by Bella Jewel
“Great,” he tells me. “I’ve been busy at work. I’m sorry I haven’t called. I wanted to give you some space, I know you’ve been stressed.”
The door swings open and Ace appears, wearing a casual gray tee and a pair of exercise shorts. I swallow, and try to avert my eyes, because damn, he looks hot.
“No problem,” I tell Jacob, far too distracted by the hot man standing right in front of me, making everything inside me spark to life. What the hell is this? “Listen, I’d love to chat, but I’m meeting with Ace. We are going over some notes. Can I give you a call tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Jacob says. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. We’ll catch up soon.”
“We will. ’Night, Jacob.”
“’Night, Hart.”
I hang up the phone, and my eyes move up Ace’s body until they meet his.
“You still talking to that dick?”
I bite my lip to force back a laugh. Ace doesn’t miss it, and those gorgeous eyes roll up to the ceiling. “It’s not fuckin’ funny. You could just answer me instead of laughing.”
“You’re so moody,” I giggle softly, stepping past him and walking into his apartment. “Honestly, Ace, who cares who I talk to?”
He doesn’t answer, he just locks the door. “Whatever makes you happy.”
I laugh again and walk over, taking a seat at his kitchen counter, staring over at him when he walks in and asks, “Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet. I thought maybe we could order something.”
He cocks a brow. “That so?”
“Yeah, big guy,” I say, crossing my arms. “That’s so.”
He seems amused by my comment. He doesn’t react to it, but I can see it in his eyes, the way they dance. It’s nice to see him lighten up a little. He’s always so serious.
“What do you want?” he asks, pulling out a heap of menus he has in a little menu holder by the wall. “Pizza, pasta, Chinese, Indian…”
Jesus.
“I’m a fan of Indian food,” I say, gauging his reaction. “Or Chinese. Or food, in general.”
He nods and flicks the Chinese and Indian menus towards me. “Here, pick one. I’m going to have a shower, I just got back from the gym.”
The thought of Ace in the shower, all that water, and that body … has my cheeks going pink. He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t miss his eyes scanning briefly over my warm cheeks before he turns and disappears down the hall. “Order something,” he calls out.
Right.
Bossy.
I go with Indian and order a few different dishes and some rice. The woman on the other line snaps at me that it’ll be half an hour, and then hangs up without even a good bye. Well, unless the food is fantastic I won’t be ordering from there again. I stand once I’m done, and move into Ace’s living room, checking everything out. There are no pictures that I can see, which just sparks my curiosity even more.
I walk back into the kitchen and towards the sink, when I notice a picture on his laptop. A gorgeous blonde fills the screen, her beautiful smiling face lighting it up in a way I’ve never seen before. She has something about her, something fresh and beautiful. Her eyes are bright, and as blue as the sky, but mostly they’re warm. She looks like a loving lady, the best kind. My heart aches for Ace.
Obviously that’s his wife.
I can see why he loved her, she’s absolutely beautiful.
I get myself some water, and send a text to Taylor while I wait for Ace to finish. A knock at the door about ten minutes later has my head whipping up. Jesus, that was the fastest Indian food I’ve ever ordered. I glance down the hall. The shower has only just stopped, so I’m guessing Ace will be another few minutes. Shrugging, I walk over and unlock it, opening it to find … nobody.
I poke my head out and glance left and right. There is no one there. I’m about to close the door when I look down and see some bags of food placed by the door. How rude. They could have at least waited until we opened the door. What if it was the wrong apartment? I reach for the food but stop, hand outstretched, when I realize it’s not Indian food.
My heart launches into my mouth, and for a moment I’m frozen there, half bent down to get the food. It takes me a few seconds to gather myself enough to pick up the bag with shaky hands and step back inside the apartment. I lock the door and walk numbly to the kitchen. “Food here already?” Ace asks, but I can’t answer him.
I just stare at the bag.
I already know what will be inside. Two orders of cashew chicken. One of fried rice. It was Raymond’s and my favorite meal. We used to get it every Friday night, without fail, and we’d sit and eat it while watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. My hands shake, and the bag kind of plonks down onto the kitchen counter.
“Hartley?”
“I didn’t order this, Ace,” I whisper. “But I know who did…”
Ace moves quickly, walking over and snatching the bag from the counter, jerking it open and staring inside. He comes up with a note, and quickly unfolds it. He reads it out loud, but most of it falls on deaf ears. I can already see it’s in Ray’s handwriting, and I already know what it’ll say. Raymond used to send me food all the time if he was working late, and knew he couldn’t be here.
I’m sure you’ve had a stressful week and will enjoy your favorite.
Love, R x
“I’m making a call,” Ace says. “Sit tight.”
I wasn’t about to go anywhere. I stand for a few minutes, gathering myself, and then I turn towards Ace, who has the phone to his ear. I realize when he starts speaking that he’s talking to the Chinese place the food arrived from.
“Yes, I’m a detective. You had someone in the last half an hour order two orders of cashew chicken and a fried rice.”
He listens.
“Yes, correct. Can you tell me anything about that person?”
He listens some more.
“Was it a male or a female? Did that person come and pick it up?”
