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His mouth was grim. “I know.”
It was a photocopy of evidence, annotated by some careful hand at the police station, but despite the grainy quality, it was impossible to miss the significance of what she was saying.
“This is a photo of me in my underwear. In my bedroom. Here, in my house.” Huge eyes lifted to his face. “When was this taken?”
“He wouldn’t say. He insisted he didn’t know anything about it.”
“It was in his car,” she mumbled, staring at the picture. “How could he get this? It looks like he stood right at my window but that’s the first floor, it’s not possible.”
“Best guess is he used a stealth drone.”
“Oh my God.”
She pressed her palm harder to her mouth.
“I know.” He came around the bench and picked her up, holding her against his body, arms wrapped around her. “The working theory is that he knew we were sleeping together, and it escalated his acts. The police think, and I agree, that within days he would have struck out. But you’re safe now, Max. You’re safe.” He kept his arms around her, holding her tight, food forgotten as he whispered reassurances into her ear. She was shaking like a leaf, the reality of this too much, the truth impossible to grapple with. Over Noah’s shoulder, her eyes strayed to the photograph and a wave of nausea rose in her gut – disgust at the lengths he’d stooped to, at having been so violated in her own home, made her feel both devastated and furious.
“I want to talk to him.”
“The police wouldn’t allow it.”
“I don’t care. I want to talk to him. What the hell was he thinking, Noah? I thought we were friends
, or something. I thought…”
“I know, I know.” He rubbed his hand up and down her spine, calming, reassuring, promising with his touch that everything would be okay.
“Do you think he did this?”
Max’s eyes fired up to Noah’s, to the sympathy in the depths of his gaze, to the centre of his soul. “All the evidence points to him,” Noah said. “We’ll see how the interview goes in the morning.”
“Will he be held overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Poor Norma.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “She must be devastated.”
Noah’s smile was laced with pity. “I think she’d say the same about you.” He padded his thumb over her lower lip, eyes locked. “Are you hungry?”
She pulled a face. “I couldn’t eat. I feel too funny.”
“A bath then,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together and lifting her hand to his lips, kissing her gently.
Max’s eyes swept shut. “A bath sounds like heaven.” She felt like a child, stupid and needy, so she didn’t ask the question that hovered on her lips. Will you stay with me?
Noah clicked into the security footage of the restaurant, starting as the doors opened, watching and drinking coffee, needing to put this matter to bed. He studied the restaurant footage until Edward appeared on screen with a couple of men, all dressed in suits. The footage wasn’t great quality, the cameras nothing like as sophisticated as those at the gallery, but he was able to keep an eye on Edward at least. He paused the video to make another coffee, went to check on Max, who was sleeping soundly, then went back to reviewing the video. All he needed was footage of Edward on the phone somewhere, or leaving the restaurant to make a call, in which case he’d hook up the street cameras. But it was more than that. He was looking for an indication of demeanor in Edward, a sign that he was on the brink of becoming a man unraveled.
From what he could see, there was none. On the surface, this was just a guy out for dinner with some business colleagues.
Frustration clipped through Noah. He leaned closer to the screen, his heart slamming inside his chest as he realized the time stamp. It was now after the time Max had received the phone call from her stalker – and Edward hadn’t left the table.
Chapter 11
AT FIRST, SHE THOUGHT she was dreaming. The noise seemed to come from so far away, as though she’d imagined it, but then, it was puncturing the fog of sleep. Broken glass? Footsteps? She startled, bolting upright, her heart in her chest.
She reached across the bed, for Noah, but he wasn’t there. She was alone.
Were the footsteps Noah’s? Nothing made sense. She grabbed her phone and pushed out of bed, running to her walk-in wardrobe – easily the size of a room – and flicking off the light, crouching down beneath the hemlines of her evening gowns, bile rising in her throat, not out of fear of the outside but at a cloying, familiar ache brought on by the darkness.
