by Kylie Scott
I don’t know where the stranger had been hiding. In between the parked cars, maybe. But all of a sudden he was barreling toward me. He was thin, but tall, wearing a baggy T-shirt, chinos, and a faded baseball cap pulled down low.
In an instant, Ziggy was there, quickly side stepping. He placed himself between us.
“I just…” the man started.
“Step back,” said Ziggy, hands out in front, ready to hold this guy back. “Move away.”
“What’s your reaction to the gruesome parcels delivered to your apartment, Mae?” he pressed on, running straight into Ziggy’s hands. It didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Have the police got any suspects?”
Over at the gate, the paparazzi were going nuts taking pictures of the altercation. I tried to keep my face down, but the jerk just kept shouting questions at me. His voice was so loud and demanding it was jarring. And the colors on his cap were weirdly familiar. Faded, but familiar.
“You’re trespassing. You need to leave.” Ziggy walked the man back a step. Then he reached into his pocket and used the key fob to unlock the car. “Miss Cooper, get into the car, please.”
No wonder the colors were familiar, they were from my ex’s football team. Orange and blue. And the tissue paper in the boxes had been a kind of orange color too. Neither Ziggy nor the detective had wanted to commit given the bloody state of the paper, but I was certain. The man pushed forward, ramming Ziggy with his elbow. “I just want to talk to her.”
“Who are you?” I snapped. Plenty of journalists had wanted to talk to me over the years. But this level of animosity was something new. “Who do you work for?”
Lip curled, he sneered, “Come on, Mae, have a heart.”
All of a sudden, one hell of a bad feeling hit me. My stomach sunk through the ground. “You’re him. Oh my God. You sent those things. The hearts and…”
His face turned manic, the whites of his eyes huge.
“Ziggy, be careful,” I yelled. “It’s him.”
Immediately, the man upped his attempts to get at me. He and Ziggy tussled and fought. Then Ziggy grunted as there was a flash of metal. A blade was held aloft, clasped in the maniac’s hand, Ziggy’s fingers hard around his wrist. The whole scene was horrible and scary and happening so fast. With great force, Ziggy slammed his forehead into the other man’s face. Bone crunched and the man howled in pain. So much damn blood. It gushed out of his nose, covering his lips and chin. Next Ziggy smashed his knee into the man’s groin and he dropped toward the ground in an almighty rush.
Through it all, Ziggy had kept a stranglehold on the arm holding the knife. As the guy dropped, Ziggy grabbed his wrist with both hands, spun around and snapped the arm downwards. There was a crack as the man’s elbow met Ziggy’s shoulder and was forced into bending in the wrong direction. The knife clattered to the ground. Within a flash, Ziggy was on him. Now the guy’s wrist was bent in another way again, locked in between Ziggy’s legs and twisted around and down in an ugly manner. Ziggy pulled the hand inward and upward, making the guy’s full weight all hang from the back of his wrist. He screamed.
Ziggy nodded and relaxed his grip. “Sit,” he growled. “And if you ever want to use this wrist again in your lifetime, do not move so much as an inch.”
The man just moaned, curling on himself, his free hand trying to reach down to his damaged balls. It was over. Holy cow.
Meanwhile, I felt cold and weird for some reason. My heart hammered inside my chest and my knees turned to water. From the violence, maybe? Whatever. I didn’t have time for this. I had to do something to help. Paparazzi over at the gates shouted out questions and pushed and strained to get the best shot, but we all just ignored them. The whole situation seemed surreal. Like something out of a bad movie.
“Mae,” said Ziggy, looking up at me from his weird position atop the stalker. He actually looked weirdly relaxed, like he could sit there all day like that. “You did good, figuring it out. It’s okay now. Situation’s under control. Can you hear me?”
“Ah. Y-yes.”
“I need you.”
“You do? All right. What do I do?”
“You have to make some phone calls, okay? Can you do that for me, please, while I keep an eye on this piece of shit?”
“Sure.” I set my handbag on the ground, kneeling beside it. So much stuff. But my cell was definitely in here somewhere. “Right.”
Ziggy scowled. He took one hand off the wrist lock he had the guy in, and wiped it on his jacket in annoyance. It was slick with blood. Dripping with it. No sooner had he wiped his fingers off than thick red streams of blood coursed back down it.
My jaw fell open. “You’re bleeding. He cut you.”
“First rule of a knife fight. Someone’s gonna bleed.” Resigning himself to the fact that the hand wasn’t going to miraculously stop with the blood, he raised the arm up and pinned it between his neck and shoulder. Compression and elevation, I guess. His gaze returned to the moaning man beneath him. “I’m fine. Find your cell. Knowing your bag, if you start looking now it should only take an hour or two.”
“That’s not funny,” I snapped. “I’ll call an ambulance after I make whatever call you want me to make. The police first, right?”
“Police first. And I don’t need an ambulance. I can get myself to the hospital once this is dealt with.”
I pulled the cell out my handbag, bringing up Detective Ortega’s number. “Detective? This is Miss Mae Cooper. We were just attacked by a man with a knife. I think he’s the person who’s been sending the boxes, and Ziggy, my bodyguard, has him detained. Let me give you the address.”