He curses.
“Right, and you’re sure?”
A mumble and then an exhale. He hangs up the phone and turns to me. “She told me a homeless-looking man came in and ordered the food, then came back to pick it up. She doesn’t know who he was. This man isn’t stupid—he made sure this couldn’t be traced back to him. He must’ve paid the homeless guy money to do his dirty work.”
God.
This just keeps getting worse. “How did he know I was here, Ace?”
Ace rubs a hand over his face, clearly as frustrated and confused as I am with the whole situation. “I’m not sure. He could have been watching the building, he could have seen through my windows. It isn’t hard, we face the main road. There could be many reasons. For all we know, he walked down the hall and heard our voices.”
I shiver, thinking that he might have been that close. “What do we do now?”
Ace shakes his head. “Nothing we can do. There is absolutely no lead. He made sure of it. Don’t stress, we’ll throw this food out and wait for our real order. You’re safe here.”
“I’m starting to think I’m not safe anywhere.”
He gives me a look that says he understands. “Sit down. We’ll eat when the order arrives, and try to figure out where to go from here.”
“Ace,” I say, walking over and sitting on his couch. “Do you think you could set him up?”
Ace looks to me, contemplating that. “It’s something we could probably look into.”
“I mean, if he’s playing games, I wonder if we could set him up and trap him somehow…”
“Wouldn’t be easy. He’s smart, he’s probably onto every trick in the book, but it is something I’ll think about.”
“It was just an idea,” I say, crossing my legs. “I don’t know much about any of this, all I know is that I want it to go the hell away. I don’t sleep anymore.”
“I have sleeping pills, if you want one.”
I study him as he shuts his laptop down, then joins me
on the sofa. It’s only then I really pay attention to his attire. Or lack of. He’s wearing those long pajama bottoms again, and nothing else. His bronze chest is bare, and shining from his recent shower. He looks … God, he looks amazing. I swing my eyes away and stare at the television that he’s just turned on. Suddenly more than aware that we’re alone together. I wonder if he can feel the tension I feel?
“I don’t think I’ll take any pills,” I finally manage. “Thank you, though.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “Breathe.”
“What?” I say. “I am.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
He’s right, I am. I exhale in a rush. “How do you pick up on so much?”
“I’m a detective. It’s my job to not only watch how people react and behave, but also to work fully off my instinct. I’m good at it. I pick up on tiny little things people do when they’re nervous, or anxious, or scared, whatever it might be.”
“So you’re like a body language expert?”
He snorts. “Wouldn’t go that far. I just know when people are feeling certain things by the way they act.”
“Really?” I challenge. “What am I feeling right now then?”
“You’re nervous because I’m sitting here without a shirt. You’ve looked at my body three times now. I’d bet any money your heart is racing. You’re also terrified by what just happened. You’ve rubbed your hands over your shorts twice, before fumbling them together in your lap.”
I blink, and then glance down to where my hands are indeed fumbling together in my lap.
“I didn’t look at you three times!”
I did. I really did.
“Yes you did,” he says, eyes still on the television. “You just looked again.”
I clamp my eyes shut. “You’re starting to freak me out now.”
He makes a sound that almost could be passed off as a chuckle. “I’m not the one staring at you. I’m starting to think you have a problem when it comes to staring.”
“I don’t,” I point out. “I just … I pay attention.”
He grunts.
Whatever.
“Just put something on the television and stop talking.”
He glances at me again, this time with a brow raised. “You’re a bossy thing, aren’t you?”
“Coming from the king of bossy, I take that as a compliment.”
Another grunt.
“At least you know how to use your manners these days.”
Those eyes roll upwards.
“And stop rolling your eyes, it’s rude.”
He looks over to me, dead on this time. “If you weren’t such a fuckin’ pain in the ass, I wouldn’t have to be rude.”
I grin at him. “I was always polite to you, Ace.”
“You waved at me like a crazy person once, out of the blue, just right there in my face. I thought you were nuts. What would you have me do?”
My mouth drops open. “When someone waves to you, you wave back, even if they are nuts. And it wasn’t right in your face…”
One brow cocks.
Okay, I did pretty much wave right up in his space. “I only did it because you refused to pay any attention to me. I tried over and over to say hello, or to be nice, but you just ignored me.”
“Stop taking it so personally.”
I huff.
“I’ll get you up to scratch on your neighbor skills one of these days.”
“You’re here, on my couch, bitching in my ear, aren’t you?”
I smirk. “Indeed I am.”
“Then I’d say I’m doing fairly well. Now be quiet so I can watch television.”
I keep the smirk, but I go quiet and turn, watching the television and feeling okay for the first time in weeks. Not better, definitely not safe, but okay. And right now, “okay” is everything.
“Okay” is just what I need to get me through.
NINETEEN
“Order up,” my boss, Jayme, calls, sliding a plate across the counter at me.
I rush over and take it, trying to ignore the car sitting across the street with a police officer inside, staring right in here, watching me.
“What’s the cop for?” coworker, Dani, asks as she takes the next order that’s served up.
“I’m not really sure,” I lie.
