01 Only Fear Page 7

  “Fearmonger is just what he sounds like. He lives for other people’s fears. He exploits them. He uses their fears to bring their lives new meaning. He’s also suspected of murder.”

  Maggie pushed aside her breathlessness. There was no time for panic now. Had everyone been keeping this from her? Something this huge about the man who had broken into her home? “And did you? Kill someone?”

  “Now that would be absurd of me to confess, wouldn’t it? Especially on the radio, for all to hear. But I believe it was more like three someones—according to the Chicago PD, that is. As for me, I’m happy being Owen. Let’s just say Fearmonger and I both know a lot about fear.”

  “So you said yesterday.”

  The voice hardened. “And you still doubt me?” There was a significant pause. “Even after last night?”

  Ignore the pain. Focus on breathing in and out. In and out. She pictured her heart beating wildly, then gradually changed the mental picture until her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. “No. I don’t doubt you believe you’re an expert on fear.” And he seemed fearless. He was basically confessing to breaking and entering—and hinting at a whole heck of a lot more—on public radio. But everyone feared something. She’d just have to figure out what made Fearmonger afraid.

  Stay calm. Make him the angry one. Maybe he’ll reveal something more.

  “Is that why you identify with this Fearmaker person?”

  “Fearmonger,” he snapped. “An apropos euphemism, I suppose. I do seek fear. I study it. I create it. So trust me, Maggie, when I say I know fear. The look in a human’s eyes just before their life is snuffed out like a candle is proof enough that fear is the basic component of life. Without it, we cease to exist.”

  The pressure in her chest threatened to crush her lungs, but Maggie was too stunned to give in to the panic. Owen spoke as if he indeed knew what those last moments were like. But then, he tended to be melodramatic. Perhaps he was yanking her chain. She cleared her throat, determined not to let the man have control. She began to ask him more, but David signaled to her that Owen, or Fearmonger, had hung up. Damn.

  “I think it’s time for a short break,” Maggie said into the microphone.

  As the beginning jingle of a commercial sounded, she whipped off her headphones and rocked back in her chair, looking toward the production booth.

  Her heart stopped. Standing in the doorway, scowling through the glass window so hard she thought his jaw would break, was Ethan Townsend. David and Sharon both leaped to attention as Ethan barked something to them, then waited as they left the room quickly. The entire time, his eyes were on Maggie.

  He turned the knob and entered her domain. Becca followed him in, her nervous glance meeting Maggie’s as she peered around Ethan’s towering form. Anger seemed to simmer in the air around him as he took a few steps farther into the small room, bringing him within two feet of her. It was then that she noticed his clothing wasn’t dark, as she’d originally thought, but wet. His hands were on his hips, causing his shirt to cling to his shoulders and biceps. His hair gleamed like polished mahogany as water dripped down the sides of his face. The storm had finally broken free of the heat’s powerful grip.

  Ethan continued to scowl at her, but spoke over his shoulder. “What were you thinking,” he asked Becca, “letting her poke this guy with a stick?”

  “Well, I—” Becca began, only to be cut off again with a raised hand.

  “Save it. It’s my fault. I knew you were a rookie. You can go.”

  Behind Ethan, Becca flushed red to the roots of her platinum hair, turned on her heel and left.

  “Are you insane?” Ethan asked once they were alone. Water drops at his hairline collided together and formed a rivulet that traveled down his chiseled jaw before making the six-foot drop to the floor.

  “You’re wet.” Maggie almost winced. What an inane thing to say. Still, her blood pumped harder at the thought he had hurried through the rain to her side. She licked her suddenly dry lips and the heat in his eyes seemed to flare in response. But then, it could have been her imagination. The man was, after all, furious with her.

  “Yeah, wet tends to happen when it’s raining outside and someone has to haul ass through the rain to stop someone else from doing something stupid.” He waved a hand around in the air as he spoke. “Excuse me. I mean to keep someone from continuing to do something stupid. Something that could get her killed. So, I repeat. Are. You. Insane.”

