The man stalking Regan isn’t a stalker.
He’s one of us.
He’s an agent.
15
Alex loves me.
Helovesme.
I thought the shrilling of my pulse in my ears made me mishear what he said, but the instant our eyes connected and held, I knew what I heard was true. His eyes were brimming with vulnerability, and his jaw was in a firm, determined hold.
They weren’t the only telltales signs, though. It was the impact his words caused my heart that was the biggest indication. Luca told me he loved me all the time. He expressed it with words, without words, and sometimes even in writing. I thought it was true love, the type that makes it hard for you to breathe, but only after hearing the same words spill from Alex’s lips do I realize they weren’t the right words for Luca and me to use.
Don’t misunderstand me. We loved each other with everything we had; we just weren’tinlove with each other. We had mutual respect, understanding, and the ability to destroy each other—just like Alex and I have.
I tried to say something back to Alex. With my tongue and heart twisted up in knots, it would have never been the words he wanted to hear, but it would have been better than silence. I care for Alex. I have wild, crazy feelings for him I’ve never felt for anyone, but until I’ve had the chance to sit and reflect, my emotions will remain unvoiced.
I was hoping to explain to Alex that I needed some time to think before responding, but unfortunately, I lost the opportunity when he stood from the bed and headed for the shower, taking me and my exhaustive post-climaxed body with him.
His playfulness in the shower as he removed traces of our fun night from my body had me believing we successfully dodged the awkwardness of his confession. Regrettably, his quick dart from the shower ten minutes ago dampened my hope.
I take my time shampooing my hair, hoping a little distance will lessen the sparks that forever fire between us. When I step back and evaluate things with a level head, I can understand Alex’s blurt of affection. The tension that bristles between us is phenomenal. I’ve always wondered if instant attraction was a thing or something romance authors made up to sucker readers into believing their characters fell in love on the very first page.
Now. . . now I need my head examined.
This kills me to admit, but I want to say it back.Like, what?Who the fuck am I?The only time I’ve fallen in love the past five years was when they redesigned the butterfly clip. Now instead of just giving you a little buzz, it sends you rocketing toward orgasm within seconds of switching it on. I don’t fall for people, much less a man I know is lying to me.
Ugh!I can’t even blame my stupidity on tequila. I had a few scrumptious cocktails last night, but I steered clear of any that bring out my stupid. It was probably a combination of sugar, heartache and a hot, virile man.
Learning that Luca had a second life that excluded me stung like a thousand bee stings. Instead of giving me solitude to deal with my hurt, Alex kissed every welt, patched up every scar, then made me forget I was hurt to begin with by cherishing me as I’ve never been cherished.
Now his dropping of the “L” bomb makes sense. Our exchange last night was filled with so many emotions, they were bound to spill over to this morning. I’m shocked it didn’t occur earlier. That’s how perfect last night was.
Not feeling as deflated as earlier, I rinse out the last of the conditioner from my hair before switching off the faucet. Just as I grab the towel Alex left for me, I hear him shout that he’ll be back in a minute. The urgency in his tone returns my heart to the frantic rhythm it thumped when he said those three little words, except it isn’t leaping with worry. It’s bounding with hope.
It spikes even more astronomically when I enter the main area of his room. My laptop is sitting on the edge of the bed, open and switched on. My steps slice to half their natural stride when the cursor suddenly bolts to the top right-hand corner.
What the fuck?
I sit next to my laptop before dragging it onto my lap. The dampness of my finger makes the touch pad a little unresponsive, but even after drying it, the curser doesn’t move as randomly as it did earlier.
After a quick glance at the door separating Alex’s room from the hallway, I fire up my internet browser and log into the search history. It shows no new results for today.
My lungs saw in and out when I drag my cursor to the locked file hidden between folders of useless photos and documents. I don’t know why I’m being so pedantic. I doubt anything on my laptop would be of interest to Alex, but I have a moral obligation to uphold. Nothing in this file could hurt me, but the man I’m paid to protect. . . in the wrong hands, this file could spell disaster.
I suck in a relieved breath when it shows my last login to this secure file was four months ago. That sounds about right. Four months ago was when a woman with half a brain decided to submit her third request for child support. Hell will freeze over before Isaac pays a dime for a child that isn’t his. This isn’t a standard case of a naughty weekend gone wrong. Despite Theresa Veneto’s claims, the paternity of her child is not in question—not with my client, anyway.
Her underhanded tactics to deplete Isaac’s fortune of millions of dollars have already caused her to lose her position at Ravenshoe PD, so she’d do best to tread carefully. Isaac let her off easy the first time. She won’t be so lucky the second time around. After the stunts she pulled, he should have had her prosecuted. Instead, all he got was a forced resignation. There were no charges filed, no record of conversation, or steps put in place to stop her from pulling the same tricks on another unsuspecting fool. She just packed up and left town, taking her illegitimate child with her.
Excluding Isaac, Jeremiah is the only one I feel sorry for in this situation. He doesn’t deserve to be thrust into the middle of an ugly custody battle when the woman who has his blood knows who his real father is, but Theresa doesn’t care. She uses Jeremiah against Isaac every chance she gets. He couldn’t even walk down the street without her harassing him. I’m so glad he finally accepted my advice early last year, or he’d still be dealing with her harassment to this day. When you have a leech like Theresa Veneto trying to drain your blood, you must remain cautious. Those little suckers attach to you in places you’d never suspect, weakening you with every suck until you no longer have the will to live.
I shut my laptop screen a little hard. I blame Theresa. Anytime she enters my mind, my thoughts turn sullied. I never knew it was possible to hate someone you’ve never met. Theresa proves that is a lie. Hate is too nice a word to describe what I feel for that lady. She’s scum—and a million other derogative words.
Pushing aside my dislike of Theresa and a niggling doubt in my stomach that just won’t quit, I don a semi-casual dress and cute jacket. While dragging a brush through my freshly washed hair, I check my phone to see if I’ve missed any calls from Isaac. His contact the past two days has been very sporadic. Usually, he’s on the ball when it comes to communication.
I’m surprised there are no voicemails, but there are four unopened text messages. The first few are the standard check in ones Isaac conducts three to four times a day. The last one. . . I fan my suddenly heated cheeks.
