Page 3 of Beyond the Darkness (Basic Instincts #3)

A History of Stalking

After a restless night in which he failed to get any benefit from going to bed early, Hudson was in no better mood about the current situation.

He got up at six and went for a workout in a nearby gym.

Sweating it out with weights and thirty minutes running full-out on the treadmill didn’t help much either.

He showered and dressed and, after struggling to eat breakfast, he fired off a text to Rav and Andie telling them he wanted to see them at the studio early, before anyone else arrived.

“Most of all the fucking reporter,” he muttered to himself.

As he’d tossed about during the night, he’d replayed the conversation with Luke Kamal over and over.

Hudson wasn’t proud of the way he’d handled it, losing his temper and storming off in a rage, but he’d been ill equipped to deal with it any other way at the time.

The news had floored him. It wasn’t Luke’s fault they were in that situation.

He probably thought he was doing Hudson a favour by speaking to him first.

Luke was just doing his job. Ha. How many shitty journalists had said that to him over the years? They were only ever doing their jobs, regardless of who they hurt, burned or stomped into the dust in the process. Hudson’s knuckles were white as he gripped his coffee cup.

Eventually, he gave up on breakfast, loaded the dishwasher and left the apartment.

It was another glorious morning, but he was in no mood to appreciate it as he walked down to the waterfront and over the bridge. Even the tranquil beauty of the river failed to calm him.

“This is even earlier than yesterday,” Jax said when he arrived. “You do know there’ll be no one to let you in if you get here before eight, right?”

“I don’t plan to make a habit of it.” His smile and tone of voice were forced. Hardly one of his better performances. “Any mail today?”

Jax ducked to look beneath the counter. He silently prayed that she would come up empty-handed.

“You must have quite a fanbase,” she said, handing him a bundle. “There’s even more than yesterday. Those posters of you all over town must be doing the trick.”

“Must be,” he commented without enthusiasm. One glance at the letter on top and a cloud of resignation came over him. He recognised the printed label and had no doubts about what was inside. “I don’t suppose Rav and Andie are here yet?”

Jax shook her head and checked her watch. “Should they be?”

“Yep. Tell them I’m in the rehearsal room and want to see them right away.”

He got himself a drink and sat at the table, before opening the first letter.

It was another photo like before, a different still of him in his underwear from Red Hills Massacre.

Another image from his unused, ultra-gory death scene.

He wondered how the hell this stuff had even made it into the public domain.

The scenes had been cut from the film due to their graphic content, but they were all over the internet.

These days the deleted footage was even on YouTube.

If the studio hadn’t wanted it released, how come it was so freely available?

And why was it such a magnet for weirdos?

When Red Hills Massacre fans wrote to him or arrived at stage doors with their memorabilia to be signed, they were all more interested in the deleted footage than what was actually in the movie.

Hudson couldn’t claim to have a preference for either version.

The re-shot murder scene was just as disturbing, possibly even worse, as it left more to the viewers’ imagination.

And what an imagination some of them had.

The latest message read Hudson Rhodes Massacre.

“How bloody original,” he muttered, stuffing it all back into the envelope.

He decided not to open any of the other letters. If there was information to be gained about who was sending these, he would only contaminate the evidence.

Hudson already had a suspicion.

Rav and Andie arrived a little before nine.

“Morning, handsome.” Andie bustled in like nothing was wrong. She had her huge handbag slung over one shoulder and a massive takeaway coffee in the other hand. Behind her, Rav gave a forced smile and avoided Hudson’s eye contact.

Hudson got up and crossed straight to Rav. He shoved the pile of mail at him. “There’s more for your security experts to go through. I don’t suppose you have any update on yesterday’s love letters?”

Rav glanced to Andie for support, before saying, “These things take time.” He glanced at the stack. “There’s more than ever.”

“No shit. And they’re just as twisted.” He took a deep breath. Flying off the handle was not going to get him anywhere. “Tell your team to look into a guy called Robbie Wiseman.”

“Robbie Wiseman, yes. Okay. Who is he?”

“He’s sent me stuff similar to this in the past. Most of it was on social media and emails, but there were a handful of letters too. He was obsessed with that same movie. Claimed he wanted to re-enact my death scene with me.”

“For real?” Andie said, ditching the bag and joining them. “Where is he now?”

“I’ve no idea. I did a play in the UK a few years ago and he used to troll me a lot. He’d follow me round the country, get front row seats wherever he could. He’d shout crude remarks during the performance and one night he even followed me to where I was staying.”

Rav’s eyes widened. “Could he do the same here?”

“We need to check who has bought tickets and see if his name shows up,” Andie said.

“I doubt he’ll be stupid enough to book in his own name,” Hudson said.

“We got a stalking order last time. He wasn’t allowed anywhere near me, or any of the venues where the show was playing.

But I don’t know if that will still be in place.