  “Not clinically, no.” She crossed her arms to stifle the urge to reach out and shove him. Or maybe she was trying to resist the urge to brush off the drops of water that still clung to his eyebrows.

  “If you’re not insane, then you must be—”

  She raised a hand to stop him, gritting her teeth together. “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Stupid. I’m not stupid.”

  “Reckless, then. The very thing we discussed earlier today. How to protect yourself from a stalker.”

  “Yes, exactly. A stalker. Not a serial killer.”

  “They’re both dangerous.” He dragged long fingers over his face, dislodging the water droplets she’d been eyeing. “Damn it, Maggie, if this wasn’t stupid, it definitely wasn’t smart.”

  She matched his angry glare as she stood toe-to-toe with him. “Yes, we discussed personal security earlier, but there are some things you left out of our little chat, aren’t there? Some things that might have been helpful to know.”

  Something flashed in his green eyes, all the more vibrant and dangerous in the low light of her sound booth. “I told you what you needed to know.”

  “According to you. Perhaps you didn’t think it important for me to know that my stalker—the guy who broke into my house, bypassing my alarm code—is a serial killer?” Her voice raised to a fever pitch as David shuffled back into the production booth, looking warily through the glass from one to the other of them.

  “Commercial break is about to end,” he warned through the intercom before moving back to his seat.

  “I have to get back on the air. But this isn’t over.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped. “No, it damn well isn’t.” He paused and dropped his hands from his hips to his sides, fisting them. Maggie thought maybe he was going to reach out and touch her, but then he swore and spun on his heel.

  She tossed a final comment over her shoulder as she sat back down. “And you owe Becca an apology.” The poor woman had been near tears when she’d left.

  She scowled as Ethan walked out of the room, muttering something under his breath before he closed the door behind him. She could have sworn he’d said, “Therapists.” And not in a good way.

  “Overbearing jerk,” she mumbled to herself before pulling the microphone in place. But even as she said it, she knew he’d been concerned. And why not? Her safety was his job, she reminded herself. She was nothing more that that. Any sizzles of attraction she’d imagined between them were better left to fizzle out.

  There was one good thing about their argument, however, and that was that he’d made her forget her panic. His anger had fed her own, and she hadn’t had time to focus on the ache that had begun to build in her chest as she talked to Owen. Or Fearmonger.

  That she could get angry was, in itself, a miracle. She’d spent so much time being afraid. Then, with the anniversary of her brother’s death and Owen—or whoever he was—stepping into her life, the fear had reared its ugly head again. Ethan helped her diffuse it.

  Or at least gave her an alternate target for her anger.

  “Welcome back,” she said, forcing her attention to her show. “We’ve been discussing depression tonight, and we’ve heard one person’s views on fear. Shame on you, Owen, for trying to scare us.” She conjured a good-natured chuckle. “He’s trying to prove his point.”

  Sharon, Becca and David had returned and were now crowded into the production area. Still, Ethan’s anger seemed to fill up every empty space.

  “But Owen’
s wrong,” she said to her listeners as her gaze held Ethan’s. “We don’t thrive on fear. Perhaps animals do, but humans are beyond that. Yes, fear is the basis for many other emotions. Anxiety, for instance, can be thought of as the fear that something will or won’t happen. Or that we won’t be able to survive some perceived disaster in our life. But as humans, we have the power to find ways to cope with this, and to master our fears. Owen’s view is not the only view. Some people thrive on fear. Others thrive on love.”

  As she closed out the show, her inner thoughts kept flashing back to Owen. She’d be damned if she was going to let him win. Been there, done that. She would not be a victim again.

  The ending music swelled and Maggie pulled off her headphones and made her way to the production booth. “Good show,” David said, as he always did, and he quickly squeezed past everyone, making himself scarce as he disappeared across the hall to the break room. Sharon left close on his heels. She gave Maggie a wry smile before hustling away.

