He takes out his phone and places a call. “Simon. Want to earn some extra bucks? Yeah, pounds, whatever; this is serious.” He listens for a moment. “Good. I need you outside, with someone you trust implicitly, watching the front of this house, twenty-four seven from now on.”

He’s silent a moment as he listens to Simon speak.

“Not sure how long. I’m going to be making a few calls to the police. For the next few days I think, at least.”

He listens some more. Says a terse bye and hangs up.

“I can’t believe this,” I say, shaking my head. “Life just keeps on coming at me.” Trapped. Stuck in this house, like a sitting duck. Thank God, I have Samuel with me, but this still sucks. Big time. I need a glass of wine. I glance at the clock on the wall. Shit, it’s not even lunchtime. Samuel will blow up if I pour wine now. I’m craving it, though.

The thought stops me short. More sex would take the edge off, but am I really at the point where I either need to fuck or drink to deal with life. At some point, have I gone beyond the hard partying, but intellectual, stereotype that is the public perception of me, to something much more serious.

Do I have a problem?

The craving is quite strong, and I realize that most days now, I drink. Wine o’clock with the girls from work. A glass or two with dinner in the evenings. Mummy doesn’t drink much, but my father loves his wine, whisky, and gin. Mummy might have a tiny glass of champagne or prosecco now and again, or a small gin and tonic. If she really wants to tie one on, she’ll have a cocktail, but she makes them weak and rarely finishes the whole thing. My brother, though, he drinks and does drugs, and our Grandmama on Daddy’s side drinks like a fish. She must be pickled in gin by now.

Crap. I’m so blindsided by the sudden realization that I may have something of an issue with alcohol that I don’t really contemplate the fact I have a stalker, on top of the death threats from my father’s publishing business.

“Lord Hennigborne? Yes, sir, Samuel here.” Samuel’s words bring me back to the reality of this moment. “Some new intel has come to light. You need to share it with the police, I do believe. You are?” He pauses and frowns. “Since when? Who is it? Sorry? Marcus?” His frown turns positively thunderous. “From the guys you hired me through? Okay. Yeah, send him over.”

He hangs up and turns to look at me. “That’s unexpected.”

“What is?”

“Your father has hired on some more help from my agency.”

I frown. “Another bodyguard?”