“I’m sorry about Judith and all of it. I really am. But I don’t have anything to do with this.”
“Yes, you do. You’re seeing Bart.”
“Not anymore. We broke up. We only dated a few times.” Celia folded her arms. “And anyway, how do you even know that?”
“I was at the event Bart attended. He was there, and he was bragging to someone about dating a big-name reporter. A reporter named Celia Brockwell,” he sighed a little at the changed name.
“Yeah, we were seeing each other then. But we aren’t now.”
“Are you sure? I saw your picture in the news, at the gala. He didn’t look like he was ready to give you up.”
Celia didn’t answer, but her father’s observation caught her off guard. How could he tell from a picture?
“Let me guess, he’s still pursuing you.”
Celia laughed. “I have it under control.”
“I’m not sure you do. The more Judith pulled away from him, the harder he pushed. And it wasn’t love. He was angry.”
She hated to admit it, but her father’s words concerned her. Bart as an annoying pest was one thing. Bart as a man who had a pattern of not letting go was another. And Bart as—what—a murderer? That was laughable. He might have been angry about his wife, but Bart was too much of a coward to do something like that.
“Look,” Celia said, rising and sitting on the desk again, “Bart is a pain in the ass, and he’s been stubborn. But he’s all bark and no bite. I’ve seen his kind before. His ego is bruised, but as soon as some hot paralegal catches his eye, he’ll be on to his next conquest.”
“Celia—”
“No. I’m sorry. I get that you’re worried, and I can tell you feel bad about everything. But you don’t get to try to protect me. You lost that right.”
Stewart closed his eyes. “I know. I know you have every right to feel that way. I was selfish and stupid. I wish I’d never...” He looked at Celia. “I’m just telling you to be careful. And whether you hate me or not, please let me know if you need help. I gave your secretary my number.” He stood and looked around again. “I guess I should go.”
Celia didn’t move as he walked out of the office. She heard him say goodbye to Gladys as he closed her door. “I don’t hate you,” Celia said before she turned back to her work.
Chapter 15
Celia was late for her appointment with Natasha. When she noticed Bart’s car across from her townhouse, she altered her route, crossing and turning until Bart was no longer following. She certainly didn’t want him knowing where she was headed. She was still receiving texts from strange numbers, so she had accepted the fact that changing her number was her next step. Keith could tell something was bothering her as they walked down the hallway, but he didn’t ask.
“I was wondering about you,” Natasha said when Celia walked into Room 4. “I thought maybe I scared you off last time.”
“I’m sorry, I had some traffic issues. I’ll be ready to go in just a moment.”
Natasha watched Celia set up her recorder and turn to a blank page in her notebook. She didn’t comment on Celia’s clumsiness or her obvious tension.
“Okay, I’m ready. How are you?”
“Strangely enough, for a death row inmate, I think I’m better than you are today,” Natasha said, smiling.
“Oh, I just hate being late,” Celia replied.
“Really? I can’t remember a time when there has been a traffic jam of people waiting to visit the prison.” Natasha leaned forward. “So what really happened? Late night with a new suitor?”
“Hell no,” Celia said a little too tersely. “Sorry, but men are the last thing I want to think about.”
“Let me guess,” Natasha said. “Your Bart is not giving up so easily.”
Celia looked up sharply. “Why would you think that?”
“Even in black and white, I could see the... determination in him. People’s body language betrays a lot. It was obvious he was more into you than you were into him.”
“Is this a common skill among actors?”
“Not so much the acting, but my own skill development. You might have deduced that I am not inherently social. I’ve never been given to sappy emotion or sugary sympathy. Learning how to read people and assess situations was necessary for life and acting.”
“I can understand that. I was a weird kid growing up, and I learned how to be like my peers over time. I still can’t stand chatty small talk and effusive displays.”
“Exactly. Which is why a clinger like your Bart would be especially annoying. I’m assuming he’s bothering you.”
Celia hesitated. The purpose of these interviews was to get Natasha’s story, not share details of her own life. Still, Natasha was pragmatic, and she had experience with the persistence of the press. That wasn’t too much different from Bart’s antics. “He’s annoying as hell.”
“I assume you’ve blocked him, avoided taking calls, and made it clear that it’s over.”
“Yes. He’s still finding ways to be a pest, though. Texts from other numbers, new email addresses. I saw his car this morning and took a longer route to the prison. I didn’t intend to be late.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “He’s an ass, and you’re going to have to get tougher. Change your number. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but file a report.”
“A report of what? A bad breakup?”
“You told him to cease. He isn’t ceasing. He is circumventing your attempts to stop contact. And he’s following you. You have plenty to put into a report.”
Celia shook her head. “This is ridiculous. He’s just a guy with a hurt ego.”
“Look, Celia,” Natasha said. “I am not an empathetic person by nature, and I don’t worry about things. But I was in the public eye long enough to know that stalking is not something to ignore.
