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-You belong to me. No one takes what belongs to me. You thought you could run off and I’d just let you go without a fight?...but you know what? I think youwantme to fight for you. This is a test. This has all been a test to prove how much I love you. I get it now, baby. I get it and I’ll pass the test, I promise.
The next message confirms what I already know to be true, despite part of me trying to deny it. My mouth goes dry and my ribs feel like they’re closing in against my lungs, slowly squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.
-Seattle is too cold for my beach girl…
He’s here. He found me. I hadn’t imagined being watched at the parade that day, hadn’t imagined seeing him at the square when I was talking with Kasey.Oh God, oh God, oh God. That meant that he’d been here in Seattle, watching me, forweeks. My palms are so sweaty I almost drop the phone, but my blood turns to complete ice when I get to the most recent message, from last night. Just a single word:
-Soon.
I’m just about to call the police and bolt from the house as fast as possible when the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Before I can even breathe, a voice drawls from the doorway.
“Merry Christmas, Hattie.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hattie
The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. My entire body shoots through with tension, my fight or flight or freeze instincts deciding on the latter as my muscles lock in place. My chest rises and falls rapidly, but no air seems to be making it through. I don’t know how, but I force myself to turn around.
I already know what I’m going to see, but even still, what little breath I have in my lungs goes out in a whoosh: Josh is standing in the doorway. Part of my mind is convinced I’m dreaming, that this can’t possibly be real, but the other part is screaming at me to run, to fight, to dosomething. But I just stand there, frozen in terror. He’s dressed in black boots, dark jeans, and a black sweater, his brown hair long and shaggy, his normally clean-shaven face covered in thick scruff. His skin looks pale, almost sallow, and there are dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days. His brown eyes are both wild but terrifyingly focused all at once, and they’re locked on me with the intensity of a snake that’s preparing to strike.
He’s got a small stocking from the mantle in one hand and—I suck in a ragged breath—a huge knife in the other, the kind Crocodile Dundee would carry, mocking all other knives for their puniness.Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t good. Josh is admittedly a spoiled little rich kid who grew up with nannies and butlers, but he’s a spoiled little rich kid fromTexas. He knows how to hunt and is perfectly capable of using that knife.
“Since when does Hattie McNamara decorate for Christmas?”
“Wh—” I have to swallow three times before I can finally actually speak, and even then, my voice comes out shaky and small. “What are you doing here, Josh?”
As if I hadn’t spoken, he runs a thumb over the fuzzy top of the stocking.
“You hate Christmas,” he says absently. Then he glances up and his gaze hardens, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “But a few weeks with the hockey player and you’re Mrs. Fucking Claus.” His voice trembles with fury, quiet and intense, and my heart beats wildly in my chest, thunders in my ears. He’s been watching me. Been watchingus. A fierce protectiveness rears up at the thought of him hurting Connor or Ollie, even fucking looking at them. It helps push away the panic, anger filling the space in my chest instead.
“Why are you here?” I ask again, voice louder and hard as ice this time, surprising myself. Josh’s brow wings upward.Guess it surprised him too. I glance surreptitiously as possible at the bat still leaning against the end of the bed. Can I grab it before he can reach me?Fuck, probably not.
He drops the stocking to the floor and steps into the room, his boots trampling the felt and fur. He slowly twirls the knife and I can’t help but eye the bat again. He follows my gaze, lips curling upward and he gives me a chiding look, like I’m a kid who got caught trying to steal cookies. He grabs the bat and tosses it to the other end of the room and I jump at the sudden clatter as it bangs against the wall and then the floor. He takes another step forward and I step backwards, bumping into the nightstand.
“Did you like the flowers?” he asks, voice silky.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The flowers I sent you. Your favorites, of course,” he smiles at me, that same old charming smile. “Did you think I would forget something like that?”
It takes me what seems like a long time to figure out what in the hell he’s talking about, but then it hits me: the lilies. They hadn’t been from a client after all. Vomit rises in my throat as realization hits. Josh had been the one with the flowers in the parking garage. He’d tried to get inside. He’d…oh God, he’d talked to Connor. Josh could have attacked him, could have killed him. Even though nothing happened, I still feel lightheaded at the terrifying possibility.
“How did you know I was home? How did you get in here?” I ask, changing the subject.
Josh scoffs. “As if I didn’t have cameras on the place the first night I got to town and found you. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment, for a time when you were here alone and your neighbors weren’t snooping about. You should really invest in a security system, Hattie,” he tsks, “and a better lock for your back door.”
He’d been watching me all this time, could have come into my house at any time and killed me or…touched me. I barely fight back the bile that rises in my throat, but I push it away. I push away the fear and the sense of violation, and focus on the anger. I grit my teeth.Fuck this asshole.
“Why are you fucking here?” I snap.
His smile slips and his eyes flash dangerously. Within a breath, he’s a different person. The change is utterly terrifying.
“I’m here,” he sneers, “to remind you who you belong to, Hattie.”
His words send an icy shiver down my spine, but I make myself move. I turn and grab the lamp, yanking the plug from the wall as I turn back towards him. He’s there, right in front of me, but I don’t hesitate as I swing the lamp as hard as I can at his head.
“Fuck!” He grabs the side of his face and I push past him, desperate to escape. If I can get out of this house, I can run for it. I’ll run all the way to the police station if I have to. I run five fucking miles a day, I can outrun Josh, who can’t stand cardio and looks right now that he’s surviving on a steady diet of Jim and Jack and not much else. I can do this. I just need to get to the door.
