I shake my head. “The angles in the photo are off since Luca is standing at the top of the quadrant. Danielle was so much shorter than him, everyone always joked she’d need a chair to kiss him.” My breaths shorten as fading memories trap me. “She brought a foldable stepladder to prom.”
Recalling what Alex said earlier, I lock my eyes with his. “Ineverpicked on her, but I didn’t stop the ridicule either. The last time I saw her, she barged past me, clearly distraught.”
Alex reaches out to touch me, but something stops him. “I doubt she is your stalker, Rae,” he advises, lowering his eyes and hands back to the computer we’re commanding. “The assailant is approximately five-eight. You said she is short.”
I shake my head so sternly, tears nearly tumble down my cheeks. “No. I said she was shorter than Luca. He was six-foot-four. That’s nearly eight inches difference. It could be her.”
When Alex’s lips twist, revealing he needs convincing, I take up the campaign. “You said the assailant had feminine hands. That he was on the small side—svelte or slim or whatever the fuck you said. Why can’t it be her?! Not all stalkers are men.”
“Rae. . .” He clasps his hand over mine, gaining the attention of both the waitress and me. “Why would Danielle threaten you now? Stalkers don’t wait decades to put their notions into play. They act impulsively, often before fully evaluating their plan of attack—”
"Not when they're clinically insane!" My words instantly stop Alex's crusade to calm me down. They also gain the attention of every customer in the café.
After a few deep breaths, I explain myself better, “Danielle had. . .issues.Instead of handling Luca’s rejections with dignity, she often lashed out violently. Luca took it in stride. I wasn’t as willing to let things slide.” Alex listens intently, not once interrupting me. I don’t know him well enough yet to decipher if that is a good or bad thing. “After an incident that involved my car being spray-painted, I sought help from a third party.”
“You contacted the police?” Alex asks, hopeful.
“No,” I reply, my tone as appalled as it was last night when he suggested the same thing. I have no qualms with law enforcement officers, but after the incident at Substanz, they aren’t the first people I call when in trouble. “I spoke to the pastor at Danielle’s church.”
Alex's brows stitch, seemingly unaware of the consequences of bringing someone's faith into question.
I use his silence to my advantage. "He divulged private information—stuff I wasn't to mention to anyone."
“Things you told Luca?” Alex asks, finally clueing in.
I nod.
“And Danielle discovered you were his source?”
My nod turns into a shake. “That’s when things took a dangerous turn. Luca wouldn’t tell Danielle anything. It shifted her obsession from manic jealousy to . . .this.” I wiggle my finger at the photo we are discussing.
Alex jots down a few more notes. "How long after the photo was taken did Danielle arrive at prom with a stepladder in tow?"
It sounds even more ridiculous coming from an outside source, but I still answer, “Around six months.”
Alex purses his lips. “So something must have happened between this photo and prom to switch her focus back to lust so quickly?” Because he is more summarizing than asking a question, I don’t answer him. “We just need to discover what it was.”
"So you believe me? You think Danielle is responsible for the incident last night?"
“I didn’t say that.” Standing from his chair, he gathers the half dozen pages of notes he scribbled down the past hour. “But we’ll never find out here. We need to gather more evidence.”
My wide eyes dance between his. “Evidence? From where?”
My heart launches into my throat when he nudges his head to the photos scattered across the computer monitor. They all featured Luca and me at our favorite hangout spot when we were seventeen: the football field of our local high school.
“You’re certifiably mad. We can’t go to Texas!” I shout when the truth smacks into me.
“Why not? It’s Saturday. I’m not expected anywhere until Tuesday, and you told Isaac you’ll be unreachable for a few days. Why can’t we go to Texas?”
He waves his hand in the air to summon the waitress. She’s at his side two seconds later, stealing my chance to reply. When he rummages through his wallet to find the correct change to pay our bill, I delve my hand into his faded leather pouch, snag every one of his bills in a firm grip, then thrust them into the idiotic brunette’s chest. She doesn’t deserve the massive tip I just awarded her, but if it gets her on her merry way and my conversation with Alex back on track, she can have every damn bill I can conjure.
Unfortunately, a big tip isn't what the waitress has her sights set on. She wants something big—it just doesn't hold monetary value.
“Buzz off.” I shove her away with an aggressive push.
Alex watches her disappointing retreat before returning his slit eyes to mine. “Do you know you can be arrested just for placing your hands on her?”
Hating that he’s taking her side, I snarl, "Do you know I could sue her for emotional distress? I may never get a full night's sleep again after watching her inappropriate barstool hump." My stupidity is even more apparent since I barely slept a wink last night. "Come to think of it, I'll aid the barstool in prosecuting her for sexual assault! He didn't ask to have her skanky cooch ground against him!"
