by Kali Argent
“Iraq or Afghanistan?”
“Afghanistan. Three tours.”
She couldn’t begin to imagine the things he’d seen over there, and she doubted he wanted to relive those memories. “What brought you back to Texas? Do you have family here?”
“Not anymore. My parents passed a few years back, hit by a drunk driver the day before Thanksgiving. My sister died when I was nine. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry, Rayce.”
“Thanks, but it was a long time ago. Dallas is home, though, even if I’m the only one still here.”
“I get it.” She’d stayed, even after her parents had passed. It was her home, and visiting places they had been kept them close.
“What about you? Any family in the area?”
“Not anymore,” she said, echoing his words. “My mom died of cancer also. Dad followed a few years later. Stroke.”
“Siblings?”
“Only child.” She stopped just beside the door to Marianna’s Pizzeria and waved her hand toward the green and white letters painted across the glass. “Ta-da! Here we are.”
“So we are.” Releasing her hand, he held the door open and swept his arm in front of him. “Milady.”
Giggling, Phoebe crossed one leg behind the other and curtsied. “Thank you, good sir.”
Warmth enveloped her when she entered the small diner, and the aromas wafting from the kitchen made her stomach rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Though well past the dinner rush, most of the tables were filled with couples and families. The shaded lamps that hung over each table glowed with warm, inviting light, and the candle centerpieces added just a touch of romance.
They found an empty booth by the front window and settled into their respective seats. Marianna’s was home to several unique culinary creations, and Phoebe had been slowly making her way down their spectacular menu.
“I’m so hungry I could gnaw off my own arm.” Groaning, she reached for the laminated menu wedged between the parmesan cheese and the red pepper flakes. “We’re definitely getting breadsticks, and the calamari is fantastic.”
“A girl after my own heart.” Reclining against the red, padded back of the booth, Rayce looked over his own menu. “Cheeseburger pizza. It comes with pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and mustard.” He chuckled under his breath at that. “Do they have normal pizza here?”
“Sure, but where’s the fun in that? I’ve been eyeing this lasagna pizza for a while. What do you say?” She shoved her menu across the table, her finger held on a picture of the pie in question. “You game?”
Rayce glanced at the picture and shrugged. “Bring it on, sugar.”
What had started as an unmitigated disaster turned out to be one of the best nights of Phoebe’s life. They nibbled on breadsticks and shared a plate of calamari while they waited for their pizza. During that time, they talked about everything and nothing. She learned more about his job, which gave her a million ideas for a series of new books. Her agent was probably going to kill her.
She told him a little more about her writing, her process, and outlined the industry in general. They talked about the weather, movies, sports, their likes and dislikes, and when the pizza came, he let her have the first slice.
“Damn,” Rayce groaned after swallowing his first bite. “That’s fucking amazing. Good pick.”
Phoebe covered her mouth with a paper napkin as she laughed. “I know, right?”
After they’d eaten as much of the monster pizza as they could, Rayce asked their server for a box to carry home the remainder. Though Phoebe had been the one to ask him out, he wouldn’t let her pay, and he’d even ordered a slice of tiramisu for her to have later if she felt like it.
“I did promise you dessert,” he reminded her as they exited the restaurant and began the trek back to her house.
The return walk seemed to go much faster, and before Phoebe knew it, they’d arrived at her front door. She thought about inviting him inside, but it was getting late, and he still had to drive back to Dallas. Besides, she’d been burned before by rushing into relationships, and with Rayce, she wanted to take it slow.
“I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for everything, Rayce.” It had started to drizzle, which meant a downpour wasn’t too far behind. “You should get on the road before the weather gets too bad.”
After setting the containers of food down on the bench beside the front door, he took her right hand and lifted it to brush a kiss over the knuckles. “When can I see you again?”
“I’m free next Tuesday.”
“Tuesday, then.” He moved in closer, cradling the side of her face in one of his massive hands. “I’m going to call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll probably even answer.”
Unhurriedly, as if testing her willingness, he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from hers. When she didn’t turn or pull away, he pressed a sweet, tender kiss to her lips, then stepped back with a quiet sigh.
“Good night, Phoebe.”
She unlocked the door first, then hurried across the living room to punch in the code for her alarm. When she returned to the door, Rayce still stood on the front porch, holding the pizza box and small container of tiramisu out to her.
“I’m going to wait until I hear the door lock.”
She always locked her doors at night, but she appreciated his concern all the same. “Good night, Rayce. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
With that, she closed and locked the door. She watched through the window as he climbed into his pickup and back down the driveway. Not until he’d driven out of sight did she finally make her way to the kitchen.
With the leftovers put away, she sat at the island counter for a long time, staring at nothing in particular while she relived her favorite moments of the night. Remembering the kiss on her front porch, she touched two fingers to her bottom lip and grinned.
She really liked Rayce, probably more than she should considering they’d spent so little time together. Still, she couldn’t deny what she felt, and she didn’t think it was one-sided.
