Chapter 14

The team's manager spotted his shortstop sitting in front of his locker staring at the wall. He gave a short whistle to get Brock's attention and then motioned him to the office. Brock got up and trudged over like a man headed to the gallows.

"You wanted to see me, Skip?" Brock asked from the doorway. Jim LaCross was on the telephone and motioned Brock to a chair across from him.

"What's up?" Brock asked when LaCross put the phone down.

"Give me a minute," LaCross said. He was working on the lineup for that night's game. Brock couldn't see who LaCross had penciled into the Number 8 spot on the order that Brock usually occupied. LaCross was still writing when two other people entered the office.

Brock recognized both of the newcomers: Steve Morris, the team's general manager, and Cynthia Lu, the team's security director. The GM sat down in a corner behind the manager while the security chief took the chair next to Brock.

He could understand Morris' attendance. The note had said the GM would be there. But did they really think they needed security for the meeting?

Brock sighed to himself. Given his past history, perhaps they thought it was prudent to have someone nearby in case he lost his temper at whatever news they had come to impart. He was surprised when Cynthia Lu was the first to speak.

"Mr. Miller, do you recognize this woman?" she asked as she handed across a grainy photograph. Brock looked at it in confusion.

"Given the quality, I'm not sure her mother would recognize this woman," he said as he slid it back across the desk. Lu frowned slightly.

"Yes, it was the best we could do," she said. "This was taken from a distance and she stayed in the shadows most of the time."

Brock's confusion grew.

"What is this about?" he asked, turning to the manager. "Look, if I've been demoted or traded, just tell me. You don't need security here."

LaCross glanced to the GM, who shrugged.

"Brock, you're not going anywhere," Morris said. "At least not unless someone makes us one hell of an offer. This is about something a little more important than baseball, I'm afraid."

Brock glanced to all three faces in the room but none held an answer. It was Lu who spoke again.

"Mr. Miller," she began. "May I call you Brock?"

Brock nodded.

"Brock, as you might know, correspondence sent to players through the team is opened by my people and scanned to make sure there is nothing untoward happening," she said.

Brock nodded again. About once a week he would find a few envelopes in his locker stall from fans or from people seeking an autograph. It was nothing compared to the bags of fan mail Al Perez or Joaquin Betancourt got on almost a daily basis. Both men had hired people to help them sort through their mail. Brock was nowhere near that point.

"This letter arrived a couple of weeks into the season," she stated, again sliding a folder across to Brock. "As a rule, if we flag a letter as a potential security threat, we do not pass it on to the player until we can identify the sender. We also do not pass along unsigned letters unless we can identify the return address. This one has no return address."

Brock glanced down at the single sheet of paper in the folder.

"Brock," (it read)

_"My life is so much better with you in it. I can't believe you've finally come back to me. It's like a dream come true.

"The time we shared will always be my fondest memory. I hope and pray that we can relive our wonderful times together many times in the future."_

The letter was signed with a cursive "E" and a heart.

Brock looked up from the message. All eyes in the room were on him.

"OK," he said.

"Do you know who might have sent this letter?" Lu asked.

"I have no idea," Brock answered immediately.

"Is there, perhaps, a woman with whom you had an assignation when you first arrived in Los Angeles?" Lu asked gently. This was the standard reason a letter such as the one she showed Brock would arrive. A player had picked up a girl in a bar and then left the next morning without a word. Sadly, it had become her job to shield some of the players from this scenario, some on more than one occasion.

"Absolutely not," Brock said firmly. Lu nodded but slid another folder across. The paper was the same, pink with roses around the border.

"Brock," (this one read)

_"I know our time together meant as much to you as it did to me. I saw it in your eyes. I know your heart.

"You and I are meant to be together – forever. Please, Brock, please call me. I know you have my number. I need to be with you again. You need to be with me again."_

The signature was the same as the previous letter.

Brock's mouth dropped.

"You're screwing with me, right?" he asked hopefully. "Did Al put you up to this? C'mon, it's not funny."

"No, it's not funny," Lu replied evenly. "And it's not a joke. In fact, it gets less funny as time goes by. This one arrived about a month ago."

The third letter was even more desperate than the first two. It was also slightly more menacing in its tone.

He gulped when he put it aside.

"Brock," Lu said gently, "If you know who this might be, you should tell us. This woman needs help."

"You got that right," Brock said angrily. "But I have no idea who sent these. Look, when I first got out here, I was dating Chastity Durant. We split up last month. Since then, I haven't been out with anyone except with friends a couple of times. I don't know this woman."

LaCross put his two cents in for the first time.

"I have never had an issue with Brock on the road," he said. "And I know he catches a ride from the games with Al Perez every night. If he says he doesn't know why this woman would fixate on him, I believe him. You should, too."

"I do believe him," Lu said, "but it makes my job so much harder. If it was just a specific person that we could contact, I could have this resolved in an hour. But if we don't know who it is, we can't."

"The woman in the picture, is that her?" Brock asked.

