Take a Risk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

“Without evidence that this person intends to do you harm, Doctor Cutler, there’s nothing we can do.”

To give him his due, Officer Ronson had been pleasant despite probably believing they were crazy. Sitting at his desk, Lyssa clutched her best friend’s hand recognizing that Suzette was working herself into a lather. Appealing to the seasoned detective hadn’t worked so far.

Ronson and his young partner, Miguel Chavez, had to be sick of the sight of her. At Suzette’s prompting, she’d been in the precinct half a dozen times over the course of the last four months. With the lack of interest that always greeted her, Lyssa didn’t see the point of reporting each incident, certainly not anymore.

“This is ridiculous,” Suzette said. “My friend is being terrorized.”

“With all due respect, Miss. Blossom, flowers on the back stairs don’t rank high in the danger-to-life index.”

The officer was doing his job and had a point.

Except her predicament was about so much more than flowers. “What about the phone calls?” Lyssa asked.

“You said it had been a couple of weeks since he called,” Ronson said.

“Yes, but—”

“Maybe he’s a secret admirer.”

“He prowls around outside her house,” Suzette exclaimed, slamming her hands to the table, thrusting onto her feet.

Hoping to soothe her friend, Lyssa stroked her arm. “It is disconcerting to know that someone was in my yard.”

“You’ve called us out and we never find anyone,” Ronson said, consulting the file in front of him. “Same as the suspicious cars you and your friend keep reporting. Everything checks out.”

“You think I’m crazy,” Lyssa muttered.

“She’s a goddamn psychiatrist!” Suzette said, pointing at her. “If she was crazy, she’d be the first one to recognize the symptoms! You people are supposed to protect the innocent.”

“Keep filling out your diary,” Ronson said, pushing Lyssa’s black notebook back to her. “And if you’re threatened or attacked then please call nine-one-one.”

“What use is that after she’s been attacked?” Suzette asked.

Her best friend was fiercely protective but flipping out wouldn’t get them anywhere.

Taking her purse from the floor, Lyssa slid the strap to her shoulder as she stood to put an arm around her friend. “Thank you for your time,” she said, picking up the notebook and tucking it into her purse with one hand. “We’d appreciate you leaving a note in the file that we reported this.”

“Sure thing,” Ronson said, smiling for the first time, no doubt because the crazy people were leaving.

Chavez opened the door for them.

Even though Suzette kept her seething quiet, it was apparent with the red face and huffing impatience. Lyssa wound them through the precinct and got outside without them exchanging a word. Their car was parked around the block, so they cut down an alley at the side of the police building.

“We should report those guys,” Suzette grumbled.

“Wait until we’re in the car before you lose it, Suzie,” Lyssa said. “We’ll go somewhere nice for lunch.”

Lunch would calm her friend down. Not that she’d say that out loud; Suzie had a short fuse at the best of times.

“Doctor Cutler?”

The voice from behind made both women turn. Miguel Chavez stood in a side doorway of the police building, alone. Before approaching them, he took the time to look up and down the alley.

“Come to belittle us some more, have you?” Suzette sniped.

“Ronson is old school,” Chavez said. “He thinks stalking is a new fad.”

“And you don’t?” Lyssa asked.

“I know… something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like that you’re not going to get very far here until you’re hospitalized or dead. Short of coming up with concrete evidence that this lunatic is on your tail…”

It was nice to be believed if nothing else. “So you’re here to tell me to stop wasting my time and yours?” Lyssa asked. “Forgive me, but if I don’t report the prowler’s actions then he’s getting away with it. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Visit someone who can help,” Chavez said, handing her a business card.

Black with curly red writing, it listed the address of something called “Risqué.” If the outline of the woman draped along the side was anything to go by, it was a strip joint.

“A stripper?” Suzette asked. “You want us to go to a stripper?”

“No,” Chavez said, moving in closer and lowering his voice. “Go there tomorrow night, eleven p.m., ask at the bar for Trapper.”

“Trapper?” Lyssa said.

“Trust me; he’ll be able to help. If anyone asks where you got this information don’t use my name.”

“Why not?” Suzette asked, getting excited. “Is he a superhero? A mercenary? Or a sniper, who will take this guy out with one shot? Pow!”

Trying not to laugh, Lyssa squeezed Suzette’s hand. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone getting hurt.”

“Trapper’s not security,” Chavez said. “But he will solve your problem.”

“How will he do that?”

“Ask him.”

Chavez walked backward toward the door and then disappeared inside, leaving Lyssa and Suzette staring at the card.

“What do you think?”

“Is it too early for a drink?” Suzette asked.

Taking her friend’s lead, they went to the car and drove to their favorite restaurant only a block from the hospital Suzette worked at with her fiancé.

Once they’d ordered food and received their drinks, Lyssa took the card from her pocket and placed it on the table. “Is he setting us up?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like the clandestine theatrics.”