Lost in thought, she nearly fell off the barstool when a loud crash outside her patio doors startled her. The storm had arrived sooner than she’d anticipated, bringing fat raindrops that plinked against the windows and echoed through her quiet house. The wind had also picked up since she’d returned home, howling through the trees and whistling down the chimney of her fireplace.
Once her pulse had settled some, Phoebe rolled her eyes, mentally laughing at her overreaction. Likely, the wind had knocked over one of her potted plants from the deck railing. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. She just hoped the pot hadn’t shattered like the last one.
Standing, she took a moment to stretch, loosening the knotted muscles in her back, then plodded over to the sliding doors to inspect the damage. What she saw when she switched on the deck light caused her hands to shake and the blood to drain from her face.
Indeed, one of her plants lay overturned near the railing, it’s pot cracked, soil spilling out onto the rain-sodden deck. That wasn’t what had her quickly keying in the master code to arm her security system, or fumbling in her pocket for her phone, though.
Fresh, muddy footprints led up the back stairs and across the deck, right to the double doors where she currently stood. On the deck, its petals wet and crumpled from the rain, a single, white rose lay just beyond the glass.
“Miss me already?” Rayce asked, answering her call on the second ring.
“Rayce, I think someone was here.”
His tone instantly changed. “I’m on my way. Are all the doors locked?”
“Yes, and the alarm is engaged.”
“Good. I’m going to hang up, and I want you to call the police, okay? I’ll be there in five minutes, seven tops.”
“Rayce, I—” She shook so violently her voice vibrated.
“Take a deep breath, Phoebe. Everything is going to be fine.”
“O–Okay. I’m calling
the cops now.”
A horn blared over the line. “Good,” Rayce answered, his voice tight, tense. “Stay on the phone with dispatch until I get there.”
Knowing Rayce was on his way soothed some of her panic, but she didn’t want to hang up yet. She didn’t want to be alone, not even for the few seconds it would take to dial 9-1-1.
“Phoebe?”
“Okay, I’m going now.” Still, she hesitated.
“Hang tight, sugar. I’m on my way.”
Her heart hammered painfully against her breastbone, but she gripped the phone tighter and nodded. “Hurry.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Rayce parked in the driveway and began yelling Phoebe’s name before he’d even reached the front steps.
“Phoebe, it’s Rayce. Open up.”
The lock clicked immediately, and the front door swung inward. Rayce had just enough time to brace himself before Phoebe flew into his arms, gripping him around the waist with so much strength he had trouble breathing.
“Thank you for coming back.”
“Hey, easy.” He tucked her against his side and led her back into the house, pausing to close and lock the front door behind him. “You called the police?”
“Yes. I just hung up when I saw you pull into the driveway.” Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the living room. “That will be them.”
Quick response time. Rayce approved. “I’ll get the door.” He hugged her a little tighter, then eased her back. “Go disarm the security. There’s going to be people moving in and out for a while.”
Phoebe bobbed her head and hurried over to the control panel to punch in her four-digit code while Rayce greeted the officers at the door.
Officer Sam Hopkins was a portly old-timer with leathery hands, a pockmarked face, and antiquated beliefs when it came to the roles between men and women. He overlooked the fact that Phoebe had been the one to call the police, and it didn’t matter to him that she owned the house. He directed all of his questions to Rayce, and when Phoebe tried to interrupt, Officer Hopkins simply gave her an indulgent grin before turning back to Rayce.
“Did you see anyone leaving the property?”
“I wasn’t here,” Rayce answered flatly.
“Has anything else happened in the past few days? Anyone suspicious hanging around?”
Setting his feet shoulder-width apart, Rayce crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t live here.” He nodded to the side to indicate Phoebe. “Ask her.”
A younger man with a caramel complexion and amber-colored eyes entered the house, his dark hair wet from the rain. He went directly to Phoebe and introduced himself as Officer Julien Dominguez.
Rayce liked him immediately.
“I checked the backyard and swept the block, but I didn’t see anyone,” he told his partner. “Miss Keller, it would be helpful if you could walk us through what you saw and heard tonight.”
After several minutes of being ignored and patronized by Officer Hopkins, Phoebe seemed taken aback by the request. “Oh, sure, of course.”
“You reported that you heard a loud crash. Where were you when that happened?”
She led Officer Dominguez into the kitchen and pointed to the barstool at the end of the island. “I was sitting here. I’d only been home for a few minutes when I heard it. At first, I assumed the wind had knocked over one of my potted plants on the deck.”
The younger officer followed her from the kitchen over to the patio doors. “What happened next?”
“I came over here and turned on the lights, and that’s when I saw the footprints and the rose.”
“That’s it?” Standing off to the side, Officer Hopkins scoffed under his breath. “You didn’t actually see anyone, and no one tried to enter the home?”
Rayce wanted to punch him right in his chapped lips.
“Well,” Phoebe began, sounding unsure and a little embarrassed, “no, nothing like that. Maybe I overreacted a little.”
