B.J. Daniels - Rogue Gunslinger

“Let’s not talk about this,” TJ said. “Tell us about you and Dawson.”

Annabelle shook her head. “If you really think this man is dangerous then you need to cancel your book signing tomorrow.”

“Bad idea,” Chloe said. “She’ll be perfectly safe at the gift shop with us and half the town there. This is her chance to find out if he’s this True Fan who’s been sending her the threatening letters.”

“You really think it’s him?” Annabelle asked.

“First I’m shoved from behind in front of a speeding delivery truck, he saves me, then shows up in Whitehorse and I find out that he moved here six months ago—about the same time I started getting the threatening letters. What are the chances that he’s not True Fan?” She shuddered at the memory of those blue eyes. She’d felt strangely drawn to him at the same time she’d felt afraid.

“What does she do if he does show up at the book signing tomorrow?” Annabelle demanded of Chloe. “Just ask him if he’s her True Fan?”

Chloe groaned. “She’ll play it cool. We’ll be there. If he is this crazed fan, he won’t do anything at the signing, but he might say something that gives him away. Once we know for sure then we go to the sheriff.”

“TJ play it cool?” her youngest sister said with a laugh. “No offense, but if today was any indication—”

“I can do it.” TJ nodded with more enthusiasm than she felt. She had to. This had to end because she couldn’t take anymore. If it didn’t, she feared True Fan would end it the way the letters had promised. “Maybe he won’t even show.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Chloe said. “If it’s him, he’ll want to get as close to you as he can. He’s been taunting you. Now he’ll want you to know just how close he is.”

As if TJ didn’t already know the psychology behind a person like this. She wrote about them all the time. If this man was her True Fan, he didn’t just want her to know how close he was. He wanted her to know how easy it would be for him to get to her. For the past six months, this had been leading up to the moment when she faced her killer—just like in one of her books.

Chapter Six

When TJ woke the next morning, she was shocked to see how late it was. She hurriedly showered and dressed. When she came downstairs, dressed for her signing, Annabelle handed her a cup of coffee and a donut.

She took the coffee, declined the donut and watched as Annabelle ate it.

“I love not being a model anymore,” her sister said, smiling with a little sugar glaze on her lips before she licked it away.

TJ couldn’t help smiling as well. Her sister looked great, not skinny and pale like she had when she’d been a top model. “I need to get to my signing.”

“We’re going with you,” Chloe said, coming out of the kitchen. “Are you nervous?”

What did she think? She’d never been good at book signings. Probably because she’d never wanted the attention. She’d only wanted to write the stories that were in her head. Little had she known the rest that was required of a published author. TJ knew she was naive to think that she could simply lock herself away in a room somewhere and do what she loved.

When her editor had told her that she needed to be more of a presence on social media, she’d actually thought about quitting the publishing business.

But she couldn’t quit writing. When she’d take a break, the longest she could go was three days before she started writing in her sleep. The characters would start talking and she’d have to get their stories out. She loved that part.

TJ remembered how surprised she’d been when she found out that not everyone had stories going in their heads. She’d asked the person, “Well, then what do you think about when you’re in the shower or driving?” The answer had been, “I’ve never thought about it. Something I’m sure, but not stories.”

It had also surprised her when other writers had told her that their characters didn’t talk to them. Well, hers certainly did. Soon the ones from her next book would be nagging at her to begin writing again.

“Come on,” Chloe said, “or we’re going to be late.”

TJ wished they could just get into Annabelle’s SUV—she’d traded her sports car for something more practical for Montana—and hit the road. She thought she could and not look back at this point in her life.

There was already a line at the gift shop when they arrived. TJ couldn’t help looking for the mountain man, but with a sigh of relief, she didn’t see him. Maybe after yesterday, he wouldn’t show up.

“Park in the back,” she’d instructed her sister.

“You aren’t getting cold feet, are you?” Chloe asked.

“I always do but nothing like I have right now.” They entered the back door. TJ dropped off her coat and purse in the stockroom and took a moment to compose herself. You’ve done this dozens of other times. You can do this .

But none of the other times were like this.

Stepping out of the back, she headed for the table that had been set up for her along with a chair and a huge stack of her books. The owner hustled over to see if she needed water, coffee, anything at all.

“A bottle of water would be wonderful,” TJ said, her throat already dry as she felt eyes on her from the line of people waiting a few yards away. She tried to smile as she slid into the chair and picked up one of the pens the store owner had thoughtfully left for her.

“Here’s your water,” said a familiar voice.

TJ turned to see a dark-haired woman her age. “Joyce?” She couldn’t help her surprise. She hadn’t seen Joyce Mason since high school. Joyce had been voted the girl most likely to end up behind bars. It had been a play on words, since Joyce had been wild—and also a drinker who was known to make out with guys in the alley behind the Mint Bar.

“You work here now?” TJ asked, feeling the need to say something into the silence. Joyce was thinner than in high school, but wore the same shag hairdo and pretty much the same expression, one of boredom. The only thing different was that she sported a few more tattoos.

“Does it surprise you that I read?” Joyce asked.

“No.” She let out a nervous laugh. “As a writer, I’m delighted.”

“Yes, we all know you’re a writer.” Joyce put down the bottle of water and walked off.

TJ was still reeling a little from Joyce’s attitude when she heard a squeal and looked up to see another familiar face. Dorothy “Dot” Crest came running up to her all smiles.

“I can’t believe it!” Dot cried. “I just had to say hi. I’ll get in line,” she assured the waiting crowd. “I definitely want one of your books. I’ve read them all.” She leaned closer. “They are so scary and yet I can’t put them down.” She laughed. “This is so exciting.”

With that she rushed back toward the end of the line. As she did, she said hello to people she knew. Dot knew almost everyone it seemed.

“Ready?” the owner asked, coming up to tell her again how delighted they were to have her here.

Was she ready? She felt off-balance and the signing hadn’t even begun. Normally, TJ was more organized. She’d barely remembered to grab a few bookmarks as they’d left the house. She hadn’t even thought about a pen. That showed just how nervous she was.

She smiled up at the first woman in line. She looked familiar, but for a moment TJ couldn’t come up with her name. That was the problem at book signings. The names of people she knew even really well would slip her mind.

“Just sign it to me,” a person would say.

She often used the trick, “Would you mind spelling your name for me?”

That didn’t always work. One woman who was so excited, telling everyone how long she’d known TJ, made her draw a blank. When she’d asked her to spell her name, the woman recoiled and said, “It’s Pat.”