Chapter Four
Allison plowed through the sand, angling up toward the lights of the parking lot. All she could think was that she needed to escape from that jerk, Birch Miller. How dare he reel her in with his kindness, his openness, and his attractiveness and then slam her down because she was an actress? Most people revered actors and actresses. Not that they always should, she knew many in her industry were corrupt, immoral liars, but she also knew many who were fabulous people trying to succeed at the art they loved, and it wasn’t an easy career to succeed at.
Dang him all to heck. Obviously by his intense and almost horrified reaction, Birch had been wounded by an actress. It still was completely out of line for him to judge her because of her profession and it ticked her off. His rejection hurt. It shouldn’t hurt as she hardly knew him, but she’d really been liking what she’d been discovering about him. He seemed like a man with integrity. Someone she could like and respect. How wrong she’d been.
As she was steps away from the dark trees near the parking lot, a man leapt in front of her. She screamed in surprise. He was wearing a black face mask, and a baseball cap slung low. All she could make out in the dim lighting was that he was tall and had blue eyes.
The guy she’d seen walking last night. She scrambled backwards.
“Have you been wondering who’s been writing you all those notes?” he asked, his voice muffled with the mask.
Allison’s stomach dropped. He was her stalker. The Sticky Notes Stalker had never confronted any of his victims, at least to her knowledge.
Had he followed her from her apartment? How many times? She looked around, hoping someone was nearby. How far away was Birch? Could he hear her if she screamed?
“Help!” she hollered, turning and sprinting back toward the water and the spot she’d last seen Birch. She may not like the actress-hater, but she instinctively knew he’d protect her.
The sand seemed to be grasping at her feet, dragging her down. Her heart thudded out of control and she couldn’t breathe. The footsteps pounding behind her seemed to ring through her head like a gong slamming into a bell.
She yanked out her phone as she ran and held it up to her face. Pressing the button for Siri, she yelled, “Call 911.”
The man plowed into her from behind. Allison cried out as his weight drove her face-first into the sand. The phone flew out of her hand.
“Help,” she screamed. “Help!”
The man pushed her into the sand with his heavy body. She squirmed and tried to hit at him, but she couldn’t budge him.
“You think you’re so high and mighty not doing any intimate scenes.” His hot breath on her cheek made her want to vomit. “I’ll teach you how to perform for the camera.”
“No!” Allison screamed. “Help! Please somebody help!”
“Hey!” a loud voice roared from down the beach.
The guy shifted his weight off of her. Allison scrambled out from under him, leapt to her feet, and kicked him in the stomach. He groaned in pain, pushed up to his feet, and took off running for the parking lot.
Allison bent forward, clutching her own rolling stomach, revolted, disoriented, and terrified. She was still reeling that the famous stalker had revealed himself and tried to hurt her.
A large shadow raced past her and after the man. “You okay?” Birch called to her.
She couldn’t answer but she waved him on. All she wanted was to have him catch that guy, have this nightmare be over. She scooped her phone up and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?” the operator called.
“Help,” Allison gasped. “I’m on the beach. Um, just down from Monarch Bay Drive. A guy attacked me.”
The operator assured her someone was on their way. Allison didn’t want to talk or listen anymore. She left the call open in case they could trace her exact location like she’d heard somewhere and clicked on her message app, sharing her location with Detective Jones and texting him that she’d been attacked. She slipped the phone back in her pocket and against every instinct, she forced herself to follow Birch. She yearned to stay far away from the disgusting guy who’d attacked her, but she had to see for herself that he was caught.
A motor gunned in the parking lot and she jumped. She worked her way that direction but within seconds she saw Birch running back toward her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his face filled with concern.
She couldn’t lie and say she was okay. “Did you get him?”
Now his face morphed into frustration. “No. I had him, but he had a knife.” He turned slightly and she gasped as she saw his shirt sliced open and blood staining the grey material.
“Birch!” she screamed.
“I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “It’s superficial, but it surprised me enough for him to slip away, get in a car, and drive off. I chased after him and got the license plate at least.”
Her eyes widened. “You fought with this guy, he stabbed you, and you still chased him on foot and got the license plate?” She wrapped her arms around him, careful not to touch his wound. “You’re my hero!”
For one brief moment he relaxed against her. His arms came around her lower back and he tugged her in tight, holding her close and resting his face against her hair. Allison felt warm, happy, safe, treasured. She felt like she’d found her paradise. She sighed and curled into him, clinging to the broad, wondrous muscles of his back. He was her hero, a tough, appealing hero at that.