“I’ll send you the bill.”
I tried to smile, but it made my jaw hurt. Glancing around the room, I saw a stack of white facecloths. “Can I borrow one of your little towels?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll bring it back later.”
“No problem, kiddo.”
I walked out to the studio and found the catering table. At one end, tubs of crushed ice held cans of soft drinks and bottles of water. Grabbing a handful of ice, I wrapped it up in the towel and hurried back to my dressing room. I would need to ice my jaw for the next hour while I researched the book for my upcoming segment. I just hoped the ice wouldn’t ruin my makeup.
“And right there, that makes you an idiot,” I muttered. The fact that I was more worried about my makeup than my swollen, bruised jaw? Yup, that was crazy.
But I refused to be too hard on myself. It was only my second day in show business. I wasn’t about to quit now. Once in my dressing room, I dumped my computer bag onto the desk, then rifled through my purse to find some ibuprofen. I took three pills with a big gulp of water and sat on the couch, pressing the makeshift ice bag to my jaw. The initial chill was a shock but it wore off quickly and the ice began to numb my jaw, easing the pain.
I reached for my phone and pushed Derek’s number, turning on the speaker so I wouldn’t have to hold it next to my ear. He answered on the first ring.
“Darling Brooklyn, what a nice surprise.”
“Hi, Derek. I just wanted to—”
“Something’s wrong. What happened? Are you all right?”
I frowned at the phone. “How can you tell something’s wrong?”
“Your voice is subdued,” he explained, “and you’re never subdued. Are you hurt? Is somebody dead? Where are you?”
“I’m at the studio. Nobody’s dead. There was a man in the parking lot. He wanted the book. He was a jerk. I’m okay, but he hurt Benny. It was pretty bad.”
“He hurt you, too.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I’ll be fine.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Wait. You don’t have to rush. I just wanted to let you know what happened.”
“You’re hurt,” he said simply. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“I love you, Derek.”
“Dear God, Brooklyn. I love you, too. I’ll hurry.”
He ended the call. Derek wasn’t used to hearing me tell him I loved him over the phone in the middle of the day. His reaction was a little frantic, and Derek, the epitome of cool and calm, never sounded frantic.
“He must think I’m dying,” I said aloud, and sighed. I’d finally gotten used to saying those three little words to him, but it had taken a while. I didn’t always trust my feelings because in the past I’d had a tendency to fall in and out of love a lot. Usually with inappropriate men, like my adorable and very gay friend, Ian.
In the beginning, I’d figured Derek was inappropriate, too. To start, his home was in London, so he was geographically inappropriate, to say the least. And his life was so different from mine. Derek had served in the Royal Navy as a commander before going to work with Britain’s Military Intelligence. After a number of years, he left the government to open his own private security company. He had been in dangerous, deadly situations all over the world, while I had been raised in a peaceful, artistic commune in Sonoma County in northern California.
We had met under difficult circumstances when Abraham was killed and I was considered the number-one suspect. Derek had stayed close by my side throughout the ordeal, which would have been terribly romantic except for one little detail: he thought I was a murderer.
I met up with him again in Scotland when I attended the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Unfortunately, other murders occurred during the festival, but this time Derek knew I was innocent. Nevertheless, when we said good-bye, I never expected to see him again.
Then, out of the blue, or so it seemed, he returned to San Francisco and ended up opening a branch office of his security company there. And then he moved in with me. And never moved out.
I was growing more and more used to the fact that he was indeed my one true love.
I looked up and realized I’d left my dressing room door wide open. I got up and crossed to close it, but first took a quick look down the hall.
“Brooklyn! There you are.” Randolph came bounding down the hall and stopped in front of my doorway. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, touching my jaw with one careful finger. “It’s still a little tender.”
“Can I come in?”
“I guess so.” More questions, I figured. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve jumped at the chance to chat with Randolph. Given my usual nosiness, I should’ve been itching to ask him about his stalker. But my curiosity had been tempered by the attack of the vicious stranger.
I sat back down on the turquoise sofa, but Randolph continued to stand.
“What’s up, Randolph?”