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“God. What are you thinking?” I rubbed my forehead, still trying to process the strange, addictive attraction. There was no way in hell he could have known I’d read the book. Not one. I hadn’t ordered it on my personal account. I’d taken it from the shipment received for the store with every thought of returning it after glancing at the contents.
Months later it had remained in my bookshelf. The stalker had acted as if he was able to read my mind during the sensual phone calls. Alessandro had acted the same, as if he’d already learned what my body craved. I was going mad from trying to deal with the possibility that they were the same person.
But what if they were? Did I really care? Was I ashamed that both the calls and his presence had aroused me? Maybe. Was it guilt? I wasn’t certain any longer.
Tristen wasn’t the man I’d thought he was. On the outside everything had seemed perfect, as if karma had put us together, but everything had been slowly unraveling during the last months, making the time spent together less enjoyable and more about questioning the parts of his life he’d refused to allow me to see.
Maybe I’d been a fool then and certainly I was being one now. But wasn’t it my right to enjoy living, just like Clarice had suggested?
I sat at the kitchen table, swirling the stem of the wineglass back and forth as I stared at the Grenache I’d opened. The red was usually comforting, but the color reminded me of the single photograph I’d found on the internet of Tristen’s crash. Even the dull lighting of the early morning hadn’t hidden the bloodstains splattered against the shattered windshield.
Sighing, I closed my eyes, trying to block out the images, but it had been the first ugly vision flashing through my mind every night for a month after receiving the news. They’d all but faded away until now, yet the photograph had been crystal clear.
His car had flipped several times, landing on the roof, his body partially tossed through the windshield. At least that’s what I’d been told. I hadn’t been the next of kin, only privy to what the officers had wanted to tell me. I hadn’t pushed it because I didn’t have the strength at the time, but the entire way the case had been handled had bothered me then.
Even more so now.
Maybe this was all about the guilt of allowing a stranger, a man who’d stalked me for months to touch me in an intimate way. An inappropriate way.
Even if I’d enjoyed every minute of it.
Groaning, I shoved the glass away, rising to my feet. I walked toward the kitchen window, staring out at the darkness. There was only a sliver of a moon tonight, the position creating eerie shadows in a garden I’d yet to spend much time in. Maybe next spring.
After a few minutes of being unable to get the nagging feeling I’d missed something out of my mind, I left the glass where it was, heading into the bedroom. Where the hell had I left the officer’s card? I grabbed my purse, tossing it on the dresser then yanking out my wallet. It should be with my credit cards and driver’s license. Only a few seconds later, I grew frustrated as hell, dumping the contents on the surface, sifting through the half inch thick pile twice. It wasn’t there. What the hell had happened to it?
Think. The box. Maybe I’d tossed his card into the box of… Tristen’s things. Packing what little he’d left had taken me almost three months to do, and I’d only managed to accomplish the task when Clarice had come over to hold my hand. I’d shoved it into the closet thinking the ugly task was a win then had tried to forget about it. He’d never kept anything of any value at my house, just a few items in case his suitcase was lost, or he’d forgotten to pack something. Still, the contents had become precious items, his scent lingering long after his death.
As I pulled down the plain cardboard box, I realized I didn’t even remember what was packed inside. I dumped everything onto the bed, forced to take a step back before laughing at myself. A toothbrush, two tee shirts, a pair of underwear, his favorite earbuds, and a book he’d brought with him, even though I’d never seen him read a single page. I’d slipped the officer’s card in the middle. I debated tossing the entire box. It was almost midnight. At this point, I couldn’t think about what to do any longer.
I returned the items to the barely larger than shoebox-sized container I’d used, returning it to the shelf. Then I grabbed my phone, dialing the officer’s number.
As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.
“Officer Robinson. This is Sierra Wynters. I’m certain you don’t remember me, but my fiancé died in a horrific crash four years ago today. I remember that because it’s a day I can barely tolerate. Anyway, I was calling to ask you about the events surrounding the crash. I…”Think. Don’t ramble. What are you trying to say?“I don’t think the crash was an accident. In fact, I think Tristen Bradford was murdered. Please call me. If you don’t, I will keep calling you until I get an audience.”
* * *
Alessandro
Dangerous.
Heartless.
Cruel.
I was a sick man capable of doing heinous things.
That detailed every aspect of the actions of my family. I’d never felt anything more than anger, sadness only once in my life, and a limited amount of happiness. On this night I felt elated, electrified in a way that had never happened before.
Because of a woman, someone I should eliminate instead of fucking with, but I couldn’t pull away, my needs increasing to a level that I could no longer control.
Breathtaking.
That was the single word adequately describing her.
The moments spent with her had been unusually enticing, more so that I’d imagined. She’d awakened the dark hunger that even after talking with her I’d managed to keep just beneath the surface, refusing to acknowledge that my desires were anything more than my hunger for revenge. Then with a single look, the taste of her sweet pussy filling my mouth, I’d been forced to realize she was the only woman who could satisfy my sadistic needs.
What interested me even more was how much I enjoyed her company. While a part of her had already figured out who I was at the bistro, the fact she’d continued with our delicious game had further intrigued me.