Lu's frown deepened. She slid a fourth letter across.

"This came while you were on your last road trip," she said.

"Brock," (it read)

_"You can't tell me you've forgotten me. I won't let you forget me. I will make you remember me.

"The next time you walk away from me, you better watch your back. I will make you need me."_

The signature on this one was simply an "E." There was no heart beside it.

"This one came this morning," Lu added.

"Mr. Big Shot," (this one started)

_"So this is how it is, huh? Well think again. You walk right past me and won't even speak. You won't even admit you know me?

"I'll force you to acknowledge me. I will not be ignored. You can hang out with that blonde bitch all you want, for now, but you and I will be together, Brock. I promise you that.

"No one will stand in the way of our happiness."_

This time, there wasn't even a signature.

"Holy shit," Brock muttered. "Holy shit. This woman is insane."

"I'm not a psychiatrist, so I don't know," Lu said. "She is a threat. Brock, after we got the fourth letter, I put a security detail on you. I usually discuss this with the player first, but you were in Miami and the break was coming. We've had you under loose surveillance since you returned. My men tell me there are a number of women who visit you who fit the description of a blonde woman. Who do you think she is referring to?"

Brock couldn't answer. It might be Jen. She had blonde hair. So did Randi. Tia Barnett's hair could be considered blonde. In the right light, so could Melanie or Tara.

The only one he had been alone with in public had been Jen but that had been a brief trip to grab some stuff from the grocery store. Then again, it might be Emmy Reyes. She was blonde, too, and Brock had gone places with her a few times while she was in town.

"It could be any of them," Brock admitted. "Look, I have to call them and let them know. They're all coming to the game tonight. I don't want them to be in any danger."

"Will they sit together?" Lu asked.

"Yeah, they all got seats along the third base line," Brock said with embarrassment. Lu actually cracked a smile.

"Yes, I suppose they would," she said. "Tell them to pull into the VIP lot and give their names. I'll have security meet them and escort them to their seats."

"I think Randi and Meredith are driving so they'll park in that lot anyway," Brock answered. "Randi has her own security that she brings to the games but I'll call them to be sure."

"Ah, yes, Randi Raver," Lu replied. "My nieces love her. I didn't realize that she was among your friends."

"She's my neighbor," Brock told her.

"Oh, of course," Lu responded. Then her face lit in a huge smile. "I believe I have some photos of her in a frumpy housecoat and bunny slippers. Perhaps for an autographed copy of her next CD for my brother's girls, I won't release them. I'm kidding, of course."

"Where was the picture you showed me taken?" Brock asked.

"Downtown," Lu replied. "We did not intrude upon your privacy. The picture of your visit with your neighbor was taken only because you left the house rather swiftly and at an unusual time of morning. We did not photograph anyone else besides this woman. We ran the vehicle license of your guests to confirm identity and so we could make sure they were safe while they were away from you. It was a rather daunting task. Luckily, the majority of the team was out of town and I had personnel to spare. If my people saw the same face in two separate locations, we tracked them. This woman saw you downtown on Tuesday and attempted to follow you home. I had two cars box her in on the freeway to slow her down. Once we certain you were out of sight, we attempted to follow her so we could ascertain her identity. The car is leased in a woman's name. The address in Glendale on the license she provided was not current and we have been unable to get a current address for her. However, after she lost you, she turned south and headed away from Glendale."

"Brock," Morris said in a fatherly voice, "we don't want you to worry about this. Focus on the game and let us worry about security. Ms. Lu is very good at what she does. This isn't the first time a letter such as this has come to a player. She usually can handle it without the player knowing until after the fact. You'll be safe. Of that I'm sure."

"I'm not worried about me," Brock said. "Look, she identified by description if not by name someone I'm close to. If she had been a little more specific, I'd know who to watch out for. But they all go everywhere together. That means this lunatic is a danger to all of them."

He shook his head bitterly.

"Mr. Morris, every single person I consider a friend now has to worry about her safety for the sole reason that she's my friend," he continued. "Me? I found myself dealing with real-life psychopaths before I even understood what the word meant. I doubt she'll follow them back home but who knows? Who can really say what a nutjob like this is thinking? Jen might be in just as much danger in Atlanta as she is in Los Angeles. Tara is a newscaster in Indianapolis and she did a pretty high-profile piece while she was out here. What makes you think this woman won't fly over and throw acid in her face or something?"

"You have valid points, Brock," Lu said before the general manager could reply. "It is more likely that this woman will not have the resources to even identity your friends let alone reach them. That said, I understand your concerns. The quickest way to resolve this is to find this woman and approach her. Sadly, nothing in her letters constitutes an overt threat. This will have to be handled, most likely, by contacting her family or friends and alerting them to her actions. Still, you can see the escalation. I had truly hoped that you could give me a name and an address for this woman and we could be done with it.

"So we will continue to trail you while you're out. I will assign someone to pick you up and to take you home before and after games. We will need someone with you until we figure out who this person is and why she has fixated on you. I hope you will agree to that."