It might only have been for the length of that particular play.

I never heard from him again afterward.”

“If we can prove he sent these”—Rav waved the pile of letters—“we can get something similar.”

“It’s a start,” Hudson said with a sigh.

“You should have mentioned this sooner. We could have done something about it by now.” Andie pushed her glasses onto the top of her head.

Hudson remained cool. “Says the woman who hid the fact I’d been receiving this shit for a whole week.”

“Yes, yes. Well, we all know now. We can get something done about it. We don’t want some nutcase fan of yours turning up on press night and ruining everything.”

“Your compassion is overwhelming,” he deadpanned.

Andie gave a sarcastic smile and headed back to her handbag.

“That’s not everything,” Hudson raised his voice. “There’s something else you neglected to mention. Like letting reporters sit in on the rehearsals.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important. I’ve been assured we won’t even know he’s here.”

“Don’t you thinking having a stranger in the room is going to throw us off our game when we’re only beginning to make advances?”

“Why would it? It’s one man from the local newspaper, not a fly-on-the-wall documentary crew.”

No doubt you’ll be keeping that for the London run, if it ever happens. “We don’t need it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rav interjected.

“We need all the good press we can get. It’s not enough to pay for publicity anymore.

We need word of mouth. This guy is the first step.

He might just be local, but he’s good. Respected.

If we’re going to take this play to the West End, then this Blyham production needs to be a sell-out.

Every night—full houses for the entire run.

Luke Kamal is an integral part of making that happen. ”

Hudson sighed. He knew what Rav was saying made sense, but it still rankled. “Couldn’t you bring him in for the last few days, or for previews? Why does it have to be now, when the play is in such a raw state?”

“Because that’s the angle. He’s not just writing a first night review, he’s going to cover all aspects. There might even be a book in it if the transfer looks likely,” Rav said. “You won’t even know he’s here.”

Little chance of that. Luke’s smouldering good looks would be a distraction, anyway, never mind the reason he was here.

Hudson realised there was little to gain by arguing with the producer and the director.

Their minds would not be changed, and his energy would be better focused elsewhere.

He’d hoped to be in a better mindset ahead of today’s run-through, but he’d been wound up about the press sitting in on the rehearsal, and he was not as well prepared as he should be.

He took his script and his coffee into the far corner of the room and read through the opening pages.

Luckily the dialogue was already fixed in his mind—it was a case now of working out how he wanted to play it.

Luke arrived early, before any of the other performers.

Hudson looked up carefully from his script, merely observing, not yet ready to engage.

He was too far away to make out what was being said between him and Rav and Andie.

Any hopes that they might have sent him away were dismissed when Luke took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

Shit. He’s staying then.

Luke wore jeans and a dark shirt which skimmed the striking contours of his torso.

For a reporter, he was clearly very active to have a body as perfect as that.

He moved well too, opening a battered leather satchel to take out a laptop, a notebook and pens.

Then he glanced across the room and caught Hudson looking straight at him.

Hudson returned his attention to the pages in front of him but found it impossible to concentrate. The words became an indecipherable blur. He realised too late that Luke was walking straight towards him.

“Hi,” he said. “I feel like I owe you an apology for last night.”

That deep, sexy voice had an unnerving power behind it.

Hudson found himself responding. He put down the script.

“You weren’t to know,” he said at last, keeping his own tone firm.

He wasn’t ready to back down on this matter.

From his experience, journalists were not to be trusted.

Just because this one came in an attractive package, it didn’t make him any better than the rest. “But all the same, I can’t pretend to be happy that you’re here. ”

Way to go. Make him hate you from the start so he’ll do a real hatchet piece on you in print.

“I’m very excited about this play. About you being in it. I want to assure you that I have nothing but huge respect for everyone involved.”

The face, the eyes, the voice, it was almost enough to make Hudson melt.

He couldn’t resist sneaking a look at his crotch and spotting the noticeable bulge inside his jeans.

In an instant, he imagined what it would be like, dropping to his knees and pressing his face against that bulge.

Feeling it harden and grow. The dampness that would form in Luke’s underwear.

Damn. Why does he have to be a fucking reporter? Especially when he was so hot.

“I’ve been burned by your type before,” he said, getting his mind out of Luke’s crotch, forcing himself to focus on his face.

A smile flickered across his mouth. “My type?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t tell me you haven’t screwed someone over in print because your story was more sensational that the truth.

He shook his head. “I’m interested in art and theatre, not celebrity gossip. I hope I can convince you of that in the coming days.”

Don’t crack. “We’ll see. If you can stay out of the way, that’s good enough for me.”

The rest of the team started to arrive, and Luke went over to introduce himself. Hudson wanted to believe he was genuine, mainly because he was so gorgeous, but he’d been badly burned by the press in the past. He wasn’t about to lower his guard for a hot piece of ass.

No matter how badly he’d like to get into that ass.