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CHAPTER TWENTY
SAINT
I don’t normally writemy own murders into my books. A risky endeavor, if anyone were to trace my steps. But Austin’s demise deserves to be immortalized for my muse. To commemorate the first sacrifice I made for her.
The other half of my screen displays live footage from Briar’s house. She still hasn’t found the cameras I planted.
My phone rings, breaking the silence, and I swipe my thumb across my screen. “Hello?”
“Saint.” Derrik lets out a whoosh of relieved air. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”
“I’ve been working on the book.”
“Good, I’m going to assume you have a completed manuscript for me then.”
“Nearly. I only have the ending to write and then I can send it to you.”
Derrik sighs and I know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself from ripping his best client a new asshole. “We’ve got to get this manuscript to your editor as soon as possible, pal. Or I’m afraid your publisher will drop you. This isyour last chance. If you want to get this book published, I need it in my inbox by next week. If not, I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do for you.”
“It’ll be in your inbox any day now, Derrik.”
I’ve written thousands of words since I found my muse. Surely one more day with her and I’ll knock out this ending.
Failure is not an option. Publishing this book is a must. I wrote it for her. And I’ll be dedicating it to her.
“Good. Next week, Saint.” He hangs up.
On the live footage from Briar’s house, she stomps upstairs, grabbing a can of pepper spray from a dresser drawer. Her cheeks are flushed an adorable pink.
Cookie mews at her feet, and Briar tells her, “We’ll just see how he likes someone breaking intohishouse.”
I grin. I love when my muse taps into that fiery spirit.
She’s coming to play. And I can’t wait to give chase.
In preparation for her arrival, I back my car out of the driveway and park it half a block down along the sidewalk. Back at my house, I lock the front door because I can’t make it too easy for her, but I do unlock the back door. I don’t want her to struggle too much to find what she’s looking for.
She circles the block once, slowing dramatically in front of my rental home to search for my car in the driveway. When she doesn’t spot it, she comes back, parking along the sidewalk.
Briar is adorable attempting to break into my house. She tries the front door first, and I chuckle—she thinks I’m that stupid. She heads around back to avoid the prying eyes of any passersby and tries a window, then another. Neither of them budge. Maybe she’ll finally learn to lock her own.
She’s red-faced by the time she turns the handle on the back door, a wide smile blooming across her beautiful face.
Welcome home, muse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BRIAR
For a stalker,he’s shit at keeping his own home secure. I turn the knob on the back door, and it swings open with a slight creak.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to come barreling into the room wielding a knife, but the house stays eerily silent.
Though it may not be wholly ethical, his address was included in his student records on campus. My GPS told me exactly where to find him.
Luckily, Saint isn’t home, and I need to find proof before he is. If he finds me here, who knows what he’ll do to me.
His home is so bare, completely void of any decor or personality, that it hardly feels like anyone actually lives here. More like a home staged to go on the market. Probably because he’s renting this house while he attends the MFA program at Auburn and he hasn’t bothered to decorate. Why out of all the MFA programs in the country did he have to choose mine?
