Nevermore

by Wrenn Montgomery

  While he’s gone, my eyes wander over to the stools that Raven and I had sat in. It could’ve been her lying in that hospital bed this morning, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t normally get attached like this, and never after one day.

  She’s something else, though. Beautiful, with her long dark hair and green eyes. Tall and lithe, her body fit perfectly with mine last night. She’s obviously smart. I saw her diploma hanging on the wall in her apartment this morning—a Master’s Degree in Clinical Psychology from UNC Chapel Hill, where she and Elliott met.

  She seems like an amazing friend to Elliott, extremely selfless and giving. But then there’s this side of her that is so closed off and hard.

  I think back to what they were talking about this morning in the room.

  “Landry was five years ago…”

  Who the hell is Landry? And why do I want to punch him?

  That’s got to be why she’s so “bitchy” as she says, although I find it adorable—but I wouldn’t tell her that. She’s a puzzle that I want to figure out. But first I’ve got to find the guy who did this.

  The bartender comes back and has a single receipt with him, which is a good sign. “All I can find is this one receipt in that timeframe, someone named B. Smallwood. Might be him.”

  I thank him and take a copy of the receipt for evidence. It’s not much to go on, and I’m not even sure his real name is Brent Smallwood, but it’s a start.

  I’ve never been this level of exhausted. I stayed with Elli until they released her, and then I took her back to her penthouse to get her situated and make sure she had all of her meds and anything else she might need.

  I finally left after begging her for hours to stay with me until they catch the guy who did this. She refused, of course. But she did hire a security company to stay with her twenty-four/seven—probably more for my comfort than hers. She even made them all come up and introduce themselves to me, and she gave Albert and the night doorman a bonus for the “trouble” she’d put them through.

  She seems to be dealing with this like a champ, but I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. If/when it does, I’ll be there for her.

  It’s late, after nine, and I realize I haven’t had any dinner. I mentally run through the groceries in my fridge and decide I’ll have bacon again.

  That’s a balanced meal, right?

  I almost decide against it because it reminds me of last night with Emmett, and then quickly determine that’s exactly why I’m going to fix myself an entire pound anyway.

  I will not let some man taint bacon for me.

  I unlock the shop and breathe in the smell. The smell that Emmett blamed that first kiss on. The fact that he blamed it on old books made me want him even more. I wonder if he’s a bookworm like me, or if he just gets off on the sexy librarian type.

  It doesn’t matter, Raven. You’re not going to see him again other than professionally.

  As I step in and close the door behind me, I feel something crinkle under my feet and realize I’m stepping on an envelope that had been jammed underneath the door. My name is scrawled across the top and for a second my heart speeds up, foolishly hoping it’s from Emmett. The letters are small and slanted, not like his large block numbers from earlier. I never did give him my number, but I’m sure he could have gotten it from the police reports.

  I tear open the envelope and flip the paper over, only to drop it a second later.

  The text is typed in big and bold black capitals. There’s no signature, no return address, only one sentence.

  I scramble over to the desk where I left the note that I wrote for Emmett earlier, where his number is scrawled across the bottom. Hands trembling, I call him and pray to God he answers.

  “Detective Fisher,” he says.

  “Emmett?”

  “Raven?”

  “Are you busy?” I ask him.

  “I just got off, headed home. You all right?”

  “No, I’m not. Can you come by here? There was a letter under my door. I think you need to see it.” My voice is shaking, and I’m sure it’s obvious how freaked out I am. I’m trying to hold it together but failing.

  “Yes, I’m coming right now. I’ll be there in ten. Tell me what it says, gorgeous.”

  I take a deep breath and blow it out before answering him, trying to steady my voice. “It says, ‘It was supposed to be you, Bitch.’”

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I want to have Raven stay on the phone with me until I get there, but I need to call this in so we can log the letter and envelope as evidence. “I’m on the way, lock the door. Get that pistol out and sit in the corner with your back against the wall. If you hear anything or you get scared at all, call nine-one-one and get the hell out of there.”

  “How did you know about the pistol?”

  “Raven, I’m a cop. I can spot a concealed weapon a mile away.” I don’t tell her that watching her grip that pistol hidden in her purse the night before turned me on more than the damn bookstore did. “Just get it out. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t panic, okay?” But I know she’s already panicking.

  We hang up and I immediately call the station. Of course it’s Alex who answers.

  Fuck me.

  “Alex.” I don’t call him Detective Sams out of spite. “I’m en route to Raven Jackson’s house. I need an evidence tech sent out there ASAP.” I rattle off the address to him, keeping it short and sweet, not giving him any details. He can read the reports like everyone else.

  I make it to Raven’s bookstore in seven minutes, where I park out front then knock on the door. The pull-down blinds are closed and I can’t see inside, but I can hear her walking across the wooden floors.

  When the door swings open, I can tell she’s trying to remain calm, but she looks like she’s ten seconds away from losing it. Her eyes are wild as she looks past me into the street.

