“Scripts. More scripts. What the hell is all of that?” he yelled.

I gasped when I saw multiple 4x6 glossy pictures of Ryan and our stalker, Angelica, from the day that he posed with her in my pub. There were

also glossy pictures of Ryan alone; mostly side shots of him entering through the back door of the pub. The scariest of all the photos was a picture

of Ryan and me walking down the sidewalk. Angel had scribbled out my face with a black magic marker and drew a target on my chest. I almost

passed out at the table.

I flipped one of the pictures over and read the back.

I desperately separated all the pictures from the pile of mail. Ryan’s eyes grew wider and his face turned white. Each picture had a handwritten

message:

And the picture of me with the bullseye had three words written on the back…

Ryan’s face still showed his horror and his fingers were unsteady as he started to open up one of the boxes addressed to him. I heard him gasp

in shock again. Inside the box was a brown plush teddy bear that had a big gash down the front of its chest and some of the white stuffing was

sticking out. There was tape across the opening. The note inside the box read “I’m broken-hearted without you.”

The other boxes had the same handwriting on them. Ryan didn’t touch them. He shoved it all back into the garbage bag.

I was shaking but I still had my mental faculties. “Ryan, don’t throw any of that away. We’ll need all of that for court.”

In total there were four packages, seventeen pictures, three threatening letters, and nine greeting cards from her. She even included what

appeared to be drops of blood in one of the cards.

Ryan quickly called his manager. “David, I want private security immediately for Taryn. I want someone posted inside her business during

working hours and I want someone to escort her anywhere she has to go when I’m not with her. I’ll also be hiring a lawyer out here in Rhode Island.”

The only thing preventing us from both screaming was the knowledge that she was in police custody at that very moment.

The next morning, our schedule quickly shifted back to our normal routine, and I promised Ryan that I wouldn’t leave the building. I handed him a

to-go cup of coffee and kissed him goodbye in the hallway. Mike shielded Ryan as he climbed into the back seat of the car sent to deliver him

safely to the set, and the paparazzi were waiting to take his picture the minute he stepped out the door.

I was mentally preparing to open the pub back up for business and reviewing the precautions I needed to get in place before I unlocked the front

door. Despite all the terrifying circumstances from yesterday, I also had a top-secret birthday party to plan.

“Hi, is this Matt?” I asked hesitantly, staring at the piece of paper that contained the phone number I stole from Ryan’s cell.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” he replied.

“My name is Taryn. Taryn Mitchell. Do you know who I am?” I didn’t know if Ryan’s friends kept tabs on the news.

“No. Should I?” he asked defensively.

“How can I say this without you hanging up on me. Are you near a computer?”

“What?” Matt questioned.

“Do you have access to a computer?” I asked again.

“Yeah. I’m sitting in front of one. Why?” he asked.

“Please go on the Internet and search my name.” I spelled my full name for him so he’d get it right.

“Awe, come on! Can’t you people just leave him alone?” Matt groaned.

I knew by his response that he found me.

“Matt, please, just listen to me. It’s really Taryn Mitchell calling you. Your long time friend Ryan is living with me in Rhode Island.”

“Bullshit!” he replied.

“No, for real. I am telling you the truth.”

“I’m not convinced, but I’m glad to see Ry’s got a smoking-hot girlfriend.”

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I remembered a funny story Ryan told me about Matt. “Okay, how is this for convincing? Sitting under a car cover in his dad’s garage is a 2008

Shelby GT500, blue with silver stripes. You beg him every time you see him to let you drive it but he won’t let you because you have a habit of

flipping cars. You’re the only guy he knows that could flip their mom’s station wagon.”

“Hah!” He laughed out loud. “Is he there? Let me talk to him!”

“You believe me now?” I chuckled. “No, he’s not. He is on set.” I explained that I wanted him and Scott to come to the surprise party.

I called Kelly next. I needed a devious plan to get the entire cast to my place for Ryan’s birthday. She said she’d get word to the director through

Cal.

The last call I made, which I purposely saved for last, was to a lawyer in Providence.

“I have to be on set at that time, Honey, so you’ll have to go to the lawyer without me,” Ryan said when he called me at lunchtime. “Unless you

can change the appointment to another time when I can go?”

“No, that’s okay. I can go by myself. I’ll take care of it. The lawyer said that both of us don’t need to be there.”

“You won’t be going anywhere by yourself,” he stated with authority. “The Security Company is sending someone over now. They told me

somebody should be there this afternoon. I’ll see you tonight.”

A few moments later the pub doorbell rang. I ran downstairs expecting to find an older, father type bodyguard, but instead there was a FedEx

deliveryman at my door. He handed me a letter-size package addressed to Taryn L. Mitchell. It was from a bank in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

I tore open the zip tape; inside was another envelope that contained a new platinum credit card with Taryn L. Mitchell, Shell-B Enterprises

embossed on it. My face twisted in anger as I tossed the package onto the kitchen table. Ryan and I would definitely have a discussion about this

one when he got home.

It was almost two o’clock when my doorbell rang again. This time there was an unbelievably gorgeous young man standing at my door. He was

wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and silver-rimmed Oakley sunglasses. He had Heath Ledger’s face and Vin Diesel’s body, with sandy

blond hair. I was tempted to rub my eyes. Part of my brain was already burning in Hell.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Mitchell? I’m Kyle Trent, Protection Services.” He held his hand out to greet me.

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Come in. Please, call me Taryn.” I swallowed hard when he unzipped his jacket. The scent of his leather jacket and

cologne permeated the air. I noticed that his chest was chiseled underneath his fitted black T-shirt and he was wearing a concealed pistol under his

right armpit. Why couldn’t the Security Company send me an old guy? Holy shit, he’s young and gorgeous. This is not good.

We sat at the large table in the middle of the pub to have our first meeting. Kyle told me that he was a third degree black belt, a weapons

specialist, and a trainer within his agency. I tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but my mind kept on wandering. I found myself staring at his

lips.I informed him of my current situation, filling him in on the necessary details about the celebrity I was dating and our unwanted stalker. I showed

him a picture of Angelica.

Kyle was very easy to talk to. He told me that he lives just on the other side of Providence in a small town in Massachusetts, so it didn’t take him

very long to drive here.

He did an inspection of the pub, familiarizing himself with the layout, security systems, and exits. We ended with a tour of the apartment.

It felt awkward – almost like I was committing a sin – to have Kyle in my apartment. Ryan had hired him, so it wasn’t like I found this totally

gorgeous man on my own and invited him up for a cup of coffee, but something still gnawed at my gut. It could only be guilt that tormented me; guilt