to give you cover?”
“They’re real, all right. And I would never use them for cover. They’re getting their summertime kicks out of following me around. I doubt you’d have spotted me if it wasn’t for them.”
Parker looked at the intense man. Even in the dark, he was a sight to behold. “I don’t think you’re the kind of man who fades into the woodwork real well.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” he asked, a devilish smile on his face.
“Take it however you want, then tell me why you’re following me.”
“Sorry. No can do.”
“Fine, then I’m calling the cops and telling them I have a stalker.”
“Hey, whatever makes you happy.” He shrugged and looked rather nonchalant about the idea.
“Nothing about this makes me happy,” she stated as she marched back up the path to the street.
She could hear her stalker behind her.
Not that she cared.
Let him follow her all he wanted.
He might not have admitted it, but Parker was sure that her father was behind this.
She was going back to the coffeehouse and calling home. She’d tell her father to call his watchdog off or else she’d disappear, go into hiding somewhere he’d never find her.
She hated to threaten her father, but he’d gone too far this time.
Sending Tanner—her unwanted supposed fiancé—after her was one thing, but siccing a spy on her was another thing entirely.
Stalker Boy took a couple quick steps and was next to her. “Just what are you up to now?”
“Don’t you worry about it. Just know you’re about to be out of a job.”
“I’m not worried about my job.”
“Aha! You just admitted it.”
“I didn’t admit it was your father.”
“You don’t have to admit it was him, I know it was him. I won’t be followed. I had enough of that growing up.”
That old feeling of panic threaded through her system and Parker fought to tamp it back down. This was just a flunky, not the press. He didn’t have a camera, just a great deal of dark looks.
“Princess—”
Whatever else he planned to say was lost as Parker stopped dead in her tracks and stood toe-to-toe with him. “Don’t ever, ever, call me that again. I’m no princess here. I’m Parker. Just Parker Dillon. An ordinary girl who’s just trying to get by.”
“Even if you weren’t a princess, there would be nothing ordinary about you, Parker,” he said, his voice a caress.
For one moment, Parker felt the urge to touch him, just lightly run a finger down his stubbled chin. But that was insane.
She didn’t know anything about Uncle Jace other than he was her father’s watchdog and he was good to his niece and nephew.
And despite the fact he was following her, he didn’t know her or else he’d know she was ordinary. That’s all she ever wanted to be.
Normal.
Everyday.
The type of person no one noticed. Someone who warranted no headlines or tabloid attention.
She turned and hurried back into the shop, flipped the sign to Closed and started to slam the door, but Jace walked in and took a seat in one of the booths before she managed it.
She gave him her best withering look, then shut the door.
“Can I get a coffee?” he asked.
“No.”
Cara poked her head through the door. “You’re back.”
“Yeah,” Parker practically growled.
Cara looked concerned. “Problems?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
After all, she’d been handling her father and his overbearing protectiveness for years. She’d handle this new tactic.
“Who is he?” Cara asked.
“Uncle Jace,” Parker scoffed.
When Cara looked confused, Parker added, “Not my uncle. He’s a henchman my father hired to watch me.”
“Oh, no. I thought your father had learned his lesson after what happened to the last man he hired to trail you. Poor Hoffman.”
“He obviously didn’t learn enough.” But he was going to.
“But Hoffman certainly did,” Cara said with a giggle.
“What happened to Hoffman?” Jace asked.
Cara’s giggles escalated. “You don’t want to know. You’re probably next, and it wouldn’t be kind to make you worry needlessly, because worry or not, she’d get you.”