“Good work,” said Ziggy once I finished the call. “Now I need you to call Sam, tell him we have a situation and need backup. Give him the address. Okay, Miss Cooper?”
“Got it.” I repeated the process, giving Sam the details and address. Ziggy kept his gaze moving between the guy on the ground and our general surroundings the whole time. “Sam is on his way.”
“Excellent. Good job.”
“You’re the one who did all the work.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Actually, I think we make a good team.”
My smile was a weak tremulous thing.
“Now I want you to get in the vehicle, lock the doors, and remain in there until we’ve got more people on scene, okay?”
“No.” I picked up my handbag and got back onto my feet. Though I retrieved a silk scarf out of it first. “Let me see the cut.”
“Stay back please.” Ziggy gave me his best I’m-very-serious-about-this eyes. “Do not come any closer.”
“Give me your arm.”
“Mae, it’s not that bad and I need you safe. Don’t worry about it.”
“Blood is dripping off your fingers. Stop playing the tough guy and let me stop the bleeding before your arm falls off or something.”
He just looked at me.
“I’m not going anywhere until you let me see it.”
With a sigh, he held out the damaged limb. The knife had slashed through the suit and shirt, the cut a good hand’s length at least. Whoa. Lots of blood. I wrapped the scarf around the wound, firmly but not too firm. At any rate, it seemed to be about the right amount of pressure to slow down the flow of red stuff. It’d been a number of years since I’d completed my first aid course at summer camp so I could only hope I’d done it right.
“It needs stitches. Doesn’t seem to be too deep, but it’s probably going to scar.” I carefully tied off the knot. “However, that scarf’s new season Chanel. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re all better in an hour or two.”
“Magical designer wear, huh?” He half smiled. So pretty. Made my heart beat hard for a whole new reason.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Lena ran toward me across the parking lot, followed fast by Zane.
“Oh my God.” His eyes went wide at the sight of the man lying on the ground.
Guess the asshole took his failure to stab me pretty hard since h
e’d started crying. Or maybe it was due to his broken nose and busted balls. Hard to say.
Zane pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully picked up the bloody knife. “I’m guessing this will be needed for evidence. Goodness gracious. Wish I’d seen the bodyguard take him down. Bet that was exciting.”
“He’s the one who sent you those boxes?” asked Lena.
“Probably,” I said. “It seems likely, doesn’t it?”
Lena just blinked. “Oh, boy. Check out his cap…”
“Yeah, I saw. Guess he’s a fanatic who thinks I broke the ex’s heart or something. Hence all of the symbolism of sending me the lumps of dead bloody meat.”
“Your ex sure does have some dedicated fans,” said Zane. “I wonder if you can sue him over this for emotional distress or something. You probably can, you know? Or at least, sell your story and give a really dramatic interview. I could coach you, it’d be great. What do you think?”
I sighed. What a day. “Dude…no.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time Detective Ortega arrived with a couple of uniformed officers to take our statements and drag our attacker away, a couple of hours had gone by. Sam, Adelaide, and Bon arrived to help deal with the press then Bon took Ziggy to the hospital to get his arm looked at while Sam and Adelaide escorted me home. It all happened with military-like precision. These people knew their business.
Not that I didn’t want to go to the hospital with Ziggy, but I wasn’t really given the option. Sam firmly told me that my presence there would not be a good idea. Understandable. Calls and text messages were blowing up my phone all evening and well into the night. (Apart from letting Mom know I was okay, I ignored them.) If I’d gone with him to the hospital then there’d have been a media storm there which would not have been cool. The man needed his arm stitched up, not to have the spotlight thrust on him yet again.
So I’d gone home, taken off my make-up, and changed into some sweat pants and a battered “The Cure” T-shirt that hadn’t seen better days since the previous century. It was my comfort clothing.
By this time, I felt reasonably mentally fortified enough to check out the situation on my cell. And what a clusterfuck it was. Video of the attack and Ziggy taking down the asshole had already gone viral. The thought of how close he’d come to being seriously injured kind of made me want to hurl.
“Interesting use of a head butt,” said Sam, sitting on the couch opposite me with a cup of coffee in one hand and his cell in the other. God knows how many times he’d watched the footage.
Adelaide had remained downstairs in the lobby keeping an eye on the paparazzi out by the front door.
“Best get this to our lawyer in case the idiot tries for excessive force,” he muttered, more to himself than me.
“Does that happen often?”
He gave me a small smile. “No, not often. And not when there’s so much clear footage of the incident. He clearly came at you with a knife. There’s no way a judge would fall for it.”
“I don’t want Ziggy getting into trouble because of me.” I cradled my bottle of beer in two hands, huddled in the corner of the couch. “He’s already been hurt.”
“Miss Cooper, you didn’t bring any of this on yourself. Ziggy did his job and did it well,” said Sam. “Once the threat was dealt with, he waited calmly for the police to arrive and take charge of the scene. Nothing more.”
I nodded.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” I said, but I didn’t really believe it.
