Page 23 of Chasin’s Surrender

“You’d be correct.”

Goddamn, sick, fucking bastard.

“Bobby call the police?”

“Called the police, went to the studio, told Genevieve she should take a break. Convinced her to go out to lunch with her. Kept her out of the house long enough for the police to do their thing, the cleaning lady to come in, wash all of Genevieve’s clothes in her dresser. Police took the bedding, cleaning lady remade her bed and scrubbed the room. By the time Genevieve got back to her house, it was good as new and she never knew some motherfucker was in her bed jerking off and that her room had been a crime scene.”

Motherfucker was in her bed jerking off.

Chasin’s stomach roiled. The built-up acid leaked, turning bitter as his rage built.

“That shit shouldn’t have been kept from her.”

“I agree, but Bobby says she’s got her reasons though she didn’t share. What she did tell me was, she did it to protect Genevieve.”

You’d think that because you don’t know her.

What didn’t Chasin know? Why would Genevieve be better off left in the dark?

“That all?” Chasin asked.

“For now. McKenna’s running the names the uncle sent Genevieve. Jameson went to Baltimore to pick up the equipment he needs to set up the new system. Nixon’s in his office talking to the detective in Tennessee. All I can tell you about that is, Nix doesn’t sound happy.”

Which meant the police in Tennessee didn’t have shit on this guy, and likely hadn’t been taking the letters and gifts seriously.

Fucking hell.

“You need me to bring you a bag?” Alec inquired.

“It’d be appreciated, I’m not leaving her here unprotected. The locks here are a fucking joke, no outside lights, and plenty of places to gain entry undetected. Bobby still there?”

“She left five minutes ago, said she was going to the store to stock up. Genevieve asked her uncle to stop the delivery service and cleaning crew. And Bobby doesn’t want Genevieve going out and getting recognized. Which reminds me—”

“No, I had no clue,” Chasin answered before Alec finished his question. “I don’t listen to country. She introduced herself as Genevieve Ellison. Though even if she’d told me her name was Vivi Rush, I still wouldn’t have known her.”

“Seriously? Her songs are all over the radio. She’s huge right now.”

“She any good?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Chasin felt a swell of pride hearing his friend’s praise. Something he didn’t have the right to feel, but there it was all the same.

“I’ll have to look her up.”

“Dude, she’s in the house—why would you look her up when you could ask for a one-man concert?”

That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“I’ll look her up,” he repeated.

“Right. Check back later.”

Alec disconnected and Chasin shoved his phone in his pocket. It was time to find Genevieve and get some answers. But from what Bobby had told him, and the cold shoulder Genevieve kept giving him, he reckoned it would be like pulling teeth getting her to open up.

Chasin climbed the stairs, wracking his mind trying to find his best play. He should use the stalker angle to his advantage and scare her into forgiving him. But he couldn’t do it—not even when he’d thought she was a cheating bitch would he have been able to stoop that low. Genevieve was scared enough. He’d felt it when he’d held her after Bobby told her what had happened in her bed. Chasin would do pretty much anything to make sure she never felt that kind of terror again.

He stopped on the second-floor landing when he heard the first strum on the guitar. The sound came again, still mellow but this time louder and building faster. The earthy sound drew him closer to the closed door—not the master but the room he’d seen her instruments in earlier.