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“She can't just walk away. She can't hide from this and pretend it isn’t happening. We need to figure out a plan. She needs to try to figure out who he is and where she met him,” Fin raged.
As if she hadn't been thinking of anything else for months.
If she knew who he was she would have told someone by now.
She had laid awake more nights than she could count, wracking her brain, trying to come up with an answer as to how she had met this man and what she had done to attract his attention.
But the truth was she didn't know.
She didn't know who he was.
She didn't know where she had met him.
She didn't know how to stop him from killing innocent people.
She didn't know anything other than given the choice between her life and someone else’s, she would gladly choose to sacrifice her own.
Her life wasn't worth much.
Samara ignored the worried calls of her brother, and Michael, and the agents and ran upstairs to her room, locking the door behind her and sinking down onto her bed.
Her whole life had been one gigantic mess, and she was tired of it.
Maybe turning herself over to her stalker and letting him eventually kill her would give her the peace she so desperately sought.
*****
6:31 P.M.
If she didn't come downstairs soon, he was going to break down her door.
Michael knew it would make Samara mad, but he was getting worried about her. She had been upstairs, locked in her bedroom, ever since she had found out that her stalker had killed two people and threatened to keep killing until he got what hewanted.
Samara.
He was terrified that she was going to give herself to him.
He had no idea how to stop it from happening. Catching the stalker of course, but so far, the man had managed to keep himself out of their sights. Sooner or later—probably sooner rather than later—Samara was going to cave under the pressure. He was responsible for her safety as long as he was her bodyguard, and the only thing he could think of that might convince her to hold on until Tom and Chloe caught her stalker was to show her that although she thought she had made big mistakes in her life, there was always someone who had made bigger ones.
Him.
As much as he didn't want to do this, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Samara.
That was it.
She had had long enough to wallow.
Michael was just starting for the stairs when Samara suddenly appeared. Her face was pale, but her eyes weren't red and puffy. As much as she had no doubt felt like crying, she had probably held it in because crying would worry people, and she couldn’t cope with anyone worrying about her.
Despite her attempts to the contrary, he knew she was struggling, and he was worried about her. Michael bit his tongue, and instead of asking how she was doing he said, “Dinner’s ready. I made your favorite.”
She looked behind at the table where he had set up salad, rolls, and risotto. A small smile curved her lips. “Thank you.”
He was a little surprised she hadn't pulled out the I don’t have an appetite card, but she didn't, just crossed to the table and sat down. “What do you want to drink?”
“Soda, please.”
He poured two glasses of soda then joined Samara at the table. Michael wanted to bring up what Tom and Chloe had told them earlier, but he wasn't sure that Samara would respond well to that, and he didn't want her to shut down. Since she had been hiding in her bedroom for over an hour, he’d had plenty of time to think and come up with a plan. He wasn't convinced his plan would work, but he may as well try it out.