No idea when I fell asleep exactly. I’d told Sam I’d be fine if he wanted to head home, but he’d stayed. Turned out he was into old black and white movies. Or maybe that was just his sneaky bodyguard trick to distract shocked clients with something safe and familiar. If so, it worked. Half way through Casablanca or so was about the last thing I remembered. Now there were voices, neither of which belonged to Bogart or Bergman.
“…injured, but also you’re off the clock. Sure you should be here?” asked Sam.
“I’m fine,” answered Ziggy.
“Not talking about your arm. I saw how you were looking at her last night and today.”
Nothing from Ziggy.
“Figured you’d be coming by. That’s why I waited around, to have a word with you.”
“Regarding what?” asked Ziggy.
“You know it never works out, getting involved with a client. You’ve seen that before. We both have.”
Oh, boy.
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Ziggy cleared his throat. “You should go. Martha will be wondering where you are.”
“She knows where I am. That’s the thing about relationships…making them work is complicated. Takes a lot of effort,” said Sam. “And if you’re not committed to putting in serious effort, don’t go there at all. Especially for someone you’ve known for what…a couple of days? Easy enough for a guy like you to find some company for the night without doing potential damage to my business and your reputation.”
Ziggy sighed.
“She seems like a good woman.”
“She is and I hear what you’re saying, all right?”
“Right then,” said Sam. “Good work today.”
The front door clicked quietly closed.
Footsteps moved toward me, the couch shifting slightly with his weight as he sat. “You should be in bed.” His voice was quiet, contemplative. “You’re not going to get a decent sleep on the couch.”
I slowly opened my eyes and stretched. “Hey. How’d you do at the hospital?”
“Fine. Why aren’t you in bed instead of crashing out here?”
“You’re not the boss of me.” I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face. Odds were I looked like roadkill, but whatever. “Show me your arm.”
He angled his body slightly, displaying the white bandage peeking out from beneath the edge of his black tee and going down almost to his elbow. The suit and so on were gone. Guess his clothes had been stained with blood. Now he wore jeans and sneakers. A much more relaxed look though every bit as hot as the suits. “Eighteen stitches. Not much to see.”
“That’s a lot of stitches.”
“And I didn’t even cry once.”
“You’re such a tough guy.”
“That’s why you pay me.” He rose to his feet, keeping his gaze averted. “Okay, Miss Cooper. You’ve seen my owie. Time for you to get to bed and for me to go home.”
“Where is home, you never said?”
And apparently he wasn’t going to say now, either. Right. Privacy and all that. Professionalism. It was important. I didn’t need personal details about this man no matter how much I might like to have them. Today, the lines had gotten a little blurred. But it was time to put them firmly back in place. Boundaries mattered.
I got to my feet, noting how much smaller I seemed standing next to his bulk. Weird. Yet my heart felt about a billion times bigger and heavier than normal. Maybe I was coming down with the flu. It was as good an excuse as any. A love sickness of some sort seemed the most likely. Stupid me. “Ziggy, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry you got hurt today because of me. And thank you for stopping him. I’d probably be deceased right now if you hadn’t been there.”
A nod.
This was good. This was for the best. Him being distant and professional. Me not being a hot mess. On the outside at least. It would be best for everyone concerned if this thing between us never got started. That would be the adult, smart thing to do.
“Sam said Adelaide would be available to take over for the next few days,” I said. “So you can have some time off.”
“I told him that wouldn’t be necessary.”
“I, um, I think it is a good idea.” So many feelings. It hurt to hold them all inside.
“Respectfully, Miss Cooper, I do not need time off.” He sounded stern times a thousand. Ziggy Thayer was an unhappy boy indeed. “I am more than capable of continuing to do my job.”
“I’ve
made up my mind,” I said, turning my back on him. Dammit. My bottom lip had turned traitor and started to tremble. My eyes were welling with tears. Not helpful at all. I blinked furiously, forcing it all back down.
“May I ask why?”
“Why?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Why the hell do you think?” What an idiotic specimen of the male species. Seriously. I spun back around with a frown in place. “Because you got hurt today. Because of me.”
His gaze narrowed. “Are you crying?”
“No.” I wiped away a tear with the back of my hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can go now.”
“I’m not leaving you when you’re upset.”
“Well, I’m not going to stop being upset until you leave.”
He raised a brow. “Guess we’ve got a problem then.”
“You’re serious? Seriously? You’re refusing to leave?”
“That’s right.”
“Enough. I’m done.” Give me strength. I pointed my finger at him in a very hostile manner. “You, Ziggy Thayer, are frustrating and annoying and confusing and I don’t like you very much right now so you should leave and not come back for several days.”
“That so?”
“Yes, I…stop questioning everything.”
“How else am I going to find things out?”
I looked to heaven. Then I crossed my arms over my chest because even the flimsiest of defenses was better than nothing. “What things exactly do you need to find out? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Good night.”
He cocked his head, leveling me with that stare.
“What?”
“You’re allowed to ask questions and I’m not?”
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “How much blood exactly did you lose because honestly you’re kind of acting crazy?”
“Yeah, I know. You should probably make a complaint about me. Want me to fetch your cell so you can call Sam?”
“You think I won’t?”