Chapter 331

I had to listen to Shane’s message again. I couldn’t have heard what I thought I did.

“Hey, Daisy, my publishers are eager to publish, distribute, and promote your article and report. Call me. There’s a lot you need to do before it goes to print.”

I slipped into the bathroom to call, but before I could dial Shane’s number, Victor appeared in the doorway. He was awake and had heard the message.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” He kissed my cheek, and I returned to the bedroom to dress before returning Shane’s call.

Shane answered on the first ring, and his excitement was contagious.

“They want you to pose for a photo shoot and have someone do your bio,” Shane said. “They are excited by the project, Daisy. I’ve never known them to want to promote a story or a writer this much before.”

“That’s great,” I said. But a photo shoot? And a bio? What could I say about my life that would be interesting?

“Are you coming back to Denhurst today?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’ll be home this afternoon.” I had enjoyed our trip, but now I was eager to go home.

Shane promised to text me the editor’s phone number, and we hung up.

Someone knocked on the door as I was putting on my shoes. Hoping it was room service with our breakfast, I ran into the living room as Victor was opening the door.

It wasn’t breakfast. It was Jane Annesly, the security chief.

“Come in,” Victor said.

The security guard entered our suite. She was still in uniform after the long night shift. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you, but my shift ended a half hour ago, and I wanted to talk to you myself, Mr. Klein.”

“Let’s sit down,” Victor said and motioned for us to sit down. “I take it you found out something about the man.

She nodded. “He is not a guest at the hotel. He’s a private detective from Denhurst named Phil Harter.”

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“He was caught in the hallway outside this suite,” Jane replied. “He admits he was hired to follow you and Miss Wilson, but he refused to say who hired him.”

“Where is he now?” Victor asked.

“We had him arrested for trespassing and handed him over to the police,” Jane explained. “I thought he would spend the night in jail, and you could talk to him this morning.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “Was he released?”

“No,” Jane replied. “He disappeared from his cell during the night.”

“Surely the jail had cameras,” I said. How did a prisoner just disappear?

John Cameron’s name flashed through my brain. He had disappeared from prison with the help of bribed guards.

“The cameras were turned off somehow.” Jane shook her head. “I don’t understand it. And I’m sorry. I should have held him here last night. We have a detention cell.”

“You did what you could,” Victor said. “Thank you.”

Jane Annesly got to her feet, and we followed her to the door.

She pulled a photo from her pocket and handed it to Victor. “This is him. On the back of the photo, I wrote everything I know about him.”

“Thanks again,” Victor said. “I’ll take it from here.”

Room service arrived seconds after Jane Annesly left our suite. Victor and I sat at the table to drink our coffee and eat waffles.

“We are going home after we finish eating,” he said. “I need to know who Phil Harter is and who he works for.”

“Someone helped him escape from jail,” I said. “Why would someone go to all that trouble to get him out of jail, even turning off security cameras, over a trespassing charge?”

“I don’t know,” Victor replied. “But I’m going to find out.”

The drive back to Denhurst seemed shorter than the trip to

New Ripon. But I was eager to get back.

Even though it was Sunday, Victor went to his office as soon as we arrived at the apartment. He wanted to find out more about Phil Harter.

After unpacking, I called Shane’s editor, Cory Booth.

Cory was pleased to hear from me so quickly. “Hi, Daisy. I’m glad you called. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of printing your article.”

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” I said. I wanted the article and report to be a success.

“I’ll arrange for a photo shoot tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll text you the time and place. And we need a bio for you. Readers like to know who our writers are.”

Yikes, the bio again. What would people want to know about me? It made me nervous to be out under a spotlight again.

“I’ll take care of it,” I promised. I would do whatever was asked of me for the story.

“We want to get your article into print Tuesday morning with a follow-up in the evening edition. The article and your bio will also be on our website and social media.”

My heart started beating faster. I had no idea writing this article would bring this much attention to me.

It made me uncomfortable. I preferred living a quiet, more anonymous lifestyle.

But if it helps make college admissions more fair, I’d do whatever I had to do.

I hung up and took out my tablet to begin writing my bio.

I kept it simple and mentioned that Alex was my father, my mother died in an accident when I was young, and that I’m engaged to Victor.

What else did they need to know?

I emailed it to Cory and called Jennifer to ask her if she would help me get ready for my photo shoot.

Before she answered, Cory sent a text to tell me a photographer would meet me at Alex’s mansion at ten the next day and to give me advice on how to make my bio better.

He wanted me to include how I was lost to my father and raised by Betas until I was seventeen.

“Make it dramatic,” he insisted. “Tell them a little about what it was like to be a Beta.”

I guess it would explain my need to help non-Alphas, so I did as Cory suggested and sent it to him.

Jennifer called soon after. She assured me she would be thrilled to help me prepare for the photo shoot. And Alex was fine with the photographer using the mansion as the backdrop for the session.

But I was trembling inside at the thought of all the publicity and attention. I reminded myself frequently that it was for a good cause.

Victor came home in time for dinner.

“Would you like to go somewhere to celebrate your article being published?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’d like something more quiet. Let’s get takeout and stay home. You can tell me what you thought about the article.”

I sent a copy to his email on Thursday.

“I haven’t read it yet, sweetheart,” Victor admitted.

“Oh,” I said, trying not to look hurt. Why didn’t he take a few minutes to read it? Wasn’t he interested?

“I’ll read it tonight,” he promised. “What would you like to eat?”

“A pizza would be okay,” I said with a shrug.

Victor and I had been away since I sent him the article, and I shouldn’t be hurt. But it only would have taken him a few minutes to read it.

“I’ll order the pizza and have it delivered,” Victor said.

“No,” I said. “We need milk and bread and stuff. I’ll pick it up on my way back from the store.”

“Don’t worry about it now,” Victor said.

“I don’t mind,” I assured him. I felt like getting out of the apartment.

He picked up his phone. “Okay, I’ll order it now.”

Victor ordered the pizza while I went downstairs to the garage and got in my car. I couldn’t shake the disappointment that he hadn’t read my article yet.

I drove to the store and bought a few bags of groceries before stopping to pick up the pizza.

I drove around the neighborhood. As I passed Victor’s building, I noticed a familiar-looking dark blue sedan. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel.

It was the same man with a buzz cut who was following us in New Ripon, Phil Harter.

I pulled in front of the car to block his escape and called Victor. He ran down from the apartment to confront him.

Victor knocked on the driver's side window, but the man didn’t stir. The word drunk flashed through my mind.

But that wasn’t the case. Victor opened the door and stepped back. I could tell something was very wrong from his expression.

“Daisy, call the police,” Victor said. “He’s dead.”