Page 1 of Denial
PROLOGUE
Alice
Being chasedby an unknown man with a hood pulled tight over his head isn’t my ideal activity for a Monday morning.
Chasedmay be a strong word for the loud clip of footsteps trailing me, but this asshole’s pace forces me to walk faster, and these blue-heeled boots werenotmade for running. As if the weekend ending isn’t awful enough, now I have to pencil confronting some psychopath into my schedule.
Before I’ve had a single cup of coffee.
The people milling about this stretch of road injects me with enough bravery to spin around. My loose black curls fan behind me. A bite enters my normally pleasing tone as we both come to an abrupt halt.
“Why are you following me?”
His shifty eyes dance about my face, not committing to one place for too long. “I want to talk to you.”
He loosens his black hoodie from his cheeks. The material is an odd choice for the Arizona heat. Despite the early hour, it’s nearing ninety degrees and only going to get hotter.
“I don’t know who you are.”
“Jake. My name’s Jake Lanighan. I’ve been trying to reach you about coming on my podcast?—”
“No.”
The muscles in my neck tighten, and I turn around like I’ve got a rod stuck up my ass. His simple sentence is enough confirmation of who he is. Or more importantly, what he wants. And I want no part of it.
“Wait! Please, Miss Thompson. I’ve been trying to reach you for some time.”
I don’t stop walking. “Don’t you think my lack of response is an answer?”
He coughs awkwardly, easily keeping up with my short strides. Another day that my prayer for long, toned legs goes unanswered.
I sigh—both at his persistence and my five-foot-two stature.
“I thought maybe I landed in your spam folder.”
“Fifteen times?”
“You weren’t responding.”
“So stalking me was your next course of action?”
I weave around two women gabbing on the sidewalk while sipping to-go cups and tamp down the spike of jealousy at their seemingly normal morning. I have half a mind to pretend I know them just to get this guy off my back.
“I wouldn’t call it stalking.”
I dig out my cell phone. “Let’s find out what the police say, shall we?”
“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry.” He waves both his hands at me with his palms out as if that’s supposed to make this encounter less threatening. “Don’t call the cops. I just wanted to make sure you got my invite to do a show, and I didn’t think you’d return my phone calls.”
The admission to having my number tightens my grip around my phone clutched in my hand. “Got the invite. Not interested.”
“You’re one of our most requested guests this year. The Phoenix Fraudsters captured not only the state, but the entire nation. Your brother’s deception landed him behind bars while his accomplices roam free on an unfair technicality. Then he kidnapped his own kids?—"
A swift fury negates any concerns for my own safety. A painful jolt lances through my gut, nearly taking me to my knees. I whirl around again, finger aimed at his face.
“What you’re describing as entertainment is my life, motherfucker. Have some compassion and stop looking at traumatized people as a way to boost your ratings.” I shove my trembling hands into my pockets and storm away.
“I have millions of listeners! You could be famous!” he calls after me.
