Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien Page A

the coffeehouse. And the stranger was blocking the door.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Collin said in a voice raspy from crying. “Do I know you?”
    â€œNot yet,” the man said. “I recognized you when you came into the café. I figured maybe you could use a friend right now—or at least a tissue.” He let out a little laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not a stalker or anything like that.” He waved the napkins at him. “Here . . .”
    From his experience with certain fans, Collin remembered the ones who said, “Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker,” right up front were usually the most trouble. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the guy was a little off. With his blue eyes, dark hair, and square jaw, he should have been handsome, but he wasn’t. The features just didn’t mesh together right. He had a slightly nerdish quality that was more creepy than endearing.
    Collin dug into the pockets of his cargo shorts, hoping to find his own Kleenex. But he didn’t have any. He gave the man a wary glance and took the napkins from him. “Thank you,” he muttered. He blew his nose. “I don’t want to be rude, but I kind of want to be alone.”
    â€œI haven’t seen you cry like that since your grandmother died in The Night Whisperer ,” he said. “You should have gotten an Academy Award for that—or at least, a nomination.”
    Collin wiped his nose again. “Thanks, nice of you to say. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel very social right now. . . .”
    But the man still didn’t get the hint. “I’ve seen all your movies, your TV appearances, too,” he said. “A lot of them are on YouTube. I didn’t care for the episode of Brothers & Sisters , but it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure it’s something your manager or agent made you do.”
    â€œSorry you feel that way,” Collin said, frowning. He started to brush past him on his way to the screen door. “Excuse me. . . .”
    The stranger touched his arm, and Collin recoiled. The man backed off a step. “Hey, I’m your friend, Collin,” he said with a hand over his heart. “I just hate to see you looking so sad. I’ve read all about your mother. It shows how compassionate you are that you’d still cry for her. But really, she isn’t worth your tears. . . .”
    Shaking his head, Collin glared at him.
    â€œRick, I think he’s talked to you all he wants to.”
    The stranger spun around.
    Collin glanced over at the one detective he liked. Ian stood on the stoop, holding the screen door open. He wore a blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts, and sandals. From behind his sunglasses he seemed to be staring at the other man.
    â€œWho are you?” the stranger asked, indignant. “How do you know my name?”
    â€œI recognized you when you came into the café,” Ian said in an ironic tone. “But don’t worry, Rick. I’m not a stalker or anything like that.” He took off his sunglasses and smiled at Collin. “Can I offer you a lift home?”
    Wiping his eyes, Collin nodded. He brushed past the man and followed Ian back inside the café, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He tossed the used napkins in a trash can by the sugar-and-cream station.
    â€œI hear you managed to ditch Al,” Ian said over his shoulder as he started toward the front of the coffeehouse. “Congratulations, I wish I could ditch him myself. I wasn’t supposed to go on duty for another half hour, but Al called and put me on search-and-rescue duty. Lucky for me, I saw you locking up your bike outside.”
    â€œLucky for me, too,” Collin said. “Who was that guy back there?”
    Ian stopped near the end of the customer line. “Were you going to order something?”
    With a sigh, Collin glanced toward the