  “Nice job,” Becca said, but the spark of excitement had been extinguished. Ethan had obviously chastised her. Maggie felt sorry for the energetic, carefree woman who’d accompanied her that night. She wondered if she’d get that inner fire back under Ethan Townsend’s grave tutelage.

  “I’ll escort Dr. Levine home,” he said, glancing around as if unable to meet Becca’s eyes. Perhaps he felt bad about his earlier rebuke, after all. “I’ll touch base with you later.”

  Becca nodded and, with a small, halfhearted smile for Maggie, she left the two of them alone.

  “I really can get myself home.” She went back to her chair, gathering her notes and stuffing them in her satchel.

  “Do you have a car?”

  She’d forgotten about that. Becca had driven her here. She huffed out a breath. “No. Guess you got me there.”

  He reached out and took her arm, his touch surprisingly gentle as he turned her to face him. “I’m just trying to do my job. Keep you safe.”

  The air fairly crackled with his sense of chivalry and she sighed. How could a woman refuse when a handsome man wished to guard her with his life?

  “Let’s get going, then. It’s been a long day.”

  He walked her out and, for once, she didn’t feel the need to constantly survey the parking lot. Her bodyguard did that enough for the both of them. He kept a hand at her elbow, his heat at her side. Though she was taller than the average woman, his large frame made her feel almost dainty.

  Earlier, the daytime temperature had risen high enough that now, even after the relief of the brief but intense rain and the cover of dark, steam rose from the puddles left on the ground, reflecting orange in the glow of the parking lot lamps. The smell of rain still permeated the thick air, increasing the feeling of intimacy surrounding them. And yet, she knew next to nothing about the man to whom she was entrusting her life.

  “You were Secret Service before, right?”

  At her quiet question, his head whipped around to face her. It was a moment before he answered, returning his attention to their surroundings as they approached his car. “Yes.”

  A man of few words. They were usually the most interesting type, and a challenge this particular mental health professional couldn’t resist. She prodded him. “Why did you leave?”

  He opened the passenger door of his car and motioned for her to get in. She waited until he was settled in the driver’s seat beside her, but he still didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road, away from her.

  Maggie liked to see a client’s eyes when they spoke. That was one thing she missed now that she was on the radio. Nonverbal cues provided a valuable subtext to the words one spoke. Still, he wasn’t her client. She didn’t really have the right to pry, though something urged her on.

  “Is it too painful?”

  He shot her a grin that took her by surprise and made her mouth go dry. “You don’t give up, do you? Like a pit bull.”

  “I’ve heard more flattering analogies, but no, I don’t give up.” Her voice softened. “Not when it’s evident there’s something there, under the surface, that needs to come out.”

  His jaw clenched, the easy grin gone now. Perhaps she’d pushed too far. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Doctor.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. We don’t have enough time,” she added, arching a brow at him.

  His short laugh surprised them both. “No, you probably don’t.” His smile died away again as he looked straight ahead. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it, though.”

  “I can respect that,” she murmured, her heart going out to him as he nodded briefly. The therapist in her longed to help him. And so did the woman in her.

  As her home was illuminated by his headlights, the dread inside Maggie grew. She’d angered Owen again tonight. What price would she pay this time?

  Ethan seemed to read her thoughts. “Noah’s had an unmarked police car patrolling the neighborhood all evening.”

  She shot him a grateful glance. “That was thoughtful.”

  He shrugged. “Fearmonger seems to be targeting you. You’re our best bet for catching him.”

  Ouch. So she wasn’t the center of everyone’s world. She knew that. How indelicate of him to point it out, though. In this whole insane mess, she was well aware that her pride mattered little.

  He walked her to her door and waited as she disengaged the alarm, then turned on the inside lights. She froze, unable to go any further. But Ethan was already stepping past her with a quick hand signal to wait there for him. He took his gun from its shoulder holster and held it with both hands. And then he was gone.

