Page 50 of Angel

She sighs. “I was hoping it was well, someone special.”

“Me too, Brandy.”

I reach for the coffee, my mind all over the place, and attempt to shift into gear. I’ll hold off reporting this until I see Angel. I’m hoping he has some news concerning this stalker shit. If not, I’ll have to go to the police. This is getting seriously creepy now.

* * *

The day passes with no visit and I’m increasingly worried. I can’t relax, wondering if the stalker is nearby—Angel, even. I mess up my lines several times, causing the director to roll his eyes and take me aside for a private word.

I reassure him that I’m merely tired after the gala last night and I hate the disappointment on his face as he sends me to my dressing room to take an hour.

I hate to let them down, and as I head to the room, a sense of failure walks with me. This is seriously affecting me now and in not telling anyone, they merely think I’m unprofessional. That shit could stick and I must deal with it before my career is affected.

I close the door behind me and jump when a soft voice whispers, “Did Frankie send you?”

I relax and whisper, “No, Clinton did.”

I turn and my heart races when I see him, sitting in my chair, leaning forward, his arms resting on his legs. The usual mask covers his face, and he wears the bandana wrapped around his head, his eyes burning with power but disappointingly brown.

My heart sinks a little, and his voice is husky as he whispers,

“You have made contact with Jason Prince; the rest is up to you.”

I breathe, “Thank you.”

“The flowers.” He points to the bouquet.

“They were sent from a florist on Rodeo Drive. The owner has never met the person because they order via the phone and are paid for by a company credit card, CJ Holdings. I checked; the company registered under that name belongs to a man named Ian Kincaid. He resides in the Bahamas and hasn’t been to LA in three years.”

I swallow hard as he shifts back in his seat.

“We are checking out if it was an employee of his.”

“But how does he add the card? I mean, surely the florist would pick up on the wording.”

“We checked on the delivery method. He sends a private cab; the driver receives the envelope in the mail and adds it to the bouquet. He doesn’t know the sender. It is in the mailbox before the company opens. Payment is always in cash.”

“Then we watch the mailbox. He must come at night.”

“He uses street kids. There’s a network of them who deliver stuff; drugs, notes, packages etc. It’s almost impossible to trace where they are from and they wouldn’t tell even if they know through fear of reprisals.”

He shakes his head. “It’s brutal on the streets. These kids are paid well to keep their mouths shut. If they speak, the consequences are either deadly or life changing. Your stalker is aware of how things work and it may buy him some time, but we will find him, no doubt about that.”

“What if he finds me first?”

I am seriously worried now.

“You are under our protection, Sophie. Don’t go anywhere alone and now you are working with Jason Prince; do everything he says. I believe you are to move in with him today. Take advantage of his security. It’s the best there is.”

He stands and I swallow hard because Angel, whichever one they send, is seriously impressive. It’s as if they fill the room, sucking the air out of it and replacing it with menace. He moves to the door and I say quickly, “What happens next?”

“You get some rest.”

He says nothing, not another glance in my direction as he leaves the room and I wonder how he evades detection. This studio has security measures in place. There are cameras and people everywhere and yet I’m almost positive that if I asked, nobody would have seen him.

I close the door after him and lock it for good measure. The bouquet mocks me from the table and as my thoughts turn to the stalker; I crush my fear of him. I am protected. I will not let him win, and with a determination that gets me through this shit every day, I focus my mind on work instead and lose myself in my character. Ditching my real one as I learn the lines of a script that is way less unbelievable than my own.

CHAPTER 20