  I want to pull her in my arms and keep her safe, but right now I’m an officer responding to a call and I need to be professional. At least until the evidence is logged and we’re alone again.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you back here.” She chuckles after she says it, like she’s nervous and trying to divert.

  I can appreciate that.

  “And why not?” I play the game to keep her calm.

  “I don’t do repeats. And I was rude to you this morning.”

  “Well, apparently rude kinda does it for me. Show me the note.”

  So much for being professional.

  She rolls her eyes and locks the door behind us.

  I let her know that the evidence tech should be here any minute so she’s not alarmed when they knock. Then, I grab a glove out of my back pocket and head over to where the letter is sitting on her desk.

  She stands beside me wringing her hands, avoiding looking at it with me.

  The note has classic stalker written all over it. No identifying handwriting, aside from her name on the envelope which wasn’t licked closed. Basic paper. The only thing strange is that they capitalized “Bitch” like it was a name.

  Raven is worrying her lip with her teeth, looking around her shop nervously, like she’s scared someone might jump out. I start doing a sweep of the rooms to ease her mind and mine. The rows and rows of books of every color and kind are a marvel to look at and I wish I had extra time to browse like I was a customer.

  There’s a corner in the back with cozy-looking and mismatched furniture in every shade. Quite a contrast to her life upstairs. I wonder if she lives in color for everyone else but survives in neutral tones when she’s alone.

  I finish sweeping the main room, the attached storage room, and the large closet where she repairs books. Nothing appears to be disturbed.

  “He was stalking me,” she says. “He was there because I was, and when I left with you he took it out on Elli.”

  I sigh because I know she could be right, but I don’t know what to say to make it better. “Have you ever had a stalker or
received any threatening messages like this before?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you?”

  “Not that I know of…”

  “Any exes who might do something like this?” I ask.

  “I…no.” Her answer is quick and short.

  I can’t help but think there may be more to it, however, it’s not up to me to pry. Maybe she’ll tell Monica more. I make a mental note to have Tropp come by to check on her tomorrow and see if she can get any more information out of her.

  A knock at the door tells me that the evidence tech is here, and Raven says she’s going to go upstairs and run a bath.

  “You’re welcome to stay.” She trails off as she says it like it pains her to do so, and I’m sure it does.

  Probably half from her “no repeats” rule and half from her being too scared to stay here alone but not wanting to admit it.

  I just nod, not making any jokes. I know this is hard for her.

  Twenty minutes later the letter is on its way to the station and I’ve finished my report of today’s events. I make sure the shop is locked up before heading upstairs to check on her.

  The bathroom door is cracked open and steam is rolling out. I hear gentle splashes as she moves around in there. The scent of candles burning fills the air, and there’s a bottle of wine open on the countertop in the kitchenette. I know this isn’t a romantic ruse. This must be how she unwinds after a stressful day, and I don’t want to disturb her.

  While I was downstairs I snagged a book from one of the loaner shelves. It’s worn, like it’s been read more than a few times. I wonder if it’s one of her favorites.

  Settling into her couch, I start reading. It’s an author I’ve never heard of, but I like the tempo and rhythm of the words. It’s a romance, but it’s written in a masculine tone. It’s not long before I’m lost in it, the chapters flying by.

  Sometime later I feel someone staring at me and glance over. Raven is lying on her bed, completely naked.

  My cock jumps to attention, but I want to make sure before I make any moves from where I’m sitting. “Do you usually sleep naked?”

  “Never.”

  “Is this an invitation?”

  She just stares at me and tilts her head to the side. “If you want to take it.”

  I’m over there in less than two seconds saying, “Are you sure that you’re up to this? It’s been a rough—”

  “Stop talking.”

  So I do, and for the next two hours her body is mine and I make damn sure that’s all she’s thinking about.

  Sundays are my days to sleep in. I don’t have to open the shop until noon, so I usually lie in bed until at least ten. I’m not a morning person, therefore I consider it my reward for getting up all week and being an adult. And after the last few days I’ve had, I need it now more than ever.

  The only problem with that is there’s an extremely large, extremely attractive, extremely dangerous man curled around me right now and I can’t fall back asleep. And by dangerous, I don’t mean the scared-for-my-safety kind. He’s a cop, for God’s sake. I don’t think I could be in better hands as far as that’s concerned.

  However, my heart is an entirely different story. This is why I only do one-night stands. Otherwise, feelings get involved, people get attached. It never ends well. Not that I’m attached to him, I just feel like I could see how someone—not me, but someone—could possibly get attached to him.

  I don’t know his story. I don’t know where he was born, where he lives, why he became a cop, what the bullet-shaped scar on his side is from.

  I don’t know anything about him.

  But if he’s going to keep sharing my bed, it’s time to learn those things. The problem is I know he’ll have questions of his own and I don’t know if I’m ready to answer them.

  Last night when I came out of the shower, he was reading and so immersed in the book that he didn’t notice me for twenty minutes. The fact that he had chosen one of my favorites—without knowing—and seemed to be appreciating it as much as I do, really did something for me.

