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“Don’t touch it.”
“Let me go.” I try to wrestle out of his hold. “We need to see what it says.”
“Fingerprints. Let the police handle that.”
“Oh, like they’ve been handling everything else? Fuck that.” I squirm, and his grip around my waist tightens. “Let me fucking go! How does he know where I live?” Panic begins to suffocate me, and I thrash in his arms. “Let me go…” My anger is quickly replaced with fear. Tremors seize my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back tears.
“Shhh… it’s going to be all right,” Tate whispers in my ear, but it doesn’t soothe my fears.
“He knows where I live. He knows where Ilive.” I collapse into his arms. Sliding his arm under my legs, he picks me up and carries me over to my couch, cradling me in his lap.
“He’s not getting anywhere near you. I promise.”
“He already has. He was at my front door, Tate.”
“And we’re going to find out how and why. There’s no way he got in here without someone seeing his face or surveillance catching him. He fucked up. It’s only a matter of time before we catch this asshole.” Sirens grow louder until two uniformed officers arrive at my door. “I gotta deal with this.” He places me on the couch and goes into bodyguard mode.
“Miss Parks?” Finally, an officer calls my name. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all.” I stand and settle by my open door. I make the mistake of glancing at the bouquet, and my stomach knots.
“We’re aware of the unfortunate incident from a few days ago and the flower deliveries to your work. Can you tell us anyone you think might be doing this?”
I shake my head. “No. There’s no one I can think of. I mean…there’s this guy I work with, Chad. He’s been really pushy with me and doesn’t like taking no for an answer, but I can’t see him going this far.”
Tate’s expression darkens.
“And this Chad, are you two friendly outside of work?”
“No. Never. He’s asked me out a few times, but I always say no.”
“Does he have your number? Any chance he’s getting mixed—”
“She said no,” Tate growls. “Why don’t you do your fucking jobs and go ask him these questions?”
The officer writes something in his notepad and closes it. “Okay, we’ll be in touch.”
“And the fuckin’ flowers?”
“We’ll run a check with local florists to see if anyone has paid for a delivery to this address.”
“And the note?”
He turns to his partner. “Go grab a bag and some gloves.” When the officer returns, he kneels, pulls the card from the hook with gloved hands, and unfolds it.
“What does it say?” Tate beats me to ask.
The officer looks up, eyeing us both. “It says, ‘I love it when you cry. It makes me so hard. One day, you’ll cry for me.’”
I sway, losing my balance. Tate catches me. His mouth is at my ear. “It’s going to be fine.” Then he pulls back. “Get those fucking flowers out of here and do your jobs.” They both gesture their goodbyes and disappear down the stairs. “Can you stand? I need to make some calls.”
I stumble my way to the kitchen, barely hearing what he says. My arms feel like jelly as I open my cabinet and grab my bottle of tequila. I twist off the cap, listening to Tate in the distance.
“They were at her fucking door. They ain’t gonna do shit. I need your contact in the department. Fuck, I don’t know. Get a patrol to do rounds. Where are they with finding him? They should be doing fucking more!” His voice rises while I tip the bottle back, downing an impressive amount. Walking past the kitchen, Tate sees me and says, “Gotta go.” He hangs up. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I pull back, shaking off the afterburn. “See, told you I can drink. I never vomit. The other night was a fluke.” I lift it again, needing to numb the fucking panic inside my chest. Tate rips the bottle from my hand, ruining that plan. “Hey! Give that back.”
“This shit ain’t gonna fix this. You gotta deal with what’s happening.”
