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I give her a nod. “And out.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “Is someone trying to kill me?”
“I don’t know what that was.” It’s either to scare her or kill her. The difference is critical, and my blood pressure is through the roof from not knowing.
Her face crumples and sobs shake her body.
“Hey.” I brush a warm tear off her cheek. “None of this is your fault.”
I fucking hate Roman Hughes at the moment. I hate him for putting this kind of fear into her. I hate him for the pain he’s caused and the way he’s using her. I need to find out why before she gets hurt and before anyone around her gets hurt.
But I don’t hate him as much as I despise myself right now. Did I miss the pickup? They had to have been watching us and waiting. Were my thoughts on Penelope, my own selfish obsession?
The car. He’s probably tracking it. He’s always known where we’re at. I should’ve thought of it before now. Am I out of practice or is the beautiful swan distracting me?
Either way, I fucked up. And I can’t let it happen again or next time might be worse.
* * *
Penelope
Elsa’s in my doorway.“Are you sure you don’t need anything before I go?”
I shake my head, my mouth curving in a tired smile. “I’m supposed to be in bed with diarrhea.”
Elsa snickers. “It’s a good thing he didn’t use the cramps excuse. I’d have to deck him. Call if you need anything, but Cannon’s not going anywhere.”
That calms me. The way he handled the crash. From gunning it, to swerving out of the way, to parking and taking care of the police and insurance details, he was nothing but unwavering confidence.
My reports of a stalker might be taken more seriously now, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope.
What’s Roman going to say about the crash? The insurance is under his name, just like everything else. He’s going to cancel everything. I know it. Why would he pay higher premiums when I left him? I can’t afford a car, not even a beater. The trashed one I have isn’t mine.
It’s too late to worry about it now. I doubt he’ll try to contact me. He hasn’t called since the night I hung up on him, though he may not want to miss a reason to berate me.
I collapse onto the bed. It’s after ten. I need sleep. I’m so weary, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can’t close them for the life of me. And that’s the issue. It’s my life and it was threatened today.
It doesn’t make sense. To go from weird letters to killing an animal to ramming my car? I don’t watch crime shows. I don’t watch murder documentaries. Is this how it goes? Does it escalate this quickly?
I’m tired of being caught unprepared. I’m tired of not knowing…anything.
I grab my tablet from the nightstand and tug it over my lap as I sit on the covers. I pull up a series about criminals and how they were caught and find an episode on a stalker.
Two hours later, I’m too scared to shut off the lamp. Details of murdered women of all ages stream through my mind. I watched four episodes. Four too many.
What was I thinking?
I did this to myself. I think about how my situation is different. Like, they don’t make TV shows about the cases where the stalker was apprehended and the woman went about her normal life.
Those girls didn’t have a gated house to hide in.
Those girls didn’t have a bodyguard who could handle getting rammed by a car without a rise in pulse rate.
Those girls didn’t have… Those girls were exactly like me. And there’s nothing stopping my stalker from trying to kill me again. He could hurt me. He could hurt someone I love. He could hurt Cannon.
My throat constricts, and I try to hold the sob in. I stuff my face into my pillow and struggle to stay as silent as possible. The bed dips and I yank my head up, a scream leaving my mouth.
Cannon slams his hand over my mouth and grips me around the back, yanking me into him. His scent sinks into my awareness and I relax. As soon as my sounds cut off, he removes his hand. I want it back. I want to be smothered by his strength.