Brock's face showed his displeasure but it didn't appear he had much choice.

Brock was late getting to the field and the women were already on their way by the time he got dressed. He called Randi's cell phone. She was surprised when he asked to speak to the security guard who wasn't driving. Still, after only a few questions, she passed the phone over.

Brock gave the man a brief overview of the situation and asked him to ensure that no one was following either vehicle. He told him that team personnel would meet the group in the VIP lot and escort them to the field. He also explained that someone from the team would be stationed nearby during the game and would accompany the women when they went for popcorn or to the facilities.

Then Brock had to explain the situation to Randi in one vehicle and to Meredith in the other. He didn't have time to go into great detail but he did his best to assure them that so long as they were cautious, they were in no danger.

He pulled himself away from the field as soon as he saw them walking down the aisle to their seats. He recognized Randi's hulking security people in front and back and he supposed the two women he didn't recognize in the middle of the group were people supplied by Ms. Lu.

He ignored his friends and spoke to the bodyguard in front.

"Any trouble?" he asked urgently.

"None," the man said. He paused briefly. "You know that Randi has to be our first priority."

"I understand," Brock answered. The group was pushing closer to hear the conversation.

"The others are our concern," a pleasant faced young woman put in from beside Susan.

"No, no, that's not what I was saying," the bodyguard, who Brock recalled was named Chris, said quickly. "I meant Randi is our first priority but she isn't our only priority. One of us has to stay with her while she's here. But if she is staying put, one of us can go and help out with the others. Like it or not, regardless of who this woman is looking for, our charge is right in the middle of it."

"And I won't run like a rabbit, either!" Randi said. "Brock, I've been through this before. I had a whack-job sending me love notes to the studio. It's why I have these guys with me. Just try not to worry. These guys are good and I can tell that the two that the team sent are just as good. We'll be fine. Besides, Merie and I know all the regulars. You have 10 or 12 women who sit here every game. The other 20 or 30 mix and match but we'll be watchful for people we don't know."

"We'll be fine," Melanie assured him. "You need to get moving. The rest of the players are already in the clubhouse."

Brock looked around for his teammates but then nodded. He headed through the dugout and into the clubhouse where the rest of the team was changing out of their batting practice jersey and into their game attire.

Al had noticed Brock's distraction and he didn't think it was because his friends were watching him play for the first time. He pulled Brock aside before they headed out for their final preparations before game-time.

"What's up?" Al asked.

"I've been getting some crazy letters," Brock admitted. "They've got me a little spooked, particularly with everyone in town this week. This crazy woman saw me out with a blonde sometime recently and made a veiled threat in a letter that arrived here yesterday. The club has security looking after them tonight – along with Randi's guys."

Al pursed his lips in thought. About half the women running around Los Angeles were blondes – as were about half the women hanging out at Brock's house at the moment.

"Could it have been Emmy?" he asked.

"Could have been any of them," Brock said. "Look, the letter said she saw me out with a blonde woman. But whoever wrote those letters is seriously strange. She could have seen me get into a cab with you and the synapses in her addled brain just made you look like a blonde woman."

"I'd be just a good looking as a woman as I am as a man," Al said with smile. He wanted Brock to focus on the game for the next three hours and let the professionals handle security.

"Sadly, that's true," Brock replied. "Which doesn't speak highly of you - in either gender!"

Al laughed and patted Brock on the shoulder.

"Those guys with Randi are no slouches," he said. "And the team guys are excellent. Cynthia Lu worked for the Secret Service before she retired and moved back here. Almost all the guys on her staff are ex-military."

"What about the women?" Brock asked. "She assigned two women to the group. I think they're just supposed to blend in."

"If they work for Cynthia, they're good," Al said firmly. "I wouldn't jerk you around on something this important. Let them deal with anything that needs to be dealt with."

Brock nodded and slowly smiled again.

"I thought you'd got them to play a joke on me," he said. "When they passed the first couple of letters across, I accused them of letting you talk them into pranking me. Of course when I saw the note taped to my locker saying they wanted to see me, I thought I'd been shipped either to Las Vegas or to some shit-hole team looking for prospects."

"I might make you wear a cheerleader uniform or carry my bags, but I would never do something that would make you worry," Al said. "Some of the other dicks on this team might, but not me. The others won't mess with you because you scare a lot of them and I scare the rest of them. As far as being sent down, it's not going to happen. And I don't see you playing for anyone else for quite a while."

The friends met back at the house following the Dodgers' 3-0 loss to Washington. Both teams' star pitchers were locked in a scoreless duel through seven innings but the Nationals' put up three runs against the Dodgers' bullpen to scrape out the win.

Brock insisted his friends leave the stadium immediately following the game. He wished they would have followed the crowd that left in the top of the eighth inning when the scoreless tie was broken but they stuck around to see the game end.

Brock had expected to follow his normal routine and share a taxi ride with Al. Instead he was instructed to leave via a rarely used employee exit where he was met by Cynthia Lu herself and two imposing men.