  I took the opportunity to stare at him and take in all of his features. His dark hair, so short. The beginning of a tattoo peeking out under his short sleeve that I hadn’t noticed the night before. I see now that it wraps around his bicep and up onto his shoulder. It’s a mix of patriotic symbols and words, and I don’t recognize the language.

  But the fact that he was comfortable just sitting on my couch and reading—hello, sexiest quality a man can have—instead of interrupting my bath, tells me he understands me more than I’d like.

  He stirs beside me and pulls me closer to him. Even though I don’t know anything about him, it feels like our bodies know each other. Our minds just aren’t on the same page yet.

  His eyes slowly open and he immediately turns his head to me.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I chirp to him.

  “What time is it?” His voice comes out as a deep rumble.

  “A little after eight. Do you have to work today?”

  “No, it’s my day off, but I do need to go in for a bit and see if anything has come of the letter.” He winces as he says the last word, like he didn’t mean to bring it up and ruin the moment.

  “It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m okay. I mean I was scared for sure. I’m still a little uneasy but I’m all right. I’m hoping that whoever left the letter doesn’t know I live here and just expected me to find it this morning when I came into the shop.”

  “I’m going to have an officer patrol the area outside the shop when I’m not here, just until we can figure out what we’re dealing with and catch whoever’s behind this.”

  I like how he says “when I’m not here” like he plans on being here a lot.

  “Any ideas?” I ask him.

  “I’m honestly not sure. At this point it could be anyone. We need to keep our options open.” He wraps his arm tighter around my back and starts to rub small circles there.

  I roll away from him to put a little distance between us, feeling oddly exposed by the sweet gesture.

  “Who is Landry, Raven?”

  My blood runs cold and goosebumps break out across my skin. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “I overheard the end of your conversation with Elli yesterday.”

  “You were eavesdropping?” I ask him.

  “I didn’t mean to. I was coming back to ask her something and heard my name, followed by his. Is he the reason you’re so closed off?”

  I shrug, not really wanting to go there. I’m pissed that he was eavesdropping, accidentally or not. “Probably so.”

  “Can you tell me about him? I know it’s none of my business and you don’t have to. But I—”

  “People only want to know what they’re up against so they can make a battle plan,” I say.

  “That’s true. Do you want me to win this battle, Raven?”

  In the two seconds it takes for his question to settle over me, I realize I do.

  Raven takes a deep breath and I brace myself. Whatever she’s about to say is going to be monumental, and she seems nervous.

  “Landry and I dated all through college. At first, our relationship was your normal college fling. I didn’t want anything serious, he wanted a fuck buddy, it worked out. He was thoughtful and generous. He’d remember when my tests were and send me good luck flowers. He’d take me on super romantic dates and woo me relentlessly. Eventually he fell for me and wanted more. I gave in, and began to feel the same way toward him as the relationship progressed. Landry came from a wealthy family. His dad was a lawyer and his mom was the perfect Stepford wife. His parents even offered to pay for my college because they thought we’d be getting married.”

  She looks up at the ceiling, avoiding looking at me like she’s ashamed of how she felt about him.

  “I did come to love him, though now I know it wasn’t love. It was some version of it that felt like love, but you don�
�t treat people you love the way he treated me. I shouldn’t have accepted their offer to pay my tuition, but I almost felt like it was my payment for having to deal with their son and keep him on the right path, and I think his parents thought that, too.

  That doesn’t make it right, but it’s the truth. We moved in together our sophomore year. That’s when things started getting worse. He always had a temper. When he drank too much, which happened often, he’d get mad at the way the towels were folded, or something would stop working in the apartment and he’d completely overreact. He’d throw things and yell. It would take a while to calm him down but he would eventually pass out. I thought that it was just the spoiled brat coming out in him from the way he was raised. But then it began to escalate.

  He never hit me, but he would grab my wrists, push me away from him, throw things at me instead of the wall. He was emotionally abusive, called me every name in the book, but ‘bitch’ was his favorite. I don’t know why I didn’t leave. I felt responsible for him, like I could fix him.”

  She rolls her eyes here, like it’s hard for her to admit that she felt this way. She seems like she doesn’t want to seem vulnerable, but here she is spilling her guts to me anyway.

  “He started staying out late, being gone for hours past when he said he’d be home. He’d tell me that he had work trips he had to go on, and I later found out that he had been fired months before then. I assumed he was cheating on me. I thought if I could catch him, I’d have solid proof and it would make it easier to leave him. I know that sounds crazy now, looking back, but I felt like he was a good guy that was going through a hard time. Elli and I were getting close at this point, and she was always on his case. He hated her and didn’t want me around her, but I also think he respected her. One night, Elli talked me into following him when he told me he was going to a work dinner in the town next to ours. We looked like idiots wearing all black and tailing him in Elli’s old Toyota Camry with a bumper half hanging off.”