Page 43 of Guarding the Star

“He sent a package of photos to the club facilities. Photos of her entering a private home.”

“We know. The club director informed us. They're taken from outside, not inside. We need him to cross a line. Direct contact, presence on private property, an explicit threat. Something a judge can't ignore, given how high-profile Iris Vance is.”

“So we're waiting for him to attack her?” I snap, louder than I should.

“We're doing everything the law allows, Paula. And we'll keep doing it.”

I hang up. I know she's right, but I can't hear it. The coffee is ice cold. I drink it anyway.

***

I tell Iris after practice. No filter. I'd rather not soften it. I let her see everything. She sits next to me on the bed, scrolling through the photos in silence.

“That's the coffee shop on the corner,” she says, pointing at one. “I've been going there every Wednesday for years.”

“I know.”

“He knows too,” she sighs.

She keeps scrolling. Stops on one in particular: the one taken of her walking into Zoe's house the night she took care of Wesley.

“He was there,” she murmurs. “That night. While I was singing to Wesley. While I was rocking him to sleep. He was out there. Taking pictures.”

“Yes. But I was there too. If he'd crossed the gate, he'd have at least a restraining order right now. Or he'd be in the hospital, and I'd be dealing with legal problems. I'm not sure which,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

Iris closes the laptop. Very slow.

“What's his name?”

“Derek Linden. Twenty-six. Graphic designer. Lives in Ballard.”

“That's close.”

“Eight blocks south.”

“That's disgusting,” she breathes, voice dropping. “He makes me sick.”

She goes quiet. Takes a deep breath and lets the air out slow.

“You know what the worst part is? I've spent my whole life wanting attention. Wanting people to see me. But this guy looks at me and doesn't see anything. He just sees a fantasy he made up, a version of me that doesn't exist, that he wants for himself. Show me his face.”

I show her the photo from the file. She goes quiet again, thinking.

“Can we go to his house?” she asks.

“No. Absolutely not,” I say before she finishes.

“Can I at least talk to him?”

“No.”

“Can I do anything other than wait until someday we can file for a restraining order?”

“If I could go scare him a little within the law, I'd have done it already,” I tell her. “And trust me, I can be very scary.”

“So we wait for him to cross a line. What line? Shows up at my door? Follows me to the grocery store? Does something to Wesley?”

“He's not getting near Wesley or anyone else. My firm is now monitoring his address around the clock. Alexandra Drummond's orders. If he leaves his house, we know. If he gets near the club, your apartment, Zoe's place, we know.”