“You did the right thing, Miss Keller.” With a kind smile, Officer Dominguez touched her elbow briefly. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
He excused himself and stepped out into the rain to inspect the scene on the deck. Unfortunately, the rain had distorted the shape of the muddy footprints and washed away any identifying marks, making it virtually impossible to guess what size the footprints had been or what type of footwear had left them.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to mess with you or try to scare you?” the officer asked when he came back into the house.
“What about your ex?” Rayce asked when Phoebe shook her head.
She frowned at him. “I’ve only seen him that one time in almost four years. I really doubt he knows where I live.”
“It still wouldn’t hurt to find out where he was tonight.”
“He’s right,” Officer Dominguez agreed as he removed a small notebook and a pen from the breast pocket of his uniform. “I’m going to need his name, Miss Keller.”
Phoebe sighed but didn’t argue. “Tucker Cromwell.”
“We’ll look into him, but for now, there’s not much we can do. Keep your doors locked and your security system armed. If you hear or see anything else, let us know.”
“Oh, um, earlier, Officer Hopkins asked if I’d seen anything suspicious.” Phoebe pulled her phone from her pocket and began tapping at the screen. “I don’t know if this counts, but I received a kind of creepy email earlier tonight. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…”
Officer Dominguez took the phone, his brow furrowed as his eyes darted left to right across the screen. “Do you know this person?”
“No.” Phoebe shook her head.
“Can I get a print out of this?” he asked, passing the phone back to her.
“Sure.”
Once she had printed the email and handed it over, the officer reminded her to call if anything else strange happened, then he and his partner took their leave.
Closing and locking the door behind them, Rayce turned to Phoebe and held out his hand. “Can I see that email?”
“Uh, yeah, okay.” She pulled it up and gave him her phone. “I doubt it’s related, but I thought I should tell the police about it anyway.”
According to the time stamp, she’d received the email during the date, probably before they’d reached the pizzeria. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
Of course she didn’t. “Do you get emails like this often?”
“Define ‘often.’”
“Damn it, Phoebe.”
Sighing, she snatched the phone out of his hand and shoved it back into her pocket. “Call it an occupational hazard. It doesn’t mean anything, and nothing has ever come from one of these messages.”
“Until now.”
“I really doubt it’s related,” she repeated. “I’m more likely to believe Tucker tracked me down than I am to think it’s a reader.”
They were just getting to know each other, and he hadn’t wanted to pry, but now, things had changed. “I think you need to tell me about him.”
Phoebe eyed him for a long time, her expression indecipherable. “We met on one of those dating sites.” She paused, clearly expecting Rayce to judge her. “We exchanged messages for a couple of weeks, then moved on to phone calls. After about six weeks, I finally agreed to meet him for coffee.”
The story seemed typical enough, and he wondered where everything had gone wrong. “How long before you moved in with him?”
“How did you know—?”
“Ex-fiancé,” Rayce explained. “I just assumed if you were getting married, you were living together.”
“Fair enough.” As she spoke, she shuffled over to the brown, suede sofa and eased down onto the edge of the cushion. “A year. We were together for about a year before I moved in with him. The lease was coming up on my apartment, and well, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Rayce didn’t
say anything, but he joined her on the couch, sitting at the opposite end to give her some space.
“We were engaged not long after that, and things were pretty good at first. I wanted to write, and Tucker encouraged me.” She rested her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together in nervous, agitated movements. “He even offered to cover all of our expenses so I could quit my job and focus on writing my first book.”
“I’m guessing that’s around the time things turned south.”
She didn’t look at him, but she nodded slowly. “It was little things at first. He’d complain when I went out with my friends, or even when I talked with them on the phone, so eventually, I stopped talking to them altogether.” She inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly through her lips. “I kept my hair short because he said wearing it long made me look like an old homeless lady. He’d make jokes about my weight, or how I did my makeup.” She laughed without much humor. “In hindsight, it seems pretty obvious what was happening, but at the time…”
Rayce clenched his fist until the knuckles cracked, but when he spoke, he kept his voice level, unemotional. “Did he ever hit you?”
“Just once. The day I moved out.”
It didn’t matter that it had happened more than three years ago. If Rayce ever saw Tucker Cromwell again, he was going to beat some fucking manners into the asshole.
“Come on.” Standing, she held her hand out, waiting for him to stand and take it. “I want to show you something.”
“Is this going to be kinky?” he joked, trying to add some levity to the depressing conversation.
“Absolutely,” Phoebe deadpanned. “Try to restrain yourself.”
She led him past the front door and around the corner to a narrow mudroom where she kept two umbrellas, two jackets, several pairs of tennis shoes, and three pairs of sunglasses that looked exactly the same to him. He’d never understood why women needed so much stuff, but he’d learned a long time ago not to question it.
Unlocking the door at the end of a row of brass hooks, she stuck her arm into the dark cavern beyond. There was a quiet click, then blinding fluorescent light flooded the three-car garage. Rayce followed Phoebe down the single step, blinking several times until his eyes adjusted to the glare.
