Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Fuck.
The shock. The regret. The embarrassment. The questions etched into her face.
What have I done?
Is she sitting in that little blue cottage right now after working herself silly all day, still mulling over how stupid and crazy one man can be?
I can see her there alone with a beer—just like I am now—thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her till she ponders herself into a blinding headache.
I need her to be okay.
That’s all I care about.
That whatever reckless bastard thing we just did, slamming our way into passion, she’s not upset with herself in the end.
Let her be upset with me, sure.
I’ll take that in a heartbeat.
I’m starting to develop a pretty thick skin for cactus spikes.
Also, I’ve definitely got a thing for the way she pushed against me, clenched around me, begging my hips to give her more, more, more.
My cock twitches, drunk on what my brain can’t forget, when my phone lights up next to what’s left of a six-pack of Redhaven’s finest pilsner.
I don’t even let the ringtone blare for two seconds before I swipe it up and answer.
“Lilah, you okay?”
“Lucas! N-no,” she gasps out—and fuck me if I don’t notice this strong, proud, stubborn woman sounds like she’s crying. “Lucas... Lucas, you have to come now. There was someone outside my window. There’s another X and, and... and this time there’s blood.”
Ask me how I got to Delilah’s house and I couldn’t fucking tell you.
One second I’m at home, lounging on my porch with my blood turning to smoke as her trembling words echo in my ears.
Not quite processing anything when all I hear is Delilah’s in danger.
Next thing I know, I’m fishtailing my truck—my patrol car’s at the station—onto the curb outside her fence, just inches from tearing over the sidewalk.
My heart thunders. Icy beads of sweat form on my skin as I go tearing out of the truck and charge up her front steps.
She’s got all the lights on in the house.
I’m hoping she did what I remember telling her to—to lock all the doors and windows and arm the alarm system.
“Delilah!” I call, banging on the door. “It’s Lucas. Let me in.”
Soft, hesitant footsteps pad from inside, and then the faint beep of the alarm console, the click of the lock.
Then this fragile creature flies into my arms.
For such a small woman, she’s got power behind her.
I rock back as I catch her, then right myself and wrap her up tight in my arms.
“Shhh. Not one word,” I whisper, stroking her back. “I’m here now. You’re safe.”
“Am I?” She sobs against my chest. Her shoulders are shaking. “Lucas, I—I feel like I’m going insane. Why? Why would anyone do this?”
“Don’t know, Lilah, but I’m thinking they’re trying to scare you.” And the fact that it worked makes me furious. I keep my voice gentle, though, holding her so close, breathing her in like I need to convince myself she’s truly okay. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you, woman. I promise on my life.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispers. “I just... I feel like I’m being watched all the time, even when I’m alone and there can’t possibly be anyone around. I thought I was being paranoid and imagining it, but now...”
“That’s how stalkers work. They rattle you, make you think you’re nuts, and a lot of times it’s someone who knows you so well that they can do bullshit no one but you would notice.” Slowly, I weave my fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head. “You’re not crazy, Delilah. Not at fucking all.”
Sniffling, she tilts her head back, looking up at me with her starry eyes brimming with tears, her fingers clenched hard in the front of my shirt.
“Someone who knows me personally,” she gulps. “Like Roger?”
“Definitely a prime suspect.” I brush back a lock of her hair clinging to the dampness of tears on her cheeks, tucking the dark strand behind her ear. “Can you show me the X?”
“Y-yeah.”
But she’s so reluctant when she pulls away—and damn, I can’t stop myself.
I catch her hand in a bracing squeeze.
I let her know I’m here, dammit.
Right here beside her with every breath, every second, every step.
Delilah pulls up short, her gleaming eyes darting to me and her lips parted.
Then her hand curls against mine, gripping so tight as she leads me off the porch, around the side of the house.
There it is.
A slashing X formed in menacing hell-red.
I’m no expert in forensics, but I’d say it was drawn by the same fuck who painted the X on The Rookery.
Same nasty, domineering strokes, all done from the same height.
Same dramatic swoop and flourish.
Same angle, I think, done by some asshole about six foot one, standing roughly two and a half feet away.
Damn.
Six foot one.
Just like Roger Strunk, judging by the info I dredged up from his public records.