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“I do have bedding, you know,” I tell him, gesturing to the pillow under his arm.
“I’m sure you do. I sleep better with my own.”
I shrug and follow him out of the apartment, waiting while he makes sure the door is locked.
The drive back to Savannah is quiet, apart from the radio. The music is a welcome distraction from the awkward silence that’s descended. I pretend not to notice as I stare out the window, my eyes darting from faces on the sidewalk to drivers in passing cars. My mind works overtime, and every face I see is Matt’s, his dark, cold eyes penetrating my soul.
Knowing I’m going to drive myself crazy, I drop my head back against the seat and close my eyes, hoping against hope those eyes don’t follow me into my dreams.
ChapterNine
Sawyer
The first night is always the worst. No matter what kind of person you are, sharing your home with a stranger has got to be tough. I’m rarely at home these days, and aside from preferring my pillow, I can sleep pretty much anywhere. Hallie, however, seems to be struggling.
Since arriving at her apartment an hour ago, I’ve barely seen her. She showed me around, which didn’t take long, and then disappeared into her bedroom. After unpacking the small amount of stuff I’d brought with me, I make my way into the living room. The apartment is much smaller than mine, but it feels more like a home. My place is a base, and because I’m never there, it doesn’t feel much like a home.
Walking around the small room, I stop to look at the multiple photographs adorning the walls. Some I recognize as Hallie’s parents, and there are a couple of shots of a guy in uniform. I don’t know if he’s a brother or a boyfriend. I haven’t heard her mention either, but I’d like to think if she had a boyfriend, he’d be here after everything she’d been through. There are other images too, including sunsets over the ocean, wildflowers, and scenic shots. They’re good. Really good. I wonder if it’s Hallie behind the camera.
I feel a little uneasy making myself at home, so I perch on the arm of the sofa and take out my phone. Seeing I have an email from the Savannah Police Department, I click on the first of the two attachments. It’s a background file on Bryant, including his rap sheet. My eyes flick through the report—he’s been in and out of the foster care system since the age of six. In trouble with the cops from the age of ten. Small things to start with—theft and social disturbances—then things escalated to assault and aggravated assault in his early twenties, when he spent nine months in jail. He seemed to go quiet after that as if he’d turned his life around. If only that had been the case.
Opening the other attachment, it’s the file on the Anderson/Bryant case Detective Wilmot promised to send over. It doesn’t make for easy reading, and my stomach churns as the detailed accounts of the injuries sustained to the bodies of the girls found at the Bryant property are listed. All but one had been sexually assaulted and tortured before their deaths. The killings had occurred over three years, and it seemed none of the girls were with them for longer than a year, some merely weeks. Hallie had been lucky Amanda had fallen ill. If she hadn’t, I’m not sure there would have been a way out for her.
I’ve read enough to know I’m dealing with a sick bastard, and I close down the email app, slipping my phone into my pocket. There’s still no sign of Hallie, and I need to get her out of her room. This is her place. She shouldn’t have to be locked away feeling uncomfortable.
I reach her bedroom door and knock lightly on it. “Hallie, are you awake?” I speak quietly, knowing after what she’s been through today, she could be asleep. I can hear movement and take a small step back as I wait for her to open the door.
“Everything okay?” she asks as she swings the door open. The outfit she wore earlier has been replaced with sleep shorts and a tank, her face free of makeup. Her long brown hair has been piled on top of her head and secured by a hair tie. My eyes track over her body, and I can’t help but think she looks even more beautiful this way. I close my eyes and shake away my irrational thoughts. I’m her close protection officer. I’ve never been attracted to a client before, and I’m not about to start now. When my eyes meet hers, she’s looking at me strangely, probably wondering why I’m staring at her.
“Hey, do you umm… want to get pizza? I can order in?” My voice sounds strained even to my ears, and I smile, hoping she hasn’t noticed.
“Sure. The menus are in the top drawer in the kitchen.” I smile and turn away from her. Going to the kitchen drawer, I grab the takeout menu.
“Hey, Sawyer, would you mind getting me a soda?” she asks as she sits on the edge of the sofa.
“Sure.” I reach into the refrigerator and pick up two cans. “Do you mind if I have one?”
“Help yourself.”
“I’ll get some groceries in tomorrow. I don’t want to eat all your stuff,” I assure her as I walk into the living room, handing her one of the soda cans. She takes it from me and repositions herself on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her.
“Maybe we can pool some money and buy together? Seems stupid to buy separate food.” She flicks her eyes to mine, and I see the uncertainty there.
“Works for me.” I hand her the takeout menu. Attempting to get her talking, I gesture to the photographs on the wall. “Did you take all of these?” She nods, and I walk toward one of her parents. “I recognize your mom and dad. Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to one of the photographs of the guy in uniform.
“That’s Max, my brother. He’s a Marine. He’s deployed at the moment.” A strange feeling of relief washes over me when I hear it’s her brother and not her boyfriend.
“They’re good, Hallie. I love this one.” I point to the image of the sun setting over the ocean, and she smiles.
“That was on vacation when I was seventeen. It was taken off the end of the pier at Myrtle Beach. I love it there.”
“Why aren’t you in any of the pictures?”
“I prefer to be behind the camera rather than in front of it. I have some with me in them, but I prefer not to put them on display.” She shrugs, and her stomach rumbles. Her eyes meet mine, and we both laugh.
“Maybe we should get you fed. What do you want?”
“Barbecue chicken,” she replies, not even looking at the menu.
