Twisted Lies: A Fake Dating Romance

My warning instincts from earlier clanged louder the closer I got to the cafe, and they curdled into dread when I arrived to find Brock puking his guts out in the bathroom.

There was no Stella in sight.

He managed to outline the basics of what happened before he went back to heaving over the toilet.

I didn’t bother interrogating him further. Every second counted, and he was in no shape to stand, much less speak.

Instead, I went straight to the counter, my blood like ice water in my veins, and demanded to see the security footage from the past two hours.

Five minutes of splutters and tedious protests later, the cafe manager pulled up said footage in his cramped back office.

My heart thrummed as I watched the grainy scenes play out onscreen.

Stella and Brock entered. They placed an order at the counter and sat at separate tables before her family arrived.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I felt a pinprick of pride at the way she took control of the conversation. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could read their body language.

After her family left, Brock approached her again, but his steps were shakier than when he’d entered. He and Stella had a quick exchange before he rushed off to the bathroom. A minute later, she stood and swayed then sat back down. Her face was pale, and she looked like she was having trouble breathing.

My knuckles turned white against the back of the manager’s chair.

Someone had to have drugged her. That was the simplest, most plausible explanation.

The urge to step inside the screen and comfort her, then pulverize the bastard who’d done that to her, overwhelmed me.

Stella stood again and stumbled toward the door. She was right by the exit, and she only made it a few feet before someone came up behind her.

My senses went on high alert.

I stared at the figure. Tall, baseball cap, dark jacket.

They paused by the exit, then left at the same time.

I couldn’t see the full scope of what happened due to the angle, but the way the figure’s shoulders shifted, the jacket in the middle of summer, the careful way he kept his face turned away from the camera…

He had a gun. I was sure of it.

I was also sure I’d seen that jacket before.

My pulse roared with lethal certainty.

“Rewind the tape,” I ordered. “Stop.”

The video paused where Stella and Brock placed their orders. The same figure stood next to them at the counter. He paid for his drink in cash and drummed his fingers until Brock turned his back to say something to Stella.

What happened next took only a few seconds.

A casual reach inside his jacket, a quick tap of what looked like two tiny packets into Stella’s and Brock’s mugs, and a return to drinking his coffee.

He was fast.

He’d also slipped up.

When he turned his head to face forward again, I caught a glimpse of his profile. I’d seen it before during two separate background checks.

Motherfucker.

All the pieces clicked into place.

How he got into the Mirage. Why there had been no evidence of him leaving the building. His connection to Stella.

I didn’t bother thanking the manager or getting Brock, who was still incapacitated in the bathroom.

Instead, I sent out a code black to the company along with the stalker’s name and instructions to find him and Stella as soon as possible.

Reserved for extreme emergencies, the code black alert recalled all agents in the area for a new assignment.

I had never once used it until now.

If the stalker had been smart enough to evade detection this long, he was smart enough not to turn on his cell phone or use his personal car.

Still, we had the information necessary to track him down.

I only hoped that, when we did, it wasn’t too late.