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Silence.
A glance at the clock told her it was nearly three thirty in the morning. Out of sorts and anger building, she opened her mouth to give the caller a piece of her mind. But the words caught in her throat.
A noise.
A quiet murmur at the other end of the line.
Chills inched down her spine.
The voice in her mind screamed for her to hang up the phone. But she ignored it.
Instead, she sat frozen, the phone clasped in a death grip against her ear. As if the harder she pressed the phone to her head, the more she’d be able to discern what she heard.
Her eyes stayed locked on the clock as she focused on the low hum. It was so distant, but strangely familiar, and not at all comforting.
Recognition hit.
A violent shiver racked her body, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
She slammed the receiver down onto its cradle and scrambled away from the phone.
No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.
As the hours passed to sunrise, she sat in the center of her bed, trembling, knees tightly clutched to her chest. She tried to breathe through the panic, tried to remember her therapist’s words.
But it wasn’t working.
Nothing was working.
Maybe she’d dreamed the phone call, just as she’d dreamed of Preston.
No. She knew better.
The quiet tune she’d strained to hear over the phone was now playing on repeat in her mind.
“Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be...”
She was in trouble. Big, big trouble.
He was coming for her.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
“Alex!”
She whipped around. “What?”
Roxie stared at her, one eyebrow raised in question, both of her perfectly manicured hands resting impatiently on her slim hips. With an over-obvious gesture, Roxie nodded toward the women who were standing at the counter behind Alex.
She spun to face Mrs. Abbot and Mrs. Yoshida, who were patiently waiting for her to take their orders. She cringed. How long had they been standing there?
“Oh, right. Sorry,” she said, her face heating. “Good morning. What can I get you, ladies?”
“There’s no rush, dear,” Mrs. Abbot said. “We’ll take our usuals when you get a chance.”
“No rush at all, dear,” parroted Mrs. Yoshida as she nodded to an empty corner table. “We’ll just settle in over there.”
“Sure thing. Your usuals, coming right up.” She knew her reply held too much enthusiasm—hell, it was grating to her own ears—but she pasted a smile on her face and turned to the espresso machine. She tried to recall what their usuals were, but her sleep-deprived brain was mush.
