A California Christmas (Silver Springs #7) - Brenda Novak Page 0,96

phone every few minutes. She told herself she was looking to see if there was any word from her attorney, the station, Ethan or Tommy. And she was. But in her heart she knew she was also hoping to find a text from Dallas.

Something that would make what happened last night go away.

Something that would enable them to continue on as they were, at least until one of them left.

But he hadn’t texted her, and he probably wouldn’t.

She frowned as she read over their exchange last night.

You coming down?

Soon.

How long do I have to wait?

At least until your mother goes to bed.

I’m dying for a taste of you. We’ll just close the door.

No way.

She’d felt giddy, breathless, waiting for the house to settle. And then, only two or three minutes later, he’d written.

Now?

She’d sent a laughing emoji, but she’d been every bit as impatient.

And then, only a few hours later, it was over.

Just that quickly.

She was ready for work by eleven-thirty and drove to the cookie store right away. She refused to take the chance that Dallas might return before she could leave. She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to resist him if they had the house all to themselves.

Once she arrived at the shop, she sat in her car, waiting until it was time for work. She didn’t get off until ten tonight. She was going to be at the store long enough as it was and figured she might as well reserve this last twenty minutes for herself.

Still determined to avoid social media, she read some news articles on her phone. Then she checked her email again. Her attorney had written to say he couldn’t get Tommy to respond to him. He wanted her to reach out to him again, but she didn’t have a lot of hope it would make any difference.

Just in case, she sent Tommy a text.

Really? You won’t respond? Come on, Tommy. I’d be there for you.

She switched back to her inbox to let her attorney know she’d tried and would notify him if she heard anything—and found an email from an address she didn’t recognize. She was half-convinced it was spam disguised as personal correspondence, except the subject line read: Emery, I loved it, and I love you! Since it had her name, and a positive subject line, she opened it just to be sure it wasn’t something from an old friend.

It contained the picture of a man, naked from the waist down. His face was blocked out but he was wearing a Santa hat and showing off an erection so large it didn’t look as though it could be real.

“Ew!” She was so shocked she dropped her phone, then had to twist and bend to scoop it up so that she could delete the picture. Her spam filter was usually better than this. Figuring it had to be some porn site that had found a work-around to the latest firewalls, she sent it to the garbage.

But as it disappeared, some of the words above the picture registered in her mind. There was something personal in the message, too.

How could that be?

She retrieved it from the trash and, her chest rising and falling as her breath came quicker, read it carefully.

How would you like to work in the porn industry? It’s not the nightly news, but I’d be happy to give you a ride you’ll never forget—and we could capture what a real climax looks and sounds like. With the proper lighting, maybe viewers will even be able to see that little heart-shaped freckle on your thigh when I spread your legs.

She looked around as though she expected someone to jump out from behind one of the dumpsters in the alley and start pointing a finger and laughing at her. What was going on? Who had done this? And how did whomever it was get her email address?

She studied the sender’s address: majorhardon. This wasn’t spam. Whoever had sent the email had targeted her. Not only did he know her email address, he knew her name, her past occupation and about that sex video. She wrote back:

Who is this?

The answer came right away.

If you really want to know, meet me at the Blue Suede Shoe at midnight tonight. Then you can see the size of the woody you give me in person.

There was a knock on her window.

Startled, she screamed, but it was only Susan. Quickly shoving her phone in her purse so that her boss wouldn’t look a little closer and