“He’s a cop,” Suzette said. “He’s probably got all sorts of contacts. If this Trapper guy can help, then he’s worth checking out.”

“Are we there yet? I mean, are we really that desperate?”

“You’re a prisoner in your own home. I want Lyssa back, my Lyssa, the real Lyssa. The Lyssa who wouldn’t think twice about wandering the streets at three a.m. The Lyssa who would face off with bikers and boxers, who convinced an abusive husband to turn himself into the cops and be honest about his despicable deeds. Where is the Lyssa whose greatest aspiration was to write self-help books for us poor women clueless about the male mind?”

Lyssa smiled. “I haven’t given up on that.”

“No? You walked away from your marriage because your husband wouldn’t support that dream.”

“Archie didn’t like to see me taking what he perceived as risks,” Lyssa said. “He didn’t have confidence that I knew what I was doing.”

“Observing men in their natural habitat used to inspire you. When was the last time you went on one of your crazy crusades?”

“Studying male s****l behavior can be done at any time. I suppose I haven’t been motivated recently.”

“Because you think a stalker is studying you every minute,” Suzette said, leaning back to let the server place their salads in front of them. When they were alone again, she took Lyssa’s hand. “I don’t blame you. It must be terrifying to know some nut is obsessed with you. But you’ve put your life on hold for him.”

“I do find myself… concerned. But he’s hardly a stalker, maybe he is just an admirer and doesn’t mean any harm.”

“After your divorce you bought that beautiful townhouse in the city and set up your practice. You promised me that taking on patients was a stopgap to help you pay the bills while you wrote your books. Writing was always your passion. The only reason you went to medical school was to appease your father.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Lyssa said, used to her friend’s rhetoric.

Her parents had scrimped and saved; they expected their only child to use her intelligence wisely. Seeing her graduate had been their greatest achievement. Though their happiest was probably watching her marry the rich plastic surgeon… shame that hadn’t lasted. Telling them her marriage was over was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Her intention had always been to study the mind, psychology fascinated her. She’d chosen to specialize in s****l dysfunction and never looked back. Her primary focus was male patients, but she worked with females and couples sometimes too. In her practice, she had a variety of patients ranging from those with simple marital issues, to victims of s****l a***e and assault.

“I want you to write your books,” Suzette said. “Get inspired! Throw yourself into an assignment. Study your subjects up close, undercover, just like you used to.”

If only it was that simple. With the admirer on her tail, she’d become more aware of her movements, and her vulnerability. “I’m still writing and rewriting previous findings.”

“But not studying anyone new, or putting yourself in new, exciting environments,” Suzette said. “You’re not going to do that until we get rid of this guy. I know you, Lyssa. You have to move on from this and find yourself again.”

The only way to move forward was to free herself from the scrutiny of the obsessed person. But going to a stranger and asking for help didn’t seem right. She liked to steer her own destiny. Playing the hapless or helpless victim wasn’t in her nature. It was frustrating that this stalker had reduced her to that.

“Okay,” she said to Suzette. “I’ll think about it.”

For now, that would have to do. Before making a decision, she liked to be absolutely sure. Once committed, Lyssa had a tendency towards jumping in at the deep end. The Risqué opportunity would play on her mind until the rendezvous time.

That evening, sitting alone in the living room of her narrow townhouse, Lyssa read the latest instalment of her favorite fiction series under the light of a single floor lamp.

It played on her mind. The flowers, the precinct… Chavez’s recommendation.

Until a few months ago, it hadn’t bothered her that she didn’t watch TV. Between med school and marriage, she’d never had time to sit down and absorb the banality of the latest sitcom. Without background noise, her home was eerily quiet, and she regretted never picking up the habit.

A sound. A snap outside… What was it? Was she being paranoid or was someone there?

Her house faced a city sidewalk. Most of the noise was ambient that she just filtered out. Occasionally, a sound or passing light would pique her attention.

The bedroom window seat was her favorite place to read. Showcasing her yard, sometimes she’d see wildlife in the trees that separated her property from the dog park behind it. Since the whole stalker-admirer mess, she’d given up on reading there. The shadows out back convinced her things were there that weren’t.

Given her profession, she could identify delusions and paranoid behavior. That was as much as her education could help. Sometimes she expected to look up and see the prowler in action, leaving roses on her back stairs or disappearing into the trees.

She never had.

Since buying her house after the divorce two years ago, she’d grown to love it more and more. Until the flowers and phone calls started, she’d been happy there. At first, the flowers were a surprise. The calls that followed unnerved her. Then, for no reason she could decipher, the admirer’s actions stopped… only to start again the following week with flowers and a note. “I see you.” That was all it said.

From there, the harassment escalated in frequency, then abruptly stopped, and restarted to no discernable pattern. The assailant had no obvious goal, except to fixate on her, to scare and confuse her.

No one liked feeling helpless. Lyssa had fought to hold onto her confidence and maintain control while someone tried to take it away.

The predator wanted something. It was that unknown which scared her the most.