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CHAPTER TWENTY
The newsroom was quieter than normal since there were only a few producers and a couple of reporters around. Lucy sat at her cubicle and her gaze drifted to the dark purple calla lilies sitting on the edge of Bridgett’s desk. Once again, she forced her eyes to focus on something else.
She had received a bouquet of flowers like those from Robbie each day for two weeks before he’d come for her. They’d arrived with nearly illegible notes filled with nonsensical promises she hadn’t understood at the time.
He wanted her to be his. He hated sharing her with the world. She had to get off camera so she wouldn’t be available to everyone. She was his. His woman wasn’t a slut. Putting herself on television made her a tramp.
She shook her head. The flowers on Bridgett’s desk were only flowers, nothing more. They weren’t even for her.
It was officially time to go home so her mind would stop playing tricks on her.
She pushed back from her desk and finally found William in an editing bay with Parker.
“Who is he?” William asked, rewinding the tape with the push of a button.
“No idea.” Parker leaned into the screen on one of the monitors to study something. “If he came in after her and he didn’t take anything. What do you think he wanted?”
“The guy goes through everything.” William replied, pointing to the other screen.
Lucy cleared her throat. “Hey.”
“Hey,” they said in unison, oblivious to her.
She stepped into the cramped bay. “What’s going on?”
“Luce, is this the guy you thought you saw at the lake?” William rewound the tape and pushed play. He clicked another string of buttons to zoom in on the intruder’s face.
She backed into the heavy soundproofing material on the wall.
Those eyes. That familiar face. Oh, God.
Robbie had changed. He’d gained some weight over the past months, hadn’t shaved in ages, and had a manic gleam to his eye that slid icicles straight to her core.
“That’s Robbie,” she said, calmer than she felt.
Neither of them moved.
She lunged for the button at the bottom of the screen to turn it off. The image zipped into a thin line before disappearing.
She closed her eyes and counted, trying to ground herself and find calm again. No luck. Her heart pulsed, and the room shrank. She couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
She pressed at her chest, but the air wouldn’t come.
“Parker, call the police,” William said, eerily calm. “This is the guy that hurt her.”
Through the roaring in her ears, he sounded far away, even though he was right there.
“On it.” She vaguely heard Parker’s reply.
The latch clicked, and her harsh breathing cracked into a sob in the little soundproof room.
“Luce, I’m going to put my arms around you. You’re safe here. It’s just you and me.”
She nodded slightly. At some point, she’d slipped to the painted concrete floor, her knees pressed protectively into her chest. The wheels of a rolling chair squeaked as he shifted it to the side and moved so they sat together.
His arms enveloped her, and his fingers threaded into her hair when she shoved her face against his chest. “Breathe with me. That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Tears burned across her cheeks to seep into his tie.