“He’s been sitting there all night.”
“Yeah.”
She stares at me for a moment, her long red hair tied high on her head. I like working with Dani, she’s friendly. I’m not overly close with her, but when I was going through a fitness craze, we used to go on a morning run together. She’s fit, and funny, and easy to work with.
“Strange,” she murmurs. “I’m about to finish up my shift and then you have crazy on.”
I sigh.
The other girl who works with us, Rebecca, is a total cow. She’s older, and thinks she’s entitled to the world because of that. She’s had a problem with me since I started here, and the few times I’ve been unfortunate enough to be scheduled with her, she makes my life hell. I’m not sure what it is she doesn’t like about me, but she makes her feelings clear.
“Speak of the devil,” Dani murmurs, leaning in close as the older blonde appears from the back room, tying an apron around her waist. “That’s my cue.”
“I hate you,” I mouth to Dani, and she flashes me a smile before clocking out for the night.
I keep serving tables, trying to stay out of Rebecca’s way when she breezes past me, shouldering me when I get too close.
“Order up,” Jayme yells again, and I rush over.
Rebecca appears before I can reach the plates and slides them off the counter.
“Those plates are for my section,” I say, staring at her.
“Well, those people are hungry and waiting. By the time it takes you to pick up your feet and get the plates, they’re already writing a terrible review online about customer service.”
“Seriously? I was walking straight over here,” I say, trying to keep calm. I need this job. What I don’t need is her attitude.
“Yes ‘seriously’,” she snaps. “If you’re not going to put your best foot forward, maybe you should look for other jobs.”
“Last time I checked, Rebecca, you aren’t my boss.”
I take the plates from her hand and she glares at me.
“What is your problem?” I say, feeling the stress of the last few weeks bubble up.
“My problem is you. I’m constantly having to run around after you, and pick up after you, and do everything because you’re not paying attention. And everyone feels sorry for you, because oh no, you lost your husband. That was years ago. Some of us have a job to do, bills to pay, and don’t need to play the pity game to get ahead.”
I blink at her.
She did not just say that … did she?
“I’m not using my situation to do anything. I work just as hard as you.”
“No. You. Don’t. You’re the favored one. You think you work hard, but really, you get everything easy. Just handed to you.”
Talk about resentment. I’m not in the mood for this, and I’m certainly not in the mood to lose my job, so I turn on my heel and walk off.
Then I avoid her for the rest of the night.
Honestly. I can’t take much more.
When my shift is over, I pack my things, ignoring Rebecca’s glares in my general direction, and head out and over to the police car. Jayme asked me what was going on, and I simply told her he was a friend, though I know she didn’t believe me. I was hardly going to tell her I might have a serial killer looking for me and she should be concerned. I’d lose my job. And right now I need it—with my school and bills, I couldn’t be without work.
I greet the officer as I climb in, and stay silent the entire ride home, wondering what the hell crawled up Rebecca’s ass and died. I know she doesn’t like me, but honestly, to be angry because she thinks I’m getting special treatment because I lost my husband is unfair.
I’m not getting special treatment, I work just as hard as anyone in that place. Jayme runs a tight ship, and yes she likes me, but she’d never let me slack off.
I wonder what Rebecca’s problem is.
When we arrive at my apartment, the officer says, “I’ll just check the house.”
I nod and unlock the door, letting him in. He strides into the living room, eyes scanning. I step in behind him, but stop and look down. There is a slip of paper underneath my door. That cold feeling washes over my body as I lean down and pick it up. I flip it open and my body goes completely numb. The handwriting, I could swear, was my husband’s. The perfect strokes, the way the letters curl instead of end sharply.
My hands shake as I read the words.
I don’t like you being alone tonight. Make sure you lock those doors.
Love, R x
I wince and scrunch the letter in my hand, trying to fight back my tears. The officer on duty comes out, not looking at me as he says, “It’s all clear, there is no one here. I’ll be waiting outside the door until Ace finishes his shift. Will that be all?”
I should tell him about the note I have crushed in my hand, but if I open my mouth right now I’m going to lose it. I just know it. So I give him a nod, and somehow force my lips to spread into a weak, pathetic smile. He doesn’t seem to notice anything is wrong, and gives me a nod before stepping outside the door. I lock it behind him, and then the tears come. They roll down my cheeks and I sink to my knees, silently sobbing.
Why me?
Why won’t this man leave me the hell alone?
Why is he torturing me?
I crawl down the hall, the letter still stuffed in my hand. I drop it at some point, and through my hysterical crying manage to reach my shower and strip off, crawling in and turning it on as hot as I can stand it. Then I bring my knees up to my chest, and I lose it. I absolutely lose it. I’m terrified. The ache in my chest just won’t leave. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t get rid of it. It hangs around, tormenting me, constantly reminding me that I’m in serious danger.
It’s the thought that this killer might just get hold of me that has the hysterical crying turning into pants. Short, harsh pants. It doesn’t matter how many police officers are by my side, there is still a small window of opportunity for this man to slip in. And if he does, if he gets hold of me, he could end my life. The very thought of my life hanging so heavily under threat, terrifies me.
