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"You have to work, and I do not go in until ten."
"I happen to own the damn company, which means I can set my hours."
"And you have been away for a week. I heard you on the phone, Callum, and you have things to attend to important matters. I don't need you babysitting me."
"Tough. You are going to have to live with it." He told her snappily.
"Why are you mad at me?"
"Do I look mad?" He was seething with rage. He had read most of the letters when he walked Wyatt out, and he could feel the anger surging through his gut. He wanted to find the bastard and ripped his throat out with his teeth.
"You do. I did not read the letters-"
"Sick stuff. You did not need to read any of it." Surging to his feet, he dragged his fingers through his hair and had to admit that he felt more than a little responsible. The bastard had fixated on her as soon as he walked into her life. He, Callum, was the cause of all this.
"I apologize." Moving forward, he climbed in next to her. "If anything happens to you-"
"I will not go anywhere without someone shadowing me. I will endure the lack of privacy, but that's fine."
"Thanks." Drawing her into him, he hugged her, releasing his breath slowly. "I didn't mean to take my rage out on you."
"I thought you were not mad."
"Of course I was." He kissed the top of her head. "Wyatt is the best."
"I know."
"Try and get some sleep; it's been a long day."
"I am not tired."
"What are you doing?" He hissed.
"What does it feel like?"
"Lynn, oh hell." Pushing her back, he climbed on top of her and into her.
*****
Alton felt the tremors and impotent rage coursing through his body. The whoring bitch! Picking up the magazines, he started slashing through them viciously. She was back and was still with him. His warnings had gone unheeded. She was still seeing that soulless prick. He had used his money to corrupt her, and she had allowed him.
"You are going to die. You are going to die." He repeated it like a mantra, cutting through the photos as the tears ran unchecked down his face.
"Alton!"
He jerked to attention and realized that he had somehow left the door to the basement unlocked.
"What?"
"What are you doing down there?"
"Mind your own damn business." He hastily put away the scissors and magazines and ran halfway up the steps when he heard her coming. "You are not allowed down here. I need my space."
"This is my own house." Mabel tried to peer around him to see what he was up to. He was her only son, but she had to admit he was more peculiar than she had ever known. The boy - no, he was a man - was forty years old and did not have a special woman in his life. Not that any woman would want someone like him.
He was plain and fastidious, always cutting his food into tiny pieces and separating the vegetables from the meat. And there was something wrong with him. She could not put a finger on it, but it was there. She avoided him because he made her feel more than a little afraid.
"I pay my bills." He stood in her way and decided that if she pushed her way past him, he was going to shove her down the steps and break her fool's neck.
