“Thank god it’s you!” she breathed.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She raised her hand and the now-crumpled letter. “I think I have a stalker.”
He took the page from her and angled it toward the single streetlight in the courtyard. After he read it, his gaze met hers inthe dark. “A stalker would indicate this isn’t the first time you’ve heard from him.”
“It’s the second unmarked, unstamped, hand-delivered letter I’ve found in my box.”
“Have you reported them?”
She gave a little shake of her head.
“Piper...”
“I know. It was stupid.”
Tristan looked over the letter again. “Are you in the habit of wearing overalls and pigtails?”
“No. I did it once. He had to have seen the picture on social media.”
“TikTok is destroying the world,” he muttered.
“It was Instagram, actually.”
With a single brow arched, he prompted, “And the comment about the nude scenes?”
“I had an audition at the Netflix studio on Vine recently. For an R-rated series.”
“Nudity on Netflix isn’t a stretch. He could have assumed, but I don’t like the language, or that he might be following you.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, her insides a knot of horror. “I don’t like any of it. I guess I should go to the police.”
“Uncovering the truth isn’t an actual threat, and they likely won’t do anything unless it escalates. But you should file a report to have it on record. In the meantime, I can look into it.”
“You can?” she asked, surprised.
“I’m a PI.” When she blinked up at him, he elaborated, “A private investigator.”
“I know what it stands for. I’m just curious why you would help me. You don’t even like me.”
His scowl returned. “What gave you that impression?”
“Other than your constant frowning, grumbling, slamming doors in my face, and telling me to get out of your club?”
He switched it up this time and glowered.
“I’ll file a report in the morning,” she said hurriedly, stooping to gather her things. When she rose and tried to move past him, he caught her arm, not so easily dismissed.
“Do you still have the other note?”
“Yes. I don’t know why I saved it, but I did.”
“Get it,” he directed. “I’ll meet you at your place in a minute.”
She hurried to her condo. Her first instinct was to lock, chain, and dead-bolt the door, but she left it open for Tristan as she sifted through the drawer in her kitchen where she kept coupons and miscellaneous mail she planned to deal with, eventually.
How had she accumulated so much junk in such a short time?