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The second I have a location, I’m on my feet, grabbing my car keys and heading for the door. “What are you going to do?” Hawk asks, having trailed me into the hall.
“I’ll figure that out when I get there.”
“Do you need backup?”
“No. Stay here and keep an eye on Emilia. I made sure we weren’t followed, so I’m confident no one knows she’s here, but I don’t want her left alone.” I turn to face him, waiting until he nods in confirmation. I can see the promise in his eyes. He won’t let anything happen to her. Still, I feel the need to say, “Keep her occupied, but stop messing with her fucking head, Hawk. She’s one strong push in the wrong direction from losing her mind, and she doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of whatever the hell is going on with you.”
His jaw ticks in irritation. “Those are strong words from someone whose only job is to protect her.”
Taking a step toward him, I don’t give a single shit that he’s my boss as I shove a finger into his chest. “Before we even stepped foot in this house, she asked me if I’d protect her from the two of you.” Surprise flashes across his face before he masks it. “At the time, I didn’t understand why she would ask such a thing, but this is me living up to that promise. You’re my boss and my friend, but you and I are going to start having problems if you don’t pull your head out of your ass and stop fucking with her. Same goes for Wilder. Do the pair of you think I’m fucking stupid? That I don’t see, feel, and hear everything that goes on in this house? That girl up there has enough shit going on in her life right now, she doesn’t deserve to receive backlash from you and Wilder too. Whatever happened in the past is exactly that. In. The. Past. You all have the opportunity to start fresh and make amends, so stop looking backward and decide what sort of relationship you want with her going forward.”
Leaving a stunned Hawk behind, I turn on my heel and stride out the door, slamming it shut behind me.
* * *
I spendthe next several hours parked outside Steven’s motel with a front-row seat to his boring as fuck evening. When he went out to collect his dinner order from the Chinese restaurant down the road, I snuck into his room and planted a listening device. So not only can I watch him through the window, but I’m privy to everything he says. Not that he’s said or done anything interesting or relevant yet. His entire evening has been spent on his phone, making business calls and yelling at people. If I didn’t despise him already, I’d hate him for the condescending way he talks to his colleagues on the other end of his phone.
When he eventually strips down to his briefs and pulls the curtains, blocking my view, I consider calling it a night. The whole evening has been a total bust, but I am now firmly of the opinion that our run-in with him at the gas station was a fucked up twist of fate. This guy is an asshole and a sleazeball, but I don’t believe he’s Emilia’s stalker. After the way I dangled myself in front of him earlier and his close proximity to Emilia, there’s no way he’d be so calm and able to concentrate on work. He’d have been researching me as thoroughly as I’ve been researching him. He’d be doing what I am right now, tracking us down and wanting eyes on Emilia. Not watching shitty cable TV and scrolling through his phone.
Every time I shift in my seat, intending to start the engine and head back to Hawk’s, something stops me. However, when the glow of the TV disappears from behind the closed curtains, I decide enough is enough.
Starting the engine, I put the car in gear, and just as I roll out of the parking space, I hear a noise that has me slamming my foot down on the brakes. My eyes flit up to the darkened window of Steven’s room, my muscles bunched as my hands fist the steering wheel, and I wait to hear it again.
“Emilia.” The groan that follows her name triggers an intense fury inside me. It pumps through my veins and licks up my spine, overwhelming and all-consuming as I throw open the car door and storm toward his room. I can’t think straight. Can hardly see through the red mist that has descended over my vision.
I slam my boot into the flimsy wooden door, breaking the lock as it swings open and crashes into the wall, leaving a door handle-shaped hole behind.
“What the—Hey! Get out of my room!” Steven yells, lurching upright at my sudden intrusion. Before he can get another word out, I kick the door shut with my boot and close the distance. He backs up against the headboard, but he doesn’t get time to do anything else as I wrap my hand around his throat and slam his head into the wall.
Unbothered by his pathetic attempts to break free, I run my eyes down his chest to where the sheet pools around him. With my other hand, I yank it back and sneer when I find him naked beneath it.
Still pinning him in place, I scour the bed sheets until I find his phone. The screen is still lit up, and I reach over to grab it, snarling when I see the photo he was looking at.
It’s a picture of Emilia from the gas station, bent over as she reaches for something on the bottom shelf. Something tells me she wouldn’t want this perv jerking off over her, and before I can crush the phone in my fist, I gather enough wit to spit out, “Is this the only one?”
“W-what?”
I slam him back against the wall before repeating my question. “Is this the only copy?”
“Y-y-yes.”
Another smack of his head against the wall. “Yes. Yes. It’s the only copy.”
Focusing back on his phone, I scroll through the rest of his album, making sure he doesn’t have any others. There are some seriously disturbing images and far too fucking many dick pics that I will never unsee, but thankfully there are no others of Emilia.
Going back to the one he has of her, I delete it, ensuring I also delete any copies that might be backed up to a virtual drive before slamming the phone into the wall beside his head. The screen fractures and breaks, and satisfied that it’s unusable, I drop it on the bed and focus back on the shitstain in front of me.
“Why were you at the gas station today?”
“W-what?”
I’m reaching my fucking breaking point, so instead of repeating myself, I squeeze his throat until he’s gasping for breath and crying like a fucking pussy. When I find the restraint to ease up so he can answer me, he stutters out, “I-I was just after a Gatorade, man. I didn’t know she’d be there.” I continue to scowl at him until he continues rambling. “I’d been driving all day,” he wails. “I just needed a fucking drink.”
A tense moment passes as I stare him down, before I hiss out, “You willneverutter Emilia’s name again.” Using my hold on his throat, I yank him forward before shoving him back. “You will nevertalkto heragain. If you fucking see her, you’ll turn around and walk in the opposite direction.” I wait until he stutters an agreement before delivering my final threat. “If I find out that you’ve doneanyof those things, I’ll be back, and I’ll do a hell of a lot worse than throw you against a wall.”
Finishing off my warning with a double punch to his face, leaving him with a black eye he won’t soon forget, I storm out of the room and back to my car, high-tailing it out of the parking lot.
My hands flex around the steering wheel the entire drive home, rage still coursing through me far too potently. It’s uncharacteristic for me. I’m never this… emotional… with cases. I pride myself on my level-headedness and ability to remain clear-minded in heightened situations, but right now, I feel as though I’m completely unraveling.
