of weirdos, but a stalker? Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Normal, handsome, successful men hadn’t been beating down her door. Why not a strange, obsessive stranger instead?
She’d taken her radio name, Dr. Lillian Devine, to protect her reputation as an academic, but it also served another purpose-protecting her privacy. Now, whoever was stalking her probably knew that Rachel Merrill, Ph. D and associate professor of anthropology at Providence University, and Dr. Lillian Devine, radio sex therapist, were one and the same.
She’d always known there was risk that her double life might be revealed. And when Trevor Ross had offered her a syndicated radio show, she’d initially refused. But the money had been too good to pass up. Her life as Lillian Devine could fund more research for Dr. Rachel Merrill, and provide her some of the comforts that a college professor’s salary couldn’t.
So, every weekend, on Saturday and Sunday night between ten p.m. and one a.m., she hosted a nationally syndicated call-in show and answered any question posed regarding sexual behaviors, fetishes, obsessions, addictions and frustrations. Though she possessed a Ph.D in psychology, Rachel’s primary focus had always been more in tune with biology or anthropology-the study of human sexual behaviors. As an expert, she provided her listeners with keen insight into their problems. Last ratings period, her show had become the number four rated syndicated radio show nationwide, a jump of seven spots from the previous quarter.
But now, that popularity came with a price that far outweighed the benefit. She was living like a hunted animal, always looking over her shoulder, frightened of what or who might be waiting in the dark. The police were trying to find the stalker, but they had few leads.
Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door of the SUV and jumped out. As she walked toward the elevator, she turned back to set the alarm on the truck. It was then that she noticed the shadowy figure approaching from her right.
“Miss Merrill?”
Rachel picked up her pace and when she reached the elevator, frantically pushed the button again and again, hoping that the door would open and she could escape. She wanted to scream, but her adrenaline was pumping so hard, her throat seemed to close. As the stalker got closer, she knew a decision was at hand. Spinning around, she aimed her pepper spray at his head and pushed the nozzle.
Funny enough, her first reaction to his face wasn’t fear. Instead, she was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Stalkers weren’t supposed to be handsome. Or well-dressed. He held out his hand, as if to stop her, but a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed her.
He saw the spray coming and he raised his hand just in time to block the stream. But the pepper spray had the desired effect. Just the smell made him cough and sputter and his eyes began to water. Cursing, he bent over at the waist, tugging his jacket up over his mouth and nose.
The bell for the elevator door sounded and Rachel dropped the pepper spray and rushed inside. Just as the door closed, he called her name again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone.”
“I work for Trevor Ross,” the man shouted, adding a string of curses to the statement. “He sent me.”
The door shut and the elevator began to silently rise. Rachel’s pulse pounded in her ears and her breath came in quick gasps, but she felt as if she were outside her body. Slowly, her mind began to work again and confusion replaced the panic that had overwhelmed her.
He had been dressed much nicer than the average stalker, although she didn’t know exactly what the fashionable stalker wore these days. She imagined a hooded sweatshirt and grubby clothes, not a tailored sport jacket and finely pressed trousers. And his dark hair wasn’t shaggy and unkempt but neatly trimmed.
If Trevor Ross had sent the man, what was he doing skulking about in the garage? And how had he gotten inside? She needed some answers. So when she reached her floor, she pushed the button for the garage and the elevator slowly descended. When she got back to the garage, Rachel found him squatting against a pillar, his cheeks wet from tears, his head tipped back. He’d tossed his jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Who are you?” she demanded, snatching up her pepper spray and aiming it at him again.
“My name is Declan Quinn,” he said, squinting up at her. “I run Quinn Security and Investigations. Trevor Ross has our firm on retainer.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve been called in to provide you with personal security. There was a death threat made last night during your radio show. Ross thought I might be able to convince you to accept round-the-clock security. Your security detail was supposed to call you and let you know I’d be waiting here.”
Her stomach roiled. “A-a death threat. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he replied.
Rachel wasn’t sure what to do. The guy looked trustworthy. And he did seem to know the specifics of her situation. “Let me see your badge,” she demanded, her voice shaking.
“I don’t carry a badge. I’m not a cop.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A tear trickled down his cheek and traced a path along his strong jawline. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “Here. Call Trevor Ross. His number is on my speed dial. He’ll explain everything.”
She hesitated. If he was working for her boss, then she’d just made a very big mistake. “Why did you come after me?” she asked.
“I was trying to introduce myself.”
With a soft oath, Rachel tossed the pepper spray aside and stepped closer. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the elevator, the fumes from the pepper spray burning at her own eyes. “You shouldn’t have startled me,” she scolded. “I’m really jumpy lately. And you came out of the dark. What was I supposed to do?”
“You did the right thing,” he admitted.
She stopped short. “I did?”
He nodded. “Your first duty was to protect yourself. And you did.”
They got inside the elevator and he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Rachel pulled her jacket up over her mouth and nose and observed him silently, taking her first good look at the man. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in his handsome features, the dark hair casually mussed, the straight nose and strong jaw. Her gaze came to a stop at his mouth and a shiver skittered down her spine.
How could she have ever thought this guy was a stalker? A man as gorgeous as him would have to beat women off with a stick, not chase them around in the dark. She wondered what color his eyes were. It didn’t really matter. Regardless of the color, they’d just make him more attractive. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He glanced over at her, his eyes narrow slits, then shook his head. “You hit me in the chest and the hands. I have to get these clothes off. And it’s burning my hands. But if you’re going to count on pepper spray as a defense, we’ll need to improve your aim.”
When the door opened on her floor, Rachel stepped out and the man followed her down the hall, his hand resting on her shoulder. His fingers were warm and gentle and when they slipped down to rest at the small of her back, Rachel felt herself go weak in the knees.
Such a simple, innocent touch shouldn’t have affected her so strongly. Perhaps it was all the adrenaline pumping through her body that heightened every sensation. Every nerve in her body tingled and she found herself fantasizing about all the other places he might touch her body.
He’d introduced himself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. In all the excitement, she’d completely lost her ability to think clearly. Quinn. That was it! But was it his first name or his last?
When they got inside, he gave the apartment a cursory glance. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes,” he murmured. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Rachel pointed to the hallway on the other side of the living room. “Down that hall, last door on the left.” She watched him retreat. She could count on two fingers the handsome men who’d wandered into her life over the past couple of years. Not that she’d been actively looking for a relationship, but she hadn’t been “not” looking for a man. It wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. If her talk show had taught her anything it was that there was a match out there for everyone. But then spraying a guy with pepper spray didn’t exactly create a great first impression.
She hurried down the hall and stood outside the bathroom door. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do you have any cooking oil?” he asked through the door.
“I think so.” Rachel frowned as she headed to the kitchen. If he’d asked her for cottage cheese she would have felt obliged to provide it. After retrieving a bottle of canola oil, she returned to the bathroom and rapped on the