  Several moments had passed when she heard a thump, followed by a crash as something shattered within the depths of her house. A groan and a muffled curse met her ears. Worried, she took a step into the small foyer.

  “Ethan?” As her breath caught in her chest, Maggie forced air into her lungs and mentally counted to avoid giving in to panic.

  “It’s okay,” he finally called.

  She’d only had to count to five. She blew the breath out when he reappeared in front of her, holstering his weapon.

  “All clear.” He grimaced. “But you’ll need a new bedroom lamp. Maybe I was wrong about enlisting Sigmund as an attack cat. He jumped out at me from under the bed and wrapped his claws around my ankle. Surprised the hell out of me.”

  “He’s been through a lot.” Her words retained a tremor of the fear she’d felt.

  Ethan’s gaze was piercing as he examined her face, probably noting her paleness. He reached out and laid a palm against her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing the corner of her mouth. She trembled under his delicate touch. “So have you. But you’re okay now.”

  She caught a whiff of laundry detergent along with Ethan’s masculine scent, no doubt heightened by the humid night air and the dampness of his clothes. Thinking of the dampness reminded her that this man had run through the rain to get to her earlier. Because he’d been concerned for her safety. She felt herself leaning forward, as if drawn by some unseen force. Her gaze flickered to meet his, and she sensed a war being waged within.

  “It’s okay. You can kiss me,” she whispered.

  He stilled, his palm warm against her cheek as she brought her arms around his waist and held on, feeling his muscles bunch and tense beneath the wet shirt at her fingertips. She imagined the warm skin that lay there, just under the thin cotton fabric.

  Her words hung in the sudden quiet for several long seconds before she felt his exhale of breath against her face. “I can’t.” A look of regret clouded the dark green depths of his eyes and he dropped his hand from her cheek. She removed her hands as well and took a step back, struggling to hide her disappointment.

  “I can’t,” he repeated, his voice thick. “It’s not…”

  God, he was going to make stupid excuses that she didn’t want to hear. She forced a smile. “No problem. I understand. This is, after all, a job.”

  “You’ve been through so much
.” She couldn’t stand the softness in his voice. The understanding. The pity.

  She stood by the door with her hand on the knob, both dreading the moment he would leave her in this house alone, and welcoming it so she could recover from her embarrassment. She’d practically lain down at his feet. But then, Ethan was a sexy man. He was probably used to stepping over women who threw themselves at him.

  And there was always the possibility someone waited at home for him. But he had the appearance of a loner. No, she doubted this man had anyone with whom to share his burdens.

  “Noah and I are just a couple quick phone calls away.”

  She swallowed and avoided his gaze. “Okay, then.”

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, and again she had the uncomfortable feeling he was reading her thoughts. “Noah’s got an officer stationed in a car across the street. Get some sleep. We both could use some. Neither of us is operating on all thrusters.” Great. Now he was making excuses for her behavior. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.” He turned to go.

  “What about Becca?”

  “She’ll be otherwise engaged.”

  Poor girl. She was trying so hard to impress Ethan and Damian. And it really hadn’t been her fault that Maggie had provoked Owen. “It wasn’t her idea for me to engage Owen in conversation. She didn’t expect any trouble. And there wasn’t any.”

  He had crossed the threshold of the door and turned back. At her words in Becca’s defense, he shook his head. His whole demeanor seemed to darken somehow. “But you couldn’t have known that. Usually the worst harm comes when you least expect it.” The shadow that seemed to pass over his face mingled with the night’s true darkness as he turned. He walked across the porch, calling back over his shoulder, “Set the alarm.”

  She closed the door behind him and took a split second to compose herself, to shake off her reaction to the raw pain she’d seen in his expression. Exactly what had happened to Ethan Townsend? She made a mental note to find out.

  Sigmund wove between her legs, meowing his standard greeting. At least she wasn’t completely alone. A small voice, one that had been growing louder in recent weeks, told her that living for her job and her beloved pet wouldn’t be good enough.