Hot Property (Hot Zone 4)

“Most of my mail goes the standard route. But even though I’m unlisted, it’s not too hard to find out where someone in the public eye lives. This guy’s been sending me stuff all season.”

“At your home?” she asked.

He nodded. “You brought up a letter the other day,” he admitted. “But that wasn’t the worst of it.” He twisted his head from side to side, obviously aggravated.

She propped her hands on her hips. “I think you need to elaborate.”

He groaned. “Besides the standard letters, I’ve gotten a bobblehead doll with a knife in its shoulder. And then today’s package was something else.”

“A knife in its shoulder?” she asked, her voice rising. “And it was a bobblehead doll of you?”

“Calm down.” He stepped toward her, placing a hand on her arm.

Not likely, she thought, a chill sweeping through her body. “What was in today’s package?” she asked.

“Forget it. It’s just some crazy fan. Fanatical. Get it? It comes with the territory of playing in the majors and getting the big bucks.”

She raised an eyebrow at him in question. Did he really think he could gloss over this? “Oh, no. You aren’t getting away with avoiding my question. What was in the package?”

He lowered his hand from her arm and met her gaze. “Dog shit with a note saying You Stink. At least I think it was from a dog,” he muttered, not wanting to contemplate that thought too deeply.

She winced, both nauseated and horrified at the same time. “You have got to be kidding me! That is the most disgusting, scary thing I’ve ever heard. This guy is nuts!”

“It’s a fan, remember? Just let it go.”

“I remember Uncle Spencer telling me about the time a tennis player was stabbed during a championship match. You can’t brush this off. Did you report it to the police?”

He rolled his eyes. “Now, that would be over-reacting.”

She scowled at him. “Then did you mention it to someone at the Hot Zone? Did you tell Yank about the bobblehead? Of course not,” she answered for him.

“Since you already know the answer, why should I bother answering the question?” he said, laughing at her.

She wasn’t fooled at his attempt to change the subject. “First thing tomorrow I’m going to have all your mail forwarded to the Hot Zone. We’ll make sure you get your bills and things that are safe as soon as possible.”

He inclined his head. “Not a problem.”

She blinked, startled by his easy agreement. “Oh.”

“I’m not a glutton for punishment. I should have done that from the beginning. It’s more of a mental drain than any kind of real threat. But thank you. Good idea.”

“You’re welcome.” She exhaled hard.

“So how about we just go to dinner?” he asked.

“Sounds like a plan.” Dinner wasn’t the only thing on her agenda.

Now there was more than just his family eating away at him. He also had this nutty fan whose so-called gifts were just sick, and getting worse. Amy didn’t want them to get dangerous. At this point, she was more sure than ever that she had to get Roper out of town.

With or without his consent.

CONSIDERING BEN HAD DEIGNED to show up, dinner had been surprisingly pleasant, Roper thought. There had been no talk of the televised pilot his mother kept turning down or Roper’s career skid. Instead Harrison Smith had led the discussion, getting to know Roper, Amy and Ben, and essentially ignoring the diva at the table. By the end of the meal, Cassandra was sulking, proving to Roper that the man had his mother wrapped around his finger. She claimed not to want the attention, but she didn’t want to be ignored, either.

Roper silently applauded the man’s ability to get under his mother’s skin. No man had done that during Roper’s lifetime.

Harrison was busy with the waiter, placing his dessert order. “The lady and I will both have crème brûlée,” he said, placing his hand over Cassandra’s.

Cassandra slid her hand from his. “I’d prefer the tropical sorbet. I have to watch my waistline,” she said, becoming animated for the first time all evening.